Here Comes the Sun

Little darlin' it's been a long cold lonely winter.  I remember my brother playing this on his guitar many summers ago.  As we start to believe that these sunny days may last, I welcome the warmth and promise of better days ahead.

I just found a diary fragment from 2014, a bad year for me in which I had a major depressive episode which rendered me unable to enjoy every aspect of my life, from eating to being with my family and friends.  Discharged from hospital in the spring, I found the first signs of summer - new growth on the trees, birdsong, the sun on my face - unbearable, and drifted about indoors, wishing for rain.  It was a glorious summer, with a new grandchild born in June, but I felt nothing, except a huge sense of guilt and loss.

The right medication and psychological help eventually helped me back to a kind of equilibrium, but it's only over the past year that I've felt secure enough to be happy.  One of the first signs of recovery was falling completely in love with my grandson.  Being with him is a constant joy.

On Thursday we we were back to seasonal rain for our trip down the Clyde by Steam Puffer VIC 32.  Our motley crew of retirees had a jolly time in spite of the weather.  Black smoke from the funnel and the toot of the steam whistle conjured instant Para Handy recall.  Two years ago I would have been unable to cope with talking to strangers in a confined space!  But I  chatted, sketched and enjoyed an excellent lunch with a few glasses of wine.

Beauty notes:   I've been noticing how many women over 60 have no eyebrows.  I counted at least four in our group today   Years of plucking have taken their toll and necessitate drawing in pencilled arches.  I only once had mine professionally done before my wedding in 1970, resulting in wedding photos marred by my minimal brows.  Mine are still fairly bushy but starting to grey.

  I use Laura Mercier gel brow definer in Fair, applied with an angled brush (Bobbie Brown does a good one).

I've also become a fan of MAC cosmetics, currently offering free delivery. I tend to browse the counters, get colour matched, then top-up online.  I've just invested in their Pro Longwear Waterproof Foundation and matching Pressed Powder, guaranteed to last all day in any climate conditions.  I'll see how they perform in my month-long trip to the US in July.

We've finally ordered our Volkswagen campervan.  It has to be built in Germany so we have to wait until Autumn for delivery, but we're having fun researching and buying things like melamine plates and a Remoska cooker.

I'd welcome comments if there's anything that strikes a chord with you.  Email me personally if you'd rather not post publicly.

Here Comes the Sun

Little darlin' it's been a long cold lonely winter.  I remember my brother playing this on his guitar many summers ago.  As we start to believe that these sunny days may last, I welcome the warmth and promise of better days ahead.

I just found a diary fragment from 2014, a bad year for me in which I had a major depressive episode which rendered me unable to enjoy every aspect of my life, from eating to being with my family and friends.  Discharged from hospital in the spring, I found the first signs of summer - new growth on the trees, birdsong, the sun on my face - unbearable, and drifted about indoors, wishing for rain.  It was a glorious summer, with a new grandchild born in June, but I felt nothing, except a huge sense of guilt and loss.

The right medication and psychological help eventually helped me back to a kind of equilibrium, but it's only over the past year that I've felt secure enough to be happy.  One of the first signs of recovery was falling completely in love with my grandson.  Being with him is a constant joy.

On Thursday we we were back to seasonal rain for our trip down the Clyde by Steam Puffer VIC 32.  Our motley crew of retirees had a jolly time in spite of the weather.  Black smoke from the funnel and the toot of the steam whistle conjured instant Para Handy recall.  Two years ago I would have been unable to cope with talking to strangers in a confined space!  But I  chatted, sketched and enjoyed an excellent lunch with a few glasses of wine.

Beauty notes:   I've been noticing how many women over 60 have no eyebrows.  I counted at least four in our group today   Years of plucking have taken their toll and necessitate drawing in pencilled arches.  I only once had mine professionally done before my wedding in 1970, resulting in wedding photos marred by my minimal brows.  Mine are still fairly bushy but starting to grey.

  I use Laura Mercier gel brow definer in Fair, applied with an angled brush (Bobbie Brown does a good one).

I've also become a fan of MAC cosmetics, currently offering free delivery. I tend to browse the counters, get colour matched, then top-up online.  I've just invested in their Pro Longwear Waterproof Foundation and matching Pressed Powder, guaranteed to last all day in any climate conditions.  I'll see how they perform in my month-long trip to the US in July.

We've finally ordered our Volkswagen campervan.  It has to be built in Germany so we have to wait until Autumn for delivery, but we're having fun researching and buying things like melamine plates and a Remoska cooker.

I'd welcome comments if there's anything that strikes a chord with you.  Email me personally if you'd rather not post publicly.

Two go off in a Campervan

 Poor Mole! The Life Adventurous was so new a thing to him, and so thrilling; and this fresh aspect of it was so tempting; and he had fallen in love at first sight with the canary-coloured cart and all its little fitments.

Yes, we've hit the road again, in spite of all our reservations after our Motorhome trip in the autumn. This time we hired a nearly new Volkswagen California T5SE and it was a very different
experience.  It was a lovely vehicle, but very black - it looked to me like a hearse, especially with its tinted windows.

Some tips for anyone thinking of trying it:

DO check that all necessary equipment has been included.  We discovered on setting up at our first site that the lack of a hose made filling the water tank very tricky.  A small whistling kettle is not the ideal utensil for doing this and you get wet.

DON'T reject McDonald's as a place to eat when it's pouring with rain and you need food, any food. This branch in Aberdeen also had a large, almost empty car park for me to practise reversing (good visibility and parking sensors).

