Snow is so frightening if you're me

I was thinking about the weather.... well I would wouldn't I, I'm British and we're obsessed with it!

Anywhere you want to start a conversation with a complete stranger, talking about the weather is it. We can discuss the temperature, state of the sun, wind, rain ad infinitum. We are always having the wrong weather. We as a nation love grumbling about the weather. And yet much as we yearn for deep snow, or endless hot sunshine when we get either we moan that it's been cold for too long, or that there hasn't been any rain for days.

Rarely do we in the UK feel happy with how the weather is, and maybe that's because it changes all the time. As in this morning was clear skies and sunshine, which has lasted until the last hour, now the wind is getting up and the rain is starting.

I think as I've got older I've got better at understanding that there is no such thing as bad weather just the wrong clothes! Which is such a British statement as we really don't have extremes of weather compared to other parts of the world.

Even our floods, whilst devastating for the community are nothing compared to the affects of a typhoon say in Indonesia!

Now I actually wasn't thinking like this when I was thinking about the weather.I was thinking more about how I dread the winter and live in fear of it snowing. Which in reality is never going to amount to much, it may cause a day's inconvenience but generally that is about it.

So why am I so frightened of it?

Well, when I was expecting Alex 19years ago I was living up in the hills, in a semi derelict farmhouse and barn. To get to the house you drove off the main road for two miles till you came to the track that we shared at the top with the working farm, our nearest neighbours. Our part of the track was a quarter of a mile long,twisting down hill from the road beyond the farm entrance. We were lucky they were the last farm on the milk run. So the road had to be kept clear for the milk tanker to get through.

We had learnt that the only way to deal with snow, as we were on the snow line and always got it, was to leave a car parked up on the country lane above the house. And then every morning I would walk up with my son and my sisters two children to take them to school, if the road had been cleared. This lesson had been learnt the hard way when we'd tried to get a normal car up this frozen track.

We did of course at times have suitable cars, like land rovers, but not always.

So we got to the winter I'm expecting Alex. On the Thursday night the weather forecast is grim, so we suggest to my sister that on her way home from work she picks up some food. We also phone up the coal man for a delivery. In this house the only heating we had as we rebuilt the house was either a couple of open fires in either end of the building or some fairly ineffectual calor gas heaters. I lived in the barn part and my sister and her family in the farmhouse, we shared the kitchen in the middle.

The snow starts in the night, and we are completely blocked in the next morning I am 7 months pregnant. The children think it is fab. I'm having braxton hicks contractions. The calor gas is running out and the coalman hadn't made it, we were running low on coal. We have some food, but not a lot. And even though we have a four wheel drive vehicle the snow is too deep to try and get up the track. We are stuck.

Ok it was only for 24hours, but it was a worrying 24hours, I had visions of having to be airlifted out in labour, thank goodness that didn't happen!
We were cold, and because I had only actually moved into the barn two weeks before I was still living with walls that were the same as in the days the cows lived there.
Kit and I were sharing the one room. We had one power point in the room and no glass in the window it was still blue polythene. I had to make the decision in the evenings whether to watch TV or put the electric blanket on, once Kit was asleep in his bed.

And what I was thinking today was that actually I've been through so much in my life time, and that really life is easy now compared to then. I mainly only have to please myself about things. I don't have to deal with little or no heating, the snow in the town, if it comes at all, is cleared from the road, so I only have to slid out of my drive, if I need to get out at all. And I can walk to the store from where I live. So will never be without milk or bread.

But fear is such a strange thing, as although I can rationalise all of this it actually doesn't stop that horrible sinking feeling when the snow starts to fall. Especially if I'm at work, I have an urgent need to get home to stay inside. Doesn't help that my journey home is 27 miles up and down some of the steepest hills in England. But I do have to try and keep a perspective and balance here and not just be ruled by my fear.

Juxtapostion is a wonderful word, but difficult living with!

As ever in my life, I'm back to being my glass half full self. So thank you for all your wonderful supportive comments, they were just all encompassing in their warmth and hugs. And I feel well cherished.

I have continued in my doing 'things' as well, and have even sorted out and taken a massive pile of books to the charity shop, returned the crutches to the hospital, got as many of the presents sorted out for Christmas as I've either thought of, or know what people want.

