Family

It's Sunday, and in light of recent events, I have made an extra effort in contacting those that are special to me.  One of those efforts, resulted in a phone call to my cousins N & I, I don't normally phone, I usually email. We chatted for over an hour, it was as if we saw each other yesterday and that not a moment more had passed since.  It was lovely.  We chatted about family and my new job and my 'love life,' such that it is.  Started talking to N, we chatted about all kinds then I got passed to I, she is so straight talking and so true, she always makes me think and laugh, she is a mirror, not necessarily a mirror you want to look into, but a mirror, non-the-less.

When I was little, I thought I came from a big family, truth is I don't.  Or, I don't now.  We are a small band, that fact alone should make us closer but it doesn't.  I've just counted and there are twenty three of us, that includes the lost souls who have joined the madhouse.  Enough to fill a small room you would think.

Truth is, because of family issues and disagreements, we'll never again be in the same room together, literally, at least not in my lifetime.  I love those twenty three and hope they each find peace.  Life is too short.  

So, where does that leave me?  I'm guessing that all I can do is tell the people that I love, that I love them.  It's not easy, I think, and I'm trying to gain some perspective here, for instance, my nephew is around 26 years old, gosh he'll kill me, I've only recently had this conversation with him, I seriously can't remember how old he is.  Anyhoo, my nephew, who is 26 or 27, grew up with his Mum and Dad telling him that they loved him, all the time.  I think my nephew was the first person to tell me that he loved me.  It was quite a moment.  It was awkward, I didn't know what to do with it, it was like a floating elephant hovering over a sentence that lasted forever.  But it's OK now.  My nephew and I tell each other we love each other all the time, and it's normal.

But what about the rest of the family?  Our relationships are not always easy, would I turn to them in an hour of need?  Not necessarily.  Do I love them?  I do. 

So, ten minutes ago, my darling nephew phoned me.  He was early for his date and nervous and so we chatted.  I gave the best pep talk I could muster and after announcing he had two weeks leave to take, we agreed we would have a cinema date sometime during that two weeks, then told each other... you know.

24 hours later and shocker, the date went well, well of course it did, I had every confidence.

Loss

For the first time, in a long time, I don't know what to write. 

The past four weeks have been a whirlwind huh?  You coming home, (it will take me a long time before I stop saying that, you do realise?)  You returning to NZ, your actual home, and then the past few days, just waiting.  I've never felt further away from you, than I do today. 

Friendship, as if we need it spelling out, is about the good times and the bad.  The 'bad' is an unfortunate consequence of living this amazing life, this life we take for granted. 

I don't think there is anything I can do or say to make you feel better, some journeys, we have to make alone, we heal in our own time and the process will not be rushed.  Anyway, even though I'm over here, in my head and in my heart, I will be holding your hand every step of the way. 

Joan of Arc

So finally, after much procrastination and many excuses, (no money for petrol, dodgy car, no free day, working overtime etc,) I finally rolled up at my cousins for a lovely afternoon and evening.  A few months back, we'd had a conversation, she had unearthed her wedding dress, (I think I was aged one at the time of the wedding,) and I told her that I'd love to see the real thing and for heavens sakes, don't do anything with it for now, (just in case she was in charity shop mode.)

So after I'd landed and we'd had lunch and chatted, L disappears and comes back with a black bin bag filled with white crumples.  The wedding dress conversation was long gone from my memory and I thought she was bringing out a continental quilt for some reason, loosely tied to the fact that she's just got a new bed.  L gently draws out the white crumpled mass and it unfurls into a slightly creased, but beautiful wedding dress.

The design is called "Joan of Arc."  High, lace trimmed neckline, the lace, about 1.5 inches wide forms a mandarin collar and comes down from the centre of the neckline, all the way down to the hem, a horizontal lace trim of equal width, encircles just underneath the bust, kind of empire line, the lace of course makes the shape of a cross.  The dress itself is a very heavy satin, white, with tiny ridges, I forget the name though.  It's beautiful, and doll like, my cousin was and still is, tiny.  I proclaim that it's vintage, 'you could sell this.' I offer, 'not that you should, but you could.'  'Who'd buy this?' L asks, the answer to that is loads of people, it's a classic design, it's elegant, and if you're 4ft 11", it would be perfect for someones big day.  But it's not for sale, because I said so.

I must add that the under slip was also in the bag, it is a white silk, full length, pretty shapeless undergarment, but safety pinned to the hem, is a tiny, blue bow, which I delightfully found.  'Look at this!' I gleefully exclaimed. 'Who gave you this?'  'Probably your Mum.' In an instant, I knew that it was Mum, it had Mum, all over it, that was the type of thing she would think of.  That bow had hardly seen the light of day for forty years, and yet here it was, a perfect and tiny, lucky blue bow... complete with safety pin.

Rocky Road

I am a huge fan of "Rocky."  The original one, (circa 1976.  I was 6 for most of that year and my sister B for whom I wore a maxi dress with great bell sleeves to her wedding... did not marry until '77, this is a pretty big milestone for me, so I wonder how old I was when I watched this movie for the first time?)   Anyway, I love every minute of it, where Rocky blocks the door as a shy Adrian tries to flee on that first date and then they collapse in an embrace to the floor, to the final fight with cries of "Adrian!"  I sob, every time.

