Hold onto your hats

"Few women have ever been able to resist the temptation to try on a hat and discover in the mirror a person they never suspected was there. A hat alters the image we have of ourselves, and the image others see as well. For the hours we wear it, it brings out different dimension in our personality, much as a costume aids an actress in her role."

Hats in one form or another have been with us for centuries. Hat fashions mark the passage of time and each generation has left its particular legacy. In the past, they were an indicator of social status, whilst, different cultures also attach great importance to head coverings, Christian men remove hats on entering a church, on entering a mosque head scarves are required for women, and most uniforms have a hat as an important element often donating rank or position. Hollywood has also attached great importance to hats and they even became a trade mark for certain actors, think of Maurice Chavalier's straw boater or Carmen Miranda's fruit hat.

So, why is that today hats tend to evoke a love them or hate them reaction? Why do so many of us think they look great on someone else, but are not for us? Eric won some tickets to Royal Ascot and so I went and bought a hat, but wearing it was something that didn't come naturally. It didn't help that during our visit today it was very windy and I seemed to spend my time either holding the hat on my head or chasing after it.

Others seemed more successful in keeping theirs in place and more comfortable wearing them.

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions

Inspired by the Tuesday Meme Heads or Tails and the prompt: Flower
and Slice of Life Sunday



"While the State exists there can be no freedom; when there is freedom there will be no State."

The creepingly insidious power of the State is something that's been irritating me for a while now, but over the past few days it's become something far more serious; it's become something that scares me. Maybe it's because the decisions that I make for myself are nearly always different from the decisions that others would encourage me to make or would make for me; but, I have always had a fear of losing control of my own destiny. I can think of nothing worse than anyone, let alone the State, taking control of the decisions in my life even if done with the best of intentions. Every wrong decision I have ever made in my life has been a decision that has gone against my instincts and followed so called expert or professional advice. I cannot think of a single wrong decision that I've made when I've followed my instinct against professional advice.

"Remember that a government big enough to give you everything you want is also big enough to take away everything you have."

Our current government came to power with a new image backed up with its slogan, "New Labour, New Britain," and its slick new logo the thornless red rose, symbolic of socialism, love, caring, and warmth. But, we should have been more wary and not viewed everything through rose tinted glasses. We should have remembered that red is also the colour of the Devil, of arrogance and power. It's demanding, aggressive and defiant. The rose nearly always has thorns, and grows its branches to form an impenetrable barrier using the thorns to ensure its safety.

Under this government, the state has encroached into our everyday lives, all with honourable intentions and in our best interests. But, the ultimate effect has been to increase the power of the state, and remove any kind of personal responsibility. The government delights in taking over for our own good, whether we want them to or not, little realising the full effects of its actions. The Health Service Masters welcome their initiatives with open arms seeking opportunity to expand their control further and strongly resisting any attempt to stop the run away train, never mind reverse it.

Eric's Aunt is dying. Quite how close to death she is, nobody seems able or prepared to say. A week ago she started to decline rapidly and became virtually bed bound. Until last Friday we managed fine caring for her at home, but then she complained that during the night she'd knocked her hip on the bedside table and was in unbearable pain. The GP was really reluctant to do anything, convinced that it was only referred pain from her cancer, that she could control. Indeed, by the time she arrived the pain was already subsiding as I'd sought her permission to top up the morphine. But since there had also been a dramatic decline in her general well being since the previous evening she felt that she had no alternative but to have the hip xrayed in case of fracture. She explained to me that this would almost inevitably incur a hospital admission over the weekend regardless of the result and that she had arranged a hospice place for the Monday. She stressed to me over and over, to keep reminding the hospital that the hospice place was arranged.

In the event, Auntie Vera hadn't broken her hip, it was referred pain and anxiety. On the Saturday the change in her was as dramatic as the change the previous night but now she was locked into the system and you try getting someone out of it. She went into hospital never having suffered the humiliation of wetting herself or the bed, something that was of absolute importance to her; the hospital system is too slow to accommodate her urinary urgency and so she was given incontinence sheets and her calls for the bed pan or commode ignored until too late. This distressed her greatly. At home her pain was controlled because both me and the GP understood the nature of her pain and asked the right questions. The hospital would ask her if she was in pain and would be told no, because at that precise moment she wasn't. Consequently, she would not be given a top up and hence at moments when Auntie came to do the things that trigger the pain, she was in agony, but nursing staff were never around to witness it and Auntie never told them. Auntie Vera went into hospital eating small quantities and drinking, in hospital they accepted her screwing up her nose and refusing food and forgot to give her drinks let alone encourage her to drink them. She needs to sit up whilst sleeping due to Menieres Disease, something which I ensured was put on her notes on admittance, but we constantly found her with the top of the bed lowered, pillows removed and her lying flat and then the Nurses would wonder why she was complaining of feeling sick and feeling dizzy. They administered drugs that had already been tried and caused unpleasant side effects despite me warning them of the fact. Auntie queried with them whether they had tried these drugs as she had began to experience the side effects again, they refused to answer her. It took a message from the GP after I informed her of what was going on to get them stopped. Her sister visited her on Sunday and was shocked at how she was being treated, her sister's husband was a Hospital Administrator and she is well aware of what is acceptable in hospitals and what isn't. There have been one or two exceptional individuals whose efforts I cannot praise highly enough, but on the whole the standards of care are sadly lacking and some of the comments made to us, have been completely unacceptable.

