To quote Queen Elizabeth II, this has definitely been my annus horribilis. 2017 will go down as my worst vintage since 1998. The end just cannot come quickly enough.
At the end of each year I look back at the highlights of the year and while there were a few, the misery of the year just dulls whatever light they added. The Universe has delivered yet another kick to the balls for my hope to get back to Scotland. It feels like there’s no air left in my world right now; just crushing disappointment and the possibility that I need to let the dream die. Then knowing that if I let the dream die, I’ll need to make peace with making my current situation permanent and I’d rather ram a bamboo shoot under all my finger nails than agree to that. My stubbornness won’t let me make peace with that.
I’ve searched for balance this year and for the most part have been able to maintain a level of it but the last half of this year has tested my resolve beyond the limits. I’ve finally reached that limit. It feels like something inside has snapped and I’m rip-someone’s-spine-out angry.
We each bring a ‘weapon’ into this world. It’s the character trait that sees us through difficult times. Your ‘weapon’ can be your unfailing optimism, sheer stubbornness or just eternal hope that doesn’t waver in times of trouble. My ‘weapon’ has been my work ethic; the mindset that no matter how crazy things get, I can push through and deliver in the end. For the first time in my life I’m considering forfeit; just running up the white flag and saying ‘enough, I’m done.’ It’s just not worth it anymore. The prize for winning the battle is just another battle because the winners fight the next round. I’m tired and another year is ending with no hope on the horizon of the scenery changing. The horizon is just a pile of battles that still need to be dealt with and no mention of reinforcements.
Upheaval saps your energy and when there’s no time to devote to restoring that energy, it drains away taking everything with it. Higher energy brings higher things into your life and low energy brings low-energy things to your life. The past few weeks have drained what was left of my energy and all that’s left is total bedlam and no will to fight it.
There’s a time to look for the positives and there’s a time to grieve. Every day I look at the Saltire hanging on my wall and tell myself ‘soon.’ Reality is running on a different script of ‘never’ and still I cannot make myself take it down, fold it up and put it away. Holding onto that tiny speck of hope that I’ll get home is what makes this place bearable.
This is the second holiday hurricane for me. Ophelia blew into town so the day was spent under a blankie with a book, cheese, crackers and a whiskey.
My room has skylights so I lay on the sofa under the skylights watching the leaves blow overhead. There were a few crunching noises so it sounds like a few trees have succumbed to gravity. Guess we’ll see what that looks like tomorrow…
The Irish are taking it all in stride with declarations of ‘aye, it’ll be grand. I have a tractor to move the trees so no worries about the roads!’ The roads around the farm are quite similar to the ones around Kilcrohane – narrow as heck and LOTS OF TREES! Should be an interesting day tomorrow. Until then, I’m thanking all the gods that buildings here are made of stone and aren’t likely to blow off into the blue yonder any time soon. And if they do, we have a tractor.
Another pile of paperwork has been flung into the void in an attempt to get my name updated in all the official places. When I opted to change my name last year, it was to ditch all the baggage that was tied to it. All the misery and heartbreak that came wrapped up in that name. It never once occurred to me that trying to be more myself would be such a barrier to living the life I want in the place I need to be.
Had I known that going back to Scotland would have meant keeping a name I hated, which would I have chosen? Every week that passes makes it harder to believe I’ll ever get home. I used to share my dream with my family and friends and one by one, most of them have told me to let it go. So the dream goes back in the box when I’m around them, while I paste a plastic smile on my face pretending it doesn’t matter. To the 4 people who are helping me keep the faith, I love you guys to death and you’ll never know how much it means that you still believe in me.
It’s at the point now where I need to choose where to spend my energy. I can spend it on fighting for the what-feels-like-the-impossible dream, or I can spend it around people who drain my will to keep going. So to the people who have constantly told me to ‘let it go’, I will. I’m letting go of being your shoulder, your sounding board, the repository of your secrets and drama. I’m letting go of endlessly nursing your broken dreams and moving my energy back into nursing my own. While it might sound brutal, it’s very necessary. If it can’t be a two-way street, then it can’t be a street at all.
