Category: From the heart

Sign your name across my heart…

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Here in the coastal reaches, modern pirates are alive and well judging by the proliferation of ink and wooden ear-plugs which seems to grace the limbs and lobes of 70 per cent of the population. Honestly, you’d think we were living with some sort of remote rainforest tribe. And I’m not talking feral youth here…body art is the new black it seems, as friends who are approaching landmark birthdays, or dealing with traumatic life events resort to the needle. Personally, it’s not my thing, but I’m endlessly fascinated by the images and the motivation of people who will willingly endure something excruciating to create something everlasting.

My friend David and I are probably the only people in town who don’t have some sort of tattoo, which makes us the minority. Still, with the help of my smartphone, I’ve managed to turn this to my advantage in the flirting stakes.  Anyone scrutinising my photos would be forgiven for thinking I’d turned into some sort of fetishist  – well, I am…but only for vintage champagne!  At last count I had about 20 pictures of naked male torsos & arms – each and every one a masterpiece of sorts. My secret to getting young men to strip down to their knitting and bare all…Oh, that’s easy.  I just say I’m doing a ‘photo-essay’ on signs. Which is partially true, but I’m photographing funny roadside signs, not funny boys. The best bit – apart from keeping me gainfully amused in our local pub – is that it works every time. So far, no one has said no…which makes me wonder if I’m actually living in a colony of exhibitionists, instead of pirates.  Now where did I put that camera…

The Field of Possibility…

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Coming home to the coastal reaches is almost always a driving epiphany. I work away for a living so time at home-base is treasured. After fighting recalcitrant traffic on the motorway, and making my way down winding country roads, I pass ‘The Field’.

To untrained eyes, it is simply a farmer’s field.  To me, it is so much more. This is the patch of land I affectionately call ‘The Field of Possibility’ – because it reminds me that even when things seem barren, there is always something more just waiting to burst into bloom.

In Winter it’s fallow, in Spring it’s buzzing with new life. The landowner rotates his crops, so over the last four years it’s been a wheat, cabbage and canola field. The world is full of change. Change brings possibilities…you just have to be able to see them.

Tadpole…

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Tadpoles

Sometimes it takes a very big shake to wake you from a very deep sleep.  About five years ago, almost everything in my life went pear.  And I’m talking major disaster of the heart-ripping, long-sobs-in-the-car-while-you-contemplate-suicide type fruit here.  While my life was going into meltdown and I was taking a cosmic kicking, something really extraordinary happened. After all, the universe never takes away without giving something back…

My sister fell pregnant unexpectedly, and when the tadpole – a.k.a. my nephew  – was born, she asked me if I would be his godmother.  That probably doesn’t seem extraordinary to people who have kids, but to me it was huge.  The first moment I held him in my arms, I knew my life would never ever be the same again.  As Nancy Mitford so elegantly described it in The Pursuit of Love:

‘She was filled with a strange, wild, unfamiliar happiness, and knew that this was love’

At that point, I decided that I could either be a warning or an example. I chose the latter. I’m so glad I did. Four years on, and the tadpole has brought love and lightness to my life. He is a hilarious character and the nearest I will ever get to having my own children.  This blog is for him, and for godmothers everywhere.

Where there’s a spark…

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So, you’d either have to be a Tibetan Monk or severely media deprived if Tinder means nothing to you.  Smartphones have revolutionised my life, and Tinder – along with Shazam and RingGo is rapidly becoming one of my most fave apps. Ever!

Now, I’m one of those women who has assiduously avoided Internet dating. I’m busy and don’t have time for a 2nd full-time job!  I’d like to use my weekends doing things in the real world, and if I happen to meet Mr.Unique, then fab. But on a whim, I signed up for Tinder on a night when I was once again travelling for work. Yep. Time alone in a hotel room, and no alcohol can drive even a sane woman to desperate measures. So I thought…how bad could it really be?

Bad…Apart from providing a ready supply of laughs – yes chaps, some of those pics are truly cringeworthy – Tinder has had an unexpected side effect. It’s providing real insight into the male psyche and I am definitely having a T.M.I. moment!  Depending on where you are in the country, single men are either called Darren or Paul. Most men over 40 don’t have their own hair and teeth and have clearly lied about their age! And a large majority think that posting pictures of their car and house is going to make up for their shortcomings in the looks department. As if women are shallow enough to be impressed by that Lamborghini. Looks yes, fast cars…not so much. And I haven’t even got onto the freaks and weirdo’s yet. So, Mark. 44. Married. – somehow I don’t think it’s a penpal you’re after!

And surprisingly…Good. Tinder takes all the malarkey out of mating. You like, you don’t like. It’s a bit like an Internet pub. You fancy someone, they fancy you. Ba-da-bing! And after a long time of feeling like I’d become invisible, suddenly I’m making matches with all sorts of interesting people. It’s truly a boost to female self-esteem and quite liberating. Maybe Mr. Unique isn’t so far away after all!