Have prepared parcels to send in a few days. I just love wrapping stuff up.
So I get the item to be parcelled, wrap it in coloured tissue paper, wrap it in shiny silver paper(always)tie ribbon around the parcel, this year it's either dark or leaf green. Then, if it is to be posted wrap in bubble wrap enclosing a few gold coloured snow flakes, and finally wrap in brown paper or a jiffy bag.

My presents themselves may not be spectacular inside, but the wrapping is fantastic!

The Advent Calender is awaiting for me to put drawing pins in it and put it on the wall by my desk. I utterly adore Advent Calenders, but always old fashioned ones with no ridiculous chocolate or toys, just little pictures of angels or toys or whatever.

And that is all I can do at the moment, wait,which seems to be the story of my life this year! There can be no other preparation until after the 8th December. My youngest son goes back to court then, so although every finger and toe is crossed for a good result, we both have to work with the worst case scenario, just in case.

So no tree until after that date, no fairy lights, or wreath on the door. Then whatever happens those things will occur, hopefully with us both doing the decorating together as we always do.The decorating is done accompanied by the CD from the boys childhoods of Christmas songs, and large glasses of Baileys on the rocks.

When it's all done the house lights are all turned off, and whomever is around sits in front of the real tree and admires it and talks for a while about hopes and fears. And even if I have to do this alone this year, I will do it, maybe I won't talk out loud though!

Cause even if youngest gets a custodial sentence the need for me to have Christmas will be overwhelming,at least in terms of having a tree to look at and to smell.

So now all the pair of us can do is be kind to each other as we both have our own ways of dealing with stress, YS gets increasingly angry, and I get increasingly scared and anxious, which in turn makes me stupid, and that gets him crosser as I become ever more inarticulate. But I have told him that this is going to happen to us, and that we need to be as careful as we can with each other, as our stress levels rise.

This then is the juxtaposition I'm living with for the next couple of weeks, the enjoyment of Christmas coming with all it's lovely preparations and the fear of what will transpire in court.

Hey yo, life is as ever difficult!

And in retrospect seems I started my New Year too early, when I started it in September! So I think I'll now revert to the same date as the rest of the world, and just hope that the last 18 months are it, as far as difficulty and horror are concerned for some time, and that the bad times can be put behind us.

Those days when........

Do you ever just have those days when you've got loads to do, fiddly things like writing to the bank, sorting out internet accounts, phoning for appointments, sorting out the broken computer, and plumbing in the new broadband into it. So many that you have to write a list, and there is a sense of satisfaction as each one is ticked off.
And you get to do things that weren't even on the list like make food, not only for son's breakfast at 4pm, he's working nights, but also his sandwiches for his break times during the night.
The added bonus comes along, of needing to take the dog to the vets, something I've been putting off for days, as it is so difficult.
But I managed it, as I did all the other tasks today.
I should feel satisfied and content in exactly how much I've achieved today. All of the awkward tasks, the ones I haven't wanted to do and I've been stockpiling them.I've even organised the next two days in doing pleasurable tasks as a reward for being so good.

So why do I feel so sad, why for two pins could I sit here and cry. And now am!
Don't suppose it's anything to do with youngest son being cross with me, before he went to work.
Or eldest son being too tired to talk to me.
Or even the fact that my Mum has been dead 23 years yesterday.
And the dog is no use,cause the tranquiliser I had to give her has kicked in.
And me having no-one to tell right now, except you.
No couldn't be any of those things I'm sure.....

I'd really like someone to say, you are a good girl, you have worked hard doing all those difficult jobs. Fancy being that clever to sort out the computer,phone the hospital for a mammogram,sort it all out and do the ironing.

I'd really like someone to give me a hug, and hold me tight.

But right now there's no-one, so I'll just gave to get on with it, and maybe just go and get my toy cat to give me a hug instead.

Leaving home....ooh scary!

I've been looking inside myself at my feelings recently. Made easy by going down to spend two nights with my eldest son. Been talking about my future and why it is alternately exciting and horrifying.

As it happens it doesn't matter which it is at the moment, as no-one is coming to look at my house. I'm not taking it personally, none are selling round here at the moment. There was a flurry in the summer and now nothing. But that is okay as everyone needs to get Christmas dealt with first.

It felt however important to deal with me though so that I'm as prepared and happy with my choices when there is other choice.

The excitement is easy to understand, a new start, the seaside, new friends to make locally, a whole new area to explore. And not forgetting the friends I already have down there who are so important to me.

