Press the RESET Button

Leek and Potato Soup (Image from Here)

Usually I have a good idea what I am going to say when I write a blog post, but not today, and there is a reason for that.

I've had a cold.

Not your average, runny nose, Nightnurse-doseable kinda cold.  No, this has been like swimming through soup.  Not a nice, clear consomme either.  We are talking leek and potato here.  I've been so ill, I've barely got out of bed for a week and that, even for me, is pretty extreme. I've still got a fruity cough, and a raspy voice so deep I could hire myself out to voice-over action movie trailers, but I think I'm over the worst now.

Being me, I like to look on the bright side however.  And there is a bright side, not least that I actually survived the bloody thing which, at one point, I was seriously praying that I wouldn't!  My brain has turned to porridge, I'm completely disoriented, and I have no idea where I am, not geographically but psychologically.  And part of the recovery process is exactly that - recovering myself.  I've been floating in a sea of greeny-grey guck, blind and deaf to anything but pure 'getting through'.

I've got a few days of silence to come over the Easter period, and being a bit more compos mentis, I feel like I can use the time in a constructive way to ground myself once more in where I am and where I want to be.  Something of a retreat, really.

Sometimes, life forces you to press the RESET button, makes you stop and go back to somewhere near the start, remember who you are and what you want.  And while I would rather not have the hacking cough, I think I'm rather glad to have the RESET button, because it's always good to do a little grounding now and again.

(There, something coherent came out in the wash.  I knew it would.)

Good Day, Bad Day.

Yesterday started off really well. No, wonderfully, actually.  I found out that one of my stories posted on Fanfiction.com had received over 46,000 hits!  I mean, 46,000!  Thats half Wembly stadium!

I was like that ball thing that Will Smith lets loose by accident in 'Men In Black', the one that pings and bounces around the lab at a million miles an hour!  All day I kept catching myself saying '46,000 readers!'.

Lots of other good things happened too.  It was beautifully sunny.  The new digibox was delivered, and its great.  I was well enough to drive myself into Norwich to my counselling appointment, and even do a bit of shopping.  I was so happy.

Then I came home and checked my email.  There was a cruel one from someone close to me.  This person has hurt me badly.  I don't know why.  I tried not to let it spoil my day.  Pat took me out to the pub to celebrate.  I didn't feel much like celebrating, even though I felt like all my hard work has finally begun to pay off, and I can hold my head high among other writers at last.  I don't have to apologise for being myself anymore.  Except to this one person.  I know I shouldn't allow them to get to me.  Partly, it is because I don't know why they are behaving in this way because they won't tell me.  And partly, it is because I just want to be loved - don't we all?

And then I heard the Universe speak.

I was flipping through last weekend's Telegraph magazine and I found this quote from Armistead Maupin:

"My life is full of love; I designed it that way.  I try to make my own experience about love and I look for kindness and tenderness in others...That's the thing I value the most: it will get you through everything."

I can't stop this person behaving cruelly to me.  But I can choose the way I respond.  I can choose to believe the 46,000 readers, and not the one email correspondent.  I can design a life that is full of love.

You might also like to read this from Keri Smith.

Skein

snow geese in flight

This morning I dropped Pat off at the bus stop in the village, and as I was driving back, I saw a skein of geese crossing the sky.  I was on the farm track, so I pulled over and watched.  They were flying in a 'v' shape that undulated and shimmered.  Sometimes they would disappear into the grey sky as they changed direction slightly, and the white tips of their wings showed.  They would jumble up and reorganise.  And flap doggedly on.  They've come so far.  I can't believe they are finally here.  It means Spring is coming.  There is a primrose out in the front garden, and the japonica is covered in fat, blood-red buds.  The world is coming alive again.

My Nieces Love Me!