Eric and I got through the weekend by reassuring ourselves that she would be transferred to the hospice on Monday, but this just did not happen and Auntie Vera is stuck in a system that refuses to discharge her despite being unable to offer her any treatment. Why can she not be discharged, even though she would be better cared for at home? Because she lives on her own and hasn't had a care assessment and the NHS say that carers will have to be allocated. But, wait, haven't we as a family been doing just that over the past weeks and months? Yes, but it might exhaust me and they can't be certain that she would be safe, even though they know we can organise 24 hour care. We were even told that they thought a care home would be a more appropriate placement for her, something which they never discussed with Auntie Vera and which they were quickly informed was a red line we weren't crossing. So now Auntie Vera has to wait for an official care assessment, accept outside carers to administer to her needs or not go home. Has she asked for any of this? No. Are there any signs that she was not properly looked after at home? No. Will she be any safer, more comfortable, or better looked after? Probably not. Will it help me? No, Auntie Vera is still insisting that I am with her to protect her and her stay in hospital is far harder for me than caring for her at home. But, perhaps more importantly, we are being denied our desire to help her, our role in her life is being neutered. She adores my Step-son but he won't visit her in hospital or go and sit and just talk to her when she returns home, he has his own problems with depression, he has to have a purpose to visit. I used to get him to do her shopping, now someone else will be allocated to do it, so he won't be seen for dust. The system is robbing him of his purpose and her of her visit. In fact, in their desire to help, they are robbing our whole family of its purpose and its need to visit her and have involvement in her life; she is after all not anyone's mother, she is just my husband's Aunt and the extent of our involvement in her life has been based upon her need of us; take that away and why would we need to go and visit her everyday. Auntie Vera's days are limited and they are robbing her of her opportunity to live them. They're not able to treat her, her condition is stabilised and now they've listened to my concerns about them not topping up her morphine, her pain is again under control. There is no expected improvement, other than the lack of a care assessment there is no reason to retain her in hospital.

Auntie Vera is lucky she has me and Eric to oversee what is going on and put things right, I've seen for myself what happens to the elderly who haven't got someone to oversee what is happening. She has a GP who phones me to ask what is happening and advises me on how to resolve things for her. I have friends who are in a position to establish my credibility with the ward hierarchy and to put my concerns to them without me having to complain. I have the determination to fight what's wrong with the system, compromising just enough not to build barriers. I really do think that it's right that we provide help for those who need it. I really do think it's right that we should have a social care system, but I don't think it should just be foisted on people. I'm sure that everything that's being done is being done with the best of intentions, but the outcome is the exact opposite of what Auntie wants or is in her best interests. Auntie Vera is of the old school she thinks that she has to accept the system without question, when asked what she wants her answer is "not to be a burden." How sad then that the health service seems to think that my caring for her is a burden on me, and has therefore decided to relieve me of that responsibility, even telling her that the care is being put in place for my benefit so that I don't become exhausted, when in fact caring for Auntie was as helpful to me as it was to her.

Too Perfect?

"There is nothing more beautiful than a rainbow - but it takes both rain and sunshine to make one. If life is to be rounded many-colored, like a rainbow, both joy and sorrow must come to it."

Last September we spent three weeks touring Canada and Alaska. It was quite simply breathtaking. There's nothing that quite compares with the Canadian Rockies, lower and somewhat prettier than their American counterparts. Nothing quite as vast and untamed as the Yukon Territory and Alaska is quite simply staggering; I will never forget the sight of the Glaciers.

But, sometimes seeing perfection day after day, you become quite blasé. By the end of the second week both Eric and I were struggling to see the differences in the mountains and perversely we longed to see something flawed; something that stood out as being different.

Can something be too perfect? If life is all plain sailing, do we fail to appreciate it? Do we need the bad days to truly appreciate the good? I know when we visit America we love the contrast. Drive a few hundred miles and the scenery is radically different. In British Columbia and the Yukon this isn't the case, the differences are subtle; after a while one mountain begins to look very much like the next mountain, one patch of open space like the next. I think that I do need to experience the ups and downs of life, the beauty and the squalid in order to appreciate what I have and where I visit.

Weeds, Wild Flowers and My Father

"Role modeling is the most basic responsibility of parents. Parents are handing life's scripts to their children, scripts that in all likelihood will be acted out for the rest of the children's lives." -- Stephen R. Covey

My father was a hoarder, without my mother's influence, he'd have become just like his father, turning over a room in the house to old newspapers from years ago. Just how much like his father he was, my mother didn't really realise until she cleared out the loft after his death. Everything went into that loft, supplies of wood for his garden and allotment, newspapers, jars of screws, anything, in fact, that he might have wanted some time in the future; but all was perfectly organised and he knew exactly where everything was.

But, my father's real space, the place where he kept his real treasures, was his garden and his allotment. I used to love to accompany him to the allotment as a a kid. He would spend hours there, happy with his own company, growing his vegetables, tending his chickens and his rabbits which he kept there. It was always a treat to be allowed to collect the freshly laid eggs, or to feed the chickens. For some reason, the patch of wild horse raddish at the top of the allotment assumed a special significance in my mind and I'd sit like a little gnome among the leaves watching my father digging. I was given my own patch and I chose to gr0w flowers, a mixture of wild flowers and roses. My dad taught me how to prepare the ground and look after them and then left me with the responsibility of ensuring that it was done. It was up to me to ask if I wanted help or advice, he never interfered.

My father was definitely a soft touch, I remember him agreeing to look after a rabbit that had broken its leg. What he didn't know was that it was pregnant. Once the babies were born, the mother started to eat them as she couldn't cope. Dad bundled the babies up int0 a box and took them home to be hand reared. My mother used to look after them whilst dad was at work and would often give them the run of the sitting room. One night, dad brought home a friend unexpectedly and mum was mortified that she was asleep on the settee in her curlers with baby rabbits running everywhere.

I don't remember long conversations with my father, probably because there weren't many. He was a quiet man who showed his personality more through actions than words. My Aunt is fond of recounting a story of how he turned up to see his brother one day, waited four hours for him and went home without saying a word. But, despite his lack of words, my father always had the ability to help. I hadn't realised until recently just how much I learned from him, but his ways of coping are mine, nature, the garden, walking. His hoarding. Yes, I'm a hoarder too, but there is a purpose and reason behind my hoarding, just as there was his.

It's been a long time since my father died, and I have to say that my memories of him are faded. I sometimes wonder how many are true memories and how many are established through stories I've been told. But, that's the beauty of my memories of time spent on the allotment; they are solely my memories, nobody else shared them or knew about them. It was a time spent by me with my dad alone, none of my brothers or sisters wanted to come. My father established his love of nature and gardening when he was evacuated from London to a farm during the war. I learned to appreciate these things through my father. He helped me to develop an appreciation for space and solitude. He encouraged me to roam and explore. He taught me how to be self sufficient, in every sense. He taught me that you don't have to shout, rant or rave when you're displeased or upset. But, most of all, he taught me that it's important to respect differences and to protect and help those less fortunate than ourselves.