So I dream of going to places and doing things. One of the first on my list is a place called Appledore. It was where the Golden Hind was built, Sir Francis Drake's ship. And I have always loved the name of the place. Even if it isn't as wonderful as my imagination, it won't matter. It will just be a place to tick off on my list of places to have seen before I die.

As I've said so many times before, I can't wait to have my friends to pop and have coffee with, not something I have any longer round here.

Now, I know that moving to Devon I will find it no doubt just as insular and parochial, as I find living round here. But it's taken me years here to work that out,and by the time I really know that about Devon I'll be too old to care!

I am a very friendly person so meeting new people will not be a problem. Nor I hope will be getting some work.

So all that is good, so what's bad?

Well it's leaving here. Not because I have a job,I've had it for 16 years and it is time for a change anyway. It will be tough letting go of the stuff I'm involved with at school. As I so enjoy that.

The real big reason is, I'm smashing the family home. Now my sons are men and are more or less making their own way in life. So in one way wherever they are is their home. But there is always the security of being able to come home if they need.

Home for them will always be where I am, the thing that scares me is although I will live in a new house with all the things they have grown up with, it won't be the place they have called home for the last 13 years.

There will be no memories of life having gone there before. The room that they will stay in when they visit won't be their rooms, they will be guest rooms. Now I don't think that for one minute that will stop them coming to me, especially at Christmas till they have their own families. I will also have the attraction of being near the sea, something I couldn't get much further away from in the part of the UK.

I talked all this over with Kit, and it was the first time I had articulated what my fears were about. He didn't have any solutions,nor did he have any criticisms of what I want to do. He understands totally my need to make a new life for myself.
He agrees I need to do it. And although he is understanding, my guilt button is pushed as I think about what it means for my sons, for me to up sticks and start again.

That said the one thing I can't do is live my life vicariously through my sons. They are their own future. I am not. I am and hope always to be a safe place in times of crisis for them. But I did not have my sons to look after me in old age. I had them to let them go to be the men they are capable of being.

After all Mr Newton didn't discover gravity, his son Issac did! Mr Einstein didn't discover the theory of relativity, his son Albert did!

So I know that all I am doing is letting them go, same as any parent, but because I've not lead a conventional life, I'm not letting them go conventionally either!

But moving on I am, as soon as I am able, as I know now what has been holding me back.... my fear of change, nothing more or less. Same as everyone else. I just lead a bigger life so my change was bound to be different from the norm.

Thank goodness!!!

can't stop I'm busy busy busy

I am having a really busy few days going from one end of England to the other, then off again in another direction. Plus doing a days training on child protection and fitting in attendance at a conference on Mindfulness.... which no doubt will impact here!!!

I've also been thinking after a suggestion from a wonderfully clever journalist friend about doing something new with my self help book to personalise it more.
So when I've got the idea a bit clearer in my own mind I think I'll be writing either some very long posts or splitting them into parts about how I got to be the me I am now.

Cause everything I write has come from the place of my stupidity and low self esteem from my youth that I have conquered over the years. And if my book telling people how to sort themselves out is to be effective then maybe I should put my money where my mouth is and say how I got to be the byrd that rose from the ashes in the first place.

So apologies to all for not getting to your blogs this week. Or writing my usual endless emails, the rest is definitely over, well at least until Sunday, when I plan to nothing more strenuous than have a long bath!!!

Not that I'm complaining cause I've gotten to see two of my best friends last weekend and Thursday/ Friday night get to be spent with my big son..... bliss!

It would be useful though if you could be bothered, to let me know if reading a very long post is off putting, or is it more aggravating to wait on parts to a story?

Armistice Day, lets use it for peace.

Today has been Armistice Day.
And one of the most compelling sights for me was seeing Nicholas Sarkosy and Angela Merckle standing side by side in Paris observing the minutes silence at 11am this morning.

Who would have thought that would happen 91 years ago today.
It gives hope in a world that surely needs it.

To be able to call two German women my friends is not only a privilege because of who they are. But perhaps more importantly gives me a sense of pride that we are making good the agony and pain are Grandfathers and Fathers went through, so we can stand side by side the English and the German and say never again can the War to End All Wars or the brutality of WWII ever be allowed between us again.

And to know that it is today's modern world that has allowed this contact and subsequent friendship, as I know both Geli and Paula initially through the medium of blogging.

Gives me hope that as our world shrinks with ever easier communication that we can hold out the olive branch where it is needed. We will do it the people here, as we post and comment to others around the world and we dissipate fear in our finding out about other peoples and nationalities.

