Bloody, bloody, bloody....

The sudden death of 'the King of Pop' at fifty has been for me yet another unwelcome intimation of mortality. This, plus the recent passing of an old friend and my own confrontation with the (happily unfounded) possibility of illness, has had the unpleasant effect of bringing me up short to look at the briefness of life in an uncomfortable, clear-eyed way. And I don't like it much. I am well aware that I am growing ever older - I'm showing the signs of age that we all do: loss of skin tone, grey hairs, excess weight, age spots (sounds lovely, doesn't it?). But more uncomfortably, I've become pathetically obsessed that every little ache or pain or cough is an ominous portent of Something A Lot More Serious, and that really, really bugs the hell out of me, that little old granny of twittering caution and alarm. I've always been what you might call 'insouciant' (some might say cavalier) about my health and illness in general, not giving much thought to what I've taken into my body. And now it all seems to be coming back to haunt me, all unwilling, in the dead of the night - hypochondria - big style. I lie there awake and uncomfortable and fret. Dawn arrives, and I haven't been back to sleep, so I start the day irritable and lethargic. I'm restless but unmotivated, bored with the quotidien but incapable of showing initiative.

Mal de siecle and it's only 2009! Pass Les Fleurs du Mal, I've come over all Baudelaire!

Lumps and Bumps on Life's Road

Went to my old friend's funeral today. It was beautifully done and I'm sure she would have loved it. These things are never easy though, and this one - for many people, and a variety of reasons - particularly so.

I'd had a very stressful couple of days for a quite different reason: a routine medical screening was swiftly followed by a recall to look at an anomaly. The clinic involved was absolutely marvellous, but the hierarchy of tests involved just lead to a mounting sense of panic and, by the end of it, a feeling of inevitable doom. It was with immense gratitude and relief that I heard from the doctor that the area of concern was in no way sinister and required no further exploration. Having spent a couple of nights of broken and troubled sleep, waking to a sense of panicky disbelief and unreality, I walked out of the hospital practically kicking my heels together (as did the husband, whose two hour solitary wait had seemed intolerable). I am so, so pleased that everything is fine and feel so much heartache and empathy for those whose diagnosis is not so favourable. Including my poor old friend, who must have gone through a similar experience, but with no happy outcome. Things are pretty peaceful tonight: I am anticipating a long, quiet night of dreamless and restful sleep. I hope that she too is resting peacefully, under the heavy blanket of earth that covers her, calm, healed, untormented at last. We knew each other for over twenty years and I miss the old times and her wry humour and her unconditional friendship. So much.

R.I.P.

An old friend of mine died of cancer at the early age of 49. We'd become friends when our children were born within a few months of each other, and in the old days we spent many, many hours in one another's house. Various changes in circumstances, some very painful, meant that we lost our connection over the years and parted last year on acrimonious terms, for which I take full and abject responsibility.

Still, I often thought of her with affection and hoped that she'd eventually come through her storms, although the omens were not good. But she did not, and when I think of her I feel very sad and wished I'd been a better friend and had managed to hug that slight frame one last time.

Friday Nights, Saturday Mornings....

This is my favourite part of the week. Work is finished and the weekend stretches before us. The husband and I generally have our evening meal after the children have gone up to bed: it's the one thing we insist on, and something that none of the children have had a problem with, even when in their late teens/twenties. Mum and Dad need an evening to themselves! It's going to be steak, chips and salad tonight with wine. The children eat early and are in their rooms by nine - they can watch any suitable telly (Have I got News for You is popular) - whilst we chill downstairs. Saturday breakfast is leisurely: croissants and jam, a big cafetiere of coffee and the papers before we go off to do our various things. The evening meal is usually home-made pizza so that we can accommodate whoever wants to join us to eat. Last week we had seven at table. Sunday may start early, with either Mass or a junior football fixture, with something quick for lunch like hotdogs or pittas and dips. If there's any motorsport on, we'll sit and watch that together in the afternoon or we'll go to the gym. In winter we have a roast dinner for which the husband makes some form of dessert. In the summer, it may be a barbeque if the weather's good, or a home prepared curry which has been slowly cooking all day, with bhajis, naans and pickles. sunday evening is prep night: shoe-polishing, pack-ups, ironing (if it's not been done before that), packing schoolbags for Monday. No-one ever goes to bed late in our house. Eleven pm is exceptional and usually means we've watched some sort of match on telly. And then it's Monday again. I know a lot of people would find this sort of predictability stultifying, but for me it encapsulates the harmonious rhythm of our home. Our freedom lies in knowing what's what - there's a liberation and contentment to be found in it. Other folk argue for spontenaity, but I know a lot of spontaneous people who live reactively rather than proactively and don't seem to be either happy or comfortable with taking life on an ad hoc basis, although they claim they do.
Rhythm, routine, ebb and flow....it's a heartbeat from nature itself.

A Half (Term) Life

Well, at least today was payday - if not for me (I never get paid a bean) , then for the husband, who very generously sees it frittered away on food, mortgages, diesel, Starbucks etc. etc. It seems a particularly long time since money last entered our account and since we were literally down to our last brass razoo, there was a great feeling of relief to know that we could at last afford to use the debit card again without going into the red. It's rather lovely today: warm and sunny with a light breeze, but we've had to make a trip into town to stock up on those things which aren't really necessary, but make life a bit easier when you get them. Baby wipes, new shoelaces, razors, dog poo bags, that sort of thing. Town was busy, teeming with tourists determined to enjoy its history and picturesque nature. I have no problem with that, except it makes the streets a bit of an obstacle course. Fortunately the city-centre is pedestrianised during the main part of the day, although you do see the occasional loon who has not realised this and is forced to run (or drive) the gauntlet of meandering, sausage roll-munching rubberneckers. It's time to renew the bright-eyed boy's passport as it runs out before our summer holiday. It will be his third passport: the photo on his first one was taken at ten days old, and the second at five years. It's a little poignant to see his little life measured out in five year spans. When this next passport expires, he'll only have a year before he applies for an adult ten-year one. How time flies.