So before you give someone some well-meaning advice advising them to give up something that matters to them, take a minute to consider how it would feel if someone told you to abandon your dreams. If it doesn’t feel good hearing it, then it sure won’t sound good saying it.
It’s midnight and sleep is just a pipe dream at this point. Houston is being pounded into the ground and there isn’t a damn thing to be done about it.
Meanwhile, life goes on. The odd prayer is flung into the void, and then everyone is back to posting pictures of what they had for dinner; another post about who went to the gym and what times they posted, as if anyone really gives a shit; another cute picture of a dwarf pygmy goat bunny unicorn; and another request of ‘if you’re really my friend, you’ll share this.’
Sure, donate to this, that and the other charity to help Texas, but it doesn’t all go to aid, does it? Nope. Charity CEO’s are pulling in 6 & 7 figure salaries with all the bells and whistles when people are up to their eyeballs in flood water. Yes, there are charities out there helping, but how much more could be done if cash wasn’t being siphoned off to hefty corporate salaries? Yes, people need to be paid, but if you’re a charity, then maybe a bit more giving and a little less taking? No?
People are suffering, clinging onto what’s left of their homes, barely sleeping or eating because every iota of energy is going into surviving the carnage and for the rest of the world, this is just a blip on their social media feed. Sure, a like here, sad face there, offer a prayer up somewhere else, and then it’s back to scrolling through duck pictures and getting into meaningless arguments with people they’ve never met about stuff that probably doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things and posting supposedly funny memes about the devastation. Have a fucking heart! This isn’t some funny meme. People have died. There are probably some who won’t see another sunrise. Others have lost everything. How many won’t have habitable homes for months to come, while still trying to find a way to get to their jobs and keep life moving forward while their sanity circles the drain.
Every day people are opening their homes to people in need, sharing what little they have with strangers, while corporate greed just marches on uninterrupted with token gestures of sympathy. Human spirit will always win in the end. Greed be damned.
Sitting comfortably thousands of miles away from people who matter has never felt more bleak than it does tonight. There’s nothing to be said or done that can ease their burden in this moment. Being in a comfy bed with nothing to stress about feels heartless when so many are literally struggling to stay afloat at Nature’s whim with no idea where they’ll be sleeping in the days and weeks to come.
Tia, hang in there. This will end. It has to. And at some point, all will be normal again. I only wish that point was tonight and this was all over. They make ’em tough in Texas. xx
Turning 40 terrified me. Hell, I had a wobbly when I turned 39! While the popular saying goes ‘life begins at 40,’ it’s probably more accurate to say life changes at 40. Mine changed more than I could ever have imagined it would in 12 short months.
.I stopped waiting for the right time to begin living.
I bought my first home. I shelved needing a Prince Charming to rescue me and became my own hero. It’s probably the single biggest thing I’ve done that makes me feel like a legit grown up. A sanctuary just for me and I love it! It reflects who I am and I don’t need to make any excuses for my taste in weird music and eclectic art and decor. Finally a room just for my books!
I tackled a mini ‘renovation’ – that’s the technical term for the complete disaster that gutted my home. Now it looks fab and WAY better than it did before. It’s more suited to what I need and like.
I sold my first photograph. Someone out there paid money for something I made! Not a lot of money, but that’s not the point. I put my art out there and sold something. YAY!
My first book has begun; it’s coming out of my head slowly and becoming a reality, one page at a time. How long that will take remains to be seen.
Yoga. FINALLY! 20 years of having it near the top of every.single.list and it’s finally happened. It took a long time to realize that waiting until I had a better body before I could start, was both stupid and a complete waste of time. Yoga means starting where you are, now, with what you have. It’s your journey; no 2 yogis will live the same journey and waiting for life to be perfect and the time to be just right is futile. Take time to care for yourself and your body will give you what you need.
Meditation – DO IT. Seriously.
Instead of burying myself under shapeless sweaters, I’ve worn a dress almost every day since turning 40. Dresses make me happy yet I spent years wearing black pants every day. Well enough of that BS, the pants got tossed so now I couldn’t wear them even if I wanted to.