I confess that I have not watched the franchise, I don't even know if I've seen "Rocky II," but I caught wind of "Rocky Balboa" this week and decided to record.  It's a film by Sylvester Stallone and I was both transfixed and totally blown over by the sentiment. Over 30 years have passed since that first chapter, and maybe that's why it was so powerful to me, because I had not seen the in between.  Every day between that first "Rocky" and this one, showed on the face of Stallone, his face is both worn by time and care, I was torn.

I loved the flashbacks but really missed Burgess Meredith, the iconic coach, sadly he passed away in 1997, nine years before this latest instalment.  It was like watching a family movie though.  Adrian was gone but she was still present in Rocky.

How I long to watch B's family movies, she was the only one in the family with a cine camera and I think we're talking about a time frame of between '72 and '76, but I'm guessing.  I've been asking for years to re-watch and begging to have it all converted to DVD before it perishes, it does that you know?  The film dies and disintegrates.  If I do ever get to watch those home movies again, maybe I'll recognise a bit of a very young Jack, but I do wonder who she will stare back at. 

It's All in the Jeans

I have been on the hunt for new and fabulous jeans for a few weeks now.  Despite an Internet search and seriously wearing down my shoe leather, I have been unable to find jeans, sans elastine.  I miss jeans, real jeans, old fashioned jeans, proper jeans.  I miss pulling on a pair of slightly too snug and slightly too stiff jeans, and one, short, car ride later, or one brief sit down in them and then they fit perfectly.  I do not want my jeans to cling to my thighs like I got caught in a torrential rain shower and got soaked to the skin, I need a little give and Lord knows, we all need a little give and take.  The search continues.

The Leaving of Liverpool

I've worked in Liverpool City Centre, (gosh, I remember Day One, 5/2/07, pounding past the historic Town Hall, bustling along with all of the other city gals and thinking I was like Melanie Griffith in "Working Girl," only minus the running shoes.)  5 years and 8 months later and here I am, ready to leave, almost ready to say goodbye.

So, after 5 years and 8 months to the day, it's time to leave my place of work and my friends and move on to the next chapter.

My "big" boss, Sarah, fair, rational, approachable, supportive, challenging.  Don't get me wrong, she's no picnic but if I could choose a boss in all the world, it would be Sarah, she's off in the coming week and sent me a lovely farewell and keep in touch email and card.

The week chugged on, the days, both long, and short, busy enough to make the day pass reasonably quickly... but not quick enough, still, my last day is zooming towards me at break neck speed.  On the one hand, I'm dreading my last day and on the other, I'm ready to go.

Thursday was a bit fraught trying to finish off work and tie up loose HR ends, I'm supposed to be winding down but no, I'm a basket case.

Friday, and in order to have a few drinks with anyone who feels like joining me, I take the bus to work.  That is such a simple statement but in fact, it involves me pre-ordering a taxi to get me from my home to where the bus leaves for work.  Taxi arrives a couple of minutes late.  I get into the car and three minutes later, (probably less,) and after handing over a £5.20 fare, (I am still recovering from that extortionate fee,)  I arrive at the bus terminal.  I am of course early, but I'm around 20 minutes early.  It's cold and the wind is blowing, and the bus is 5 minutes late.  So, after 25 minutes, the fingers on my left hand are the colour of white marble.  It's very unattractive.  So I have faith that the bus will eventually arrive because I have a bus terminal buddy.  He is youngish and is transfixed to his phone, I spy when we get on the bus and he's playing a football game.

Bus arrives thank God and I think at least it'll be warm on the bus.  It's not warm on the bus.  There is no warmth on the bus from either the driver or the heating devices.  I have especially brought my iPod with me to keep me company and distracted.  I alternate between James Blunt, (I'm in the mood,) and Michael Buble, he's always good for company.

Minutes later, I don't know how many, I was too traumatised at getting the bus, could have been 35, could have been 45 minutes later.  People seem to be alighting on mass, so I get up, I think I'm at my destination.  I ask the driver when I reach him; "is this the stand to get the bus home?"  "No, you need number 8, over there."  I say thank you and alight, then turn, "this is Liverpool One, isn't it?"  The driver looks at me like I have two heads, then nods at the polite lunatic.

I get off the bus and look around.  It's still pitch dark, I see the "John Lewis" sign and I know I must be in the right place, but I have no idea where I am, I mean, I know where I am but my bearings are shot to hell. 

Geography and bearings have never been my strong suit, but I know my short comings and I am not too proud to own up to them.  I look around and instantly spot a man in a high viz yellow jacket.  "Excuse me, I have totally lost my bearings, I need to head to Old Hall Street."  High Viz man was polite, didn't make me feel like an idiot and pointed me straight to my destination; "you are probably better heading out past the Hilton and up the dock road."  As soon as he said that, I knew I would be okay. 

