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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44878216249939798362015-07-30T16:12:05.661+01:00Lou, Boos and ShoesWhat I think, covet, like and do.Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-46657182789084173852015-07-28T11:17:00.001+01:002015-07-28T11:17:36.564+01:00Back...It's been the longest time. I last wrote when in some kind of personal maelstrom, struggling to make sense of the return of horrid pain symptoms I had thought were behind me. And then...things got a million times worse! Hah! Always the optimist, I found my way through. Oh, if that were true! In fact I kinda cracked up for a while as the pain increased to an extent that was reminiscent of childbirth. I had a bad wisdom tooth. This didn't become clear until there had been weeks of simultaneous pain and panic. The thing with living with chronic pain is that you have to re assimilate the fact that each day there is pain. When it is a known pain it becomes like an annoying but tolerable acquaintance; you recognise it, you can live with it, it will never finish your sentences but it is part of your life, nonetheless. Then...the pain changes and everything is on its head. This new unknown pain was traumatic - I wondered if my life was just going to be that way from then on? Excruciating pain, forever. Google that and you find some pretty dark places.

And so, the day it became clear that I simply had a bad tooth, despite my near-phobic emotions about dentistry, I was pleased. A bad tooth I can deal with; a life of abject misery I can't! And so I had it out. Emergency wisdom tooth extraction the day or so before I went on holiday and whilst my home was being pulled down around my ears by the builders! It was testing, I am not going to lie. But now...well now it's much, much better. In fact I have had no pain since that bad tooth was taken out and honestly, it had been bothering me for months.

And so - what do we learn? Everything in life is a phase; the best of things and the worst of things.

We went away to Jersey - in the Channel Islands, a place I have never been to before but loved. Beautiful - wide arching beaches and dramatic cliffs. We went with our good friends and it was lovely, however in one of those spooky twists of fate, there was a sickness bug that hit 7 out of 9 of us! Yep, really. The week was spent managing the progression of this nasty virus, disinfecting, and then disinfecting again. It was a shame. We tried to make the best of it! And all the while, the view outside remained as stunning as ever. I would love to go back.

We returned, unable to stay in our tumbling-down house, we have rented a local cottage in a pretty place near here right by the water. Rather surreal to stay in a holiday home in your home town but it's refreshing. Unlike where we normally live, there are people walking by outside, it's not rural but boat-y. Everyone looks like they are ready to take on the high seas. I love living at the coast, never more than now. I don't think I could ever live inland.

Meanwhile, half way through the summer holidays, the days are merging as I try to keep up with the displacement we have in our living arrangements and my children's social life. I hate that I find the holidays so disruptive; they broke up on July 3rd, I mean, seriously? It's a long way to September...

And then deep down I know...September means back to school for me too. The reading list for my Masters has been released and this provoked mild anxiety and excitement for me. I am starting to realise the enormity of what I am taking on. Another degree? I haven't done a degree in twenty years. All of the self doubt I have ever had stored up is seeping through the cracks in my resolve. Trying to hold it together. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this!
Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-89621289641692091642015-07-07T08:49:00.000+01:002015-07-07T08:56:05.573+01:00The unwanted visitor...I have been absent I know; a horrid recurrence of my jaw pain symptoms have floored me. I have lived with this chronic pain for so long, on and off and I genuinely thought I had made peace with it; it affected my life, yes, but I managed it and most importantly (for me) I could control the way I felt about it. It's such a psychological trigger in my little world. It causes a downward spiral that I really struggle to stem, despite the regularity with which it comes back. It started in April, got worse and worse, I went to see another specialist whose diagnosis initially pleased me, (no bone damage), but meanwhile the symptoms became more and more entrenched. Now I am just in it.

painting via here by martin wehmer

I know deep down it will pass, I know life has a way of offering up phases, I know it's meant to make me stronger, I know that there will be a Pinterest quote to get me through the dark moments. But I just wish I didn't have it. I have read extensively about living with pain and one method is to embrace it; to welcome it in and study it, rather than try to run away. I am trying. But in amongst the rest of my daily existence, spending time with such an unwanted visitor is beyond trying. I don't want to be that mother/wife/friend - the one who is always quiet because I am breathing through the pain.

Funnily enough, the specialist I saw described the profile of those who suffer with this particular condition (he called me an 'Olympic' teeth-clencher! My facial muscles are shot). Nine out of ten times women, deep-thinking, they (we) install 'coping strategies' to deal with life's stresses which mean complete and utter internalisation of feelings. Achiever. Fine bone structure. Intelligent. Takes life waaay too seriously.

Hmmmm.

I think I'd rather be stoopid and carefree! ;-)

Otherwise, life is about summer holidays and clearing the house ready for the build which WILL start next week! Hurrah. Well - kinda hurrah. We will live out of a suitcase for most of the summer, an eventuality which we have convinced ourselves will be character-building and exciting. We have rented a cottage by the sea near here for a week or so to have a 'stay-cation' and will be returning to Portugal later in the summer. I am looking forward to it, and hope in our absence the worst of the work will get done. Clearly, I get the parallel of this life challenge and my pain. I guess that upheaval and I don't sit well together. Delicate flower that I am!

Both children have broken up from school so we are already into lazy mornings and a million haphazard arrangements to occupy them. We have yet to fall into a rhythm. There's not a lot of writing going on - a fact which bothers me more and more as I consider September looming. I thought I would have written the bare bones of something by now in readiness for my Masters Degree. But no. Life got in the way. I conclude that this is normal; this is why not everyone who can write is a writer. It takes such discipline; daily toil. I am sure a change of scene will help.

Take care and above all else, see the funny side! xxx

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-42936003540458776772015-06-24T20:47:00.000+01:002015-06-26T08:48:02.267+01:00She wore a raspberry beret...There's a local event brewing, a thing that needs to raise money for a worthy cause. There was talk of a ball or a banquet or some such evening that required dressing up and putting on a show. Then the voice of an underbelly of discord who suggested maybe we should just have an 80's disco? Of course I was sold. Anything 1980's is my bag. I opted out of a ball gown and into neon leg warmers. I have to say, as the 80's actually happened and I was their witness, neon leggings were never worn. However I certainly saw some on 'Top of the Pops'.

Every now and then I catch an 80's tune on the radio, I am always a sucker for Blondie who seemed cooler than cool as I grew up. Debbie Harry singing 'roll me in designer sheets, I can never get enough'. Little did I know that the adult life she hinted at does not consist of designer sheets, but instead of endless laundry of sheets, not of the designer kind. Oh the irony.

I decided this week that it is a travesty that I have never seen 'Annie Hall'. Does this make me culturally unaware? Is 'Annie Hall' a rite of passage?

Meanwhile the need for palm trees grows and I texted my husband to say that I wanted to wallpaper a wall of our downstairs loo with palm tree wallpaper. This is a recurring theme with me. Most of all I would like the quintessential paper named 'Martinique' like the one from in Beverley Hills Hotel, circa 1942. I can't work out whether it is good taste or bad taste. I am not sure I care. I just know that I want it. I wonder if what is really behind this is the feeling that my house should resemble the set for 'The Graduate'.

via here

I am utterly into 'The Affair'...I am literally waiting week to week for the next instalment.

Today was a hairdresser day. Three hours spent restoring my hair to the colour and condition it used to be naturally. Oh the irony again!! I am now an inadvertent blonde...

My sister in law is back! Hurrah for that. After eight months in Dubai she has returned for a month or so to escape the summer heat there. Happy about that. The other sister in law (also a Dubai-ite) will come in a week or so :-) Family is all.