I’ve started growing my own herbs and food, along with an English ‘cottage’ garden. I’ve planted bulbs and perennials and set up feeders and a bird bath to bring birds and critters into my garden. It’s great seeing the chipmunks, birds, butterflies and one seriously chubby squirrel all parked off in my garden like they own the place. Instead of a dead overgrown mess, there’s a slice of tranquility.
I upgraded my job so now I can get the REALLY good scotch! WAHOOOOO!
I’ve rediscovered aromatherapy and restarted my crystal collection. It’s been more than a decade since I did aromatherapy so it’s starting from scratch again. The esoteric side of life was huge for me in England and it slowly disappeared. It’s coming back.
Old friends have resurfaced and it’s been SO good reconnecting with them. Just shows, the really good ones never disappear 🙂
Who knows, maybe before the sun sets on New Year’s Eve 2017, I will have finished the monster puzzle I started in January. The 18,000 piece bookshelf will be an epic statement piece for my library. Sure, I’ll be 41 but I was 40 when I tackled it so it’s going on the scorecard.
While I cannot be somewhere new on my birthday this year, I’ve got a Plan B: a ticket to somewhere new in October. 2 weeks in the middle of Nowhere, Ireland and I CANNOT WAIT! A dose of Celtic magic in the countryside; just me, my camera and hopefully a wee leprechaun to sprinkle some inspiration along the way. My London ‘husband’ will be joining me for a weekend so mayhem and laughs incoming! God, I’d best pack extra whisky… that sheep farm has no idea what’s about to hit it. Best send 2 leprechauns…
It’s time to take my wine outside to celebrate the solstice and contemplate a Midsummer’s dream for a new vintage. Cheers!
Yet another senseless act and 22 more pointless deaths. What for?? The more I try to wrap my head around it, the less I understand. There are so few things that have the capacity to unite people across barriers and beliefs and music is one of those things.
To the families and friends suffering, you have my heartfelt condolences. These words were on a card sent to me many years ago and I came across it today while clearing out. I don’t know who the author is so please forgive me for using their words:
If I could bear the burden of your sorrow, I would.
If I could, but for a minute, take away your pain and make it mine, I would.
If I could tell you that there’s a reason for this, I would.
I would do anything to take away your hurt,
but sometimes the road of life makes inexplicable twists, unfortunate turns and the whole world seems cold and heartless.
I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I can’t shelter you from this
but I want to leave you with this thought.
I am here if you want to talk, if you need to cry, if you can find comfort in sharing silence with me.
The past month has been beyond crazy. I spontaneously decided to buy a house with little to no forethought right before I went on a vacation to Canada. Then right after I got back it was a Thanksgiving road trip over the state line to Milwaukee & a school friend passed away that morning after a 5+ year battle with cancer. He’d just turned 40.
Back from WI, juggling the house purchase, work, month-end, the cold, packing, and it’s all been a bit much.
I’ve convinced myself I can get this done on my own because I’m a big girl. On the inside, all I want is to crawl up in a pair of arms, sob for a while and have someone tell me it’s all going to be ok, while they play with my hair and feed me wine.
Buying a house is about the craziest thing I’ve done because I don’t stay in one place. I move. It’s my thing. This changes that. This is what happens when you binge-watch home renovation programs on Netflix.
It was literally a case of 4 hour ‘Fixer-Upper’ marathon, sitting thinking ‘huh….. I want a new bathroom. I hate my bathroom. I should get a house. Can I buy a house? How much is a house? Will the bank give me money for a house? I should check. Click click to send a query to the bank, 20 mins later a phone call, and 40 mins after that a soft pre-approval offer for how much I could afford.
Went online, found a pretty house, clicked for more info, agent called, nope, wrong area for you lady, but I have these options. Organised a viewing, put an offer on the first one I saw (after viewing 3 others, I went back to house #1), bank owned, they dragged their feet, I got bored, found another house, put in an offer, accepted within the hour. 4 days to get all the paperwork in to the bank because I was going to Canada. What should have taken 2 weeks, the lender turned around in 4 days. God bless that man! A few wobbles while I was in Canada, so some creative problem-solving, juggling paperwork cross-border, god bless Skype and it was sorted.
