Happy Birthday to Mr H.

Today is Mr H.'s birthday and yet again he is away from home.   For the last few years he has either been away in Scotland, or we have been away on holiday; it is a while since we've both been at home for 4th September.

For the first few days of this week it just felt as if he were away for a long weekend. Round about Wednesday I started missing him and now I am looking forward to next Friday when he will come home for the first time, just for a weekend.

He has told me to make sure I leave something for him to do.  I think the mowing and maybe some clothes washing will suffice; it would probably be a bit mean to leave a week's worth of washing up....?

History

I saw an old boyfriend today, from 24 years ago.  I only got a glance at him walking across the car park, as I drove past in someone else's car.  I had to double-take because I thought he was in the Caribbean, so he was completely out of context.  But it was definitely him; despite the very grey hair, I'd recognise that smug smile anywhere!  

Part of me wanted to stop and say hello, but more of me didn't.    What would we talk about?   Actually I know what he'd say, and it would make me uncomfortable and wish I hadn't spoken to him.

Some people are best consigned to history.

Digging holes

Sometimes I think it is better to just make a statement, rather than try to explain; I just wish I found it easier.

Yes I'm talking about that great bugbear of my life:  Justification

For most of my adult life I have felt that I have to justify my actions, thoughts, non-actions and decisions.  A lot of the time it is because people ask "Why?" but sometimes I will give my justification in anticipation of the question; because I know they will ask me, or I can see in their face that they are not just going to just accept my statement.  I even found myself justifying to a member of my sailing club WHY I just didn't feel like going racing that evening, which afterwards felt like such a waste of 10 minutes of my life.

Quite often I find that when I explain 'why', that is not accepted, or it's argued (especially when the other person has an interest in the decision) and I have to dig deeper and deeper into myself desperately searching for more reasons why am thinking, acting or proposing to act that way I am.  "Man in hole should stop digging" but somehow I keep shovelling.  This in turn fosters a resentment for the person I am telling, who evidently just Doesn't Get It.

What makes us feel we have to justify our thoughts and decisions?   I'm not talking about big decisions that affect our nearest and dearest, but those that really are not life-changing.  Surely our lives are our own?   Why can we not just say "I have decided so-and-so" and that's that.

I am going to try and change this about myself, and practice some assertion. Maybe it will stop me worrying about how I am going to justify still being in my pyjamas at 10am, to the dog.

Dreams and Reality

I have just been playing with the settings and design of my blog - I'm a Gemini and therefore like changing things just because I can...  I looked at the title of my blog 'Dreams and Reality' and thought back to the reason I called it that in the first place.   

At the time, September 2009,  I had just finished a year at home on my own, the last time Mr H. lived in Scotland for a year.  I was feeling liberated, self-discovered and open to the idea of climbing out of the rut.  I had signed up for OU and had probably just received my first pack of course materials; I was dreaming about the future....

Now, almost 12 months on, what are my Dreams and Realities?   

In my original post, I didn't mention Mr H. (since this is my blog, not his), but he is just starting to live his dream, the result of 3 years hard study - today is his first day working for Forestry Commission Scotland in Forest Management.  

My plans have moved on from studying Criminal Psychology to straight Psychology, "so that I have more choices in my new career" I tell myself.  I have my study path planned and all I have to do now is get the marks. Although I do not now feel so definite about leaving my current job, it's more a case of having choices.

The dream of moving up to Scotland.... well Mr H. and I were sitting on the verandah here one sunny evening this year, and we agreed that we never wanted to sell this house.  As he put it, he's "not finished with Lymington yet" and the reality is that we feel that we belong here.  A second house in Scotland is more likely to be on the agenda; in effect we now have that with the apartment he is renting.

My current reality of being stuck on crutches for months was not on my list of Dreams... but no experience is wasted.  It has brought to my attention all the things we take for granted, and when I am back on both feet I hope that I will make the most of it and not slip too quickly back into my old routines.

The one thing I have learned is that dreams and reality are both ever-changing: as one dream becomes a reality another should step up to take its place.

Worth the aching afterwards!

Yesterday I had a few hours out of the house with friends, which I really enjoyed.  It was the christening of my friend from work's 2 year old; in Mr H's absence my best friend came as my escort so picked me up at 9.30; I was testing out 'real trousers' for the first time (I have been living in soft jersey track trousers) and found them comfortable despite my lopsided-sized hips. The car park for the church is just around the corner and I said 'yes I'm fine walking, no need to drop me at the door'. 

First realisation - how frustratingly slow it is walking on crutches (I've only done it around the house really) when other people are noticeably dawdling to keep at the same speed.

The church was really full and we sat with other friends from work and made disparaging comments about the length of some of the congregations' skirts (very short) and wondered what the job of the lad in the long, heavy white cassock was?  (standard bearer and candle-lighter, we decided).   The christening all went well, nobody drowned.

Second realisation - church pews are not comfortable even with a cushion, they are too narrow front to back; I decided to stand up for the hymns to give The Leg some variety of discomfort.