DO dress and pack with comfort, warmth and staying dry in mind. There is a 'wardrobe' with hanging space but, like everything in this beautifully compact living space, it is small.   We wore our warm jumpers, waterproof trousers, anoraks and socks in bed - just the socks in bed, with warm pyjamas.  We chose a pub rather than a posh bistro for Saturday night.



DON'T believe the garage employee's instructions about using the kitchen area.  The fridge settings were the reverse of what we'd been told and we ended up with 2 cans of diet coke which fizzed and frothed alarmingly when opened, turning out to be frozen solid inside.  He didn't warn us that the plastic basin in the sink would melt if not removed before lighting the gas ring.


DO take your time turning the front seats round to become chairs in the living area.  You can easily get trapped between van and seat if seatback is reclined, runners misaligned or arm-rests down.  We were just about getting the hang of it by the end of our trip.

DON'T assume that you have to sleep in the fold-out downstairs bed if you are a bit arthritic.  We tried out the upstairs version on night 2 and found it roomier and cosy in a weird way (you feel some air coming through the soft sides of the pop-up, but it feels less exposed than in a tent).  Getting up and down was a bit inelegant, but it had plenty of headroom and a great little LED light.  Not having a toilet meant a 5 a.m. clamber onto the driver's seat.  I really couldn't put it off any longer.  Torch in hand, wellies and hoodie over pyjamas, I make it to the loos, having managed to remember the entry code. I walk back, suddenly noticing light in  the sky and the birds just starting to wake up, feeling good about being out, hearing the sea, imagining adults, children, and babies sleeping in the tents and caravans.  There is an accessory called the Portapotti (it comes with its own little tent)  but off-site we could improvise.  Younger Daughter suggests the Shee Wee - just watched the inventor demonstrating it.  https://www.youtube.com/watch  I will follow this up.  

DO enjoy simple pleasures, like cooking breakfast on the gas hob.   We had talked about toast, deciding that plugging a toaster into the single 230v socket might not be safe.  I improvised with a split roll on a fork over the gas flame.  It was nicely charred, having caught fire round the edges.  We realised there was no fire blanket or extinguisher.  But it soon went out.  We had a picnic lunch on a grassy bank by the North Sea, testing out the handy table and chairs which are stored cleverly away in the frame of the van.  To be cleverly stored away again as the rain came on again.

DON'T depend on social media.  As well as dropping my smartphone on a stone, cracking the touchscreen and rendering it untouchable (its inner workings carrying on as usual, including the 30 second recording of skylarks set as notification sound after getting less than positive reactions to the crow I'd had for a while, which made me jump so nothing could be silenced or switched off), there was no phone signal or WiFi for most of our trip. We didn't miss the telly at all. It meant we talked, mostly about the campervan, although we did find the weekend papers in the Dornoch Co-op and had time to sit and read them.

This trip came much closer to my romantic notions and childhood memories of self-contained travelling.  I loved driving the California - it feels not unlike our Golf - and can see us happily using it as a second car.  We hope eventually the Wee Boy will be big enough to share some trips with us, and that his Mum and Dad will want to use it too.  Sounds like it's happening, doesn't it?  We've been getting quotes for insurance (not as bad as imagined) and Cannyrob has returned with renewed interest to his Campervanning magazines.  If we do decide to order one, there's a four to six month wait till we get it.  Meantime, I'm looking at lightweight pans, plates, bowls and mugs, and fantasising about fitting them into the cupboards, working out how to pack my summer wardrobe for a trip abroad, maybe planning a picnic under the awning......we quite like Bamboo Garden (see picture), by the way.

Two go off in a Campervan

 Poor Mole! The Life Adventurous was so new a thing to him, and so thrilling; and this fresh aspect of it was so tempting; and he had fallen in love at first sight with the canary-coloured cart and all its little fitments.

Yes, we've hit the road again, in spite of all our reservations after our Motorhome trip in the autumn. This time we hired a nearly new Volkswagen California T5SE and it was a very different
experience.  It was a lovely vehicle, but very black - it looked to me like a hearse, especially with its tinted windows.

Some tips for anyone thinking of trying it:

DO check that all necessary equipment has been included.  We discovered on setting up at our first site that the lack of a hose made filling the water tank very tricky.  A small whistling kettle is not the ideal utensil for doing this and you get wet.

DON'T reject McDonald's as a place to eat when it's pouring with rain and you need food, any food. This branch in Aberdeen also had a large, almost empty car park for me to practise reversing (good visibility and parking sensors).

DO dress and pack with comfort, warmth and staying dry in mind. There is a 'wardrobe' with hanging space but, like everything in this beautifully compact living space, it is small.   We wore our warm jumpers, waterproof trousers, anoraks and socks in bed - just the socks in bed, with warm pyjamas.  We chose a pub rather than a posh bistro for Saturday night.



DON'T believe the garage employee's instructions about using the kitchen area.  The fridge settings were the reverse of what we'd been told and we ended up with 2 cans of diet coke which fizzed and frothed alarmingly when opened, turning out to be frozen solid inside.  He didn't warn us that the plastic basin in the sink would melt if not removed before lighting the gas ring.


DO take your time turning the front seats round to become chairs in the living area.  You can easily get trapped between van and seat if seatback is reclined, runners misaligned or arm-rests down.  We were just about getting the hang of it by the end of our trip.

