I read an article this week in Stylist magazine which got me thinking about what I had achieved this year. Trust me, I had to think long and hard but this is what I came up with, and for the record, maybe we should all do this, every year...
I mastered Excel, or as much as I needed to anyway, I went from 2% expertise to 100%, I've spoken to old friends who've said, Excel, I love Excel, what's the problem? But can you concatenate? I ask. The reply is usually.... What?
After eleven years of vowing to declutter, this year, I have achieved more than in the previous ten. I think that by next Christmas, I'll be micro organised, I'm so proud of myself. You know how disorganised I am Col, I hope that you're proud of me too.
I have exercised. I could have been more consistent but I have worked out, at least most weekends and I've tried new things, yoga, tabata, I love them both.
I have eaten healthily, 80% of the time. I get jokes and jibes at work over my daily, enormous salad based lunch, but I shrug it off, I know that I'm doing okay, more than okay actually.
I've taken control of my alcoholic beverages. As I've got older, I realised that I can no longer tolerate alcohol as much I used to. I was always striving to take the healthy high road... except for when it came to alcohol. I love wine. I enjoy a glass of wine but it got to become a habit, good day, (infrequent) bad day, (frequent) need to relax, (always) need to drown sorrows, (often) want to forget, (more often than not) Thanks to an Ailsa Frank CD, I'm sleeping soundly for the first time in years, and I'm alcohol free for 5 days out of 7. This is a major achievement for me, for the past few months, I've thought that this may be what would eventually kill me.
I spent a year in the company of someone who seems to like me, just the way I am. He makes me laugh, he makes me feel wanted, he gets upset, even angry, on my behalf. The achievement in this is that I let him in, and while I probably should have driven him away... I didn't. Whatever happens in the future, he will always have a place in my heart, a soft spot.
I survived a year in work. My job is repetitive, pressurised and totally unsung. In a department of pressure and praise, I am always overlooked, which doesn't do this Leo's ego any favours. Still, a year and a few wobbles later, I'm still there.
My darling brother in law gifted me his old android phone when he upgraded. This was a major upgrade from old texty only phone, held together with cellotape, which I adored. Over a two week period, I almost pitched the new phone out of any open window due to sheer frustration but, in the end, and after hours of pouring over an online manual, I got to grips and I can at least text, phone and take pics on the new phone now. I am such a Luddite and the phone initially only served to remind me of how alone I am as I had no one to help me figure everything out, but I got there in the end.
I uploaded details of my Grandad James Williams into a WW1 project website. We never got to meet, but I love him very much and I'm so proud of him. I can't wait for the day when we do get to meet.
The people I've held so tightly, I've learned to... hold less tightly. Not that I love them any less, it's just that I don't have the energy to hold them so tightly anymore, and maybe, I wasn't doing them any favours by holding them so tight. What will be, will be.
I'll probably be back to update this as and when I remember my achievements x
Sunday, 21 December 2014
Thursday, 11 December 2014
Time for Tree
Yesterday, I had my annual Bridget Jones moment, it's something I both look forward to, and dread at the same time. Yes, choosing a Christmas tree, as a singleton, alone, in the rain... has to be one of the most depressing chores in the entire world.
We occasionally had a real tree when I was little, I distinctly remember the falling needles and baldness by Christmas but then, we mostly had a fake, I'm sorry... artificial tree, which I loved.
Things changed one year, just before Christmas and that first year, I couldn't bring myself to have a tree, I think I compromised because I had company and bought a one foot high tiny conifer and stuck it on top of the TV, undressed. It was green and it was Christmas tree shaped, it was the best I could do.
Since then, I have progressed and bought a real tree every year, one of the fir variety. I've chosen it myself, usually alone and in the rain, and God it's depressing. This year, I aimed to get a fake tree, but the ones that I like, are really expensive and suddenly, the cost of a real tree, isn't so bad. Also, I heard on the radio that they are a sustainable crop, so I'm not totally infringing on the planet.