I may have been too busy recently to email all my world wide friends, but I haven't stopped caring for them. So whilst I do that, and others do that, and slowly we all do that with the people we met here, we will affect what goes on in this one small world. And bit by bit ignorance and fear,intolerance of our fellow human will change.

It has to, we only have this small world to live on together

November 11th 2005 not a day I'll forget.

November 11th will always be etched on my mind as a date I'll remember. And not just for it being the 11th day of the 11th month and the guns standing still. And it is November 11th 2005 the day I'll never forget

But before talking about that day I need to set the scene....

When I got to be fifty I asked for a mammogram,only to be told that my surname wasn't going to be called for a couple of years, as the letter hadn't long been done on the NHS. Well I wasn't hugely impressed with this answer, as I thought I should have one, so I booked and paid for one myself.

What was found was a build up of calcium deposits in the milk ducts. Nothing to worry about immediately, but because I was now in the private sector health care it was decided to offer me another mammogram the following year.

I had this and was due to hear the results on the 11th November.

From getting the mammogram onwards I'd been at work,I was convinced there was nothing wrong with me. I'd coped fine doing all my counselling and not letting my thoughts get in the way of helping my clients.

Until the 10th.... I walked into work, cheerfully said Good Morning to everyone, went down to my room and burst into tears. I tried to stop and I simply couldn't. I was just so scared, all my bravado had gone. I knew without a doubt that I couldn't talk to a single client. I told the boss and said I needed to go. She did not want me to drive the 27 miles home. So we compromised and I phoned a friend nearby and she, bless her, opened her door to me, and held onto me. She made me talk and talk all my fears out. She missed going to work, and she didn't care. I was so grateful for her putting me back together.

Eventually I did go home, and like so many people when faced with the unknown I did some caring for others and I made food for my youngest son. My eldest son was coming to the end of his second year at Cambridge University. He knew I was putting on a brave face. I hadn't asked him to come home I knew he'd got exams coming up And I was going to be fine going by myself the next day.

So Alex went out, and I was playing cards on the computer. 10 minutes after leaving the front door opened. I thought it was Al and he'd forgotten something. He didn't answer when I called, so I went into the hall. And there standing in front of me was my eldest son.

I started crying again as he held me tight. He does give me the biggest most reassuring hugs in the world. And he just said 'I knew you'd like me to be here and I knew you wouldn't ask me, so I didn't say anything, as you'd have told me not to bother as I had exams' He knows me so well!!!

To say I was happy just doesn't cover it. To think my big son just knew what I wanted and wouldn't ask for, was a wonderful moment.

The next day we set off for the hospital. I was so convinced that I was ok that we went in my car with me driving.

I went into to see the consultant by myself, Kit sat just outside the door in the waiting room.

Mr M, just said I'm sorry, you have cancer.

I went into this weird place of organisation and no feeling, and sorted out what happened next, when it would happen, and any other detail I could fix.

I even said thank you with a smile, as I left the room.

My son stood up as I came out, I just said I've got cancer and burst into tears.

We left the hospital and what followed was a very surreal moment in time. Before we set off I phoned my sister and told her. She wanted me to go straight to her home.

Then I drove home, my son wasn't insured to drive my car so it never occurred to me to let him. Instead he dialled number after number on my cell phone. Then handed the phone over to me and I told friend after friend that I had cancer. It was the strangest journey.

We got to my sisters, and I'd asked school to tell Alex he was being collected. Finally I let Kit drive my car to get his brother.

What do you say, how do you say it, how can you tell your 14year old son who only has you, since his father walked out, that you've got cancer. And how do you deal with the pain of watching him cry, he never cried he was a tough cookie. And there he is crying like a baby scared for his mummy and himself.

The three of us went home, and I spent hours on the phone telling people over and over what was going on. The boys lost themselves in a computer game together.

And life went on

I'm worth it, your worth it, we're all worth it!

One of the things I feel passionate about is the need for us all to self soothe.
Of course we all do it in various ways, but most of them are not caring or constructive. They are abusive and destructive.

Think about it; it's been a tough day, you get to the point when you can put your feet up, and what do you reach for? Well the two biggies are alcohol and food. I'm not talking about a glass of wine drank leisurely with a meal eaten at a table here. I'm talking about the bag of chips mindlessly stuffed into our mouths whilst staring aimlessly at the TV. Or the glass of booze that doesn't even touch the sides as it goes down, and it takes the second or third to actually hit the spot.