Half term is nearly over and, in truth, these holidays have not been too successful. We all seem a bit fractious, pulling in different directions. I think we're tired, bored and a little unsettled, but maybe that's just me projecting my own feelings. I'm uneasily aware that my studies have gone by the board just recently, but it's very difficult to stay fully motivated when I'm not really part of an academic community. There's no-one in my particular field to sit down and discuss ideas over a coffee with. I miss going into uni and meeting up with folks before and after classes - to tell the truth this distance learning is all a bit lonely: hour after solitary hour on the computer, or silently reading. I'm also in limbo again, funding-wise. If I receive nothing again this year, I'm faced with another year of scraping train fares, money for books, ink-cartidges, paper etc. with no prospects of attending conferences or anything above the absolute minimum. I've got enough put by for another year's part-time fees, but it's a bit of a half-life - like being an academic semi-member of the living dead! Fingers crossed, chin up eh? Worse things happen at sea.

The Sun Also Rises.....

Dawn was beautiful this morning, the eastern sky lit by a honey-coloured sun. I know, because that's what time I first got up to make myself my first cup of tea. After 90 minutes or so of 'serious' reading (Schweizer's The Mysticism of Paul the Apostle) the husband's alarm went off and, peering outside once more, I was disappointed to see that the glorious sunny start had dissolved into a uniform sheet of grey. It's actually started raining now: cold raindrops sporadically rattle against the window-panes and it's chilly enough that I am wearing a fleece over my teeshirt. I've put some washing on and am still trying to decide whether, if I peg it out, the stiff breeze will overcome the damp atmosphere. The children are still asleep (or at least, in bed). What on earth can we do to amuse ourselves today? Whereas a year or so ago they were quite content to be entertained as a unit, their different rates of maturation (the girl has grown up exponentially) now entail quite separate requirements and expectations. The bright-eyed boy is still, in effect a child, and wants child's diversions and fun. The girl, although willing to go along with such jollities for a while, has become far more introspective and self-reliant, spending a lot of time on her own drawing and 'writing lyrics'. I am secretly delighted by such artistic creativity, seeing in her the private worlds that I myself constructed as a very young person, and am more than happy to provide the wherewithal for their pursuit. But it IS a complete nightmare to keep them equally happy and entertained. Consequently I am involved in some plate-spinning, catering first to one and then the other. Getting out of bed this morning, the husband suggested that I 'take them to the gym' (primarily on the grounds that it was free!). I can certainly see the theoretical merit in this: physical exercise releasing endorphins, waking the system, oxygenating the blood etc. In reality, though, what it would mean would be howls of protest followed by half-an-hour (max) of desultory flumping about, followed by a not-unreasonable demand for sustenance. Swimming is unfortunately out of the question during half-term as the pool is like baby soup. Yes, I know that I am a completely ungrateful wretch, that I should feel privileged and lucky - and deep down I do. I really and honestly do - d e e p down.....It's something that women who become mothers (or become mothers once again, like I did) later in life should be told well in advance, whilst being shaken firmly by the shoulders: by the time you get to fifty, you're pretty well knackered, physically, emotionally, psychologically and mentally. All you're really fit for at this age is dozing on the deck of your yacht with a Jilly Cooper, reflexologist and martini to hand. Not organising thrifty and amusing diversions for disaffected sprogs whilst, at the same time, vainly and pointlessly harbouring academic pretensions! Serves me right.

May Day! May Day! May Day!!!

The half-term holidays are here again (again? So soon already?!) and have unfortunately coincided with a severe lack of cash, owing to the fact that
a) it's been a five-week month, and
b) a Visa bill has arrived with the Venetian trip expenses (hotel) and two birthdays'-worth of presents on it, and
c) it's car servicing, road tax and insurance renewal time.
The weather, so lovely and balmy over the weekend, has defaulted back to the distinctly chilly (although that's been partially moderated by some sunniness this afternoon). The husband, faced with the prospect of returning to his ever-increasing pile of responsibilities, was surprisingly upbeat. Looking out of the window this morning at the dull greyness, it was me who was distinctly fed-up. Daughter no.3 impressed me with her organising skills as she arranged to meet some friends for a trip into town. She was most dischuffed when they proved themselves to be both immature and ungrateful (she'd offered to buy two of them a Subway sandwich, which they'd initially claimed to want, and subsequently turned their noses up at - it was her pocket-money she was spending on you, you morons!) and cut short the trip to meet me and her younger brother in Starbucks where we were scraping a filter coffee and a small bun. That's the family allowance gone - and it's another three weeks or so before the next payment. It's no wonder that parents are getting deeper and deeper into debt. There's really no cheap way of entertaining the kids during the school holidays. Don't give me that guff about baking and sticking and board games. Been there, done it, got the jam stains. Nowadays children are far more sophisticated and intelligent than that. They'll go along with that sort of stuff, but it holds little of sustained interest for them. We've also done the gym, swimming, museums, art-galleries, nature walks, projects, workshops, yadda yadda....What would they really like to do? Travel: travel abroad and get away from this miserable, chilly, sunless land. Me too, for that matter!