Burning woman…

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For many of us, 2014 started with a bang and a wallop – and I’m talking UK weather here, not drunken fisticuffs.  For me the actual festivities were laid back and low-key, despite having to drive home the next day in hurricane-style winds with a hangover. Not. Recommended.  Still, now that the year is officially back to being blah, I’ve spent the last week contemplating the year that was and setting my intentions for the next twelve months.  I’ve done this with an empty oil drum and a book of matches.

And no, I haven’t lost the plot or turned into a pyromaniac! I’ve spent the last 6 weeks gutting my renovation project and taking the ancient plaster and lathe walls back to brick.  Seven skips later, I’ve been disposing of the wooden battens used by the Victorian builders who constructed the place. Extreme renovation makes you unsentimental about ‘stuff’ – faced with a house that resembles an empty shell, I’m pretty sanguine about what I want to keep and what I want to dispose of.

Which brings me to my resolutions for 2014.  Apparently this is the Chinese Year of the Horse. And I’m a Fire Horse, which makes me someone who ‘loves action and excitement in life and will rarely be quiet’ according to the Feng Shui site I googled...Well, no surprises there, then. So, will I burn with passion this year? Or will my lovelife continue to resemble a damp squib? Will my career ignite like a roman candle, or like Comet Holmes, will I just keep getting half a million times brighter on my way to becoming the biggest object in the universe? Frankly, I have no idea.  What I do know is this…

  • I won’t keep hold of things (emotions, situations, stuff) that no longer work. Those dead horses were flogged and are well on their way to the glue factory, my friend!
  • I won’t accept second-best. Not for myself, or those I hold dear. No. No-way. Nada.
  • I will love the people who matter and who’ve been there for me in dark times and good. Whole-heartedly and without judgement – although in the case of gentlemen admirers, probably with a bit of caution and a condom, since my horoscope also mentions ‘new arrivals’ and ‘unreliable boyfriends’. 
  • I will tackle my goals and to-do list with fire and energy. Passion is great, but without action, ultimately nothing. And yes…I will put away the matches!

And finally… I will wish my friends, family and readers of this blog, a 2014 filled with brightness, gladness and all good things. Happy New Year!

The Lost Word

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The weight of words

Two very unexpected things happened today. Number One. I found myself at a loss for words – which, if you know me, isn’t a regular occurrence, despite the tumble weeds rolling through the blog of late. Number Two – which really should be called ‘the reason for number one’ – a letter.  Not a bill, though it demanded my attention. Not one of those ‘get-rich-quick’ scheme, though it’s given me something money can’t buy.  A letter from someone who in quiet moments of reflection still occupies a place in my heart.  And whose letters I’ve kept, along with a book or two… This latest note I’ve read and re-read this afternoon. I still don’t know what to say. It isn’t a love letter, but it was written with love. Strong feelings underpin every word.

It took courage to write – but even more to send. Which got me thinking about the weight of words. Heavy words for heavy hearts. Lost words for lost lovers. Those things that go unsaid because we carry the burden inside ourselves. Unspoken.  I know why silence is the preferred option for most of us. When we are angry or hurt, words become weapons. But they also have the power to heal. Sometimes all it takes is for one person to have the courage to speak first.

Wu Wei…

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Sometimes in life, the real art is in knowing when to act and when to be still.  Earlier this year, I suffered a health scare, and needed surgery.  It was a real eye opener. It was also time to be still…

Those of you who follow my real-world blog will know I carve a living in the corporate world. I’ve spent the last eighteen months pulling 18 hr days, while travelling extensively for a global client. I love what I do.  In my working life I am decisive and action-oriented, so you can imagine how thrilled I was at the prospect of having to take time off to lie down and recuperate, not to mention the thought that I might not be well enough to continue pursuing my business interests!

Faced with the prospect of an uncertain outcome – was it cancer or wasn’t it –  I had to put my affairs in order and get my head – and my heart – in the right place. Like I said, it was time to be still. So, I took time off work and went to hospital. Crisis is good that way – it tends to focus the mind on the important things!   Anyway, I woke from the anaesthetic like a newborn – suddenly everything seemed fresh and precious.  I certainly had a lot more clarity.   I also got the all clear, which was the best news ever!

Since then, I’ve spent the past few months thinking deeply about my life and what I want from it.  In some ways,  it feels as though I’ve undergone a sort of emotional hibernation.  Not acting, just waiting. Thinking and being still.  This  had a number of unexpected side effects… Worst of all, my blog muse just upped sticks and went on a six month bender…

Life ebbs and flows. Stillness is followed by action. So, it’s time for a change on all fronts. Even the edge of the pier.

This is a heads up that the blog is changing homes. From now on, if you’d like to follow Pier Point, you can find it here: edgeofthepier.wordpress.com

It feels good to be moving forward again.

Elemental, dear Watson…

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It’s been a surreal few weeks. Work has taken me from Stockholm, to Amsterdam and Paris…via Wales and London.  On Monday – as a deranged (and I mean batsh*t crazy!!) Parisian cabbie drove me from La Defense to Gare du Nord –  I had the luxury of sitting back and absorbing the scenery.  As regular readers will know, Paris is one of my favourite cities – not least for the food, the art, and the fine underwear available for purchase at Galleries Lafayette!