DON'T assume that you have to sleep in the fold-out downstairs bed if you are a bit arthritic.  We tried out the upstairs version on night 2 and found it roomier and cosy in a weird way (you feel some air coming through the soft sides of the pop-up, but it feels less exposed than in a tent).  Getting up and down was a bit inelegant, but it had plenty of headroom and a great little LED light.  Not having a toilet meant a 5 a.m. clamber onto the driver's seat.  I really couldn't put it off any longer.  Torch in hand, wellies and hoodie over pyjamas, I make it to the loos, having managed to remember the entry code. I walk back, suddenly noticing light in  the sky and the birds just starting to wake up, feeling good about being out, hearing the sea, imagining adults, children, and babies sleeping in the tents and caravans.  There is an accessory called the Portapotti (it comes with its own little tent)  but off-site we could improvise.  Younger Daughter suggests the Shee Wee - just watched the inventor demonstrating it.  https://www.youtube.com/watch  I will follow this up.  

DO enjoy simple pleasures, like cooking breakfast on the gas hob.   We had talked about toast, deciding that plugging a toaster into the single 230v socket might not be safe.  I improvised with a split roll on a fork over the gas flame.  It was nicely charred, having caught fire round the edges.  We realised there was no fire blanket or extinguisher.  But it soon went out.  We had a picnic lunch on a grassy bank by the North Sea, testing out the handy table and chairs which are stored cleverly away in the frame of the van.  To be cleverly stored away again as the rain came on again.

DON'T depend on social media.  As well as dropping my smartphone on a stone, cracking the touchscreen and rendering it untouchable (its inner workings carrying on as usual, including the 30 second recording of skylarks set as notification sound after getting less than positive reactions to the crow I'd had for a while, which made me jump so nothing could be silenced or switched off), there was no phone signal or WiFi for most of our trip. We didn't miss the telly at all. It meant we talked, mostly about the campervan, although we did find the weekend papers in the Dornoch Co-op and had time to sit and read them.

This trip came much closer to my romantic notions and childhood memories of self-contained travelling.  I loved driving the California - it feels not unlike our Golf - and can see us happily using it as a second car.  We hope eventually the Wee Boy will be big enough to share some trips with us, and that his Mum and Dad will want to use it too.  Sounds like it's happening, doesn't it?  We've been getting quotes for insurance (not as bad as imagined) and Cannyrob has returned with renewed interest to his Campervanning magazines.  If we do decide to order one, there's a four to six month wait till we get it.  Meantime, I'm looking at lightweight pans, plates, bowls and mugs, and fantasising about fitting them into the cupboards, working out how to pack my summer wardrobe for a trip abroad, maybe planning a picnic under the awning......we quite like Bamboo Garden (see picture), by the way.

With a Spring in My Step

I'm sitting on a step at my daughter's with my left foot in a basin of very cold water.  This is the result of my too-eager participation in demolishing a greenhouse!  A metal bar fell on my foot.  Ouch! We're going to A & E once my daughter has got her toddler ready.  Waiting time is about 90 minutes so we'll need snacks, toys and books.  I suspect that on this sunny spring Sunday there will be quite a few DIY and gardening casualties.

 
I'm reading Ann Karpf's book How to Age. She looks at attitudes held by society and individuals over the past century.  Many younger people worry about signs of ageing, having Botox and fillers in their twenties, while my contemporaries (me included) go on using anti-ageing serum (just in case it works) and colouring our hair.  Some get expensive dental implants.  I can relate to that.  Growing up in the Fifties, pre-fluoride, dentists programmed to extract, our teeth, like those in the horse's mouth,  are a dead give away.  Where our grandparents had gleaming white dentures by 60, we have crowns, bridges and discoloured incisors.  I went to a new dentist for a check up last week to be told that my dental hygiene is good.  She didn't say 'They should see you out', but I was thinking it.

My foot wasn't broken and I am very happy to be having coffee and a muffin in a Dundee coffee shop two days later.  Having a foot in plaster would have meant serious adjustments to my plans for the week.  Needing help and not being able to just do what I want would be hard.  And yet it is what ageing means for some.  Loss of independence was what my mother found most difficult.  Meantime I 'm looking forward to afternoon tea to celebrate a friend's 70th, completing a course in Paediatric First Aid tonight and time with my son and grandson tomorrow.  Life is good!

With a Spring in My Step

I'm sitting on a step at my daughter's with my left foot in a basin of very cold water.  This is the result of my too-eager participation in demolishing a greenhouse!  A metal bar fell on my foot.  Ouch! We're going to A & E once my daughter has got her toddler ready.  Waiting time is about 90 minutes so we'll need snacks, toys and books.  I suspect that on this sunny spring Sunday there will be quite a few DIY and gardening casualties.

 
I'm reading Ann Karpf's book How to Age. She looks at attitudes held by society and individuals over the past century.  Many younger people worry about signs of ageing, having Botox and fillers in their twenties, while my contemporaries (me included) go on using anti-ageing serum (just in case it works) and colouring our hair.  Some get expensive dental implants.  I can relate to that.  Growing up in the Fifties, pre-fluoride, dentists programmed to extract, our teeth, like those in the horse's mouth,  are a dead give away.  Where our grandparents had gleaming white dentures by 60, we have crowns, bridges and discoloured incisors.  I went to a new dentist for a check up last week to be told that my dental hygiene is good.  She didn't say 'They should see you out', but I was thinking it.

My foot wasn't broken and I am very happy to be having coffee and a muffin in a Dundee coffee shop two days later.  Having a foot in plaster would have meant serious adjustments to my plans for the week.  Needing help and not being able to just do what I want would be hard.  And yet it is what ageing means for some.  Loss of independence was what my mother found most difficult.  Meantime I 'm looking forward to afternoon tea to celebrate a friend's 70th, completing a course in Paediatric First Aid tonight and time with my son and grandson tomorrow.  Life is good!