These are the most commonly used ways to make ourselves feel better at the end of a day. But in using food this way we are forgetting what food is actually for. Food keeps us alive, without it, we will die. So it is a vital component of our life experience. And yet we treat it so badly. People don't eat mindfully enough, that is making an event of each life giving meal.

No people eat for many reasons other than life. They eat cause they are bored, angry, sad, lonely, depressed, hurting. None of which are good reasons to eat at all. And this is not including people who actually have an eating disorder, who have complex psychological reasons as to why they use food as such a destructive force in their lives.

But I'm not focusing on food here, what I want to look at is finding nicer/better/ healthier ways to self soothe.

Self soothing is about learning to like ourselves, to believe we are worth something. To not put ourselves in the position to be taken for granted. This is another identifiable chicken and egg thing here. People, and it is mainly women, stop having self esteem. And in so doing they hook into not mattering to anyone else around them. And then guess what, because the woman believes she is worthless she gets treated like it, and so starts getting taken for granted.

So this is about repeating the mantras of, I am okay, I am equal to everyone else, I am therefore gorgeous just as I think others are, because I'm equal!

But we also need to reward ourselves for learning to be okay etc. And this is where my hit list of thinks that say I'm worth it kicks in. I have a list of things I give myself on a regular basis to validate my alrightness in the world.

They are not usually expensive, they are not useful in the ordinary sense. But they are things that make me happy. And I believe we should all have these lists of things that we buy ourselves because we can, and because if we love us, then it follows as night follows day that others will love us to.

So what is on my list? Well each week without fail I buy myself fresh flowers. They are of no practical use at all, but they look beautiful on the coffee table in front of me, or they smell wonderful. I don't buy expensive flowers I buy a bunch or two when I do my supermarket shop.

I adore glossy magazines, so each month I have three, again there are of no use at all. But it gives me huge pleasure to open a magazine look through all the pages without reading anything cover to cover, and then to leave the magazine by my bed for reading cover to cover till everything has been read and I can get into the next one.

I love books, and with the advent of Amazon I treat myself to my favourite authors as they release new books. Of no use again, except the pleasure of reading.

I adore perfume, so guess what, maybe once or sometimes twice a year, depending on the holidays I treat myself to lovely scents. In fact my favourite perfume of all time is nearly finished and I've got to decide soon whether I'll buy another bottle ( Honeysuckle and Jasmine by Jo Malone)or go for something else.... decisions decisions.

At the moment one of those circular things doing the rounds tells you to not save things for best, whether perfume or clothes or jewels as we'll be dead soon!

This then is my hit list of things that enforce my belief that I'm worth it. That I'm okay and equal to all. And in fact the one time that I was going through a horrendous patch in my life I did exactly this, I bought myself something to take the pain away, and boy did it work!

There I was in Manchester, I'd treated myself to a facial, it was my first time back in Manchester since having had a mastectomy. I'd come out of the salon feeling fabulous and pampered. I decided to look round a couple of the glamorous department stores there before going home.

I was still feeling a bit weak but knew my limitations in how long I could be out, so was ok. So wandering around with no aim at all except enjoying the wonderful selection of designer bags I saw it..... The most gorgeous Prada bag in the world.

It was big, it was subtle in only having two small labels on it, it was fabulous leather. But I couldn't have a Prada bag, I walked away, I went back, it was wonderful. NO I couldn't, away again and then back again. I was in turmoil. So I went and sat down and reasoned with myself as to how I could justify spending so much money on a bag.

And what I decided was along the lines of .... fuck it I've just had a mastectomy, I've had an insurance pay out, which I've got to be sensible with, I've been through 12 weeks of hell... fuck it I deserve it.

So I went back one more time with my reasoning sorted and bought the world's best Prada bag. And every time I went out with that bag, which was every day as I don't do best. It gave me a kick, only a design handbag freak would recognise it was Prada, so I didn't feel I was showing off. But I did feel that people could notice my bag and that was fine, cause I sure as hell didn't want them noticing the absence of my breast.

So next time you feel no-one does anything for me, don't wait just get out there and buy your own, flowers/magazine/book/perfume or designer bag, cause you know what? YOU are so worth it, just like me!

Walsall my home town.... good or bad?

Last night I did something very strange that could have been awful or great. I had no idea which.