I walked at the beach this morning and was struck by the way in which dog walkers greet each other. Before I owned a dog I had no idea of this sub-culture! It's so consistent and so sweet that I have become very fond of other dog owners.

And then there is shopping; fresh white converse and a necklace in the sales.

On the home front, we navigate the choppy waters of teenage relationships and ten year old boy fixations. She wants to be loved and he wants a new pair of trainers. Parenting is as challenging as ever. I stick to my tried and tested line, which is: reasonableness, gentle influence, truth and honesty. Even when it's awkward. Trying my hardest.

 I find myself looking at old ladies in the street and wondering what life they have lived and what they told their children. Did they think they were brave like me? I hope when I am an old lady someone asks me what I thought and felt at 40...

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-56883045243320910382015-06-17T10:03:00.002+01:002015-06-17T10:24:07.389+01:00You got that James Dean day dream look in your eye...I have many times lamented the fact that when living in rural Southern England, my sartorial choices are limited. There is always the mud and if not the mud then sand from the beach. There is always the changeable weather (typical Brit: weather-obsessed). There is always the lifestyle; dog walking, school run, pop to the shops, yoga etc. Oh the life I lead! Anecdotally, I realised yesterday that I have a fair amount of guilt about the life I lead. I feel inherently that I should be doing more, all the time. I decided this whilst reading my favourite John Updike book (best for writing inspiration) in the middle of the afternoon. Sigh. I then felt it again as I prepared healthy snacks for my unwell daughter, with all the time in the world. Again when I hung out seersucker bed linen on the washing line and then later when I brought it in, dry, it smelled like childhood. Even though I know these activities are good and real and often necessary, not least because I have made a conscious life/health choice to do them, I still get the guilts. Anyway, whilst leading my lovely life...I wear my usual muggles uniform.

Being away last week afforded the chance to properly dress up. I remembered how much I like dressing up. To my peril though, as I opted for the blue shoes whilst strolling from our hotel. It was uphill in Monaco and I suffered sore feet in return for my style choice. Some people lead a life where a blue shoes equivalent is required every day. How lovely. Maybe their feet are more hardy?!

And can we just touch on French style? I know there are a million homages to French style; what it is, how to get it. There is something so special about it. Not least because those wearing the clothes are healthy and beautiful and undone without being done. It's an elusive thing, clearly. As far as I could see there was no one, single thing, more like an overall effect. And the appropriate use of hats. Like when you see a girl on a bus, who has a flower in her hair and perfectly applied red lipstick. N'est-ce pas Simone?!

What it boils down to is that I am impressionable about style. I know what I like to wear and have an ever-present conflict between classic/elegant and boho/quirky which I am sure, as I age, will drive me to distraction. If I see something, just an image or a glimpse, I get mini-obsessions that last a few days where I HAVE to find that item. More often than not I don't buy it, even if I locate it. But the mystery and possibility of finding the perfect item and it being mine is almost too much to bear! I definitely have too much time on my hands... :-)

all images via prive de sommeil

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-73544009713259793502015-06-16T12:50:00.000+01:002015-06-16T12:55:24.529+01:00Women, writing, wisdom...One thing of note, last week when in Monaco, was that the women I met (the wives and girlfriends; although not always) were so open. Maybe there was something unusual about the prospect of a few days in a different place with people we'd never met before. People whose perception of me was unformed. Late at night I found myself in conversation with a variety of women, all picking through opinions and thoughts, dispensing wisdom when it was relevant but otherwise in listening mode. I met a few women who seemed very much like me, which is odd considering in my normal life, where I see women all the time, I very rarely meet anyone who is entirely on my wavelength. And I feel that it takes about five years to establish trust between two women over the age of 40. Certainly by 35, the veneer (which I have often written about) is up. Glued into place. This has led to me consider that my wavelength is one that not many of my contemporaries tune in to, although they're generally happy to have me in the background - like the unknown readers of this blog.

So, as ever I came away with observations. One was that of the women I met, all of whom had taken different paths in life; some with children, some without, some working, some not, all expressed 'is this how life is meant to be?' queries. No one asserted that they'd got it right. There was an inherent unsureness. Admittedly this is a small and privileged demographic of corporate wives or corporate climbers, but still.

Of course, this is relevant as I prepare to start my Masters in September, any and all human interaction becomes potential book material, to the extent that I eavesdropped on a conversation on the plane which was so candid and so public that by the time we landed I was taking notes! My friends have admitted that they are disconcerted about the idea of reading about themselves in something I have written. Everything has become fair game. I feel faintly bad about this; as if I am inadvertently plundering places I shouldn't for inspiration. But then I figure, that's the way it goes doesn't it?! Where does one draw the line?

So back to the women I met; where does this lack of confidence derive from? Why does no one have it all figured out? I've always been fascinated by the way women relate to each other and I am sure this is one the reasons I have blogged here for so many years. I look occasionally at my blog stats - where the visitor traffic comes from and how many followers etc. Over time it's become less and less important to me as the blog has become something I write for myself (can you tell?!) rather than crafting it for an audience. If the audience applaud, then great. But isn't it interesting that all this blog, or any blog has ever been is a series of observations about life, written mainly by women, mainly for women. I quite like that.

Meanwhile in the mind of this woman, this week:

Suitcase unpacking; dry cleaning of my party gown.
'This time last week' feelings.
One unwell teenage daughter, upstairs in bed. Sunny outside.
One piece of local news, affecting a peer of my daughter's, that was so awful and so tragic, I couldn't sleep after I heard.
One beach walk with friends, righting the wrongs.
A fairly hefty guilt about not having actually written much yet.
But much thought about what I might write.
Story of my life.
Fish tank issues.
One son who is so in the midst of being ten years old and heart-stoppingly handsome (there's a mother's love, I know) that when I talk to him, no matter what it's about, I smile.
One husband who is doing pretty well at work.
One half-done house that is constantly messy.
Not enough sleep.
A painful return to yoga after just one week off. Aching muscles.
A wild sale purchase that I am sure I shall get the wear from one day.

Happy Tuesday...

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-72940034766622571652015-06-12T17:33:00.000+01:002015-06-12T17:35:29.462+01:00The scent of pine and jasmine...I've been to Monaco since last week. My husband won an award with his work and so we were treated. I kept writing and re-writing in my head what I would tell you about my trip because it was just so lovely and special that I felt I must capture it moment by moment. Turns out it's harder than I thought. The reasons why it was so lovely are numerous and varied, but let's start with:

...it was away from here!

I never think I want to escape my life until I escape my life and then look in through a different lens. Going to Monte Carlo on a luxurious break was a tonic of the best kind. It is the most glamorous place, so chic and so very beautiful. We stayed in a hotel suite high up above the bay, and slept with the doors open, listening to the waves. One day we took bikes and cycled through villa-lined residential roads (who actually lives there?!!), the sun beating down, the air smelling of pine and jasmine. We attended a cocktail party at the Villa Rothschild which sits atop a hill overlooking the Riviera bay. It was like something out of 'Tender is the Night' by F Scott Fitzgerald. We swam in the crystal clear Mediterranean. I wore white and it was appropriate! We drank way too much rosé. We watched fireworks at a gala dinner where the roof of the building we were in opened up, swished aside (yes, really!) and the night sky lit up. We listened to Euro-pop in a nightclub, drinking pink champagne, with sore toes from dancing for hours. And each morning a new fleet of super-yachts belonging to the super-rich had moored overnight. It was surreally, wonderfully fabulous. I know I am gushing now...

We had the most fun.