The Open Road 2

Back in September I wrote about our experience of hiring a motorhome, not an unalloyed success.......but Cannyrob (my other half) was interested enough to book tickets for the Scottish Carvanning and Camping Show in Glasgow.  There was nothing that appealed - wood effect chalets, huge vehicles with proper bathrooms, vast tents, all kinds of accessories - but then..........we spotted the new Volkswagen Campervan, the California Ocean.  We talked about it all the way home. Cannyrob has been researching online ever since and we are hoping to rent one for a few days next month.  We've still to make up a Pros and Cons list, while coming up with good reasons for buying.

We've been getting around by train and car meantime.  I had an interesting weekend away on my own, staying in a hotel, a Georgian house which was once a private nursing home.

I was born there in 1947.  In my comfortable en suite room, I imagined my mother, with me a tiny baby, spending her two weeks 'lying in' and coming to terms with this huge change to her life, having no experience at all of babies. It was a stormy night, as it might well have been that November, and my sister and I, armed with umbrellas, battled through the dark streets to a cosy Italian restaurant, where we managed to scoff the free bottle of wine over a good meal with lots of laughter.  

That afternoon, I'd had a catch up chat with my grown-up niece in Edinburgh, remembering her as a little girl with her sister, coming to stay with me, and the fun we had. Now she's facing adult choices with admirable equanimity.  I took her a sampler which came from my great-aunt's house in London, embroidered by ten year old Ann Crouch in 1830.  Her father was a high-ranking official in the household of an Oxford Dean.I imagine this little girl, hair in ringlets or maybe in a cap, bent over her work somewhere like the 'breakfast' room in my great-aunt's house, full of chairs and little tables draped in velvet and lace, as it still was when my sister and I stayed there in 1960.  I wonder if she liked to sew, or if it was a chore she had to tackle each day, and reflect on the limited options she would have had for her adult life.

Sunday breakfast was just too early (I had to get up at 7.30!) and my plans to explore the old part of town were foiled by yet more torrential rain.  I headed for a bright modern shopping centre for some enjoyable browsing and lunch, appreciating just having time on my own.   The afternoon was spent with a lovely family, the children as imaginative and lively as their parents, a dramatherapist and a musician, then a night staying with my oldest pal in her cosy house on the top of a hill.  We talked through our current concerns, with another bottle of wine, falling into bed with the wonderful prospect of Monday morning without work, possibly the single best thing about retirement.    The weather had improved and I spent a peaceful half-hour listening to the birds and the susurrus of the leaves, walking up to where my parents are buried, on a slope overlooking the village where my mother grew up.  It was just the kind of day they would have enjoyed, Mum getting out into the garden to do some tidying, Dad off to the golf range......
For me, now, there's a calm peacefulness now where there used to be pain and grief.

I eventually set off for home, thinking how fortunate I was to have the car.  Cannyrob selflessly travelled to the rugby international in Edinburgh by bus (a five hour return trip).  Now if we'd had the campervan.....we think this one is small enough to use as a second car.   And I'm back on the open road theme again.  We've now made a booking to rent a Volkswagen T5 California Ocean the first weekend in April.

Glad to get back to my Tuesday art classes again after a break over Christmas and New Year. Tackling oil paints is challenging, but really enjoyable.  I've bought pretty much everything I need, causing some hilarity in class when I took out my new double dipper (large, as recommended, but not that large, apparently) and my palette knife (I'm useless at metric, especially online) which could be used by a plasterer.  However, I have completed a first still life.

See my Sketchbook at the top of the blog for recent drawings.

The Open Road 2

Back in September I wrote about our experience of hiring a motorhome, not an unalloyed success.......but Cannyrob (my other half) was interested enough to book tickets for the Scottish Carvanning and Camping Show in Glasgow.  There was nothing that appealed - wood effect chalets, huge vehicles with proper bathrooms, vast tents, all kinds of accessories - but then..........we spotted the new Volkswagen Campervan, the California Ocean.  We talked about it all the way home. Cannyrob has been researching online ever since and we are hoping to rent one for a few days next month.  We've still to make up a Pros and Cons list, while coming up with good reasons for buying.

We've been getting around by train and car meantime.  I had an interesting weekend away on my own, staying in a hotel, a Georgian house which was once a private nursing home.

I was born there in 1947.  In my comfortable en suite room, I imagined my mother, with me a tiny baby, spending her two weeks 'lying in' and coming to terms with this huge change to her life, having no experience at all of babies. It was a stormy night, as it might well have been that November, and my sister and I, armed with umbrellas, battled through the dark streets to a cosy Italian restaurant, where we managed to scoff the free bottle of wine over a good meal with lots of laughter.  

That afternoon, I'd had a catch up chat with my grown-up niece in Edinburgh, remembering her as a little girl with her sister, coming to stay with me, and the fun we had. Now she's facing adult choices with admirable equanimity.  I took her a sampler which came from my great-aunt's house in London, embroidered by ten year old Ann Crouch in 1830.  Her father was a high-ranking official in the household of an Oxford Dean.I imagine this little girl, hair in ringlets or maybe in a cap, bent over her work somewhere like the 'breakfast' room in my great-aunt's house, full of chairs and little tables draped in velvet and lace, as it still was when my sister and I stayed there in 1960.  I wonder if she liked to sew, or if it was a chore she had to tackle each day, and reflect on the limited options she would have had for her adult life.