Yes, I have two wonderful nieces who are not only very talented, but also know and understand me exceptionally well.  Which is presumably why this morning in the post, these arrived:

Amigurumi John and Sherlock by Phoebe Grassby

Made by my nimble fingered niece, Phoebe, here are John and Sherlock, amigurumi style.  I love the way they are wearing little handcuffs, as in the last episode of Season Two - sniff!  You can buy Phoebe's patterns at her Etsy shop here.

And Phoebe's twin sister Amelia is also creative.  And knows me worryingly well.  This is what she sent me for Christmas:

Handmade Benny Calendar by Amelia Wray

 Yes, she made it herself.  It must have taken her ages to write out all the days and draw all those lines, and they are HAND done, no computing here, thank you.

And this is my birthday month.   Of course, what else?

Handmade Benny Calendar by Amelia Wray

Thank you my darlings, you make me feel so wonderful! 

Thirty Years

My Parents Wedding, September 1956

My dad died thirty years ago today.  Most people only get one dad, but I've been lucky enough to have two wonderful ones, and I am remembering them both today with smiles.

My mother and I with my 'Wicked' stepfather, Peter

It came in the post today!

Just when you figure life is full of lemons, (even if they are travelling lemons), something like this happens.  This morning I was half way through today's writing - just over 3.300 words and still counting -  when this turned up on the post:

'Go Away I'm writing' bag by What The Dickens

How good is that, guys?  Many thanks to my splendiferous friend Sara for thinking of me. xxx

Oh, and a note to Claudina: I tried to take a photo of the spangley sequin mini skirt so I could show you, because as you say, it is very jolly, but the sequins are black, and it didn't come out.  So you'll just have to imagine me in a black, spangley, and very jolly sequin mini skirt.  Sorry.

Clear Blue View

I'm going to talk about something people don't usually mention.

I'm 44 years old and I'm three weeks late.

Yep, not good.

So last night, my husband and I had 'The Talk'.  The one where we hunker down and go through the ramifications of what we are going to do IF.  Even though we both know there is no IF, because rationally, for reasons I shall not go into for fear of making you, and him, blush, it just ain't possible.  But the fact remains that I am late.  And three weeks for me is a seriously big deal.  You are talking to the woman who, throughout her twenties, could time her periods by her watch.  Every fourth Thursday, 10am.  Clockwork.  Even when I was anorexic.  Never missed a bloody one, even when I was six and a half stone.  Never had a scare that was any longer than four days.  Never.

And then we went down to the 24 hour supermarket and bought a pregnancy test.

(Which would have been fine if we hadn't bumped into an old acquaintence at the checkout, and believe you me, when you are 44 and 3 weeks late, you don't want to be caught with a Clearview pack at 8pm in Tesco by someone you haven't seen in 10 years, and who has a basket full of Johnsons baby wipes because they've just had their THIRD!)

And then did the three minutes of sweating and waiting for the test to prove NEGATIVE, just as we knew it would.

And then we were both sad.

Not that we in any way regret the choice of being childfree that life has dealt us.  I know that being a mother is just not right for me, not simply because of my health, but because of my temperament.  I don't have the patience or the interest, and I am terrified of schools.  But still.  It might have been my last chance.  And thats a very miserable thought.

So now I am 44 years old and 3 weeks late and definitely NOT pregnant (but mourning very slightly).  Which can only mean one thing:

MENOPAUSE

And believe me, I am just not, in any way, shape or form, ready for that.  I dye my hair, for Gods' sake.  I am in total denial of my wrinkles and age spots, and the fact that I can remember the Winter of Discontent and the drought of 1976.  I just bought a sequinned mini skirt!  This can't be happening!  Pregnancy would have been a picnic by comparison! (And before you go wondering about my health and all the other things that could make me miss, let me put your mind at rest.  I'm pretty sure that it can't be something nasty in that particular woodshed because menopause comes pretty early amongst the women in my family.  But I will get it checked, just to put your mind at ease.)  So here I am, curled up on the sofa, waiting for Mr Flow to come to town, and having a mid-life crisis.