Yesterday morning started out cold but dry. After my usual Starbucks, I headed to the cash machine for my tree money, and the heavens opened. The cold but blue skies turned to grey and wet. I retrieved my money and took shelter, yards from my car but the rain was coming down like rods, for seconds and then it turned into hail, tiny weeny, bouncy ping pong balls of ice.
That's about right, I'm not dressed for cold or torrential at the moment, nevertheless, I will be Christmas tree shopping on the way home.
By the time I drive to the Garden Centre, the one I go to every year to choose my tree, rain and hail has cleared and we actually have a powder blue sky.
I find somewhere to park right near the door and enter into tree world. I hate choosing. I need one to fit the space I have, for the right price, preferably without a herd of couples also choosing at the same time, I just want it to be over.
I enter into the forest and there is another lone woman wandering around, I give her a smile and a nod, she's probably going home to a husband and family but you never know, she may be doing her Bridget Jones thing too. Us gals have to stick together.
I quickly refresh my memory with the tree tags, some are blue, some are stripey, some are orange. I think they signify species and price, I suss out that I need stripey, that would give me the cheapest, (not so cheap,) and height wise, what I'm looking for and also species, I love a Nordmann fir, they smell divine and are pretty hardy, hardly any needle drop.
I pick up one tree after another by it's pointy top, but here's the thing; you can't get perspective when you're on your own. You can't hold a tree up and back away from it to get a good look, all while there is just you. Now for the embarrassing bit. You have to wander into the main area and say, 'excuse me, could I borrow someone to hold up a tree?'
The owner, for yet another year, comes out with me. I've narrowed it down to two! One is already in a planter, the other needs a hand, this is my fastest year on record.
The nice owner explains that every tree has a front and a back, due to the prevailing winds and well, just nature really. We all know how that goes don't we? I'm no stranger to the prevailing winds myself.
So he spins them both, one at a time, before me are twirling Christmas trees, it's a sight to behold. The one that was the best shape for my space was a little too... hit by the prevailing winds, so I instantly chose the other one, which is a little fat, sorry, full at the bottom. Full it may be, but I do I do love it, every inch of it was worth the angst.
We occasionally had a real tree when I was little, I distinctly remember the falling needles and baldness by Christmas but then, we mostly had a fake, I'm sorry... artificial tree, which I loved.
Things changed one year, just before Christmas and that first year, I couldn't bring myself to have a tree, I think I compromised because I had company and bought a one foot high tiny conifer and stuck it on top of the TV, undressed. It was green and it was Christmas tree shaped, it was the best I could do.
Since then, I have progressed and bought a real tree every year, one of the fir variety. I've chosen it myself, usually alone and in the rain, and God it's depressing. This year, I aimed to get a fake tree, but the ones that I like, are really expensive and suddenly, the cost of a real tree, isn't so bad. Also, I heard on the radio that they are a sustainable crop, so I'm not totally infringing on the planet.
Yesterday morning started out cold but dry. After my usual Starbucks, I headed to the cash machine for my tree money, and the heavens opened. The cold but blue skies turned to grey and wet. I retrieved my money and took shelter, yards from my car but the rain was coming down like rods, for seconds and then it turned into hail, tiny weeny, bouncy ping pong balls of ice.
That's about right, I'm not dressed for cold or torrential at the moment, nevertheless, I will be Christmas tree shopping on the way home.
By the time I drive to the Garden Centre, the one I go to every year to choose my tree, rain and hail has cleared and we actually have a powder blue sky.
I find somewhere to park right near the door and enter into tree world. I hate choosing. I need one to fit the space I have, for the right price, preferably without a herd of couples also choosing at the same time, I just want it to be over.
I enter into the forest and there is another lone woman wandering around, I give her a smile and a nod, she's probably going home to a husband and family but you never know, she may be doing her Bridget Jones thing too. Us gals have to stick together.