I've now met two friends through Friends Reunited, that I was good mates with at school, forty years ago. Where did the time go, who stole it away, did I sleep through some years?

The first one I met with a couple of years ago now, and she lives in Devon. And we are now as close friends as we were when we were 15, which is lovely. And being able to be close enough to her to have a coffee together is definitely a good reason to move down there, amongst others, just in case I sound like a scary stalker!

The second one, P, came to my house in the summer for lunch. We got on really well, little had changed about either of us, we told each other, well except for those wonderful experience lines that come with age!! ( I'm calling them that, cause wrinkles should be banned as a word)

Anyway we've been trying to organise a night out in Walsall, my home town that I left when I was 21. And finally last night it happened. But we were not alone, along came another school friend and a further mate from the disco/night club I used to frequent who when I knew her I had gone out with her boyfriend of two years. Who I went out with for five. Was she going to scratch my eyes out after all these years??

We went to what apparently is the only pub in the area which is safe from 'yoof' and was full of people of a certain age. As an aside Walsall seems to be a really happening place at night judging by the number of clubs/people/police I saw!

As G said as I was leaving, that I had taken a risk driving for an hour to met them, as it could have turned out really badly. But in fact it was a really great night out.P and I went for a meal first so we could catch up on ourselves. So my mind was free then to take in the others.

G and B who are the same age as me,and are grandmothers several times over and have eldest children well into their thirties. Now whilst I realise that isn't abnormal, I suppose cause mine are 24 and 18 I'd got my head stuck in my not being old enough to be a granny any time soon! So it was quite a shock to be admiring the baby pictures on G's blackberry.

We did do some reminiscing but by and large the conversation was about now. Three of us are very independent women who are happy not to be in an all consuming relationship. So there was lots of laughter and serious stuff about invisibility versus confidence, underwear, illnesses,cake and all things that make up a good evening in my opinion.

I felt I'd known these women for ever.... which of course is truish! But we've just being keeping out of each others way for a few years! What was really nice was they all asked me to go back out with them again. They didn't have to do that, of course. And these women are not the types just to be socially polite because they have to be. They are genuine salt of the earth,strong minded women, who have been happy to stay in their home place and make their lives there. They saw me as quite strange and somewhat exotic in my leaving home at 21 and not marrying the love of my life from then, and going to live in so many other places.And being so career minded, as they have not gone down the same professional route I have.

So at the end of the evening, I felt in a good place with myself and them, and would happily except another invitation to hang out with them.

Then the evening got tough.

I hadn't been near my old family home for six years since Dad died. For the first six months after he died my sister and I kept in close touch with my stepmother and visited her frequently. But due to amazing difficulties, courtesy of my Dad's will the relationship came to a horrible and acrimonious end. And my sister and I made the decision to pay her off,to safeguard our family possessions that went back to our Great Grandparents through to our Mum and Dad.

The wicked stepmother took her money and sold up, and went who knows where and who cares ,I certainly don't. I blame her for Dad's death. My sister and I manged to get him off the booze for some time, and she didn't like drinking alone so that was the slow end of that.

I digress, so after leaving my new, old friends, I drove to the place I lived in for 17 years and carried on visiting up until six years ago. It was hugely different. There was an extension above the garage. There was a massive extension into the back garden.(I know this as I drove to the road round the back to look!)The windows were all new, the plants around the garden had all gone. It was like a Southfork house. All the wonderful character had been ripped away and replaced with blandness. Now Of course I knew these things were going to happen, it was ripe for developing, but it was still a shock.

Particularly as my penultimate visit six years before when my sis and I had gone in friendship to see the WS had such a profound affect on me. When sis and I left the house the garden was covered in white feathers. They were not as if a bird had been caught and killed by a cat. They were largish white feathers. They were in the garden, on the pavement and by my car.

No-one else seemed to notice(see) them. My sis is not that observant anyway, but it was still so strange. And what I had was a conviction that I would never go to that house in friendship again. I felt beyond doubt that my parents and/or angels had put those feathers there to say Goodbye to sis and me. To allow me to walk away from my childhood home and not hold on to it anymore.

It proved to be true, as the only other visit sis and I made there was to take a van and remove our parents and family's things from the house. And then last night.

This year the anniversary of Dad's death passed me by in a fugue of pain and broken bits. So it felt that because I was being given this opportunity to go to Walsall I needed to go and check 'home' out.

It wasn't home, it was just another building and I spent my time looking with wonder at what had happened to it.

