Views from the Edge of the Pier
30 Day Challenge
Day #6. Spade. I love gardening but thanks to a hectic schedule and bi-coastal living arrangements my poor garden is in a sorry state. Today I began the task of getting it ready for the Summer. I’m planting Verbena – a blousy perennial that loves the coastal reaches and flowers through the summer and into the autumn. Doesn’t look like much but it will.
30 Day Challenge
Day#5. Weskus. Today, I’m missing my roots and in unusually contemplative mood. Unlike Isak Dinesen, I don’t have a farm in Africa, but I do have a patch of land that keeps me tied to a fabulous spot on a great continent. In the ups and downs of the last 10 years, I have been close to having to sell it many times, but somehow it stayed with me because I could not let it go. It was mine, wholly and truly. This year, although I don’t need to sell it, I will – with a smidgeon of reluctance and a dash of bitter-sweet sadness. I am saying goodbye to my little piece of the West Coast so that someone else can realise their dreams by buying my plot. I promise to visit there one more time before I do.
30 Day Challenge
Day #4. Car keys. Today I spent 6 hours driving to and from an interview. I’m used to travelling long distances for work. Motorway driving can be a good time for reflection…and singing loudly to 80’s anthems.
30 Day Challenge
Day #3. Ferry. The Belgian and I spend a lot of time crossing the English Channel. Home is in two places, but there’s always something exciting about sighting land no matter which side we are on.
Day #2. Yellow. Daffodils are my favourite flowers at this time of year. I love this cheery little flower. They serve as a reminder that no matter how dark things seem, there is always growth.
30 Day Challenge:
Day #1. Mackerel. I’m marrying a man who loves fish. His dad was a fisherman so it’s in his genes. Which means The Belgian can catch, fillet and cook his supper. Every Saturday that we are in Bruges we head to the fish market and decide on dinner. Tonight it’s a rather underestimated fish. It tastes better fresh than smoked.
Periodically, I try to give my sometimes absent – nowadays, often – muse a challenge, to motivate myself to write about various topics. I am a storyteller, after all!! Especially when my head becomes too crowded for sensible thought. Social media is a strict task-master, so I find myself penning epigrams on FaceBook instead of practicing my blog craft as I should. My most recent wheeze is to challenge myself to 1) take a picture that represents my day and 2) to write a few short sentences that explain the context. This is just a heads up to my friends, followers and fellow bloggers. It’s my life, I’m grateful to be able to share it with you. For the next 30 days, and not necessarily in chronological order, I’m going to post a picture and a few accompanying sentences on the context. Let me know what you think.
It may of course be my age and stage in life, but frankly I don’t care for the Kardashians, the TOWIE babes or any other half-witted, self-promoting bimbos. I may have boobs, but I do have brains, and no – my face isn’t at chest level nor is it surgically enhanced!
It seems to me that these days, superficial is super-cool, plastic (as in surgery and friend-fakery) is fantastic. If you don’t have 40.5m followers on Twitter, you aren’t working hard enough. If you can’t influence on Facebook you are simply not worth friending. Not writing your own cook-bake-make blog …while hand-knitting nappies for your test-tube triplets? Shame on you, woman! Worst of all, social media has given ordinary women such an inferiority complex, we have actually begun to buy the crap promulgated by popular culture. We actually think it’s ok to be a size zero, or to deprive ourselves of coffee, sex or ice-cream…all in pursuit of some photo-edited ideal that simply isn’t reality.
Instead of supporting each other, I see countless examples of women being disparaging about other women. And no, the Kardashians are media freaks and do not count – they are only nice to themselves and Kanye! Eating disorders are at an all time high. It’s estimated that 10% of young women will suffer this. And the phenomena of on-line bullying is a worrying trend. Not content to bash you in the playground, girl-on-girl violence has evolved to the digital age. We’ll get you in cyberspace…For goodness sake, our’s is the era that has spawned the term ‘frenemy’…as in, people you loathe but are friends with? I rest my case!