I completely fell in love with the place.

And now I am home. Rather hungover, literally and figuratively.

And so to the rest of my life. Honestly the contrast couldn't be greater! They are planting courgettes in the fields around my house so there have been tractors all day. Tonight my son has cricket practice so we go and have a beer and chat to the locals. The house is....well, the house is still what it was yesterday and the day before: undone. I have an incongruous French June tan as the weather here has been chilly. I now want summer more than ever!

It was lovely to come home to the children though and having a few days apart reminded me of all the good and lucky I have in my life. Nothing like a bit of perspective.

Oh and I hate to say it, but Victoria is no longer with us :-( another life lesson in nature and survival of the fittest! Victoria II is arriving over the weekend...

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-74309928098001865622015-06-04T16:08:00.001+01:002015-06-04T16:08:42.583+01:00Is Victoria happy?Yesterday I got up and did the school run. It was interspersed with a lecture from me to my daughter about how she really should do the athletics meet that had been selected for after school. What is it with girls and sport? It's a widely held observation that many girls give up sport by the age of 14; the effort and coaching involved in maintaining sport as part of my daughter's life is huge. She's good at it and it makes her feel good, but getting her motivated sometimes borders on that awful kind of parental pressure. I don't want to be a pushy parent, I don't need her to relive my sporting past through hers. I don't want to exist vicariously through her and achieve first place in the running race, metaphoric or literal. The reason I want her to do sport is because:

She gets endorphins.
She is part of a team.
Sport becomes a facet of her life that she can always draw from.
Beating heart, stretched muscles, interested brain - all good.
It makes her stronger.
It makes her confident.
She releases stress and toxins.
It will make her more resilient in life when it gets hard(er).
It's something she can do that is not on her phone.

For a teenage girl all of the above are important. So it's with a heavy heart that I exert pressure on her to try to maintain the sport in her life. It comes at a price and I dropped her off yesterday feeling wretched that I had been too hard on her. Texted apologies later and we mended the rift. I walked the pup at the beach feeling anxious that I'd upset her, that my reasoning had been off, that she misunderstood my message. This is the abiding emotion I notice right now, parenting a teenager. Conversations are often followed by my analysis and regret and a wish to re-run things. It has become harder to make myself understood as the generational gap widens.

But by mid morning I had shaken it off. I instead went for a bike ride with my husband who was working from home, we cycled to a waterside pub, sat outside and ate scampi and chips and then cycled home again along the canal towpath. We watched our son play cricket in the afternoon at one of the most beautiful schools in the county, surrounded by countryside. It was an idyll and I was reminded again of how lucky I am. I have a friend who has moved here 'down from London'. This stereotype (the 'DFL') applies to those who have moved South to escape the city and with whose eyes I can see a whole different place to the one I grew up in. They relish the beach, don't notice the summer people, take up every and each opportunity to suck the marrow out of living on the coast. I try to put myself in their shoes.

Meanwhile my friend Dawn came to stay. Twenty four hours in her company is enough to reset me. She listens to my bullshit, says it's bullshit and then listens to more bullshit. This is the measure of an old friend.

At dinner, my husband asks me why I keep buying Orichiette pasta. I tell him it's because I like the name. Simple pleasures.

Over half term my son persuaded me to get him a fish as a pet. In my day that meant a fish bowl and a goldfish. Turns out things have changed and now it means filters and aquariums and special processes to check nitrate levels in the water. And not a single goldfish but a whole shoal of little minnow-type fish. Like everything else in the world, it's all got super-complicated. Anyway, I had said I would, so we did and now we are a week into being fish owners. One of the fish is not happy; we have four. Her name is Victoria. My son is worried about her as she stays at the bottom of the tank and doesn't shoal with the rest. It's pretty pitiful actually and I now have the guilts about the fact that I can't improve Victoria's life. No one likes an unhappy fish! I'll keep you posted...!!

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-46986856692803929962015-05-30T09:58:00.000+01:002015-05-30T10:01:33.043+01:00What's really going on...Singing in the car to One Direction's entire back catalogue. Feeling wistful at the Zayn parts.

Cindy Crawford in the Taylor Swift video. She rocks; Cindy as well as Taylor.

Friday night curry - our mainstay.

More driving around than I know what to do with. Crossing the border between British counties two times a day whilst repatriating my children from friends. I haven't seen any of MY friends! Half term week is the pinnacle of the drop off/pick up.

Embracing growing up. Theirs, not mine.

Watching 'The Affair'. Thinking about it afterwards.

Book club with the mothers. Always an education.

Skim-reading for aforementioned book club; a skill I learnt at University and one that has stayed with me.

Buying plain tops that will get me through the summer from Me and Em - wardrobe staples?

Absolute trepidation about the building work. Abrupt change of builders. Worry and more worry.

Deciding to be a grown up. Then wishing I was 20 again.

Reading about 'Generation Z' - oh-so-scary.

Missing 'Generation X' - Ethan Hawke and Winona Ryder in 'Reality bites'. Hello, you've reached the winter of our discontent. Secretly wishing I had worked in Gap and could fold clothes professionally. Singing 'My Sharona' at full volume in public places. Oh how I didn't recognise the importance of the my late teens/early 20's when they were happening.

Assessing whether the change that occurred in me at 40 was profound. I think, yes, it was. I can't think of another life milestone (except possibly bringing my first newborn baby home, circa 2001) when I felt the tectonic plates shift beneath my feet. I have to say, it made me THINK completely differently about EVERYTHING! My whole perception changed. Still acclimatising to the change. Do I like the change?! The point is - you have to BE the change. Excuse the CAPITALS.

Relapse of jaw pain; trying to be brave. Feeling like my body is failing me. Wondering if there is link between previously mentioned 40 year old mind and this affliction. Can't imagine I would have had muscle tension in 1995.

Wondering whether I need a new dress.

Cricket whites that are no longer white.

Trust.

Flowering wisterias that hug the house.

Always earl grey tea.

Pondering whether mineral and vitamin supplements really work?

Thinking I should eat more healthily? But still loving white, buttered toast.

A return to running - then realising that running is not that great for me physically. Sticking to yoga. Sign of the times!

Happy Saturday.

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-15081107527855607992015-05-23T09:16:00.000+01:002015-05-23T09:16:46.101+01:00And the women say...Every now and then I get a jolt of feminism. Here's the background: I grew up the second child to a single mother. She was a bastion of strength and dignity. She worked full time and I saw her balance a BIG job (the intelligent, competitive kind of job in a very male dominated industry) with our home life. She did it with grace and tenacity and frankly, her toil then set her up for a very good retirement now. The things that I recognised - sometimes she was late to collect me from school events. I was the only one with divorced parents. Sometimes she spent her money on power suits (it was the 1980's). Sometimes she was so tired we had the same meal for dinner three nights running. Sometimes, looking back, I wondered how she did it all. I had a normal, happy, secure upbringing interspersed by visits to Copenhagen to see our extended family. I lacked nothing. My Mum is Danish, so she was and is liberal, forgiving, calm, empowered. People should so emulate the Danes. They are the coolest society. But I digress...

I suppose what I see now is that I was, one way or another, raised as a feminist by a feminist. But not the rant-y kind. The assertive kind. Anything a man could do I could do. And I lost count of the times she advised me not to be financially dependant on a man. Get educated, make your own money.

So it's interesting as we fast forward twenty years and here I am; a housewife. It's an endless source of conflict for me.