On this day however, I was marvelling at the weather. It’s February, and although days are lengthening in the Northern Hemisphere, blasts of winter ire still rain down in the coastal reaches! But in Paris, it was a balmy Spring!  As I crossed the Seine, Winter light illuminated the architraves of this elegant city…Life felt good!

This got me thinking…are human beings conditioned by climate?  I blame my hot temper on the fact that I have Irish, South African and Italian blood running through my veins.  But perhaps I am a fraud? Perhaps the climate in which I find myself determines my mood?  My true love is for Winter – log fires, red wine and convivial evenings with friends.  And yes, while I am drawn to Summer – I really do hate the heat – freckles and humidity – Eeuww!   Autumn is good because you can be melancholy with justifiable reason – and you get berries, apples and pumpkins as harvest!   But at the same time, Spring means fresh starts and renewed vigour as nature (and life) bring hope with longer days.  In my language we often describe people as ‘being in their element’ – meaning they are happy in that particular space, place and time.

Forget about personality type, culture, or class – perhaps people have a season… What’s your element?

Lessons in love…

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My own Valentine arrived early this year. Not once but twice! On Saturday, a card from the US arrived – a dear friend and her husband, who worry about my singleton status and send me a valentine’s card every year…It’s nice to know I am loved. That’s a good thing!

And…After months of feeling rubbish, a series of MRI and CT scans, blood tests, and countless X-rays (any more and I would feel like a microwaved chicken with a bad tan)…still no news, no card in the post. No hearts or flowers…That’s probably a good thing, too!

Both events have got me thinking. If life is a gift, then love is the ribbon that ties it all together. It’s been over a year since the man I loved ripped my heart out and handed it back to me on a platter.  It’s been a year since the pain in my side has meant extended visits to the local NHS hospital. Long. Complicated. You really don’t want to know, but… ok...I’ll admit, It still hurts...

Nevertheless instead of a diatribe against the perils of love…instead of being morose and despairing on Valentine’s day…I’ve decided I’m going to focus on the gifts love has given me…

  • Gift #1. The gift of poetry. My first serious boyfriend at uni was partial to Irish poets. He gave me a ring engraved with the words from a William Butler Yeats poem.  The ring was tossed into the Thames a long time ago, but the poem lives on!
  • Gift #2. The gift of humour. My 2nd serious boyfriend was English. He endowed me with a love of British humour, and the ability to see the profound in the ridiculous. This is why I can laugh at myself!
  • Gift #3. The gift of music. Another amour taught me love to all music, to the point that I am now the arbiter of cool for my younger sisters as far as beats go!  Well, in my not so secret life I blog for a music website! Thanks…now I know there is more to music than Randy Crawford…
  • Gift #4. The gift of forgiveness. Aforesaid man… he of the heart-ripping, platter-handing mode…well, that was my greatest gift of all. He taught me to let go of things I don’t comprehend and cannot fix. He could only lie, so he taught me to speak the truth even if it meant risking the loss of what I thought I held dear.  He taught me to choose my own destiny because he could not choose for himself.   He made me laugh. He made me love.  But most of all he made me cry. He also made me see what I was not when I was with him…and that…that was enough to set me free!
Happy Valentine’s Day!

Magic Mirror….

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November is always the cruellest month. For me. Not for Harry Potter. At Hogwarts, November heralds the heroic moment just before the monster gets slain and everyone gets to sit down at a fabulous banquet. For me, it’s never a good time, because it’s also the month my father died. 

Like most days, he left for work.  Like most days, he kissed my mom.  Like most days, we thought he’d be coming back. He didn’t.  A pilot, he died from a massive heart attack in his early forties.  He was reading a book while his co-pilot flew the plane. At least he was doing something he loved.

I was sixteen, my sisters nine and six respectively.  Losing a parent at such an early age has left an indelible, but distinct mark on each of us – and although the scars have faded, they are still there if you probe hard enough. Anyone who has lost a parent, a lover, a sibling or a child will understand what I mean.

Harry Potter lost his parents too, and in one of his adventures, he finds The Mirror of Erised, a magic mirror that shows the ‘deepest and most desperate desires of ones heart’. He stares at that mirror for a long time, because in its reflection, he sees his parents as if they were alive.  I’ve always found that particular piece of the story very moving.  No piece of shiny glass would bring my dad back.

What I didn’t realise was that eventually, I too would find a magic mirror of sorts. An acquaintance sent us a YouTube video link which shows footage of my dad.  It’s part of an old TV documentary filming the Shackleton bomber. It’s extraordinary, because we never had a video camera, so we only have photos of my dad.  I can’t really describe how it felt to see him on that clip – captured in time, but very much present, very much alive.  It made me feel happy and incredibly sad at the same moment. 

So…this is my own reflection for today. The people we love and lose are never far from our hearts. The magic is in the remembering.