As a grown up (sometimes) I’ve experienced first-hand how mean, petty and bitchy women can be. At one time, I used to be the only single woman at the dinner table…or not. Sometimes I was not invited, because being single clearly I must be on the hunt for a husband/promotion/shoes and therefore a huge threat. Really? Shoes and promotion, I earned and paid for myself several times over. Husband? Well…I wouldn’t want to steal your bald, fat wallet!
However, I’ve also seen how wonderful, supportive and giving women can be. Instead of competition, collaboration. Instead of combat, caring. Women friends who hear your sobs and will be your solace, women friends who will cheer your success with champagne, women friends who leave money behind or buy you dinner, so you don’t need to worry about spending, women friends who will send you postcards so you don’t feel alone. Perhaps it’s a female destiny to love too much, feel too much or give too much…but it’s done gladly.
So here is a shout out to the women of my generation -my friends and my family. Let’s support each other. Let’s be present enough in each other’s lives to share the good moments, and the bad. Let’s be pleased for each other’s bravery, success or happiness – not envious. Let’s share the love, and magnify the support. Because…whether or not we are related… we are all sisters under the skin.
I’ve just returned from a 2 week stint in South Africa – looking after my gorgeous nephew/godson, (5) and his equally gorgeous sister, (18 months) while their parents were away. I love them deeply and I’m more than a little melancholy I don’t get to see them as often as I would like. Which is funny, because I never wanted children of my own.
As a single, career-minded woman, I was happy to be the godmother/aunt/interested adult…as long as I could hand them back to their parents and go back to my own (semi-interesting) life. Of course that all changed when the Tadpole (a.k.a. aforesaid nephew) was born, but I still had the luxury of hot-footing it back to corporate life and champagne-ville when it suited me. I quite enjoyed playing the role of not-so-wicked godmother!
Having learnt the entire theme song to Paw Patrol last week, along with reaching the dizzy heights of supercool stardom in Slugterra, I have also been reflecting on my role as an aunt and godparent. Parent– being the operative word. It’s not something you prepare for. But damn…you need to be prepared. For the questions, the challenges and the absolute clarity of a 5 year old. For the high energy, instant requirements of a little 18 month old soul who is seeing things for the first time and demanding everything!
Which got me thinking. In my other life, falling madly in love with The Belgian has also brought children into my life. They are not mine, but they are the most gorgeous boys. Two of them. When we first met, I was.. a single, career-minded woman happy to be the interested adult. As long as I could hot-foot it back to corporate life and champagne-ville. Of course that changed when The Belgian proposed. Suddenly, I faced the prospect of being a step-mother. I wasn’t prepared. I felt…wicked. In every sense of the word.
I hadn’t had kids of my own. How would I know what to do when they came home with bruised knees. Wicked! There are loads of Brady-bunch type books on the market. You know, the blended family, step-parenting-for-dummies publications that are totally – and I mean totally – geared towards those people who a) have been married before and b) are bringing their kids together. Eh? What about me? I simply could not relate. I wasn’t sure whether ‘stepmom’ was something I actually wanted. Even more wicked! Yes, I am a single, career girl by choice. My career is still important to me, regardless of whether I do the school run or not. Wicked-er! And yes, of course I have never had kids so will probably not know how to parent. Oh so, super-Wicked!
Nevertheless..I’m not half bad with small people, and despite my own misgivings, I will probably make a semi-cool parent. So far, I have presided over the funeral of the pet gerbil, given big hugs when disappointment strikes and taught the boys to love jelly and bacon. I am prepared to take on someone else’s most precious possessions, along with their birth mother’s foibles. I am prepared to hug them, love them and make sure they are well-fed and watered. I am there to tuck them in and cuddle them when they can’t speak to mom or dad. More importantly I am happy to spend my spare time, teaching them things they might not otherwise learn. Getting them to make a perfect champagne-cocktail however, might be some way off!
Some of us wear our scars on the inside. Hidden. Inscrutable. Buried deep in the substrate of our soul. Others wear their wounds close to the surface. Scratch lightly, and the pain comes pouring out. Either way, it’s our emotional geography which sets these internal internal contour lines.
Life doesn’t always come with a map. When you are at the top of the mountain, you can see forever. But steep hills shape deep valleys. In the darkness, you have to feel your way.
Pier Point 