Sunday breakfast was just too early (I had to get up at 7.30!) and my plans to explore the old part of town were foiled by yet more torrential rain.  I headed for a bright modern shopping centre for some enjoyable browsing and lunch, appreciating just having time on my own.   The afternoon was spent with a lovely family, the children as imaginative and lively as their parents, a dramatherapist and a musician, then a night staying with my oldest pal in her cosy house on the top of a hill.  We talked through our current concerns, with another bottle of wine, falling into bed with the wonderful prospect of Monday morning without work, possibly the single best thing about retirement.    The weather had improved and I spent a peaceful half-hour listening to the birds and the susurrus of the leaves, walking up to where my parents are buried, on a slope overlooking the village where my mother grew up.  It was just the kind of day they would have enjoyed, Mum getting out into the garden to do some tidying, Dad off to the golf range......
For me, now, there's a calm peacefulness now where there used to be pain and grief.

I eventually set off for home, thinking how fortunate I was to have the car.  Cannyrob selflessly travelled to the rugby international in Edinburgh by bus (a five hour return trip).  Now if we'd had the campervan.....we think this one is small enough to use as a second car.   And I'm back on the open road theme again.  We've now made a booking to rent a Volkswagen T5 California Ocean the first weekend in April.

Glad to get back to my Tuesday art classes again after a break over Christmas and New Year. Tackling oil paints is challenging, but really enjoyable.  I've bought pretty much everything I need, causing some hilarity in class when I took out my new double dipper (large, as recommended, but not that large, apparently) and my palette knife (I'm useless at metric, especially online) which could be used by a plasterer.  However, I have completed a first still life.

See my Sketchbook at the top of the blog for recent drawings.

Santa's fairy paints her nails

It's been a while since I've written.  Christmas seemed too big and unwieldy a topic, and, anyway, I was too busy getting ready for it to write. However, an item on BBC Woman's Hour  about the 'emotional work' women do - caring for someone ill, managing family life - especially at Christmas, making sure cards are written, food is bought in etc., stayed on my mind.  My mother loved Christmas, but ran herself ragged with shopping, wrapping, baking, cooking and festooning the house with fairy lights.  On the day itself, she never sat down, constantly checking on the food, catering for a growing extended family, often ending up with a nosebleed.

I think I have inherited some of her traits, along with two sets of her fairy lights, and used to find family Christmases quite stressful, wanting to get everything right.  The years when the children were young were quite magical in their own way, and yet that emotional work did take its toll.  In my teaching days, breaking up at the end of term usually coincided with a cold!   This year, with both of us retired, shopping - for presents, the tree, food - was quite leisurely and the responsibility for making it a happy time shared.  Visits to relatives and friends were planned well ahead, with a couple of nights in a budget hotel making the travelling easier.  I felt really calm, reflecting on my previous tendency to set myself unrealistic deadlines e.g. making all our cards, knitting or sewing projects started too late...........Putting decorations away, holding our fairy doll (made by me forty years ago), I suddenly remembered being eight and out in the dark wearing my ballet dress with tinsel wings and a crown.  I was to be Santa's Fairy at a party for under fives. Dim lights and jingle bells set the scene and the children seemed happy to accept me (feeling I really had been endowed with some of Santa's magic) and the parcels I gave out.  That was definitely a satisfying piece of emotional work.

I also remember the let-down when the festivities were over.  Aged three, I sobbed inconsolably when I realised that it would be a whole YEAR until Christmas came again.  I remember the flatness of those first January days, writing the same resolutions in my diary

I resolve not to talk so much

I resolve not to bite my nails

I resolve to help more at home

I resolve to do my homework 

I'm not sure I had much success with any of these, although I no longer bite my nails and I don't have homework any more.   The post-festive angst was avoided completely this year by flying off to the Canary Islands as soon as the decorations were stowed back in the loft.  Sunshine and blue skies were a treat after the dark rainy days of winter in Scotland.   A week later, it feels good to be home again, even though it is cold and icy.  Last night we had a power cut, so it was truly dark outside.  Our toddler grandson, who already loves the moon, was entranced by the myriad stars.  "Amazing!" he said.

I always intended to have a fashion/beauty element in this blog, and I have a good product to share this time. I had fun on holiday painting my nails with this great varnish (my husband is just too good at sourcing presents!)  I do not have nice nails, but this Ciaté polish in Starlet, an amazing blue/green/purple, goes on smoothly and sort of fades at the edges rather than chipping.  I have a lot of reject nail polish bottles which disappointed from the start, some cheap, others expensive.  Price doesn't guarantee quality. Ciaté products are around £9.00 but they have offers.
https://www.ciatelondon.com

Two of my heroes died this week, David Bowie and Alan Rickman, both such brilliant, seemingly ageless artists.  It is a memento mori when near-contemporaries go, hard to accept that they are just not there any more.

Time to get on with living life to the full, not assuming that there will always be next week, next month, next year.

Santa's fairy paints her nails

It's been a while since I've written.  Christmas seemed too big and unwieldy a topic, and, anyway, I was too busy getting ready for it to write. However, an item on BBC Woman's Hour  about the 'emotional work' women do - caring for someone ill, managing family life - especially at Christmas, making sure cards are written, food is bought in etc., stayed on my mind.  My mother loved Christmas, but ran herself ragged with shopping, wrapping, baking, cooking and festooning the house with fairy lights.  On the day itself, she never sat down, constantly checking on the food, catering for a growing extended family, often ending up with a nosebleed.

