Mother’s Day … I wonder?

I’ve been in two minds whether to blog about this. Truth be told, I’m still not sure so I’m typing word by word with no idea if I’ll hit publish at the end of this or not.

Unless you’ve had your head buried in the sand recently, you couldn’t have missed the fact that it’s Mothering Sunday this coming Sunday.

The history of Mothering Sunday is believed to have religious roots.  Most Sundays in the year churchgoers would worship at their nearest parish or “daughter church”. In Victorian times it was considered important for people to return to their home or “mother” church at least once a year, which was commonly thought to be the nearest Cathedral. So each year on the fourth Sunday of Lent, everyone would visit their “mother” church. The return to the “mother” church became an occasion for family reunions when children who were in service away from home returned. The majority of historians think that it was this return to the “Mother” church which led to the tradition of children, particularly those working as domestic servants, or as apprentices, being given the day off to visit their mother and family.

Of course, nowadays, much like Valentine’s day, it’s largely a commercial holiday with retailers telling us to buy everything from hand sanitising lotion (thanks for the heads up on that one Amber) to fossils and every last thing in between as a token of our appreciation for our parents. Turn into the local stationers and you’re bombarded with saccharine sweet cards declaring our love for our Mothers. And most people I know will be buying one with a gift for their mothers and doing something special this Sunday.

I won’t be.

You see, while most of the people I know are pretend moaning about buying cards and presents for their Mums but secretly thinking it’s kind of sweet, I can’t do that. And every time I hear someone talking about what they’ll be doing with their Mums, my heart lurches a little bit, because I know it’s unlikely that I will be able to do that, and that Mothers day, for me, is likely to be the same non-event that it has been for a decade or so.

You see, my Mum suffers from a mental disability. An addiction that led her to make a choice between me and another big love in her life and in my youthful, hot-headed way a number of years ago I decided that I couldn’t spend my life playing second fiddle to her addictions. It’s not a choice I regret but it makes me feel a little sad and a little wistful knowing that while other sons and daughters are celebrating what their parents have done and have sacrificed to give them a decent start in life, my Mum wouldn’t do that. That I wasn’t reason enough to battle for and  to know I will never be able to celebrate her in that way. While it was my choice to walk away from it and chose to live my own life, it’s a twist of the knife to know that I had to make that choice, to know that I couldn’t have my own life and a loving mother, and to know that I will never be able to join in the celebrations.

I won’t rant about how wrong it is to celebrate Mother’s day just because a minority of us can’t do so. It’s a day to celebrate your Mother (and historically your family) and that’s a joyful thing. So I say go wild. Remember every damned thing your Mother has ever done to make you happy and then mutiply it by 10, because that’s probably closer to the truth. Forget the arguments, the niggles and the tiny things that annoy you about your Mum … because they don’t matter. Imagine what it would be like to spend every single day for the rest of your life without her … and the emotional devatation you can imagine is the the mirror to how much you really love her. Hold onto those thoughts and when you see your Mum on Sunday, don’t just give her a bunch of flowers and a hug … TELL HER how much you lover her, how much you appreciate her and how much she’s one of the best things in your life. Don’t let her go without knowing all the things you love about her from the way she smells to the way she dances when she thinks no-one’s watching .

But being in the situation I am, makes me consider other people, who through no choice of their own don’t have a Mother with whom they can celebrate either. People who’ve lost their family through any kind of tragedy. Being subjected to the endless barage of advertising is going to hurt  as much as the knowledge that the day is one that we are now and will forever be excluded from that special relationship and celebration. So as you consider your maternal relationships on Sunday and spend a little time with the ones you love, just spare a little thought for those of us who won’t be.

Tags: Blood Is Thicker Than Water, Emotion Is A Rollercoaster That's Jumped off The Tracks

I’m Big, I’m Bold, I’m 30 and I’m Beautiful

Ya, you read it right. It’s like a miracle that came out of nowhere. Or more specifically came out of a conspiracy between my sister and a photographic studio in Cheltenham. After finishing at the 9-5 (or thereabouts) I grabbed the dogs, leapt into the car and whizzed through torrential rain and snow (snow!?) to Cheltenham for the viewing of my birthday photo shoot from last week.

I was nervous. Being in front of the camera is not my favourite location. I feel naked and vulnerable, and having consoled myself with chocolate brownies after my Dad passed away, was more than aware that I’m not currently looking my best. I was expecting to look acceptable but I’d figured beautiful was an option that had leapt out of the window to save itself a long time back.

The first few photos that came on screen were family shots of us and the hounds, and were lovely momentoes of the day. They were bright and bubbly and fun. Pictures of a family that were happy and loved each other. It couldn’t fail to make you smile.