Eric does like to be beside the seaside

"Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war". ~Loren Eiseley

Every child loves to be by the seaside, right? Well, no, Ashleigh used to absolutely hate being by the sea and try and get him to put his feet on the sand and he'd be absolutely hysterical, wriggling and fighting to get free and away from the torture we were inflicting on him. Everybody used to tell me that he'd get over it, but he never did. Of course, I now know why, he has a sensory integration dysfunction and the coarse texture of the sand is indeed agony to him, the smell of the sea, causes him problems and add to that the auditory distractions and you have created a nightmare situation.

I found a photo today of me and my youngest brother and sister at the seaside, taken during a holiday spent largely in the New Forest. Looking at me holding my brother and the way he has his legs tucked up made me wonder whether he had similar problems. I know that I have always had sensory difficulties; I never once felt Ashleigh move when I was pregnant, but I feel intense discomfort if someone lightly touches my skin, and I know that the condition is hereditary.

Until Ashleigh was diagnosed I had no idea that my sensory reactions were abnormal. Why would I? They have always been the same and are normal to me. I have to say that I have always wondered why I find it more difficult to cope in noisy environments than others and why my hearing was hypersensitive, I seemed to be able to hear things that nobody else could. Now I know why.

I have to say that I do feel sorry for Eric. He loves the sea but reluctantly spends his holidays inland in deference to the difficulties that Ashleigh and I experience. We do try and spend a day by the sea so that he doesn't miss out totally, but I know that he sometimes yearns to just sit and watch the sea all day, something that he'd definitely have to do without us.

Acknowledgments: Dawn Inskip Weather Station kit used for layout which was also inspired by one of her layouts.

Find something that you love to do and never work a day in your life

, "No book has yet been written in praise of a woman who let her husband and children starve or suffer while she invented even the most useful things, or wrote books, or expressed herself in art, or evolved philosophic systems."

Woman's Share in Social Culture, 1912

Imagine for one moment that you are sat in the middle of a vast room, the ceiling ornately plastered and gilded, the heady scent of the flowers on the mantelpiece drifting through your nostrils, the sunlight glinting on the silver and throwing reflections around the room, and music gently entering your consciousness from the grand piano sat proudly in the corner. Imagine then, that you are sat together with a hundred or so other shuffling, sniveling teenagers, all impatient to leave the assembly and get on with something a little more interesting and you can pretty much imagine the Sixth Form Assembly Room of my school. Think Hogwarts and you won't go pretty far wrong. But, this was no school for aspiring witches and wizards, but merely an ordinary state Comprehensive, or extraordinary state Comprehensive, dependent upon your view.

But, this isn't the story of my schooling, but my recollections of my first few jobs. I say jobs, because like most working class children of my generation, I had quite a few, that enabled me to do things that I wanted, have the clothes that I craved and still carry on with my education. Being a part of Hinchingbrooke School Sixth Form, was like living in two parallel worlds. 1970s student by day, surrounded by the paraphernalia that 70s teenagers had, disco or punk dependent upon your tastes, musky smelling PE bags and the lingering odour of soggy cabbage and immersed in a world of old world sophistication, expensive perfumes, the smell of candles, and the experience of culture and glamour by night. Because I spent my sixth form years being educated in Hinchingbrooke House, the ancestral home of the Earls of Sandwich, yes, one family member invented the sandwich, and prior to that the Cromwell Family, I had the opportunity to take guided tours around the house at weekends and during the summer holidays. I also worked at the banquets held there in the evening. I wasn't paid any money for doing these things, but earned service points which could be spent on any of the evening entertainment provided by the school, with any surplus points at the end of your education, being converted into book tokens.


Look into the photo above. To the right of the central door, hidden from view is a door that opens up into a cupboard under the stairs. Whilst the house was being converted from a family home to a school, the builders discovered two stone coffins with the skeletal remains of two nuns, who were, presumably some of the original inhabitants of the nunnery that existed there prior to Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries and his granting the property to the Cromwell family. The coffins still remain there, covered over by glass to preserve them. Further coffins, this time empty, can still be found in the grounds. It was quite strange being in the house late at night, when most others had gone home and all was quiet. There are many accounts of ghosts and poltergeists, and I think I could at times almost imagine seeing them myself, but usually it was just a trick of the light or a stray shadow.

During the summer holidays, I always used to work as an administrator at the school, helping to compile the timetables for all the pupils. Since there were over 1600 pupils, this took a fair amount of time and effort, but was well paid and pleasant work. My friend Susan and I used to work at this with two of the Senior Teachers and we had the luxury and being able to stroll around the grounds, the rose garden, the woods, use the tennis courts, crochet lawns or swimming pool during our lunch breaks.


Unfortunately, all these jobs were not sufficient to keep me in the manner that my richer friends took for granted, and so after school every evening and at weekends I used to work in a coffee bar. I have to say that I absolutely hated this job, and the summer of 1976 was so hot, remember it was the year of the drought, that it was practically unbearable working in a confined space with urns, cookers and water heating equipment. There was no air conditioning in those days in England, and generally speaking no need. The day I handed my notice into the coffee bar, it was like a weight was lifted from my shoulders and I spent the next few months, much poorer, I didn't receive any pocket money, but happier.

As if all these jobs weren't enough, I'd use my holidays from the coffee bar to go pea picking. Yes, this was in the days when it was all done manually and you were paid piecemeal. No foreign migrants as cheap labour when I was young, only the students of working class parents and often the parents themselves, during their annual holiday from work, my own mother included. Pea picking was hard work. You sat in damp, muddy conditions, hunched over buckets pulling the pea pods from the plants which you then discarded. By the end of the day, your back was breaking, your feet were damp and sore and your hands ripped to shreds, cracked and bleeding. But, somehow I drove myself onwards, striving each day to beat the number of bags I'd picked the previous day and earn a little bit more.