The wind is at least force 10 as it usually is on that road.  I am laden down with bags of goodies for work, my handbag and my large umbrella, thank heavens it's not raining as I'm not sure I could have coped with brolly up too, against the wind, with the heavy bags.  I reach a point up the road and decide to cut through, partly because I thought I almost knew where I was but mainly to get out of the gale force wind. 

I take a right thinking that I know where I am, but I'm not where I thought I would be.  I'm okay, I know I'm not far out.  I look at the pavement and I look around me, I wander past "The Slaughter House,"  isn't that a great name?  It's a pub and it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside, I'm not sure why, there have been a few publicans in my family and in the family of my brother-in-law George and I'm not sure if that was one of their pubs or if the name just rings a bell. 

I start to think about my family and my roots.  This is where I'm from, did my Nanna, my Grandad walk these pavements?  My Mum, my aunts?  My Grandad's Dad even?  How come it feels so much like home, when you don't fit in?

So I consider myself a Liverpudlian.  I was born in Liverpool, my first three years were spent in Liverpool, my Mum was born there, my Nanna, my Grandad, how far back do I need to go?  Yet, I've always felt like the outsider.  Not, I hasten to add because anyone made me feel like an outsider, I just do, always, anywhere, even with family.

I've spent over 5 years, not trying to fit in, just being me and feeling like I didn't quite make the cut.  And then I left, quickly, I was supposed to give 4 weeks notice but because my new place wanted me quickly, they agreed to let me go in 3.

I hate fuss, I hate attention being on me, so telling everyone I was departing was delayed and my going for drinks after work on my last day announcement... was even more delayed.

My last day whizzed by, my desk was decorated with Good Luck messages and balloons galore attached to my chair.  I tried to make myself useful in the morning, went out for a long lunch, I got a coffee, flipped through a magazine and wandered the streets.  I got back to work with my stomach in knots and after about 10 minutes, my Manager put me out of my misery, she had opted to save me from the embarrassment of a presentation.  I would have died and she knew it, I'd had an upset tum all day just thinking about it.  Well it was either that or the bug I'd caught from my buddy Paul who sits next to me, who'd caught it from his son.

Anyway, I opened my card and it contained cash, I put the cash to one side and started to read the sentiments, they were all so lovely, the giant card was crammed with beautiful, scrawly writing, and I loved every syllable.

The end of my day quickly came around and I headed for the pub with about five work mates.  After not very long at all, more work mates began to arrive, I think I counted nineteen people, some of my friends couldn't make it, sickness/holidays etc, some didn't work that day or had kiddos to pick up.  I felt so touched and so accepted , I was an emotional mess, and it was my friend Paul who set me off.  I was doing so well, then when Paul had to go, he did that thing that men do, they push you away and clear their throats.  What I can't cope with is men who cry/try not to/pretend not to cry.  For all his teasing and jibes over the past 18 months, I know that he'll miss me.

My enduring memory of the evening is that I was, after all, despite what I felt, accepted.  The people of Liverpool are, as I always knew, the salt of the earth.  My heart ached as I left them, and I will keep a very soft spot in my heart for them, forever.

After hugs and kisses with the remaining half dozen, I legged it, for the 8pm bus and made it by about 30 seconds.  An hour later and I get off the bus at my home town and follow a man down some steps, I'm texting J who is waiting to pick me up from the bus terminal and take me home, as I walk and I'm not really paying attention as I step.  Seconds later and I'm in pitch darkness and on a main road, not sure where I went wrong but I'm on a busy ring road.  Anyhoo, I phone J and several, "where are you!" later's and I plod my way carefully around the ring road and head in the direction of where I should have been while carefully avoiding oncoming cars.  I am exhausted, happy, tearful and sad, but mostly happy.

Kettle Belle of the Ball

So, you were with me when I bought my new kettle bell.  I'd seen an infomercial from Ryan Shanahan and he promises long and lean muscles, the kind of which Pilate's creates.  I knew that I needed to add some weight resistance to my workouts and Ryan convinced me to purchase a kettlebell.  The supermarket had two weights, 2.5kg and 5.5kg.  As you know, I could barley lift the 5.5kg with two hands, my upper body strength is sadly lacking, and so opted for the 2.5kg.  In the past two weeks, I've only really done one move, maximum of 20 reps each night but I can see quite an improvement in toning already in thighs, hips, bottom, shoulders, tum and arms.  Incredible huh?  I've known I needed to add weights for some time, this could be just the things I've been missing.  It's quick and fun and did I mention it's really quick?

So far, this is my  one move, the two armed swing....

 

Reunion

Goes without saying, you surprised me on Wednesday night with your phone call and, "landing on Friday at noonish," declaration.  So this flying visit is predominantly to see family, but of course we're going to squeeze in some "catch up" time. 

Sunday was such a treat, first Sunday in weeks that I haven't worked, picked you up at 9am, drove to my old Sunday haunt, we had breakfast and talked and talked and it was like I saw you two days ago. 

So we had breakfast, several hours of shopping and a Wagamama, bland for once, Yaki Soba lunch with green tea later, and I deposit you back to base.  It was a roller coaster of a day but make no mistake, it was great to see you x