My parents weren't there. My parents are in the things around me, my history. Not in a particular thing, but in my memories of how that thing was used or mattered to them. So to have these things around me, in the same way as I have a box full of children's drawings and paintings to look at again one day, they give me a sense of continuity with the world.

I've said before I don't have a place I call home, but I do have the treasures of my life that means wherever I am, home is around me. And if there is one thing I'm good at it's making house! From my first built dens, to making a boat or a caravan cozy I make house, and therefore home, for myself and those who are with me.

So today, as ever I feel a mixture of emotions, but mainly sad. So I'm going to walk round my house and talk out loud to my Mum and Dad, who I miss so much, and just touch the desk or jug or silver cigarette box and let myself be held in those thoughts for a moment.

At the going down of the sun

These words are not my words, but the emotion was mine on reading this, so I make no apology for putting it up here. This was a circular I got today, but it seemed more appropriate to put it up here, than send it round.
It is Remembrance Sunday in the UK this Sunday. Although increasingly we also stop at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month for a minutes silence, wherever we are.
But although this is about British troops, I think you could change the nationality to any country that is serving a war anywhere in the world. These lads are all someone's son. I wear my poppy with pride to honour the fallen and the injured and the scared by any conflict. I think the words.... At the going down of the sun... we will remember them, is ever more vital.
Particularly for those like me who know that our 18 yr old sons want to do just this.



The average British soldier is 19 years old…..he is a short haired, well built lad who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears and just old enough to buy a round of drinks but old enough to die for his country – and for you. He’s not particularly keen on hard work but he’d rather be grafting in Afghanistan than unemployed in the UK . He recently left comprehensive school where he was probably an average student, played some form of sport, drove a ten year old rust bucket, and knew a girl that either broke up with him when he left, or swore to be waiting when he returns home. He moves easily to rock and roll or hip-hop or to the rattle of a 7.62mm machine gun.

He is about a stone lighter than when he left home because he is working or fighting from dawn to dusk and well beyond. He has trouble spelling, so letter writing is a pain for him, but he can strip a rifle in 25 seconds and reassemble it in the dark. He can recite every detail of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either effectively if he has to. He digs trenches and latrines without the aid of machines and can apply first aid like a professional paramedic. He can march until he is told to stop, or stay dead still until he is told to move.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation but he is not without a rebellious spirit or a sense of personal dignity. He is confidently self-sufficient. He has two sets of uniform with him: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his water bottle full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never forgets to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes and fix his own hurts. If you are thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food is your food. He'll even share his life-saving ammunition with you in the heat of a firefight if you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and regards his weapon as an extension of his own hands. He can save your life or he can take it, because that is his job - it's what a soldier does. He often works twice as long and hard as a civilian, draw half the pay and have nowhere to spend it, and can still find black ironic humour in it all. There's an old saying in the British Army: 'If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't have joined!'

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and he is unashamed to show it or admit it. He feels every bugle note of the 'Last Post' or 'Sunset' vibrate through his body while standing rigidly to attention. He's not afraid to 'Bollock' anyone who shows disrespect when the Regimental Colours are on display or the National Anthem is played; yet in an odd twist, he would defend anyone's right to be an individual. Just as with generations of young people before him, he is paying the price for our freedom. Clean shaven and baby faced he may be, but be prepared to defend yourself if you treat him like a kid.
He is the latest in a long thin line of British Fighting Men that have kept this country free for hundreds of years. He asks for nothing from us except our respect, friendship and understanding. We may not like what he does, but sometimes he doesn't like it either - he just has it to do.. Remember him always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

And now we even have brave young women putting themselves in harm's way, doing their part in this tradition of going to war when our nation's politicians call on us to do so.



When you read this, please stop for a moment and if you are so inclined, feel free to say a prayer for your troops in the trouble spots of the world.

Exactly WHO made you feel like that?

So there you are, furious with someone, anyone will do, but probably someone close to you as our family are the people who aggravate us the most. You yell at them for upsetting you, you might even throw something, slam a door, scream you hate them, or even worse hit out. And when you've done all of this you'll wonder why they are so hateful, annoying, out to get you, or whatever.....

Well I've got news for you, they are not any of those things! (I'll come back to them later)

What you need to look at is your own responses to other people.