They say that our formative years are what make us the people we are. Certainly mine instilled in me a work ethic that I have never lost. Even today, when I no longer officially work, I still find myself filling my days with things that others would be paid for, writing press releases for community groups, advising parents on autism provision and the Council work that I do. I have been really lucky to have had the opportunity to try many different things during my working life and each thing that I have tried has developed me a bit more as a person.

Acknowledgments: All layouts created using templates from The Lily Pad
Post Inspired by Heads or Tails

Stoneleigh Abbey

"It's not how much you do, but how much love you put in the doing."

Despite it blowing a gale and raining, and despite it being a bank holiday, I dragged Eric out for a few hours to look around Stoneleigh Abbey. According to Eric, he was looking far too comfortable doing nothing, so I had to come up with some form of torture to disturb him. However, once we actually got to the Abbey he enjoyed himself.

The building is now mainly used for a combination of corporate entertaining and weddings and private residences, with only a small proportion being open for public viewing. Nevertheless, the guided tour around it took nearly two hours and we spent another couple of hours looking around the grounds.
Acknowledgment: Second layout is a scraplift of a Dawn Inskip layout using her Weather Station Kit.

The Love Bug

Each year it seems to take less time to fly across the ocean and longer to drive to work. ~Author Unknown

Think back...to your first car. For some it was that perfect car, for others it was an embarrassment of a vehicle bequeathed upon you by your parents who just didn't understand. But for all, it was that first ounce of true freedom and responsibility.

I’d never bought a car before. How did I go about it? What sort was best? What was it worth? They all looked the same and I didn’t really have a preference for any of them. They all cost a fortune and everybody I spoke to had a different opinion about every model. When I opened the bonnet and looked at the engine I hadn’t a clue what I was supposed to be looking at, how it worked or what might be wrong and would have to ask someone to come with me to advise me.

When I was growing up, my mum was the driver; my dad never did learn to drive. I remember her very first car which we spent hours cleaning up and polishing the chrome when she bought it. It had a waffle pattern on the vinyl seats which in summer would be really hot to the touch and would leave an impression all the way up my legs. But, the best bit about this car was the previous owner had lost money down the backs of the seats which he’d never retrieved. The car was an old banger and picked up for only a few pounds; we found more money inside it than mum had paid for it in the first place and we were allowed to spend some of it on ice creams. The front seat was a long bench seat and the gear shift was by the steering wheel, quite different from the vehicles I was looking at for my first car.

I ended up with a beat up Morris Marina, dark blue with a white vinyl roof, bought because it was already taxed and cost only marginally more than purchasing the tax on an alternative car. Most people I told about it went a bit quiet. Others were more vociferous and suspicious, “How many miles on the clock?” “How many miles to the gallon does it do?” “Is there a service history?” they snapped at me. But, I didn’t care, the cost was minimal and it was my only opportunity to have a car that I could afford. It needed a few adaptations, a radio fitting in the gap where one once resided and a heated rear windscreen, but my brother-in-law helped me sort those minor details. Unfortunately, it also had a mind of its own and like Disney’s Herbie, was more in control of me than I was of it.

Not surprisingly then, this car didn’t last long and was soon replaced with a small blue mini, this time with a black vinyl roof. It was easy to drive and despite its small size was fast and practical. It was a car that took me backwards and forwards the hundred miles or so to Birmingham when Eric was too busy to pick me up and the car that gave me the freedom to shop where I wanted. But, I’ve never been that keen on driving and when I moved in with Eric and no longer needed to drive regularly the car went and for a while we managed with Eric’s car alone.

Eric has never really understood how I prefer to walk rather than drive a car, but to me you see so much more detail when you're on foot than through the windows of a car. Eric's car is like an extension of him. He’s always driven as part of his job, and always worked a fair way away from home, so a car for him is essential. It sometimes makes life difficult, like now when petrol is so expensive a third of our income goes on Eric going backwards and forwards to work, but I know that no matter how expensive it might become, Eric could not exist without his car. He struggled to accept that I didn’t want a car, and eventually managed to convince me that I shouldn’t be out walking for hours in all weathers with Ashleigh only in a pushchair. We bought a white Metro, wouldn’t have been Eric’s choice of car, but it was mine. Both Ashleigh and I loved that car. It gave me a freedom to do what I wanted and to fit more into my days, especially as I was also working full time. I’d load it up with plants for the garden, take Ashleigh off to some playground or go off on little shopping sprees. I think I’d have found it hard to part with it, but fate took a helping hand and the day we moved into the house where we now live it was stolen from the drive. The police did recover it, but it was a complete write off.

So, that’s how I came to get my first brand new car and the car I still have today. It’s a small red Peugeot. It’s been a brilliant car, driving perfectly and causing very little trouble. I have to say that I rarely drive it any distance, although there are times, like now, when I couldn’t exist without it. There are also times when my car is my sanctuary, affording me a protection from the world where I can just drive and think and sometimes, unusually for me, just listen to music. I used to hate driving, but over the years I’ve come to quite like it, although I still hate to drive if anyone is in the car with me. Nothing really gets to me when I’m driving. People can cut me up, drive too slowly in front of me or fail to move off when the traffic lights turn green and it really doesn’t bother me, unlike Eric who would be getting quite irate. I’ve thought at various times about getting rid of my car and managing just with Eric’s, but I would miss the freedom that it gives me and there would be times when we’d struggle to cope with just one car. These days everything I seem to want to do is some distance away, and the only way to get there is in a car. My car has brought about a bigger change in my life than I could ever have expected, even my thinking has been subtly changed by owning a car, as I have wider horizons. I’ve no desire for anything bigger, posher or newer, so, for now, I’ll stick with the car I’ve got and love.

"The car has become... an article of dress without which we feel uncertain, unclad, and incomplete." ~Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media, 1964

Acknowledgments: Inspired by Blog Talkers Talk #74

Kiss and Makeup

"Aging is not lost youth, but a new stage of opportunity and strength."