I quickly refresh my memory with the tree tags, some are blue, some are stripey, some are orange. I think they signify species and price, I suss out that I need stripey, that would give me the cheapest, (not so cheap,) and height wise, what I'm looking for and also species, I love a Nordmann fir, they smell divine and are pretty hardy, hardly any needle drop.
I pick up one tree after another by it's pointy top, but here's the thing; you can't get perspective when you're on your own. You can't hold a tree up and back away from it to get a good look, all while there is just you. Now for the embarrassing bit. You have to wander into the main area and say, 'excuse me, could I borrow someone to hold up a tree?'
The owner, for yet another year, comes out with me. I've narrowed it down to two! One is already in a planter, the other needs a hand, this is my fastest year on record.
The nice owner explains that every tree has a front and a back, due to the prevailing winds and well, just nature really. We all know how that goes don't we? I'm no stranger to the prevailing winds myself.
So he spins them both, one at a time, before me are twirling Christmas trees, it's a sight to behold. The one that was the best shape for my space was a little too... hit by the prevailing winds, so I instantly chose the other one, which is a little fat, sorry, full at the bottom. Full it may be, but I do I do love it, every inch of it was worth the angst.
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Grey Area
I've just watched the latest episode of Grey's Anatomy, as you know, one of my all time, favourite TV Series, and in this episode, Ellis Grey's journals, may hold the key, they may be able to unlock information, for both Meredith and for another. Ellis Grey is Meredith's Mother and passed away a few years ago leaving Meredith, among other things, a legacy of Alzheimer's and the life of a surgeon.
My Mum was also a writer, she wrote diaries, journals, for... I haven't actually counted but I'm guessing over fifty years. She showed me this wonderful box one day, it was an ordinary, cardboard box, but it was filled with time, with stories, with her words. 'When I'm gone, promise me you'll burn these.' At this point I think she may have continued to say... 'without reading them.' But I'm not certain, my memory is conveniently blurred.
I couldn't bring myself to destroy them, let alone to burn them. To me, the written word is precious, I don't care what state it's in, if the grammar is correct, if the spelling is spot on, those words are from the heart.
A few months ago, I can't remember how it came up, but I was discussing Mum's journals with my cousin Lyn. 'Read them.' What!? Really, not what I expected my cousin to say. 'Read them.'
Does she have a point? What the heck is in there? There is so much that I don't know. I do know that my Mum had a hard life, I do know that I was a late arrival and must have been quite a shock. I do know that against the odds, she decided to keep me, no matter what, no matter how I turned out.
Is there anything I could read that I'd rather I hadn't? Is there anything I could read that would make me feel differently about her?
I think I should read on.
My Mum was also a writer, she wrote diaries, journals, for... I haven't actually counted but I'm guessing over fifty years. She showed me this wonderful box one day, it was an ordinary, cardboard box, but it was filled with time, with stories, with her words. 'When I'm gone, promise me you'll burn these.' At this point I think she may have continued to say... 'without reading them.' But I'm not certain, my memory is conveniently blurred.
I couldn't bring myself to destroy them, let alone to burn them. To me, the written word is precious, I don't care what state it's in, if the grammar is correct, if the spelling is spot on, those words are from the heart.
A few months ago, I can't remember how it came up, but I was discussing Mum's journals with my cousin Lyn. 'Read them.' What!? Really, not what I expected my cousin to say. 'Read them.'
Does she have a point? What the heck is in there? There is so much that I don't know. I do know that my Mum had a hard life, I do know that I was a late arrival and must have been quite a shock. I do know that against the odds, she decided to keep me, no matter what, no matter how I turned out.
Is there anything I could read that I'd rather I hadn't? Is there anything I could read that would make me feel differently about her?
I think I should read on.
11.11.2014
Today is Armistice Day and my heart is poppy shaped. Thankfully, my Grandad made it back from WWI, wounded and hospitalised for a year, but he made it back, almost in one piece, and a few years later, my Mum was born.