I think I have inherited some of her traits, along with two sets of her fairy lights, and used to find family Christmases quite stressful, wanting to get everything right.  The years when the children were young were quite magical in their own way, and yet that emotional work did take its toll.  In my teaching days, breaking up at the end of term usually coincided with a cold!   This year, with both of us retired, shopping - for presents, the tree, food - was quite leisurely and the responsibility for making it a happy time shared.  Visits to relatives and friends were planned well ahead, with a couple of nights in a budget hotel making the travelling easier.  I felt really calm, reflecting on my previous tendency to set myself unrealistic deadlines e.g. making all our cards, knitting or sewing projects started too late...........Putting decorations away, holding our fairy doll (made by me forty years ago), I suddenly remembered being eight and out in the dark wearing my ballet dress with tinsel wings and a crown.  I was to be Santa's Fairy at a party for under fives. Dim lights and jingle bells set the scene and the children seemed happy to accept me (feeling I really had been endowed with some of Santa's magic) and the parcels I gave out.  That was definitely a satisfying piece of emotional work.

I also remember the let-down when the festivities were over.  Aged three, I sobbed inconsolably when I realised that it would be a whole YEAR until Christmas came again.  I remember the flatness of those first January days, writing the same resolutions in my diary

I resolve not to talk so much

I resolve not to bite my nails

I resolve to help more at home

I resolve to do my homework 

I'm not sure I had much success with any of these, although I no longer bite my nails and I don't have homework any more.   The post-festive angst was avoided completely this year by flying off to the Canary Islands as soon as the decorations were stowed back in the loft.  Sunshine and blue skies were a treat after the dark rainy days of winter in Scotland.   A week later, it feels good to be home again, even though it is cold and icy.  Last night we had a power cut, so it was truly dark outside.  Our toddler grandson, who already loves the moon, was entranced by the myriad stars.  "Amazing!" he said.

I always intended to have a fashion/beauty element in this blog, and I have a good product to share this time. I had fun on holiday painting my nails with this great varnish (my husband is just too good at sourcing presents!)  I do not have nice nails, but this Ciaté polish in Starlet, an amazing blue/green/purple, goes on smoothly and sort of fades at the edges rather than chipping.  I have a lot of reject nail polish bottles which disappointed from the start, some cheap, others expensive.  Price doesn't guarantee quality. Ciaté products are around £9.00 but they have offers.
https://www.ciatelondon.com

Two of my heroes died this week, David Bowie and Alan Rickman, both such brilliant, seemingly ageless artists.  It is a memento mori when near-contemporaries go, hard to accept that they are just not there any more.

Time to get on with living life to the full, not assuming that there will always be next week, next month, next year.

From Paris to Penguins

Recently I had a most enjoyable weekend celebrating my birthday.  Strangely, after many years when birthdays seemed largely irrelevant, and even slightly embarrassing, it now seems good to have made it through another year.  Because I planned the weekend instead of waiting for someone else to suggest doing something, I spent it with people I wanted to see and spoke to others who were further away.  It felt really good to have fun and celebrate lasting relationships.

However, there was a grim backdrop to the festivities - the dreadful carnage and terror in Paris, a city close to home where we spent Easter Weekend, a familiar place, now on the list of atrocities carried out by a group of people known by several names.  I've been trying to work out what to call them, listening to broadcasters and politicians. Islamic State, Isis and Isil all seem to carry some suggestion of legality, of statehood.  Apparently, Daesh is disliked by the terrorists.  An Arabic acronym, it can also be an insult which can mean 'to trample and crush' or 'a bigot who imposes his views on others'. This name has been used by Hollande and Obama since the Paris attacks.  Today, I kept hearing the term caliphate used, with pictures of troops marching in Raqqa.

I still don't know what to call them, or what should be done.  As a child born into post-war austerity, I grew up with bomb sites, railings cut down to stumps for munitions and an awareness of what a terrible time it had been for my parents.  Later, I learned about the first world war, and how lucky both my grandfathers had been to survive it.  As a teenager, I became aware of the threat of nuclear war, with talks at school about how to build a shelter under the stairs, then the Cuban missile crisis and that day when we thought the world might end.  I joined CND (I'm still a member) and have consistently opposed all the wars to which the UK has sent troops.  I feel the same this time - although an enemy which defies identification and strikes where least expected is almost impossible to engage with.  It has young people willing to die in suicide vests.  Bombing will inevitably result in civilian deaths.  I've just been listening to Emile Zola's Blood, Sex and Money  (BBC radio adaptation of his novels) in which ordinary people try to bring about social change through fighting.  It always ends in death and tears.

 I suppose getting older and having lived through decades of history, several things happen.  You know you don't want to wear or furnish your home with anything 'retro' or 'vintage'.  You realise that no-one learns from history and that most things that happen have happened before.  I feel my world has shrunk a little.  I am very unlikely to travel to India or South America, primarily because of health issues, although holidays in the Canaries and Seattle are planned for 2016.  I spend my time doing things that make me happy (art classes, knitting, shopping. and drumming) and being with my family and close friends.  Of course I still care about what goes in the wider world and do what I can to help.

As well as CND, I'm a member of Amnesty and support several charities, I sign petitions, vote in elections and read the The Guardian and The Observer.  I listen to news and discussion on the radio. But what I love most is to be in the moment, with my little grandson, seeing the world through his eyes.  The moon is a thing of wonder to him just now, as he sees it change shape as the days pass. I'm glad he's not old enough to have seen and understood  John Lewis' Christmas advert about the man on the moon.  Last year's penguin one was so much better.  This year I bought myself a Christmas jumper (a new departure).  It has penguins on it.

From Paris to Penguins

Recently I had a most enjoyable weekend celebrating my birthday.  Strangely, after many years when birthdays seemed largely irrelevant, and even slightly embarrassing, it now seems good to have made it through another year.  Because I planned the weekend instead of waiting for someone else to suggest doing something, I spent it with people I wanted to see and spoke to others who were further away.  It felt really good to have fun and celebrate lasting relationships.