“Don't worry so much about life, because you will never get out alive." Instead, pursue a life that interests you, do things which make you happy, engage in activities which ignite your passion and indulge in your cravings and desires because life is what you make it. Live your life today, for tomorrow might never come. Splurge and indulge every once in a while to uplift your spirit.

I have many little indulgences, things that I would never have dreamed of spending so much money on when I was younger. Maybe, I have a greater need now that I’m older or maybe, it’s just my outlook on life that’s changed. Look in my house and you’ll see a range of perfumes, a box full of make-up, a bathroom full of products, all things that years ago I would have bought from a supermarket, but which I now splurge on and buy more professional brands. I have a list of hobbies which is constantly expanding that I pursue and splurge not just money, but my time on. I have an ever growing desire to learn and travel. Of course, I can’t indulge myself all of the time, there are limits both to the amount of time and the amount of money available, but I firmly believe that we owe it to ourselves to live life to the full.

For me, indulging myself isn’t principally about material things or spending money; it’s about giving myself permission to be myself, to live a life that suits me, and to fill my days with things that are important to me. Perhaps it’s because I have seen so many people close to me have life limiting illnesses or die years before their time, but I am acutely aware that life is too short to waste a second of it. My fear isn’t that I might be bored in my old age, but that I might not have enough time left to cram everything into my life that I want to do.

There are times when Eric thinks that I indulge myself a little too much, when I become engrossed in some hobby and forget his existence, but he knows that it’s just part and parcel of me and no matter how remiss I’ve been, we just kiss and make-up.

My Safe Place

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you...
while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.

My escape, my refuge, my safe place. The world can be in chaos, but as long as I can retreat to a safe place, I know everything will be alright. Over the years my safe place has changed. As a child, it would be to escape to a quiet place with a book which I would lose myself in, often sitting up all night reading I was so engrossed, lost in the magic of the stories, oblivious to the worries that had sent me scurrying away.

As I got older and responsibilities got greater, I sometimes found it more difficult to concentrate on the words in the book, but I still had safe places that enabled me to wind down and ground myself. This was usually somewhere unspoilt and natural, a walk by the River, a stroll through a wood or an open meadow. When I met Eric my safe haven changed again, he became my rock, the person I trusted and shared things with although I still have times when I just need to clear my head and walk.

I suppose when it comes down to it, no one and no where has the capacity to make me feel safe. It's really down to me, but, these outside influences help to create an environment in which I can sort myself out. Eric had some Reiki sessions a few years ago and he was told to imagine himself in a bubble when things get too much. The bubble is the protection that stops anything getting to you. This really helped me see that things can only get to you if you allow them to, if you give them credence, if you give them the power.


There are of course, still times when it's great to get away from everything, when it's necessary to let go of the routine stresses of everyday life and the constraints of time watching and everyday commitments. For Eric and I, there's no better place to escape to than the wide open spaces of the National Parks of the USA and Canada. There's something uniquely calming about being in the middle of nowhere, with no one about, surrounded by the grandeur of nature.

When I Find Myself in Times of Trouble

"We are told never to cross a bridge till we come to it, but this world is owned by men who have "crossed bridges" in their imagination far ahead of the crowd"

The depth of my predicament didn't hit me until I found myself passing out for no apparent reason and shaking every time the phone or door bell rang or the post thudded on the mat. Whatever way you look at it, anxiety is debilitating and it's no good simply telling someone to pull themselves together. Everybody gets anxious from time to time. Anxiety has a purpose and prepares us for moments of danger or stress, but when that anxiety happens continuously and for no apparent reason, a turn off switch needs to be found.When I find myself in times of trouble, imagination sees me through. Everyone possesses some imagination ability. In some it may be highly developed and in others it may manifest in a weaker form.

Imagination makes it possible to experience a whole world inside the mind. It gives the ability to look at any situation from a different point of view, and enables me to mentally explore the past and the future or it gives me the ability to temporarily create a safe haven, a world or place where I feel safe and secure. It is using this ability that gets me through my more stressful times. Whenever I find myself getting anxious, I find a quiet space and sit and use my imagination to work things through. My imagination though isn't only an escape from the world, it enables me to create solutions and ways of changing my life for the better.

As a crafter, I use my imagination all the time, it enables me to design a layout or card. As a young child, my imagination enabled me to write ghost stories to read to my brothers and sisters. But, my imagination also enables me to visualise situations at arms length from reality and create solutions to any difficulties I'm experiencing. Hypnosis has long been used by Doctors to treat anxiety related disorders and addictions. It relies heavily on using the power of the imagination and the subconscious to bring about healing. So, it would seem only natural that we have the ability within ourselves to use our imagination to calm our fears.

Imagination though is a dual edged sword. Used incorrectly, it can prey on our insecurities, allowing them to magnify and take control, allowing our fears to escalate. At times like this I find it best just to educate myself and reign my imagination back. Learning about the reality of situations, rather than imagining the worse, enables me to cope. But, we're all different and we all have different ways of coping and experiencing life. We all have differing levels of self awareness and overcoming a problem means that you first have to recognise and accept that you have one.

Having experienced spells of extreme anxiety in my own life, it's usually obvious to me when others are suffering from similar difficulties. Auntie Vera is naturally very anxious at the moment about the changes that are happening to her as she nears the end of her life. But, Auntie Vera never seems to have any coping mechanism or to accept that she has any anxieties. She frowns upon imagination in any form, but lets her own imagination run riot with bad thoughts. The GP and the Marie Curie Nurse have both commented on Auntie Vera's anxieties and their inability to reach through to her and help her. But, writing this has made me wonder whether there is a way through that Auntie Vera would accept. Years ago she underwent hypnosis on the NHS for recurrent pain that had no obvious cause. She often comments to me that the GP who hypnotised her said that she was a perfect patient. Maybe hypnosis would bring her some relief? She also sees a faith healer who seems to temporarily lift her spirits and ease her anxieties. If only I could bottle the faith and relief that he gives her to administer three times a day or as required.