Done and done. And here we are. Zero planning and I’m going to be a home-owner in 2 weeks.
So in a nutshell, my $9.99 monthly subscription to Netflix caused me to buy a house. Well damn Skippy…. I need a drink. Could not make this shit up.
I started this blog at the end of last year, after I had my hysterectomy. A few weeks before that, I’d taken a trip to Scotland, but never recorded the details of that trip on this blog.
So I’ve gone back and done that. I’ve published it on the dates it happened, so back in November 2015. Looking through the photos and remembering the details of it all has made me both happy and sad.
Happy to remember the absolutely incredible experiences; sad to know that I’m not there right now. Tomorrow it’s off to the Consulate to take care of my legal name change so I can get my South African papers updated.
Once that is done, I can hopefully reapply for my UK visa and go home to Scotland. It might take 6 months, it might take a year. The Saffas work on Africa time – it will be done when it’s done.
If the prize is going home, I can be patient. Maybe.
Last week in my quest to find creative storage solutions, I came across Marie Kondo’s book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing. It was on special on Kindle, so of course, I had to have it.
Well, hot damn. Let me tell ya, halfway into Chapter 2 all I wanted to do was tidy up.
Now, a word of warning to Westerners: Marie Kondo was a Shinto shrine maiden for a few years and her book is written in a Japanese context. She refers to the energy and ‘feelings’ of inanimate objects, which may be a bit off-putting if you cannot view the book within the context of the culture it was written in. Easterners have an understanding of chi/energy that Westerners don’t always grasp.
Personally, I agree with the premise of it. Everything is energy, irrespective of what it is. She respects the energy of things, animate or not and often refers to things being tired or sad. Some readers take that literally and cannot get their heads around the content. That’s fair enough; different horses for different courses.
But I digress. She lists an order to tackling clutter. Clothes first, then accessories, then books, papers and then miscellaneous items. She also suggests doing your entire house in one hit; maybe possible in Japan but more challenging in the West where we sometimes fiercely hoard things in larger spaces like the world is going to end.
Her approach is to find every single scrap of clothing you own, and put it in the middle of the floor. All of it. If you have it in storage, wherever, go get it and add it to the pile. No item gets left behind. Once that’s accomplished, you need to physically handle each item and ask yourself if it sparks joy. This is where some Westerners lose their minds.
Yes, things have energy. Some people can feel it, others not so much. Anything that doesn’t bring you joy has lower energy. Whether that negative energy is from the guilt you feel because it was a gift from a loved one, so you keep it even though you hate it. Whether it’s something you loved once and now it’s threadbare, doesn’t fit, reminds you of a time when you were happier. Whatever the reason is, if it doesn’t spark joy and you don’t absolutely love it, it has to go. No, it doesn’t get to go and live at your parents’ house, or in storage until some other time; it has to straight up GO.
This is where some book reviewers go a bit postal. Obviously picking up a tube of Preparation H doesn’t ‘spark joy’ but you need it so it can’t go. You need to use some lateral thinking here. Obviously things like medication don’t rock your happy button, but you can’t toss them. She’s talking about optional possessions here; things that won’t physically kill you if you toss them.
So that’s what I did today. All the clothing went onto the floor in the living room and let me just say: HOLY CRAP!!
I had NO idea I had so many things. The same suitcase I took to my storage unit a week ago came right back to my apartment, along with 2 plastic storage boxes of clothes. The contents of my drawers and closet were added to the pile. For someone who lives in a handful of outfits it was shocking to see how much stuff I’ve surrounded myself with.
The pile at the start of the mess.Me next to my pile of junk to give you an idea of the height of that pile.
Going through each item, holding it up, ‘feeling’ it, it became easier to let things go. Clothes I’ve held on to for decades are now gone. I loved them in their time but I’m not that person anymore. There’s more of me. I don’t fit in them and probably won’t ever again. Feeling guilty every season when I packed them away because I didn’t lose half my body weight to fit into them; well that’s done. They were beautiful in their time and it’s time for them to make someone else happy for a while.