However, there was a grim backdrop to the festivities - the dreadful carnage and terror in Paris, a city close to home where we spent Easter Weekend, a familiar place, now on the list of atrocities carried out by a group of people known by several names.  I've been trying to work out what to call them, listening to broadcasters and politicians. Islamic State, Isis and Isil all seem to carry some suggestion of legality, of statehood.  Apparently, Daesh is disliked by the terrorists.  An Arabic acronym, it can also be an insult which can mean 'to trample and crush' or 'a bigot who imposes his views on others'. This name has been used by Hollande and Obama since the Paris attacks.  Today, I kept hearing the term caliphate used, with pictures of troops marching in Raqqa.

I still don't know what to call them, or what should be done.  As a child born into post-war austerity, I grew up with bomb sites, railings cut down to stumps for munitions and an awareness of what a terrible time it had been for my parents.  Later, I learned about the first world war, and how lucky both my grandfathers had been to survive it.  As a teenager, I became aware of the threat of nuclear war, with talks at school about how to build a shelter under the stairs, then the Cuban missile crisis and that day when we thought the world might end.  I joined CND (I'm still a member) and have consistently opposed all the wars to which the UK has sent troops.  I feel the same this time - although an enemy which defies identification and strikes where least expected is almost impossible to engage with.  It has young people willing to die in suicide vests.  Bombing will inevitably result in civilian deaths.  I've just been listening to Emile Zola's Blood, Sex and Money  (BBC radio adaptation of his novels) in which ordinary people try to bring about social change through fighting.  It always ends in death and tears.

 I suppose getting older and having lived through decades of history, several things happen.  You know you don't want to wear or furnish your home with anything 'retro' or 'vintage'.  You realise that no-one learns from history and that most things that happen have happened before.  I feel my world has shrunk a little.  I am very unlikely to travel to India or South America, primarily because of health issues, although holidays in the Canaries and Seattle are planned for 2016.  I spend my time doing things that make me happy (art classes, knitting, shopping. and drumming) and being with my family and close friends.  Of course I still care about what goes in the wider world and do what I can to help.

As well as CND, I'm a member of Amnesty and support several charities, I sign petitions, vote in elections and read the The Guardian and The Observer.  I listen to news and discussion on the radio. But what I love most is to be in the moment, with my little grandson, seeing the world through his eyes.  The moon is a thing of wonder to him just now, as he sees it change shape as the days pass. I'm glad he's not old enough to have seen and understood  John Lewis' Christmas advert about the man on the moon.  Last year's penguin one was so much better.  This year I bought myself a Christmas jumper (a new departure).  It has penguins on it.

Memento Mori

When I was training as a dramatherapist in the 90's,  and studying Carl Jung's work on symbols, I became interested in Tarot.  Using the first 22 cards, the Major Arcana, representing the journey of life, starting with The Fool and culminating in The World, I studied the images as a means of reflecting on my life. From time to time I still draw a card as a way of exploring my current situation and my feelings about it. This week's is Death, portrayed as a dancing skeleton. Beneath the bony feet, in the moving sea of transition, are green shoots of new growth. Rather than depicting the end of life, it shows the start of a new cycle.  It can represent change, a move from one life stage to another. That's the way I usually interpret it, but this time, death itself seems to be on my mind.  I read obituaries, check the ages - my age, younger?

My generation, baby-boomers, fans of the Who ('hope I die before I get old') saw ourselves as ageless. Now we are old, with a finite lifespan.   More years lived than still to live.   As Terry Pratchett said, So much universe, and so little time. A close friend will turn 70 soon.  Together we've been through having children, major life events, loss of parents. We live in different continents but keep in touch, planning another visit....thinking now we shouldn't put it off. Looking back at old photos, I can't believe 20, 30, 40 years have passed so quickly. 

The other day I came across this website (sponsored by Sun Life)  www.myperfectsendoff.co.uk  It’s a questionnaire in which you answer questions about funeral choices.  I found it made me think about my own death in quite a positive way. I plan to complete it (or something like it) and make sure my family know about it.  I heard a beautiful Scottish tune the other night, The Gentle Air that Wakes me, and added it to my ultimate playlist along with Bob Dylan's Forever Young.

Perhaps I will have many years beyond my approaching three score and ten, in which case there is no pressing need for my detailed plan, but it is good to be prepared. I like this line from Pratchett's Good Omens:

DON'T THINK OF IT AS DYING, says Death, JUST THINK OF IT AS LEAVING EARLY TO AVOID THE RUSH.

If life is a social function which one attends for a while, mine has featured fun with friends from different parts of my life, good food, nice wine, doing quite a few party pieces (singing, acting), enjoying being with the people I love.  Being aware of death makes life more significant.  The moments that make up our days are special, however trivial. My little grandson's latest word, 'lorry', his first haircut, a really good cup of coffee, the last flowers in the garden, putting on my slippers, some liquorice allsorts for later, are some of today's small pleasures.   

What do you think? Should we think more about our inevitable deaths and plan accordingly? Can ageing be a positive experience? Share your thoughts by emailing me directly or leave a comment in the box below.

 

Memento Mori

When I was training as a dramatherapist in the 90's,  and studying Carl Jung's work on symbols, I became interested in Tarot.  Using the first 22 cards, the Major Arcana, representing the journey of life, starting with The Fool and culminating in The World, I studied the images as a means of reflecting on my life. From time to time I still draw a card as a way of exploring my current situation and my feelings about it. This week's is Death, portrayed as a dancing skeleton. Beneath the bony feet, in the moving sea of transition, are green shoots of new growth. Rather than depicting the end of life, it shows the start of a new cycle.  It can represent change, a move from one life stage to another. That's the way I usually interpret it, but this time, death itself seems to be on my mind.  I read obituaries, check the ages - my age, younger?