My Husband's Bloomin' Wonderful

" Gardening is about enjoying the smell of things growing in the soil, getting dirty without feeling guilty, and generally taking the time to soak up a little peace and serenity." ~Lindley Karstens

In retrospect, it probably wasn't one of my better ideas, but, that bank holiday weekend, with nothing else planned, it seemed like a good idea to hire a kanga and a skip and to break up all the concrete in our back yard. I wasn't too know that under the concrete were courses and courses of bricks all cemented in. The only thought in my head was that the yard as it was, was dangerous and very uneven and ugly. Of course, had I known quite how major a job it would turn out to be, I'd have saved up the money and paid someone to do the job for us.

But, in my ignorance I thought it was something I could easily accomplish myself or with a little help if I struggled. Eric had other ideas. Whilst normally quite happy to let me tackle anything I want, diy not being his forte, the thought of letting "Calamity Jane" loose with a Kanga was too much for him to contemplate. Recent memories of me severing the top of my finger with the hedge trimmer and him having to cope with me passing out on the bathroom floor were enough for Eric to ban me from using the Kanga and promise to undertake the job himself.

The house where we're now living was originally a butcher's shop. Out the back was the remains of an old slaughter yard. It was this old slaughter yard that had been concreted over. Had we known that we would have to kanga through 30"+ of brick and cement we would never have started the job, but once started it had to be finished. Eric worked for most of the weekend and we filled, skip after skip after skip. I must confess to starting to worry about whether we would ever hit soil. There is a story that a tunnel runs from Castle Bromwich Hall to the Coach and Horses Pub passing under our house. That weekend I thought we were going to find it. In the end, we had to seek help and Eric's friend son who does landscape gardening for a living helped out.

Looking at our bank yard today, a mass of colour and shrubs, it's hard to remember the manky concrete mess it once was. Eric however, still bears the scars of that weekend some eight or so years ago. Unbeknowst to us at the time, Eric has two conditions which would not have benefited from the hammering of the Kanga - Ankylosing Spondylitis and Forrestier's Disease, both were aggravated by the constant pounding his back and joints took that weekend. He spent some time in agony afterwards and even today ends up with an elbow he can't straighten when he's been holding the phone.

I know my husband reads my blog, so, I'd just like to say to him that although I don't always tell him or show him, I do love him very, very much and I really do appreciate everything that he does for me, especially when it's something like diy which I know he'd never, ever willingly do or really see the need for.

Was all the effort worth it? If it hadn't been for the agony that Eric went through, I'd definitely say yes. Our back yard is now a little sanctuary for wildlife that never previously visited and it is pleasant to look out of the kitchen window or spend a few minutes outside. But, with hindsight, it would have been far better to have paid to have the job done for us and let someone else have the unpleasant surprise of finding that the job was infintely larger than anyone could possibly have contemplated.

All of a Piece?

"If we value independence, if we are disturbed by the growing conformity of knowledge, of values, of attitudes, which our present system induces, then we may wish to set up conditions of learning which make for uniqueness, for self-direction, and for self-initiated learning." Carl Rogers

Autism. What do you think of when you think Autism? Somebody sat on the floor in the corner of the room, locked into their own little world, rocking backwards and forwards? A savant such as David Tammet who can perform mind bloggling mathematical calculations at break neck speed? Disability or Opportunity?

Now ask yourself what Daryl Hannah, Dan Ackroyd and Gary Numan all have in common? Or Bill Gates, Albert Einstein, Jim Henson and Alfred Hitchcock? The answers? The first group have all been diagnosed as having an Autistic Spectrum Disorder, the second group have been identified as displaying charcteristics typical of an ASD.

When Ashleigh was diagnosed as being on the spectrum, the Consultant told him that the first thing he must do was an internet search on famous people on the spectrum. The results were intriguing. Some of the world's most creative and innovative people are, or were thought to be, on the spectrum. Their original thought patterns enable them to carry the world forward. The hurtful thing though is that people have preconceived ideas about autism and those ideas are usually incorrect. Even people who should know better, made statements to us when Ashleigh was diagnosed that I find hard to understand given that they'd known Ashleigh for 13 years and knew that he was none of the things that they were implying. Eric's Aunt told me that anyone on the Autistic Spectrum was beyond the pail, and the wife of a friend of Eric's said that anyone on the spectrum should be locked away from society with their own kind where they and everybody else would be happier. Moreover, the mother of one of Ashleigh's friends told her son he was to stop seeing Ashleigh because Autistic people are dangerous.

But the autistic spectrum is just that, a spectrum, it encompasses people who can barely function or communicate to people who are extremely intelligent and able to function independently. People on the spectrum are no more "all of a piece" than any other group of people. They are individuals who share a common triad of difficulties centred around communication and interaction.

People with autism have said that the world, to them, is a mass of people, places and events which they struggle to make sense of, and which can cause them considerable anxiety. In particular, understanding and relating to other people, and taking part in everyday family and social life may be harder for them. Other people appear to know, intuitively, how to communicate and interact with each other, and some people with autism may wonder why they are 'different'. The extent to which somebody experiences these problems varies. Think of each element of difficulty on the triad as part of the mix on a radio mixer where in each individual any element may be set high or low giving infinite variations.

For people with autistic spectrum disorders, 'body language' can appear just as foreign as if people were speaking ancient Greek. Many have a very literal understanding of language, and think people always mean exactly what they say. They can find it difficult to use or understand:

• facial expressions or tone of voice
• jokes and sarcasm
• common phrases and sayings; for example, saying something is "cool" might cause confusion if it's not cold
  

Some people with autism may not speak, or have fairly limited speech. Others will have good language skills, but they may still find it hard to understand the give-and-take nature of conversations, perhaps talking at length about their own interests. Socialising doesn't come naturally - it has to be learned. They may:

• not understand the unwritten social rules which most of us pick up without thinking: they may stand too close to another person for example, or start an inappropriate subject of conversation
• appear to be insensitive because they have not recognised how someone else is feeling
• prefer to spend time alone rather than seeking out the company of other people
• not seek comfort from other people
• appear to behave 'strangely' or inappropriately, as it is not always easy for them to express feelings, emotions or needs.