My life's tapestry, is so intrinsically and painstakingly stitched to lives so far removed from my own. I was raised, remembering, for which I'm very thankful for, my Mum made sure of that. This year is the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of WWI.
This week, a young, 13 year old Army Cadet placed the 888,246th and last poppy in the Tower of London art installation. Never before has history been so eloquently visualised. I think of all of the boys and men, who never came home and I wonder about the sons, daughters, grandchildren, who were never to be, on all sides... depleted generations. I remember, and I will always remember.
My life's tapestry, is so intrinsically and painstakingly stitched to lives so far removed from my own. I was raised, remembering, for which I'm very thankful for, my Mum made sure of that. This year is the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of WWI.
This week, a young, 13 year old Army Cadet placed the 888,246th and last poppy in the Tower of London art installation. Never before has history been so eloquently visualised. I think of all of the boys and men, who never came home and I wonder about the sons, daughters, grandchildren, who were never to be, on all sides... depleted generations. I remember, and I will always remember.
Saturday, 15 November 2014
Pregnant.... Pause
I have always wanted kids, or at least.. kid. A few years ago, a trusted, psychic told me... (I realise I sound insane, but you know that I only visit psychics sporadically and those that are without doubt the real deal, and, it is of course, for entertainment purposes only.) Well, Ivy, who over the years, has told me only things that me and my late Mum would have known, once told me to; 'be careful you're not like you're Mum.'
What Ivy meant was that my Mum found herself pregnant, with me, at the age of 45, she was 46 when I was born.
While I was horrified at the thought of being pregnant, for the first time, at that 'great' age, quite frankly, at any age, I would have been horrified even if I'd been happily married for ten years and still only about thirtyish. But, at the same time, and I know it's easy for me to say, but I think I would have been a good Mum, terrified, but, good, well, passable, let's just say that I don't think I would have dropped them on their heads.
This year, my 44th heading, head long into my 45th year, has passed by at warp speed, time was truly running out.
One of my best, 40ish friends, who has never come across as remotely maternal announced on our latest coffee date, that she is pregnant.
I am both stunned and overjoyed for her, simultaneously. I am so, so, so, happy for my friend and her partner but at the same time, it felt like... it felt like in the midst of the heat wave we were having, that I'd been hit in the face with a snow ball. Stuns, stings for a second, snow falls away and you're fine, almost.
Have you seen the Sex and the City film, the original? Carrie phones Samantha to announce that she's getting married to Big and Samantha is curt with her. Then Samantha phones Carrie back to apologise, she was stunned and had her in a compartment, the, 'we are never getting married' compartment, and now Samantha will have to re-file her friend.
Well, that's kind of how I felt with my lovely friend. I had my friend in a file, the, 'we are never having kids file' and now, I have to re-file her, not only that, but for the best part, I'll lose her, because that's what happens. I am more than happy to lose my friend, for this wonderful cause though.
I just think, that my friend's story, is a fairy tale and it's the best news I've had, all year.
I have consoled myself with alcohol and of course, I've gained weight, which makes me wonder, am I pregnant and now, do I need to worry about foetal alcohol syndrome. Wouldn't it be ironic? I am of course being horribly unfunny, but you get my drift.
I'm OK, I started writing this a good few weeks ago, I have processed the; 'I am never having kids' scenario and while I still feel a loss, well, God knows better, just wasn't meant to be for me, this time around.
What Ivy meant was that my Mum found herself pregnant, with me, at the age of 45, she was 46 when I was born.
While I was horrified at the thought of being pregnant, for the first time, at that 'great' age, quite frankly, at any age, I would have been horrified even if I'd been happily married for ten years and still only about thirtyish. But, at the same time, and I know it's easy for me to say, but I think I would have been a good Mum, terrified, but, good, well, passable, let's just say that I don't think I would have dropped them on their heads.
This year, my 44th heading, head long into my 45th year, has passed by at warp speed, time was truly running out.
One of my best, 40ish friends, who has never come across as remotely maternal announced on our latest coffee date, that she is pregnant.