I am raising a daughter, I ask her if is she is a feminist. She thinks I am nut; I am not sure many mothers ask that question? Or at least not of her peers. Not much of her current situation requires that she understands feminism. I guess it's one of those things that doesn't become a requirement until you realise it's a requirement. But yes - she says in reply; she is a feminist. She says I have brought her up to understand that she can do anything she likes, regardless of her gender. She doesn't see her brother being afforded different privileges because he is a boy. We raise them the same way.

I think this issue is no less important when raising a son. Can I just say that when his time comes and he is getting to know his future girlfriends, I be will labouring the point about how to treat women. I am facing the thorny topics now; saying what needs to be said. It really matters to me. Raising a good man is a feat in itself.

But here we go again - overzealous parenting? Why can't I just let it be?!

One thing my lovely Mum infers now...as she observes me parent my kids...is that she never worried about all this sh*t. She just got on with it as best she could. Worry was for the people who had time to worry. I do sense there is a self-conscious degree of anxiety about parenting that is so overdone in my generation. Awareness can be a thing that works against you. Did she escape the worry because she wasn't aware that there was so much to worry about?! Or was it enviable Danish sensibility - ever balanced and easy-going? A bit of both.

How do you find the happy medium?

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-29642283366018933092015-05-21T14:57:00.000+01:002015-05-21T15:03:29.819+01:00Lovely things...Things that are lovely:

Comments from strangers that say: thank you for writing what you write and the inherent comfort of the words: 'me too'.

English prettiness at its best. My friend Alison's Cowparsley at Home range that is just heart-swimmingly lovely. The bees are my favourite. Until my house is finished I have to console myself with the accessories range; I choose a keepsake box which arrived this week to brighten my day.

Wearing yoga clothes all day. Comfort is all.

Conversations with my ten year old son about how long goldfish live for. Apparently 45 years, it has been known! I see that come half term next week we will be visiting the fish (pet) shop. When my daughter was ten we got the much loved puppy. My son will have to make do with a goldfish! But getting a new pet is something rather special, isn't it?

Knowing that even when I am wracked with self-doubt, somewhere deep in me gumption arrives and saves the day. 'I think I can'.

Penning the book plot in my mind...all the time...like...all the time. It's in my thoughts as a constant companion and I like that.

Listening to 'Women's Hour' as a podcast; as I rarely catch the live transmission on the radio. I absolutely adore Women's Hour. I learn something new every time I listen. It really is an institution.

Evening walks with old friends. English hedgerows and dog walkers who say 'good evening' as if we live in Hardy's time and we tip our cap to each other.

Coffee with old colleagues; talking about the good days. I went back to IBM today and was among the people who work. Get up each morning, put on a suit, go to work. I did this for so many years, it's strange but fitting to be a visitor in that land of the corporate. I am no longer one of them.

Palm trees.

In my efforts to get offline, I have seen an immediate positive affect. It takes discipline but honestly, a lot of what I was spending my time looking at was not a need-to-know. Instagram; you'll have to do without me for a bit. Pinterest; you're harder to quit but reading this article (suggested here) did make me smile! How silly we have become.

I am getting ready for the house build phase two...it will be lovely when it's done...when it's done!

If ever there were a glass half empty, it's mine. This is something I rue daily and as you'll know, certainly forms the ebb and flow of what I write about here. I sometimes look back on posts and think: my goodness I say the same thing in lots of different ways! I should think I will look back on these couple of years of my life as ones of discovery. But it's been a slow burn and often the level of self-discovery becomes hard to take. Introspection run amok. It comes from taking the choice to stop. I stopped doing what I used to do and now I do different stuff. I look at friends and see that a tactic amongst women my age is to keep so busy, pushing and pulling from all sides. The home, the husband, the children, the parents, the siblings, the career, the ageing, the making sense of it all. There's a whole lot going on there and sometimes I think back wistfully to my 20's when frankly, inexperience deemed life a whole lot easier! You have to roll with it...

images on this page from crush cul de sac

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-5080802725543558662015-05-19T20:10:00.001+01:002015-05-19T20:10:03.894+01:00Do what you do...It the most authentic sense, I am true to form. There are elements of me that my husband, who let's not forget is 22 years into this endeavour, describes as 'Completely Lou'. He knows me. I say I won't shop, and then I do. I say I get it, then I don't. I defend a point to the end of the earth and then change my mind the next day. I say I can do it, then I get a crisis of confidence. I am, if nothing else, predictable.

I have a habit where I am utterly and completely affected by my surroundings. I feel the clutter. I hate the clutter. It produces a fog in me. Yet my ability to actually deal with the clutter is somehow compromised. Today, I spent about six hours doing admin. The worst kind of the admin; piles of paper and that necessary exercise where you have to look at and understand every morsel. My back aching with sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded. File it. I file away the kid's school reports and think: when will I next need these? When Boo gets married and we need a witty historical reference about her personality. But on the most part with paper...I make a decision about it. Relegate it to the recycling. I am pathological about recycling. Where does it end up? In a conversation last week I lamented my worry that thrown away clothes end up as landfill. The person I was talking to rolled their eyes. Live more. Worry less.

I decided on Sunday that I should get offline. I haven't really entertained this prospect before, despite it being the mainstay of much commentary about modern times. I always felt that whatever lives on line, I could handle. Well I am not so sure. I think we must recognise this and certainly others share the sentiment. I can get consumed with the phone swipe.

My photographic memory tested every time I swipe my phone. Those go-to apps that keep the day rolling; the wait in the traffic bearable. Yes, I confess I have swiped my phone in traffic. Is this the big modern taboo? How many lines of traffic have you sat in to find that fellow car drivers are face-down. Illuminated. It's shameful. I realised that I was on line too much. And this is particularly relevant when it comes to having a teenage child. (Is the term 'teenage child' an oxymoron?) One way to navigate the chasm of parenting is to inhabit the on line world. Instagram and Snapchat and Facebook. So I think I overdid it and now I am going cold turkey. I can't be in that world, no matter how tempting, as frankly the only time I belonged in a teenage place was circa 1988 when I was my daughter's age. I am a grown up now. Didn't you notice?

Meanwhile, whilst we are sharing, the other thing I do is buy food that isn't eaten. There, I said it. Confessional: it seems like such a good idea to plan an elaborate meal midweek and purchase the ingredients, as if I am in fact Nigella the Domestic Goddess. Then the time comes and the inclination fades and frankly, we would all rather have pasta. I have a love/hate relationship with pasta. Oh so simple. Oh so same-y. I am now using different pasta shapes to shake things up; oricchiette anyone?

We are facing the imminent start of building work, which in short means we have ship out of the main part of our house. This is what is prompting the admin purge. I consider the need to clear out of drinks cabinet. Who has a drinks cabinet??! And frankly, am I deluding myself that we live on the set of 'Madmen' and need to pour a swift whiskey at the end of the day? I am wine girl. Spirits rarely feature and honestly, when they do, it's not pretty. I am now facing the prospect of pouring away the obscure contents of out-of-date Tia Maria bottles. And can I just say...Amaretto is never a good idea.

And so it goes. You do what you do, don't you?

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-53464901155768566482015-05-12T14:15:00.000+01:002015-05-12T14:17:52.977+01:00Be the good...I am wondering why there is this flawed human trait; the one where you forget to be good. Why must I always forget to appreciate things and forget to see the good in things?! Why must I be the one who sees the bad? I do well for a while, but then I slip back. In the past I have written about being an introvert and being a pessimist and now on top of these things I note that I am also an atheist. Do we want to get into this on a Tuesday afternoon? I guess so...