… and then the photos seagued into the individual shots. I was dreading it. My hands had already crept up to my face, ready to cover my eyes and my heart was beating ten to the dozen. And then THEY appeared and my breath stopped for a moment. I blinked. I shook my head and I heard myself say ‘Oh My God, I never knew I could look like that’ and there it was. There were three. One was cute, and cuddly and wintry and warm and one was all wild eyes and sexy (Me! Imagine that!) and then there was THE ONE. It didn’t have the definable fun factor or sexy elements that the other two did but it had a something that caught me perfectly. It was slightly sultry, mysterious with a hint of my mind’s on other things. It looked on the outside the way I felt on the inside. It’s a work of art.

THEN we got to sis’s shots. Christ she’s photogenic, although she’d never believe me. She had a couple of stunning shots but she too had a ONE and it’s fabulous. Despite her preoccupation with being perfectly coiffed all the time (Joan Collins, eat your heart out) her amazing picture had a really grungy, moody element to it. Almost slightly dark and dangerous. Like you could imagine a classy Courtney Love in a ballgown, leaning against a brick wall in an alley on her way to the Oscars, ready for a dangerous rendezvous. It’s the sort of image that seems to talk to you; it challenges you to try and take her on, provokes you to try with the knowledge she could squash you like a bug. It suits her. It suits the conversation we had over dinner after the shoot.

As well as a beautiful reminder of a fabulous day, the pictures are more than that. Amongst them, there is not only a tale of our relationship but a reminder to us, of who and what we are. Lest we ever forget.

Tags: Blood Is Thicker Than Water, Emotion Is A Rollercoaster That's Jumped off The Tracks, Things That Are So Beautiful They Make Me Want To Sit Down And Cry

Shifting Sands

I woke up today and decided my attitude needed a shift.

I had a rough few weeks a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been feeling a little sorry for myself on and off ever since. Self-pity just isn’t my bag. Like flourescent yellow, it just doesn’t suit me. Some things I wanted didn’t turn out how I hoped and because I really DID want them, I grumped about it. ‘I want’ piled on top of ‘I want’ and the wants got drowned in the ‘you can’t always have what you wants’. Life became an emotional laundry hamper, and I was all set for a turn through the wringer… until I woke up.

The wake up call was a couple of friends who were going through respective tough times, and it made me realise that whatever was going on in my life, I only had to look back a couple of years to see how far things had come for me. Financially, emotionally, spiritually. It had all changed, and for the better. Myself of three years ago was a shadow of who I am now, and an even fainter imprint of the me I will be in a couple more years.

I’ve regained much of the strength I had and lost. The strength that is perhaps still missing has been patched with courage, and perhaps holds stronger as a result. I once again have faith, and hope. I have belief, in MYSELF where once I had none and my patience and tolerance grow incrementally every day. Slowly I am finding my voice. Sometimes it’s more raucous and louder than I mean it to be, and sometimes when inside my head is screaming for a witty riposte, my voice is less than the quietest whisper, but somewhere in the Universe I’m finding my place.

There was a time in my life, where I was the eccentric one. I wandered about with flowers in my hair and cameras in my hands and little else seemed to matter. I turned up to parties in bare feet. I wandered streets at night because they were different then and I needed to SEE. But my inner and outer selves didn’t mesh. I was a walking example of Cartier Bresson when he called artists liars by omission. My life was a lie of omission because what I was on the inside wasn’t what sat on the outside. My exterior was creative, interesting and eccentric but it didn’t begin to express the complexities that sat under the surface, waiting for a voice.

For a period, at my lowest ebb, I denied those complexities not only their voice but their existence. I was told that I couldn’t be that person and for a while I tried to forget that person I’d been and those things I’d felt and known so deeply that they were a part of me. But I couldn’t always deny them and sooner or later they would surface again and needle at me until one day early on last year, I made a conscious choice to express the elements of me that had lain so far under the surface, and to have faith in myself and my direction in life. I’m now a qualified Reiki Practitioner and I practice all the time. I’ve never had so much fun and being able to express myself in a new way is a constant surprise and delight to me. I speak about experiences and emotions I would never have touched on before. I’m not afraid to try things that are a little unusual.

My current profession, with all it’s irritations and frustrations has also been an eye opening experience for me. It has opened me to people who believe all sorts of things with varying degrees of vehemence and cynicism. It has given me time and space to realise that my own perceptions are not so far removed from reality as I feared and I have learnt to speak of them in a way that is approachable and balanced. Slowly as a child building a vocabulary for the first time, I am building my own vocabulary and learning to speak without fear of mockery but with confidence, assurance and faith in myself.