Difficulties with social interaction can mean that people with autism find it hard to form friendships: some may want to interact with other people and make friends, but may be unsure how to go about this.

Social imagination allows us to understand and predict other people's behaviour, make sense of abstract ideas, and to imagine situations outside our immediate daily routine. Difficulties with social imagination mean that people with autism find it hard to:

• understand and interpret other people's thoughts, feelings and actions
• predict what will happen next, or what could happen next
• understand the concept of danger, for example that running on to a busy road poses a threat to them
• engage in imaginative play and activities: children with autism may enjoy some imaginative play but prefer to act out the same scenes each time
• prepare for change and plan for the future
• cope in new or unfamiliar situations.

Because I have seen and experienced the difficulties that misconceptions about Autism create, I am passionate about raising awareness of the truth. Autism is an invisible disability and this makes it difficult to alter misconceptions.. Generally, somebody with Autism looks no different from anybody else, although sometimes, in some cases, their mannerisms may be a little odd. Autsim is far more common than most people realise many estimates put it at 1 in 80 to 1 in 100 people. Many people remain undiagnosed for life. So, the chances are, whether you know it or not, you probably have regular contact with somebody on the spectrum.

The world will only move forward and become a better place when we all learn to accept individuality. We are not all of a piece and we should celebrate and encourage diversity whilst assisting with any difficulties that being different might bring living in the very social environment of today's world. Maybe if we could achieve this the world would truly be at peace.

Acknowledgments: Layout created using Mystic Dreams Template by Sunfire
Inspired by the Tuesday Meme Heads or Tails
National Autistic Society for information regarding the triad of difficulties

Manic Monday #117

If you knew that every minute of the next 24 hours of your life would be recorded on camera is there anything you would change about your habits?

If it was only for 24 hours I'd probably retire to bed pull the covers over my head and hide. I hate being on public view and I hate having a camera pointing at me and I'd become really self conscious and uncomfortable and my bad habits, which are largely caused by anxiety, would increase. I tend to find myself unconsciously rocking backwards and forwards when I'm anxious or scratching at my arms.

If you could take a one-month trip to any single destination in the world and money is not a consideration, where would you go?

Definitely, the USA. Eric and I plan to visit every state in the US and I think we have currently visited 30+. We often holiday there for 3 weeks at a time, hire a car and travel thousands of miles, usually about 6000 viewing all the National Parks and points of Architectural interest as we go. Bryce Canyon is probably my all time favourite place. It's just spectacular and always so calm, bright and clean. It's our plan to spend about 6 months touring the US in about 6 years time when Eric retires. Think I might have cheated a bit here, but I would probably struggle to stay rooted in one spot for 3 weeks, I'm really bad at relaxing doing nothing.

What is the best example of “perfection” that you can think of?


Hard to pin it down to one thing, but probably Roses. They look beautiful, I love the velvety texture of their petals, the soft perfume, the shape and form of their flowers, the contrasting texture of the woody stems and thorns and the crisp green leaves. They have something that appeals to everyone of my senses, even taste, as I used to love Rose Hip Syrup as a and hearing as the wind whistles through the spaces and bees buzz around them.

Acknowledgments: Inspired by Manic Monday

When a Loose Cannon Flogs a Dead Horse There's the Devil to Pay

"Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death."

Since joining the Parish Council my husband has earned himself the reputation of being somewhat of a loose cannon among fellow Councillors. I have to say that in my opinion, it is not a fair analysis of him or his approach to things, but I can see why his actions and words would cause unease. Ashleigh refers to his Dad as a Marmite Man, you either love him or hate him. What Eric says is what Eric thinks. He doesn't wrap it up to make it acceptable, but neither does he say anything that he shouldn't and he doesn't say anything hurtful, malicious or anything calculated to destroy. He's a man of principle and if things are happening that he feels are wrong, he'll ask questions. He believes in open government, so he'll ask those questions at Council meetings which the public are entitled to attend, unless the matters are confidential.

All this does not go down well with fellow Councillors who dislike direct questions and straight talking. Eric's actions are not reckless and do not endanger the Council, its reputation or the well being of the community so I struggle to see how he can be called a loose cannon. I do however think that he sometimes acts a bit like a bull in a china shop, but he assures me that he only does this when he has no hope of achieving his aims and so wants to bring hidden agendas out into the open and make them obvious to the public.

I have to say that I do think that sometimes Eric is flogging a dead horse. Our Council seems to have lost track of what a Council is supposed to do. Somebody said to Eric tonight that Councillors are supposed to be pilots but that ours seem to be passengers and both Eric and I think that's right. Councillors debate and set policy, others then enact the policy. Our Councillors forget the debate about policy and the setting of policy and instead either do nothing at all or try and act as volunteers pursuing their own private agendas without looking at the big picture or thinking about where they're going. Neither Eric nor I have any objections to Councillors being both Pilots and Passengers as necessary, but their Councillor role is solely as Pilots.

Unfortunately, our Council does not agree with open debate, seeing any differing views as criticism and dissent.

Given that Eric holds a fundamentally different philosophy as to what constitutes a Councillor to the majority of other Councillors, and given that he doesn't hold his tongue, it is not surprising that others see him as somewhat of a loose cannon. However, he is not going to change.He has to live with his conscience and he will always say what he thinks but abide by majority decision. He cares passionately about the community we live in and wants only to improve the environment, facilities and intergenerational relationships within it. I'd like to think that fellow Councillors have the same aims but have different views of how to achieve them. I'd like to think this, but, unfortunately, I don't think that all of them do. I think it suits the aims of some to try and discredit my husband to prevent him achieving what he wants. All of this is really a shame, because if we all pulled in the same direction instead of fighting each other,maybe the community would start to benefit from having a Parish Council instead of wondering why they have an additional precept on their Council tax for which they can see no positive benefit.

My First Home of My Own

"Home is not where you live, but where they understand you."