I feel like talking religion here is a bit like talking politics. I feel like I shouldn't reveal too much, as if I have inadvertently shown you my underwear. I voted last week in the General Election and found it a bizarrely moving and thought-provoking exercise. The polling station where I live was awash with little old ladies who'd put on their best suit to come and vote. There is something profound about it as an action, as a thing one must do. The school run that week was peppered with observations about the suffragettes and why we must vote, no matter what.

And then to religion; here I will say it: I lack faith. I suspect this is why my pessimism can become a little too much to bear at times; there is no alternative story. No outcome on which I can pin my beliefs. I look with envy at those who have religious faith, who have a place to turn to, who believe that they will be looked after. Who make that deal with themselves (or with God) that if they follow x, y, z doctrine, then they will go to heaven. The absence of heaven troubles me enormously. One of my mum's best friends lost her husband this week. He was in his eighties and had had 'a good innings', but still it feels wrong. She kept saying ' he was such a gentleman; such a good man' and I thought back to times as a child, where I was aware of his presence as a sincere and kind man, to whom I paid little real attention.

I find that the older I get, these things are more on my mind and frankly, that's a shame. I would rather be as oblivious as I was in my 20's! With age comes wisdom and with wisdom comes responsibility. I would rather like to have less of that. And so I spend my days keeping appointments and browsing the web and tidying up and trying to notice how beautiful it is here in this corner of the world. I try not to look at my phone too much. I try not to worry about all manner of things, from health to logistics to food to the future. And whether I need my roots done (yes). Most of all though I mentally tell myself to 'man up'. Strength and resilience is all!

This, I realise now, is why women my age take up yoga or triathlons. It's about distraction.

Meanwhile I long for some rhythm of life that is not dictated by their school term. How ironic that I should be looking forward to September where my life will take on an academic pace again and I will be tied by my own termly schedule. And ironic that whilst I ponder the meaning of life most days, I also fritter away time searching for the perfect pair of new kicks. And ironic that little old me, the one who thinks all the time, is married to someone who barely thinks about anything weighty at all. As in never. I have never known anyone so carefree. It's all about positive attitude! Hah!

A few months ago I downloaded a gratitude app - and I kept it for about a month - until I realised that the things I was grateful for were the same day in, day out. It started to loose its clout. I now go back and remind myself; health, love, family, comfort, security, beauty.

Ahh yes, that was it. Remember the good. Be the good. Good.

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-53353349682851789892015-05-08T17:32:00.003+01:002015-05-08T17:37:36.905+01:00White-knuckled ride...I go through a series of life phases which take up residence and then last a few months. Lather, rinse, repeat. At the moment things feel...how can I say?...tiring. Tricky. In fact as I write that I wonder whether they are in fact tricky or whether it is me who finds this to be the case? I wonder about my tenacity. I wish I were stronger. Then I wish I could be kinder to myself because I know deep down I can be strong enough.

I knew that this Spring would represent a bit of a strange time. We have a house to finish, I have time to kill before I start my Masters, my children are growing and changing every day. I am still locked into the daily life of a housewife and not getting any better at it! It feels like I have been the parent of a teenager for the longest time and I remind myself that it has ONLY been a year! Teenage parenting is a bit like childbirth; when you are in it, you just get your head down and hope to come out the other side! And when I do I suspect I will block out the truth of it and forget just how challenging a time it was!

I don't want to do my beautiful teenage daughter a disservice; I am sure one day she will read this and think: wtf? Actually, she is doing fine. It's me and my reactions that are not. There are some people who breeze through life - the glass-half-full people - my husband is one, I can attest to their existence. But being a glass-half-empty person? Yep, it's a white knuckle ride.

In amongst this there's other baggage about keeping my cool and actually being the grown up. I can still listen to music from the 1980's and literally feel my heart clench with nostalgia for my youth. I wonder, on a daily basis, how did I get to be a 41 year old?! Much as I am 'owning' being in my 40's and like many of the good things that come with it, it is still a shock to me that I am this age. And the biggest observation I would make about all of this is that the more time you have to think about it, the fewer answers present themselves. Funny how that goes.

Meanwhile, I long for sun and heat (no change), I found the perfect white blazer (still shopping, still having the guilt-sweats), I am thinking of upping my yoga classes to three a week. I found these very achingly stylish kicks when in Brighton with a friend. I didn't purchase them though!

There are rooms in my house so in need of renovation that I can barely bring myself to walk into them! There is an inevitability about the building work that is to come; we can't not do it, we are neck deep and must complete. But the prospect of it makes me need to take a deep inward breath. No one likes living like that. I concentrate on the end point and the styling and how it will all be worth it. I try to imagine the farmhouse we currently have and what it will look like when the entire back wall of the house is taken off and replaced with glass. I idle away hours looking for the perfect image of the interplay between old and new. I fret about whether my slightly strange, Danish, quirky interior style will translate. Let's see...

But most of all I try to remind myself that all of these things - these so-called 'First World Problems' pale into insignificance really. I have a healthy, happy family and we have a roof over our heads. That should be enough shouldn't it?!

Oh and I started writing. Like properly writing. A password protected document on my computer with the title 'book'.

Have a great weekend!

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-59347076391967106122015-05-02T19:48:00.003+01:002015-05-03T08:14:21.719+01:00Yes, no, yes...
These things interest me: time and influence and thoughts. I have a lot of time, people influence me enormously and I think all the time. Like, all the time. Exhausting? Yes. Interesting? Yes.

I have spent the week doing all sorts of nothing much; yoga, bike rides, dog walks, coffee mornings, school mum lunches, clean, cook, clean. Arranging and sorting and day dreaming. I long for holidays, especially exotic ones (I am back into Florida now having watched (obsessed over) the Netflix show Bloodline. OMG so gripping!). But actually when it comes down to it, it's the day-to-day at home ordinary that works best for me. I am just made that way.

I think a lot of what my book will be about. The certainty with which I can state that is lovely; a certainty bolstered by the fact that come September, I am going to do a Masters degree in writing that will necessitate me to write a book. I love this. No more procrastination, which is my best ever skill. There is now an actuality to it. Unless I fail. Of course I can't entertain that thought; I won't. The thing I like the most right now is the transition from corporate employee to housewife to writer. It's a journey. A fresh story to emerge daily in my mind. There are so many things I want to write about, I can barely hold them in, let alone formulate a cohesive plot.

And I think to myself, what happened to going out dancing for the night? I miss dancing.

And during the in-between I am doing some consulting work in my old profession. It takes a bit to muster up the enthusiasm. Although when I really stop and think about it, I do miss the cut and thrust of the corporate world. That feeling of walking into a meeting, knowing my stuff, imparting wisdom and then leaving, feeling like I did a good job.

Meanwhile I decide I won't buy stuff (clothes). Then I buy stuff (clothes). Then I feel bad about it. Yet the pattern remains. Nothing haunts us like the things we didn't buy, right?!

I am trying to galvanise myself for the next phase of building work on our house. We presently live in a no-man's land of the half-done. The view from my window of semi-built foundations and gravel. No neat landscaped gardens here. One day it will all be done ;-)

We have entered the summer term and so it's my son's cricket season. This means hours spent watching this curious game, so quintessentially British; picnics and cricket whites and pausing for tea and sandwiches that have been cut into triangles.