I am both stunned and overjoyed for her, simultaneously. I am so, so, so, happy for my friend and her partner but at the same time, it felt like... it felt like in the midst of the heat wave we were having, that I'd been hit in the face with a snow ball. Stuns, stings for a second, snow falls away and you're fine, almost.
Have you seen the Sex and the City film, the original? Carrie phones Samantha to announce that she's getting married to Big and Samantha is curt with her. Then Samantha phones Carrie back to apologise, she was stunned and had her in a compartment, the, 'we are never getting married' compartment, and now Samantha will have to re-file her friend.
Well, that's kind of how I felt with my lovely friend. I had my friend in a file, the, 'we are never having kids file' and now, I have to re-file her, not only that, but for the best part, I'll lose her, because that's what happens. I am more than happy to lose my friend, for this wonderful cause though.
I just think, that my friend's story, is a fairy tale and it's the best news I've had, all year.
I have consoled myself with alcohol and of course, I've gained weight, which makes me wonder, am I pregnant and now, do I need to worry about foetal alcohol syndrome. Wouldn't it be ironic? I am of course being horribly unfunny, but you get my drift.
I'm OK, I started writing this a good few weeks ago, I have processed the; 'I am never having kids' scenario and while I still feel a loss, well, God knows better, just wasn't meant to be for me, this time around.
Sunday, 2 November 2014
Winds of Change
Hurricane Gonzalo, originated in the Caribbean and blew over to Europe, causing havoc with my journey home. On Tuesday, a 35 minute drive at best turned into 2 hours 15 minutes in gales with driving rain, road closures, very wobbly, insane cyclists to look out for. I was exhausted by the time I eventually got home, buy mostly, just glad that I made it home safely.
On Wednesday, I watched the last interview with one of our best loved actresses. I suspect that Lynda Bellingham strongly disliked being best known for being 'The Oxo Mum'. For about sixteen years, the Oxo family advert ran, it was a little glimpse into a family I never had and just, so normal, so reassuring, so fictitious. Still, that advert bled into our hearts, just like the way that Christmas does.
So, Ms Bellingham is... Mother Christmas, all warm and fuzzy in my heart, part of my upbringing, part of my social history, part of my reference material. She was also a wonderful actress I might add. Still, whether she would loathe it or not, Oxo Mum she is to me, with a very fond place in my heart. Ms Bellingham was diagnosed with cancer just over a year ago and she sadly died this week. The saddest part of the interview was that she was so funny and vibrant...still. The interview was taped about two weeks away from when she was to leave us, she talked so fondly of Christmas and the plans that she had for next Christmas, just a few weeks away.
I laughed and cried through the interview. That night, I dreamt that I was given three months to live. It's either a premonition or a by product of watching the interview.
The dream was very real, I mean, that it seemed real, with no hint of a dream. I woke and had to think about reality versus the mighty Morpheus, for too long, seconds, but too long. For a nano second, I thought about having just three months left to live.
I have to say that it was an eye opener. In the past twelve months, I have wondered about not being around, just ceasing to be, I have to say that it seemed inviting. Faced with the 'reality', such as it was, of being told that I only had three months left on planet Earth, my feelings notably shifted.
On Wednesday, I watched the last interview with one of our best loved actresses. I suspect that Lynda Bellingham strongly disliked being best known for being 'The Oxo Mum'. For about sixteen years, the Oxo family advert ran, it was a little glimpse into a family I never had and just, so normal, so reassuring, so fictitious. Still, that advert bled into our hearts, just like the way that Christmas does.
So, Ms Bellingham is... Mother Christmas, all warm and fuzzy in my heart, part of my upbringing, part of my social history, part of my reference material. She was also a wonderful actress I might add. Still, whether she would loathe it or not, Oxo Mum she is to me, with a very fond place in my heart. Ms Bellingham was diagnosed with cancer just over a year ago and she sadly died this week. The saddest part of the interview was that she was so funny and vibrant...still. The interview was taped about two weeks away from when she was to leave us, she talked so fondly of Christmas and the plans that she had for next Christmas, just a few weeks away.