When a client comes to see me for therapy, at some point I'll say to them.... 'Your in therapy today and I'd like you to cry NOW!' Without fail the client looks at me as if I'm mad, and usually smiles uncertainly at me. I respond with 'look your smiling at me!' And go on to say 'if you were crying and I told you to stop right now, then you'd think I was cruel and callous.'

By this time the client is certainly bemused and at this point I tell them 'I'm a therapist and I know everything there is to know about feelings, but I can't make you cry, and I can't make you stop crying cause I say so.'

I then tell them I will go further with my example, and choosing a piece of their clothing I'll tell them they look awful in what they are wearing. I then go on to explain what I am doing. I suggest that I DO NOT have any power over their feelings. That there feelings are theirs alone. And that if they were feeling confident, they might tell me to mind my own business, as there is nothing wrong with what they are wearing. If on the other hand they are feeling vulnerable they may think to themselves, 'Oh I'm so useless I can't do anything right, even my clothes are bad.'

What I move onto discussing is, personal responsibility. I point out that all I have done is, been rude and offensive about their choice of clothing. I go on immediately to say there is nothing wrong with whatever I seemed to criticise, before they get a complex about it! Which without fail makes the client smile, as I say it with kindness. But I make the point that I cannot make them feel anything. That however they choose to respond to my rudeness was their choice. I take them back to when I asked them to cry. And point out that although I know what I'm talking about I couldn't make them cry. If they wanted to cry or not, that was their choice and nothing to do with any power I had over them.

And why do I do this.... because we all spend far to much time blaming other people for how we feel. It is really difficult to take responsibility for our own emotions and our own responses.

Road rage is a perfect example. Lets say, you get up late, you've run out of coffee, your shirt needs ironing, there's a big meeting at work. So you leave the house feeling angry and stressed. You get in your car and your stuck behind some old codger doing 30 miles an hour. You get absolutely furious with the silly old sod!

Next day, you wake up on time, there is coffee, the ironing fairy has sorted out your shirts, there is no big meeting and you leave the house in a good mood. You get behind the same old slow driving codger, and you don't care.

In road rage you blame the other person, not taking into account how you feel. You blame them for all the things going wrong in your life. When in actual fact they are not the old codgers fault at all! They are yours, as you have a choice, always, of how you are going to respond and feel at any given moment.

And it is starting to take this on board that liberates us. We are responsible for our own feelings. We make choices about how we react. We can affect how we react to others, based on how we behave in the first place.

The buck doesn't stop with us, more it starts with us. People treat us how we treat them. If we are kind, then we get it back. If we are mean, well guess what....

The minute we understand that the world responds to us, and not us to the world then life becomes a damned sight easier. Think about pre-menstrual feelings. Three weeks of the month we women just get on with it, then suddenly one week of the month we wonder why everyone is so mean to us all of a sudden. Hey guess what, they are not. We,in that one week have raging hormones that make us behave erratically, and the people around us respond to that, not us to them. There is a definite answer to the chicken and egg here. We get upset first, and behave accordingly.

Taking responsibility for ourselves is life changing. In that we can take a deep breath when anything is said to us, and think for a moment how shall I respond, what am I feeling, do I need/want to blame the other person for making me feel something? Or shall I be a grown up and know that I'm in charge of myself and how I respond. Even if that is to throw toys out of the pram, that's the choice. No-one makes us feel anything.

Cause if they did, I'd be far more powerful than I already am, as all my clients would be wearing what I told them, eating food I prescribed, watching TV programmes I suggest, and crying whenever I said they had to! And do you know what, none of them are doing that at all.

What they are doing instead is starting to be responsible for themselves in all areas of their lives, which is totally empowering and stops then needing therapy.

Finally to go back to the point from the beginning, of course are family are annoying! You can't live with anyone for any length of time without knowing the shortcuts to winding them up! But if people take on board personal responsibility, then they choose to be wound up or not, however much someone else is trying to wind them up.

Disapearing words makes me cross!

Oh I'm jolly cross now.
I've just written a long post and by not looking for one moment hit the wrong key(s) don't know which ones and have obliterated my post.... gggrrr!
Suffice to say I've no plaster left on my leg.
And on Saturday directed my friends to one of my all time favourite places in the Peak Park, Winnetts Pass.
The top photo is the road from Chapel en le Frith to The Blue John Mine.
The middle one is coming back up Winnnets pass after a fab lunch in the Castle Pub in the village of Castleton.
And the bottom pick is me in the car park with the astonishing hills behind me.
So sorry there are no more words but they are floating round the ether and I can't find them!