Time marches on, Boo is 14 in a week. I took her today to have her ears pierced (again) and observed the self-assured girl in front of me, compared to that last time, when she was 12 and she was petrified. Time marches on in the world of a teenager and she grows up so fast, it takes my breath away. But she is a good girl and life is good right now. Please let it last!!

via here

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-57618154069987724542015-04-24T12:28:00.007+01:002015-04-24T17:19:08.852+01:00Palm trees vs normcore...Whilst in an attempt to persuade my husband that we need to cover a single wall of our house with tropical palm tree wallpaper, he patiently turned to me and said: 'Lou, we don't live in the tropics, can we go for something a little more rural?'. He's right, of course, and I acknowledge that my longing for palm trees must now be relegated to photographing them when we are on holiday, not adorning my walls with them. There's a thing in me (I put it down to a childhood spent in Florida) where I love all things tropical. I can get with the Britishness of wellies and wool but deep down, I yearn for something more exotic.

Meanwhile an absolute truth of my life at the moment: I am governed by the sartorial constraints of my lifestyle. We live in a farmhouse, often surrounded by tractors ploughing the fields. Not a palm tree in sight! I notice that British people go through this seasonal shift at this time of year, where the shops are suddenly flooded with white linen and bikinis, even though the British summer can be somewhat unpredictable. It's rarely warm enough for white linen and even when it is, it seems slightly incongruous when worn; like we are children playing house.

My lifestyle doesn't really allow for the following items:

Silk kimonos - although I have three.
Slinky evening jumpsuits - oh, to have the occasion to wear one.
Flowing maxi dresses.
Stiletto heels.
Tulle.

The staples instead are:

Jeans.
Flats.
Woollens
Trench coats
More jeans.

I often ponder whether I should throw caution to the wind and disregard these protocols and wear whatever the hell I like? Can anyone recommend that approach? I realised that without even planning it, I am a proponent of 'normcore'. It's taken me a while to work out that 'normcore' looks fabulous on very pretty women who are, on the whole, very slim. If you see a beautiful woman wearing a white T-shirt and cutoffs on Pinterest, chances are she has those wonderful toned, brown legs and ombre, tousled hair. There's often a jaunty hat. There will usually be a palm tree in the background! Whereas the average British housewife....subliminally we all think we look like the Pinterest woman. I am sticking to that. It's all about inner beauty and a big smile, right?!

So I lust after retro wallpaper. I secretly inject random, ironical nods to a more exotic life in to my choices, but ultimately it's all pretty staid. But can I just say I really want some leopard ankle boots? And some electric blue Nike Air Max. And a pink sofa. And neon wall art. And a high-waisted bikini in corals and blues. Oh and a bright neon bra, ideally with a racer back. And a white blazer. Oh and these really cool Chloe sunglasses I saw somewhere. And really long hair. And a full-length, backless gown that drapes. Yep. ;-)

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-14954645898814034112015-04-23T12:32:00.002+01:002015-04-23T12:32:44.199+01:00Teenage rip tide...My parenting obsession continues...I think back to the years my children were simple souls, whose toddler group or playground antics could be easily soothed. Now parenting seems like a self-conscious, ramped up version of its former self. I notice, at post-yoga coffee (decaf; naturally), that the most comfortable conversation is with other mothers with children the same age.

It was always thus. Women relate to women who relate.

We collectively lament our teenagers. We find them exasperating but we retell their antics with a curious pride. Each milestone and rite of passage is important and shared. But when my child has stepped off the heavily trodden path, I wonder whether to share details with friends I have known and trusted for years. As if it's my failing. And in a way it is. It's not that my children are on a bad path at all, they are just not always on the commonly accepted, normal path. Let's say they sometimes take the side road. 'And I, I took the one less travelled by'. Normally this individuality would incite awe in me but I have to say, at the moment, I am weary of being the parent with the child who forges ahead, who is a pioneer. But that's the thing with parenting - you don't get to choose!

There is a lot in the press about miserable teenagers. The spectre of depression and anxiety looms large. Unlike my own teenage years, when everyone seemed to muddle along OK (or am I looking back with rose-coloured spectacles?) it seems now that they are against each other. Competitiveness has run amok. Kindness gone. Misery reigns. Or so we are told. I read article after article about social media and its negative effect. But can I just say, no one ever says what to DO about it!!

People point out the obvious; that teenagers are confused, pressured and anxious because their every waking move is documented on line. They stalk their friends and their enemies, every photo invites judgement (like! unlike! follow! unfollow!), they solicit each other to share intimacies then spread them around. Trust no one. They look at imagery that belongs in a horror film. They look at porn that should be reserved for very hard-core, utterly consenting adults. They think things are normal and acceptable when they are not. They lack social confidence. They fret about their appearance to a level of detail I never knew possible. Their screen time is mind-blowing. Every parent I know says their home life is adversely affected by technology, but very, very few understand, let alone police it. Many say they confiscate phones overnight but then I witness their kid's messages pinging through at 2am. The teens, stupefied with tiredness, turn up for school each morning.

If we are to believe the press, it is a mind-bending, up-in-the-night, frightening maelstrom that we may not all survive! And it can feel that way.

It's like my generation has made an enormous mess in the corner of the room and now we are all pointing at it as if we had nothing to do with its creation. We did this. We created the technology and now it's causing problems. I long for someone somewhere to come up with a solution or some regulation or some guidance. I search my own instincts for ways to handle the daily events that arise in the life of a modern teen. Living with it is hard. It does feel (to me at least) like there is a very dangerous rip tide just under the surface. That some unseen current is at play and we might get caught in it.

And what is it really like living with a teenage daughter? Well, it's lovely. It's tumultuous and challenging. And funny and enlightening. She makes me laugh and smile more than she will make me cry. I just have to keep my nerve and go with the flow.Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-62092059171867775902015-04-20T17:49:00.000+01:002015-04-29T11:40:44.264+01:00It was just a mission statement...Daily, I think I could do with writing something here, in this virtual space. It's been ages, I am starting to feel guilty. I think of things I want to tell you. This is what non-bloggers will never fully understand about bloggers; there is a CONSTANT inner dialogue of stuff I want to write about. For you, the unknown reader. Or the known reader (as a handful are). I make mental checklists of things I should point out; what seem like sparkling, erudite observations that I make, concocted as I am in the shower or stuck in traffic. Then they slip past like a never-ending game of Pooh Sticks, I can never quite identify which was my stick. I read so much, I see so much, a visual smorgasbord of images and quotes and soundbites, I forget what I have personally thought and what I have read. A thought that might have belonged to someone else?

And so...where was I?

We went to Dubai - it seems like a long time ago now, much has happened. It is only the faint tan lines I see on my skin that are a testament to the (brutal) heat there. We had a great time. Staying with family, doing cool things, seeing new things. We travelled around a lot and left the bizarre desert metropolis of Dubai and went cross-country to the Indian Ocean. I had never been in the Indian Ocean before; a lovely moment. As a surprise for my daughter we saw 'One Direction' newly formed of four not five. And yes we still miss Zayn! I have written before about Dubai here, as this was out third trip there in recent years (both of my husband's siblings live there) so it's becoming a mainstay. I do feel very lucky that we can see these places and increasingly as we travel as a family, we are becoming more bold. It's a good feeling; to push past boundaries and try different things. Holidays are not about relaxing on a beach any more and I really like that.

This I know for sure though: when you marry in to a family, you gain a family. My brother in laws and sister in laws form our little unit, now all moved to Dubai. Visiting them is half lovely and half heartache as I realise how much I miss them. No matter how hard we try, it's hard to remain part of someone's life when they live in another country. So I left with a heavy heart and have pored over the photos more than once.