My generation, baby-boomers, fans of the Who ('hope I die before I get old') saw ourselves as ageless. Now we are old, with a finite lifespan.   More years lived than still to live.   As Terry Pratchett said, So much universe, and so little time. A close friend will turn 70 soon.  Together we've been through having children, major life events, loss of parents. We live in different continents but keep in touch, planning another visit....thinking now we shouldn't put it off. Looking back at old photos, I can't believe 20, 30, 40 years have passed so quickly. 

The other day I came across this website (sponsored by Sun Life)  www.myperfectsendoff.co.uk  It’s a questionnaire in which you answer questions about funeral choices.  I found it made me think about my own death in quite a positive way. I plan to complete it (or something like it) and make sure my family know about it.  I heard a beautiful Scottish tune the other night, The Gentle Air that Wakes me, and added it to my ultimate playlist along with Bob Dylan's Forever Young.

Perhaps I will have many years beyond my approaching three score and ten, in which case there is no pressing need for my detailed plan, but it is good to be prepared. I like this line from Pratchett's Good Omens:

DON'T THINK OF IT AS DYING, says Death, JUST THINK OF IT AS LEAVING EARLY TO AVOID THE RUSH.

If life is a social function which one attends for a while, mine has featured fun with friends from different parts of my life, good food, nice wine, doing quite a few party pieces (singing, acting), enjoying being with the people I love.  Being aware of death makes life more significant.  The moments that make up our days are special, however trivial. My little grandson's latest word, 'lorry', his first haircut, a really good cup of coffee, the last flowers in the garden, putting on my slippers, some liquorice allsorts for later, are some of today's small pleasures.   

What do you think? Should we think more about our inevitable deaths and plan accordingly? Can ageing be a positive experience? Share your thoughts by emailing me directly or leave a comment in the box below.

 

Skipping through the Leaves

Today the streets were full of people in summer clothes - sleeveless dresses, shorts, t-shirts with every sort of sandal and flip-flop.  I was hot in my lightweight jumper, denim jacket, scarf and jeans with socks and trainers, having dressed appropriately for the slightly chilly autumn morning.  That's the trouble with autumn;  you think it has arrived, time to put the heating on and switch the duvets to a higher tog level.  I have even put my sandals and summer shoes away to make way for my boots.  I love boots - buying them, wearing them, stroking them (just weird, mother, according to elder daughter) and admiring them when I stretch my legs out in front of me.  This year I began my boot research early, probably at the end of July.  Magazines have been leading us towards Autumn/Winter for a while and shops have been filling their displays with boots of every kind.  This is good, because some years there are gaps - no ankle boots, no knee boots, no casual boots.  My research suggested that the knee boot was definitely in (I wrote about my first fruitless attempt at boot shopping in Having a Nice Day, 1st September) and that became my focus.  I really like boots - from my white Courreges style ankle boots in the 60's through black patent lace-up platforms when 7 months pregnant to a fabulous red calf-length pair with heels, worn when I danced on a table in a London cafe at an age when I should have known better.  This is my current collection, missing only my Converse Hollis and silver Nike hi-tops, my Ecco walking boots and my navy and white striped wellies.  That's 10 pairs.  Is that a lot? I don't know.  I do wear them all.

my boot collection (new pair third from left)

This season's had to be leather, black and flat, comfortable and practical.  I have to admit here to buying, on impulse a few years back, a beautiful pair of long purple suede boots with a wedge heel and lovely patterned fabric lining.  I couldn't walk in them and they needed a whole 'look' to be created around them.  I kept them on the top shelf of the wardrobe, occasionally taking them out to feel, admire and feel guilty about.  I did think about selling them on ebay but didn't get round to it.  I could have taken them to a charity shop, but I didn't really want anyone else to have them.  In the end, my husband was looking for footwear to take to some event for a good cause, so I said, 'Take them, I won't wear them again.'  They were apparently being sent abroad.  I hope someone, somewhere is enjoying them. Of course, once they were gone, I could allow myself to consider buying a new pair.  Which I have done.  They are lovely soft black leather with nice fabric linings and sensible soles.

www.partydelights.co.uk

As far as I am concerned, summer is over.  It's getting dark at 7pm, the swallows have gone, I've heard some migrating geese and I've swapped my bare legs for thick black tights, meaning  I can stop getting up 5 minutes early to put on the fake tan.  I like the idea of cosy nights in front of the fire, the final cut of the grass and even Hallowe'en, now we have a grandchild to dress up. There is, I understand, a pumpkin costume. Shops are full of spooky themed decorations and sweets.  I've just looked on-line and there is so much you can buy - from really horrible 'bloody body parts' to 'skeleton hand lawn stakes' (glow in the dark)  which would terrify me any time I went outside.   I quite fancy a rather tasteful 'bat string' or some 'family friendly' pumpkin decorations.

Blebo apples

 By then, it will be winter and these Indian summer days will be over.  Till then, I'll enjoy skipping and scuffing through leaves in my new boots, going back to my weekly art class, picking the last of our tomatoes, cooking apples from a friend's trees and getting back to my knitting, like a proper grandma.  Currently I'm finishing off a baby hat, having given up on a patchwork blanket knitted on very small needles in sock wool after my friends pointed out that I'd be 90 by the time I finished it!

http://www.shellykang.com/all-about-the-blankie