The sheer sense of relief after donating them and knowing I won’t have to deal with them again was bloody amazing! Not to mention, every item I’ve kept is something I love and wear and it all fits into my closet. I don’t need to switch out summer and winter clothing this year because there’s space for all of it.
2 boxes neatly packed for Goodwill
Not to mention, her basic suggestions of hanging items from longest to shortest, making a line up from left to right makes me kick myself for not thinking of that sooner.
All the long items together, with room to hang! FINALLY!
I had my longer stuff together but colour co-ordination was my first criteria. So it was long to short in the same colour. Putting it by length makes way more sense. I have 2 high rails in my closet but one has a lower rail under it so longer items can’t hang down completely straight. So I moved all the long items to the opposite side of the closet and they can hang uninterrupted. Why didn’t I do that sooner?!
All the short things
I now have a rail of empty hangers and all that’s left are clothes I wear and love.
My clumpy sweaters that I’d had hanging up are all folded using her Kon-Mari method *there are You-Tube tutorials on that if you’re interested* and my drawers look a hundred times better. I never thought I’d fit all my sweaters and shirts into my limited drawer space and they fit perfectly. My underwear is sorted, socks are folded over instead of rolled to give their energy room to breathe after use and it looks like a new world in my closet.
I’m knackered but really pleased. To move so many stagnant things out of my space has left it feeling new. The dead energy has left.
Next project will be my books. Yep, the same books I lovingly repacked a few days ago. I love books so letting some go might be next to impossible but if I can quarter the volume of clothing in my life, I’m open to tackling my books.
It’s time for dinner and curried butternut soup feels like it needs to happen so night night y’all!
There’s a great series on Netflix called ‘Chef’s Table.’ Each episode features a chef who has reached the pinnacle of chef-hood, if that’s a word.
While the food is epic & the artistry something to behold, it’s the common theme of memory that I’ve found interesting. Each chef has memories of childhood foods, family and a place that anchored their path in food. They’re recreating the memory of happier times while constantly moving forward towards the edge of creativity by reinventing themselves in the present.
Each one has stood on the edge of failure, questioning whether they wanted to keep following their dreams despite the uncertainty of success or walking away from the dream in order to stay safe.
Every. Single. One. Jumped. They didn’t stand on the shoreline watching their dreams sail away. Not everyone wants to be a Michelin chef. We’re not all dreaming of being the best of the best. Many of us are trying to find ‘permission’ to follow modest dreams.
Maybe the answer is lying behind us, buried somewhere in the memories of an easier time.
Writing and music were my anchors as a child. Those were the things that brought order and calm to the chaos of a broken family. Happier family times were anchored around meals. My grandmothers couldn’t have been more different. My paternal grandmother was Welsh and had no clue how to cook basic dishes but she made sublime Cornish pasties, sausage rolls, crumpets and minestrone soup. Ironic given that Cornish pasties are an art form in themselves yet cooking cabbage was a challenge for her. My father’s standing joke is that he didn’t know cabbage was green until he met my mother.
My maternal grandmother cooked in the traditional South African farm-style way. She had crazy baking skills and could cook anything from offal to venison to Sunday roasts, and all the random bits in between. She was the master of comfort food. Christmas fruit cakes, plum pudding, jams, preserves and rhubarb crumble.
I miss those foods and while I won’t ever have kids or grandchildren to pass those down to, those meals can stay part of the tapestry of my life in the present. So what if they don’t make it to the next generation? They can still live on in mine. Maybe somewhere between the kitchen and my computer is a creative answer to the eternal question of ‘what should I be doing with my life?’
I’ve had many homes in my life and if I take the best flavours from each place, it’s a unique tapestry fit for a gypsy soul. South Africa, England, USA. Writing. Cooking. Creativity. Photography. 4 art forms that are vastly different yet when combined create something new.
This could be the recipe for balance that addresses the first item on my To Do list: Change of career. Changing a job is simple. Changing a life path is a completely different project altogether.