After the hour's service my best friend G was 'gasping for a cuppa', so we stopped at my house for half an hour; also to let Django out and use The Facilities - we knew that tea and toilets might be difficult to come by at the christening party!    The party was held in a field at the grandparents' farm. Marquees had been erected and tables and chairs put out, and a whole home-grown lamb was roasting on a spit; adults stood and drank and chatted, while their small offspring ran around and played with hay bales, toy tractors and real digger buckets.  The rain mostly held off and it was a lovely, relaxed gathering.  We scoffed roast lamb and salad, and cupcakes and Mars Bar & cornflake cakes, and chatted and laughed.

Third realisation - I can drink two glasses of white wine & lemonade and still walk on crutches.

Blogging Whys and Wherefores

A friend and I touched on the problems of blogging last night. Well, not the problems of blogging so  much as the problem of having to be careful what you write sometimes because of the people you know will read it.  I agreed that this sometimes means that you repress what you are wanting to write, so that you don't upset a partcular person, prompt unwanted reactions, or let a cat out of a bag.

It would be easier to be totally anonymous and be sure that the only people who read your blog were complete strangers, but in reality we want our friends and family to read them, don't we?   I have a link to my blog from my Facebook page, I want my friends to read it so a) they get to know a bit more about me and b) so that I don't have to repeat myself individually to them when they want an update or wonder how I'm feeling (it usually needs more than a 20 word status can accommodate!),

Occasionally, however, I want to vent on some subject which I would not want certain people to read, because.... well it might be an instantaneous annoyance which just needs airing to get it out of the system, which will then be taken as something more permanent; or it's a subject on which I don't want to start a long discussion but which I know that is what it will cause.

So this kind of begs the question:  Why do you blog...?

I'm not currently sure of my own answer to that one, except for the obvious reason that it gets my thoughts 'down on paper' which is therapeutic.

How about you?

Six senses

As inspired by fellow blogger Carol on Not Only In Thailand, here are a few moments exploring the senses....

I can see...
my work laptop scrolling through its 'Keep Calm and Carry On' screensaver
my new orange folding crutches
a photo of Django aged 2 at Penmynydd (the in-laws house)
strings of get well cards
my sketching pad and pencils (under-used)
the record deck Mr.H bought for my birthday
Mr H.'s ukelele
a large stack of notelets and writing paper and my pencil case
a photo of me sailing
the tree and the roof of the Gilbern on the drive outside Base Camp window

I can hear...
traffic on the road
Mr H. upstairs moving things around
my laptop humming
Django moaning as he stretches in his sleep
my long fingernails on the keys

I can feel...
the weight and warmth of the laptop on my lap
my leg aching at the top and bottom of my femur, where the screws are
my cool feet

I can smell...
nothing! except the ever-present faint aroma of 'Dog'.

I can touch...
the smooth fabric of my track bottoms (the only thing that is comfortable)
the familiar keys of my laptop
the scottish thistle ring that Mr H. wears, but that I have purloined to wear while he is away
the softness of the duvet under me (I am lying on my bed)
my scar through fabric as I absent-mindedly massage it

I can taste...
orange juice and tea from breakfast

An interesting exercise in concentration, relaxation and noticing the surroundings.. try it!

Regrets and smiles

My late aunt Sue, my mother's sister, was an amazing woman; sadly I didn't discover this until after her death a couple of years ago when I heard her life story, delivered emotionally by her younger brother at her funeral.   Sue suffered for the last 15+ years of her life from the crippling rheumatoid arthritis, and yet my over-riding memories of her are that she was always cheerful, and she never talked about it. She always wanted to talk about what we were doing, hear the news and she loved a good chatty letter.  An enquiry 'how are you?' was invariably met with the reply 'But tell me what you've been up to!'

In her youth Sue travelled and did things that were considered outrageously risky for a single woman alone abroad (and probably still would be now); she had what was called 'spunk' in those days.  On her return to the UK she was secretary to a bishop (or something similar) and worked at Southwark Cathedral for many years, which included meeting the Queen.  Sue was always terribly sensible and very organised, and being the eldest child I imagine she was rather bossy; however I can't help thinking that she harboured an inner spark.

I always had respect for Sue, and when I heard the stories about her adventures I so wished I'd known about them when she was alive, so I could have asked her about them.  Still, thinking about her makes me smile at her strength and character.

I was reminded of her over the last couple of weeks, because I can now totally sympathise with her desire to talk about anything other than herself and her situation. When you are immobilised and can't just go out without the aid of others, life seems terribly dull; and you live with your limitations, pain and difficulties every day, so don't want to talk about them when you have the chance for more interesting conversation.

When you talk to people on the phone or go out, or friends visit, more often than not you don't want to talk for more than the intitial 5 minutes about how you are feeling, or coping. What you want to talk about is what is happening in 'the outside world' and what your friends and family are doing; you want to catch up with the gossip and revel in other people's adventures.

I hope that I have inherited some of my aunt's outlook on life, and I will admit that I might have inherited some of my stubbon independence from her as well, in a good way of course....