Last week, I was looking at my life and wondering why things never seemed to go my way, but when I look back and see how far I’ve come, I have to admit that my life is pretty damned amazing right now. No, it’s not perfect. I don’t have much money and I’d rather be working for myself doing something jaw-dropping but all in all it’s good. It’s somewhere I can be happy and something I can build from to make my dreams, gigantic as they are, a reality. There is magic in the air and beginnings sit like a fizzing taste on my tongue. I wonder what this year will really bring?

Tags: Emotion Is A Rollercoaster That's Jumped off The Tracks, What Am I Going To Do With My Life

Working it out

This morning, I was woken by a wet nose in my ear as my dog decided it was time for me to wake up, and I’d been lying in for far too long and I found myself springing out of bed like a gazelle. Not, for once, for fear of what the dogs would do if I didn’t but because I felt energetic. I don’t know about other people, but I find that whenever I am overcome by emotion, be it for good or for bad, once I have settled a bit, I always have a lot of energy left over, and being a practical sort, rather than go out for a ride or a walk, I chanelled my energy into some of the things around the house I’ve been meaning to do for ages and somehow never quite got round to.

Post snow, Somerset decided that a nice winter storm was clearly the way to blow out the cobwebs and provided us with an enchanting performance on Friday night around midnight as I huddled in bed listening to (and feeling) the howling wind and listening to the rain splatter against the windows. It really opened my eyes to the draughts in older houses. After draught proofing the gaps in the doors and windows, I decided the gaps at the bottom of the door needed serious tackling and a draught excluder was called for.

Being a thrifty sort, I was loath to pay for one, so I looked up ideas on the internet, and decided that it looked so painfully simple that even I could tackle it without hesitation. I had a hunt through my fabric chest and noticed a couple of old pillowcases that didn’t match anything and decided that it was the perfect lazy woman’s solution. I took the pillow case, turned it inside out and sewed a line stright down the middle. Since I was using gingham, I already had a straight line mapped out for me so it really couldn’t have been easier. After stuffing it with old bits of unused fabric, I sewed up the end et voila:

Blue Gingham Draught Excluder

Since I was in a sewing mood, anyway, I decided that it was about time I got around to making cushion covers for some more of the cushion inserts that were lurking in my trunk so I picked out a few choice scraps (see if you can guess which one used to be a pair of curtains) and made up a couple, using the envelope technique from Kirsty’s homemade home, which is much quicker and easier than bothering with zips and the like.

Handmade Cushions

After all the hauling around of furniture that occurred on Friday, I have a serious yen to get my bedroom finally finished so tomorrow will be a mad whirling experience of smartwear buying (ick), painting and general creativity but I promise to post some pics as soon as we’re all done.

I’ve also finally sanded back and waxed the windowframe I’ll be using for my headboard and am just waiting to hear from a friend with a handy drill and wire locating device to give me a hand putting it up (it’s big, okay?). Hang fire, the end result is a secret until it’s up and finished but seriously, it looks FABULOUS. I’m so proud.

Tags: Emotion Is A Rollercoaster That's Jumped off The Tracks, Some days I wish I hadn't got out of bed

Courage is not knowing enough to be scared

Sometimes, when the sh*t hits the fan, all you can do is power on through it until you come out the other side. People, quite often, wonder how you got through it and fill you chock full of compliments on your bravery and courage but the truth is quite often less glamorous.

A while ago I found myself in a very difficult and quite long-lasting personal situation. Various friends and acquaintances commented on my strength of character at such a stressful and traumatic time but the truth was that I was already halfway through the situation before I realised how bad it was. If I could have seen exactly what it would have been like before I got into it, I’m not entirely convinced that I would have emerged the other side.While I like the admiration and the compliments on my character and actions, I know the rather unglamorous truth but rather than making me feel depressed that I don’t necessarily live up to what others think of me, I find quite inspiring.

An acquaintance recently told me that if people who knew the all the ins and outs of things they embarked on, they would probably never do them. His view is that when you know something inside out, with every possibility and ramification, you see too many possibilities for failure so you either never take the risk or you become so fixated on the possible failures that you end up failing. I could see his point.

Sometimes, it’s ok to jump in without knowing every last thing. To fire ahead with vision and determination and overcome problems as they appear rather than trying to analyse every blip on the horizon. Sometimes you have to just get your feet wet and say ‘why the hell not?’.

So here’s to sponenaity and here’s to taking a risk – because sometimes your attitude will get you further than the facts will.

Tags: Emotion Is A Rollercoaster That's Jumped off The Tracks