During the Easter holidays my son turned ten! Double figures! He is ten! I find this startling and comforting at the same time. I used to think, when he was born, that when he would be ten, my daughter would be nearly fourteen and I would be 41. And those numbers seemed impossibly far away then. Now they are here I am staggered at how fast the time went. So all those wise people who say it goes in the blink of an eye were right.

I feel like the Easter holidays were also an onslaught of teenager demands, to which I am struggling to keep pace. I gotta say: she's running rings around me! Trying ever so hard to stick to all of the resolve I have alluded to before here. I can honestly say that this stage of parenting has been (and remains) as demanding as the newborn stage. Have I said that before? I feel like I have, but maybe I just walk around thinking it? It's not as physcially exhausting but as a good friend pointed out to me today, 'It's a complete head-f**k. Yes. Quite.

I carry on.

Days are interspersed with internet hunts for spring wardrobe items - the perfect underdressed jumpsuit (a wardrobe staple: so say this stylish friend and this stylish friend). A white blazer. I pulled on my pale pink chelsea boots bought in Amsterdam last Autumn - but too pale to wear over winter - and it brought a smile. Yes, I am that person. I greet a new season like a new friend who I really want to buddy up with.

And of course my Pinterest obsession continues - what did I say about a visual smorgasbord??!! Any one who follows me there will see that I pin at 6am every morning, this is a telltale sign of my waking thoughts, surely?!

And finally I returned to yoga after a four week break - I can't tell you how good it felt and how hard it was. I honestly think everyone should do yoga. It is the answer to all. I had a major relapse in the pain I experience whilst I was not doing it (long story; dental issues, low-level, long term stress-related teeth clenching). I am not stressed for sure, but I am a person who holds stress. A sad truth. I am now thinking maybe I need hypnosis?! Rewiring in the way I react to things? Any thoughts? I am all ears...

It's good to be back.

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-36565135316345644632015-03-26T14:24:00.001+00:002015-03-26T14:24:53.669+00:00OMG and OMG...An eventful time right now, in our little household. We hurtle towards the Spring, all feeling rather thankful that we got through winter. The things I see on the news make my heart ache with half empathy, half horror. It's hard to know what to make of these modern times. How it seems to be about being in the right (or wrong) place at the right time.

All we can do is make what we have matter and to resist the urge to dwell on the silly, little things and instead see the wider picture. Live the life.

Meanwhile, I found out this week that I have been accepted onto the writing degree course, so I will start in September! Now that it has become a reality, I look back on recent months and feel pleased that I found myself a new place to dwell. Funnily enough, I have at the same time been approached to do some consulting work in my previous profession (I quite like having two distinct professions; the before and the after). The cut and thrust of business is always there in the background and I could feel myself being drawn back into it. But I realised that I am different now. I don't want to scale up another karmic debt in trying to find loopholes and ways to do things that shave off money and time. I'd rather spend my time constructing my first novel in my head. I'll do the work for sure, as that is what pays right now, but I was interested in my own reluctance to step back into my old ways.

There's a shroud on our house since the departure of Zayn Malik from 'One Direction'; only those with teenage daughters need empathise. I am trying hard to. I can have only respect for someone who walks away to consider their own karmic debt. So fair enough.

Things are gathering some pace with the house plans - I galvanise myself for the prospect of more building work. At least this phase is more renovation than boring utilities. I get to choose stuff. I am lobbying currently with my long-suffering husband for a pale pink sofa. This will be my only departure from the white, white, white theme. He's open to it. I figure: we have so 'done' beige, I don't like purple, blue is too cold, likewise grey...why not dusty pink?! I shall sit with it.

I finally collect my re-worked engagement ring today after months at the jewellers. It broke on New Year's Eve, so it feels like a long absence from my left hand. I am desperate to get it back.

We go next week to see family in Dubai. Thank goodness for that. I need a fix of family as much as I need a fix of sun. My sister in laws and their common-sense approach to life will be there in abundance and I need some of that. It's strange; you lean on family in ways you don't appreciate until they've gone away. And as for the idea of wearing a bikini after the aforementioned winter spell - OMG and OMG. Shocker!

What else? I kinda wish I was as cool as Isabel Marant who just sounds so chilled in this article.

I read The Glass Castle; the poverty and neglect described in it made my wince. My husband gave me a late birthday present - a first edition of my favourite ever book, 'Couples' by John Updike. I was kinda blown away. He's good like that :-)

I got closer to the deer who live in the fields near my house than ever before, and didn't have my phone on me to capture it. Ironic.

Lucky in so many ways.

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-39888389594062367232015-03-23T18:56:00.000+00:002015-03-23T18:58:18.597+00:00How much do you shop?I find myself drawn to woeful articles written about compulsive shoppers. A life's fortune spent on something she already had in her possession. I'm interested in the idea of shopping as an addiction. I furtively watch TV programmes about hoarders who keep every newspaper and every tin can, until their houses are colossal vessels of unnecessary stuff. I observe the Great British Public out on a Saturday afternoon, participating in the national pastime of commerce. I read blog after blog, of the fashion blogger ilk, featuring more clothes than anyone can know what to do with. The excess of shopping fascinates me; we acquire and then we acquire more. It is not as if any item of clothing 'wears out', instead we replace it or donate it and 'get something new' to feed this insatiable appetite.

I am right there with the best of them.

I have a complex relationship with shopping, one which I have written about before. Even as a child I loved it and see now in my children, the love of purchasing; not going home empty-handed. If I had subconsciously tried to dissuade them from having the same shopping impulses as me, I failed.

I look back at my childhood, which was spent shuttling between divorced parents and see that shopping undoubtedly represented a release, a treat, a thing associated with pleasure.

But shopping = spending and so is inextricably linked to how much money you have, or I suppose how much money you want to spend. As time has marched on and my socio-economic status has gone up from that of a beleaguered student to that of a fully fledged member of a wage-earning society, the spend has increased. Although there is still a ceiling, a point at which I think something costs too much for me to afford it. This becomes an increasingly abstract point as the expenditure of a family holiday or school fees or a new car skew the balance.

So how much do you shop? And what for? The essential or the luxury? And how much does your shopping habit get influenced by others? How affected are you by Pinterest or magazine articles?

My wardrobe quakes with replicated contents. I noticed a few years ago that I started buying the same thing over and over again; grey jumpers, the 'perfect' jean, Chelsea boots in varying colours. But ostensibly all the same. I tried to kerb this habit or at least shop much, much less for much, much more desirable items. Cashmere instead of lambswool. Leather instead of plastic etc.

Now I no longer earn money, my habits have changed again. I get the guilts in the knowledge that a pay-check will not come at the end of the month and wipe the slate clean. I return things that are not essential. I constantly monitor whether something has been sufficiently worn. I toy with selling on e-bay. I make platitudes to myself that maybe my daughter will be happy to inherit the more outlandish items that have caught my eye; the dresses that I have no where to wear but with which I can't part.

Shopping, to me, is the pursuit of style. Much is written about style and why we aspire to it. How some just have it, whereas others don't. Shopping is the acquisition of items that enable style to happen. An external human expression. The endless possibilities of a 'good outfit day'. I do watch those who don't partake in this constant pursuit. I have the desire to wear sweatpants every day vs getting properly dressed. I secretly long to do the school run in my pyjamas and Uggs, without being ironic. But I don't. I show up dressed in varying degrees of the formulaic Mummy uniform and I go about my day...wondering what to shop for next. First World problems...

image via crush cul de sac

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-38350956103981861822015-03-22T18:18:00.004+00:002015-03-22T18:22:14.855+00:00What I really want for them...Anecdotally, when asked the question: 'what would you like for your children?' most parents will retort with unfailing consistency: 'Happiness'. With a capital 'H'. Of course. But increasingly as this parenting journey continues (I am 13 years 10 months in so far) I find that it is far more complex than simply wanting happiness for them.