I laughed and cried through the interview. That night, I dreamt that I was given three months to live. It's either a premonition or a by product of watching the interview.
The dream was very real, I mean, that it seemed real, with no hint of a dream. I woke and had to think about reality versus the mighty Morpheus, for too long, seconds, but too long. For a nano second, I thought about having just three months left to live.
I have to say that it was an eye opener. In the past twelve months, I have wondered about not being around, just ceasing to be, I have to say that it seemed inviting. Faced with the 'reality', such as it was, of being told that I only had three months left on planet Earth, my feelings notably shifted.
Sunday, 19 October 2014
Down and Out?
I've been a tad down for, oh, well, if you add this to that to the other... probably upwards of ten months, what the hell, let's call it a year. I know, I know, but we all get down sometimes and speaking for myself, I'm a certified 'Weeble', I may wobble, but I always get back up. Still, I'm always reading articles that tell me, 'don't ignore' symptoms, and so...
'So what's been going on?' My doctor is five minutes late for my appointment but I appreciate the cut-to-the-chase when she does arrive. Several minutes later, she's given my the log in code for a download that she's given me... three times before so far, it's a 'relaxation' download.
I love my doctor, she's not quick to reach for a script, to dish out medication willy nilly, but when you actually think there may be something, some kind of an imbalance, hormones awry, thyroid awol... a download isn't going to determine that, is it?
It's been four weeks since my doctor's appointment, I haven't 'downloaded' yet, I've decided to up the exercise and bury my head, as per usual.
This last week in work was just awful. I made a mistake, a human and honest mistake and after meeting with our Information Assurance Manager, was told that it was a mistake just waiting to happen. Doesn't make me feel any better and my already severely dodgy sleep pattern has been even more eroded by the worry of it all. Several days in, I have to remind myself that I am a very small cog in a very large wheel, or... something like that. Do I wish that I could turn back time? Don't we all wish we were Cher? But, there is only one Cher and so I have to deal with the fallout, what will be, will be. To be honest, I blame Mercury, apparently it's in retrograde or some such pickle and it's causing havoc with communication, and so you see, it really wasn't my fault.
Back to the sleep and I figured out a while ago that my body works best on 8 hours per night, I know that that's a lot but what can you do? Currently, I'm surviving on about 4 hours max. It's a horrible habit I've got myself into and I don't know how to escape it. Ideas?
'So what's been going on?' My doctor is five minutes late for my appointment but I appreciate the cut-to-the-chase when she does arrive. Several minutes later, she's given my the log in code for a download that she's given me... three times before so far, it's a 'relaxation' download.
I love my doctor, she's not quick to reach for a script, to dish out medication willy nilly, but when you actually think there may be something, some kind of an imbalance, hormones awry, thyroid awol... a download isn't going to determine that, is it?
It's been four weeks since my doctor's appointment, I haven't 'downloaded' yet, I've decided to up the exercise and bury my head, as per usual.
This last week in work was just awful. I made a mistake, a human and honest mistake and after meeting with our Information Assurance Manager, was told that it was a mistake just waiting to happen. Doesn't make me feel any better and my already severely dodgy sleep pattern has been even more eroded by the worry of it all. Several days in, I have to remind myself that I am a very small cog in a very large wheel, or... something like that. Do I wish that I could turn back time? Don't we all wish we were Cher? But, there is only one Cher and so I have to deal with the fallout, what will be, will be. To be honest, I blame Mercury, apparently it's in retrograde or some such pickle and it's causing havoc with communication, and so you see, it really wasn't my fault.
Back to the sleep and I figured out a while ago that my body works best on 8 hours per night, I know that that's a lot but what can you do? Currently, I'm surviving on about 4 hours max. It's a horrible habit I've got myself into and I don't know how to escape it. Ideas?
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