I've never chosen my own home or where I live, it's always just happened because of circumstances. My first home of my own was a two bedroom housing association flat in Godmanchester. It was large, bright and to me a haven. I didn't have much money and it was filled initially with furniture that I was given my Great Aunt's family after her death. Gradually, over the years, I replaced things until I had things of my choice around me. I also took the opportunity to buy it under the right to buy scheme and although I no longer live there, I still own it and rent it out.

I have to say that the years I spent in that flat were some of the happiest of my life. It made a home for me and one of my sisters and my brother and my other sister and her children regularly spent time there. When Keith married and left, he would also return for his meals bringing with him Sarah and Kirsty.

It was a place where new traditions were formed. Every boxing day we would all spend together and we'd all have a stocking filled with presents. Boxing day became one of my favourite days of the year. It was a home that was always filled with children as my sister and brother would visit often bringing my nieces with them and often leaving them for me to look after for the weekend. We'd wander down to the river and feed the ducks and swans and the children would play on the swings and climbing frame. Back in the flat, the children would mimic what they'd seen, sometimes trying to be grown up, way too soon as they experimented with make up and clothing far too old for their years.

It was here that I was living when I met Eric and the first two years that we spent together were split between my flat and his house in Birmingham. It was a time when I was growing in confidence and was free of worries. A time I look back on with happy memories. After I left to live permanently in Birmingham, my sister carried on living there. It then became one of the few places outside of our own house that Ashleigh would feel happy and at home.


Looking back at these old photos, I see so much more than just the people and the surroundings, I see who I was then and that's a very different person to who I am now. I see the kitchen that Tammy and I installed together , but I also see a place where the children of our family were happy to be themselves. That flat encapsulates my rite of passage to adulthood. It holds many happy memories, but it has over the years also caused me many difficulties. At the end of the day it is best to remember that no matter how important and significant it once was in my life, it is only a building built of wood, bricks and plaster, it's true significance and importance lies not in its material being, but in the place it holds in my heart and my memories as a home built with love and dreams and in the part which it played in making me the person that I am today.

It takes hands to build a house, but only hearts can build a home. ~Author Unknown

Acknowledgment: Inspired by a prompt on A Slice of Life

Indecision

"The easiest period in a crisis situation is actually the battle itself. The most difficult is the period of indecision - whether to fight or run away. And the most dangerous period is the aftermath. It is then, with all his resources spent and his guard down, that an individual must watch out for dulled reactions and faulty judgment."

I'm the world's worse worrier and most of my worry is caused by indecision. Generally, once I've made a decision, I live with it and just adapt if I get it wrong. Most of my indecision is caused by my difficulty in understanding the actions and motivations of others. Having strong autistic tendencies means that I really struggle to understand why people act in seemingly illogical manners and have little respect for the feelings or requirements of others. I also automatically assume that everything coming out of their mouths is true and then feel unbelievably stupid or hurt when I realise they've been lying. For these reasons, I worry before making decisions thinking that maybe I've misjudged a situation.

Living by my own strong moral code is really important to me. I want to treat other people the way I wish to be treated, I want to try and help others, I want to do what's best for the majority and not just myself. Sometimes it's difficult to know how best to act in order to live by this code. I currently have to decide whether or not to remain as a Parish Councillor. All the advice I have received is that I should. But, I have a dilemma. I fundamentally disagree with the way the Parish Council is being administered. In deed, I think that it is currently in a situation where it is almost out of control and no longer administrable. I certainly don't think it is representative of the community or its interests. Nor do I believe that it even knows what the community wants.

Matters are brought to Council, resolutions made and then something completely different appears to happen. Despite questions being asked about this, any mutterings are brushed aside and nothing changes and the majority vote that brought about the resolution seems to be ignored. The workings of the council appears to have very little intelligibility. If I thought that there was some transiency to this disorder, that it could be altered or by staying and saying my piece I could alter things, I would have no difficulty in remaining a Parish Councillor. I'm not usually a quitter. I don't mind if my views are not voted through, but I do have a problem when resolutions which are carried by a majority vote are ignored and the views of the minority have their way.

I'm uncertain how best to proceed. At the moment I'm carrying on doing my best to achieve outside of Council the things that I wanted to achieve within it. A part of me doesn't want to be associated with something that seems to me to be so out of control and has so little regard for the wishes of the community. Another part of me queries whether I am misunderstanding things, but deep down I know that I'm not. The dilemma then is whether I can best achieve my aims of helping the local community groups and improving amenities and understanding of the youth by remaining as a Councillor or resigning and forming some type of focus group to lobby the Parish Council for what the community does want. Life is so hectic at the moment that part of me just says drop it all and leave the hassle to others, but I know that in a few months time, when life has regained a normality I might find myself wanting to resume the quest for improvements and it might not be resumable.

For now, I've decided to remain within Council. The advice from people who've gone before me, and for whom I have a great deal of respect, is to remain and be seen to stand my ground querying anything that appears to be wrong and requesting that my objections are minuted. But most of my time will be spent pursuing my other interests and helping the community groups in whatever way I can.

"The confidence of ignorance will always overcome the indecision of knowledge."

Acknowledgments: Inspired by the Word Beads Sunday Meme

Bear Viewing

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you...
while cares will drop off like autumn leaves."

Bears, they are truly a symbol of nature at its best. Seeing my first bear in the wild was an exciting experience. Eric and I were having our first holiday without Ashleigh and were in Yellowstone National Park. There were mutterings as we traveled around that bears had been spotted in a particular location, and having never seen bears in their natural habitat before, Eric and I decided to drive straight there. The Rangers were keeping everybody back from the mother and her baby and viewing was difficult from such a distance, but the thrill of seeing our first bears in the wild is something that I still remember.

Our second viewing was some years later, as we drove along the road we saw what appeared to be a statue. My first thought, was that it was rather a strange place to stick a statue, but as we got closer it was obvious that it was a real life bear. During our visit to Canada last year, we saw several more, and the simple pleasure of seeing such an animal in its natural habitat still manages to give me a thrill.

I love our holidays to the American continent, and one of the highlights of any holiday is seeing the wildlife. It brings me back to earth, instills a sense of calm and gives me back a sense of perspective.