I want resilience. I want them to be able to ride a storm. I want them to come up smiling after they get mud in their eye; literally and metaphorically. I want them to be able to see that bad times pass and good times arrive, almost imperceptibly and when they are least expecting it.

I want them to be able to chill and relax and not sweat the small stuff.

I want them to feel confidence. I want them to be able to walk into a room and not quake at the prospect of oh-so-many people to speak to. I want them to feel that they are the best version of themselves. I want them to look in the mirror and like what they see. I want them to get the feeling that they nailed it when they did their best, even if not everyone agrees.

I want humility. I want grace and resonance and the ability to look at the bigger picture.

I want ease for them. I don't want life to be too hard. But it can be a little bit hard so that they develop perspective.

I want for them to appreciate the way the world works, but not to distrust it.

I want for them to see value in everyone; male or female. I want them to know what feminism is.

I want them to be honest and true.

I want them to need me even when they are fully grown and living their own lives; safe in the knowledge that I will still do their washing and make their favourite dinner every now and then (as my Mum still does for me).

I want to like the people they choose as their friends, their confidantes, their spouses.

What I don't want is greed. Or over-reaching ambition that eclipses everything else. Or unkindness. Or for them to abandon everything that we raised them to believe in.

But of course all of these attributes weigh heavy and they may not exhibit all (or any) of them.

Parenting, as it goes on, is about accepting the children you have. My husband made the point, after last week's challenging interlude in the raising of a teenager daughter, that she is the product of nature AND nurture. What we didn't give her in genetics, we gave her in upbringing. The proverbial buck stops with us. And in that vein I have to say, I observe some parenting styles, the 'laissez faire' ones that come to pass as the teenager becomes too much of a handful and the response is: let go, let it be. Do less. As for me, I do the opposite; the harder it gets, the harder I work at it. I want to instill the important values when I have the chance.

And so we keep trying and keep talking and hope that what we are doing is working. But also that we are not over-egging the pudding; becoming those parents who do too much, try too hard. If ever balance were required, it's now.

I look to those who went before me, parents who have come out the other side and have raised functioning adults and say: I applaud you! It is not easy.

painting by jessica cooper

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-55370165809626693442015-03-18T12:38:00.001+00:002015-03-18T12:38:49.814+00:00The power of suggestion...Midweek arrives and I grapple with whether I should go running. I have a love/hate relationship with running. I love the idea of it; usually late at night when I can't actually go for a run, but imagine how nice it will feel and how I will get that familiar ache afterwards, of muscles expended. This usually coincides with some time browsing Pinterest or Instagram where I see some fit person looking motivated. But then the morning comes, I wake and think: maybe I won't run. I go through this internal monologue every time 'shall I? shan't I?' until I force myself to commit. Go for a run Lou.

The browsing of images though - the Pinterest boards, tumblrs and Instagram feeds - they are suggestive; pervasive even. The sphere of influence that I am subject to every time I swipe refresh on my phone is unreal, when you stop and think about it. And it's not media in the traditional sense; these are not all brands vying for my loyalty and my money, these are friends and acquaintances, people I am associated with or know of. Some are celebrities or ambassadors for whatever it is they do.

I am a self-confessed Pinterest freak - and actually would say that of all social media environments, it is one that harbours (as far as I can see) the least hate. On the whole it's good stuff and that is why I like it. Some of it saccharine sweet, for sure. But on the whole good and honest.

I've written before about the more subversive side of social media sites - the subterranean world of Instagram that isn't talked about, but is very much there. I see that the positive influences I look at can be just as powerful as the negative images that others look at. I occasionally stalk Instagram like some sort of bizarre reverse-troll. If I see something bad and negative - an account devoted to self harm or self-loathing - I report them! Honestly, you couldn't stand on a street corner showing off and glorifying pictures of suicide without being moved on, why should it be tolerated on line? Making things change in the world is all about many people taking action. If everyone did the same thing, maybe these accounts with names like 'wrecked mind' or 'slowly drowning' would close down. Maybe young girls wouldn't feel compelled to attract thousands of followers every day. Impressionable kids who don't appreciate the perversion of clicking 'like' to a picture that illustrates deep suffering.

So my idea is this: surround yourself with positive stuff. Good images. Happy people. When it gets hard don't get into the spiral of self-doubt. Get instead some resilient strategy to feel better. Walk the dog. Call a friend. Watch trashy, light-hearted TV. Go for a run. Anything but what lurks underneath and on line. Make the suggestive image a good one, not a bad one.

I know I sound rant-y. I know it. But the enormity of this access-all-areas Internet mess that we have created is overwhelming! There is always a counter-argument that for all the badness on the web, there is also good. There is kindness and camaraderie. There is finding your tribe. There is blogging and all the goodness that comes from it. I completely accept that the very thing I enjoy and exploit, in writing this, is also the subject of deep worry and concern for me. Bittersweet.

Surely the rule of thumb should be: focus on the good? Ditch the bad...

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-33328715532849681622015-03-16T12:31:00.002+00:002015-03-16T18:37:40.820+00:00What I know about chronic pain...I saw the trailer for Jennifer Aniston's new film 'Cake' which depicts the life of a woman suffering from chronic pain. I got a jolt of recognition; just her body language: hunched shoulders, winced face, gallows humour. You see, I have suffered with pain for years. I had tooth ache and face pain and seized shoulders and a sore neck. My head hurt. My jaw clicked, alarmingly.

Medically, they drew a blank. Misdiagnosis went on for an age; the single most distressing part of the whole experience was that countless doctors and dentists told me that they didn't know what it was.

They said it's all in your head. Take some pills. Anti-depressants will do the trick, even if you're not depressed; the only side effect is that you'll feel comatose and like you're walking through treacle most of the time. Not great when looking after children. Or trying to do a job. Oh it takes six months to see if they are working and oh, no, they didn't work. Ahh well, try some more pills; this time epilepsy drugs. No, you haven't got epilepsy but this is about altering the pathways in the brain (layman's explanation). You perceive pain all wrong. It's all in your head. The end.

Nothing about the pain (especially the source of it) changed and meanwhile I was indeed going slightly nuts. I kept a lid on it and carried on as honestly, compared to what a lot of people endure, this was more on the uncomfortable side than the agony side. I could function, but over time, it became cumulative and over time I started to wonder if I'd ever feel the absence of pain again.

I then turned to alternative therapies, case studies, real-life experience summaries, anything that might explain what was going on. Google was my best friend.

It's a magnesium deficiency. You need bone broth!

It's an iron deficiency. More kale!

You can be healed. Just download this e-book!

It's teeth-clenching. You need to wear a mouth-guard to bed!

You need to do jaw exercises; strengthen the muscles. Open and close your mouth a lot!

It's tongue position. Anchor it to the roof of your mouth!

It's the food you eat. Pulverise everything to a pulp!

Hydration. More water!

It's your posture. Relearn to walk/sit/stand/run!

It's your cranial muscles. Use a different pillow! Hard pillow, soft pillow.

You're just too stressed. Chill out!

It's how you sleep. Don't lie on your front!

It's about stretching. Do yoga!

Run. Walk. No, run. No, walk.

It's adrenal overload. Meditate!

It's driving a car. Walk!

It's your handbag. Get a satchel! Be hands free!

You need an Osteopath. No, a physiotherapist. No, a chiropractor. No, an acupuncturist, No, a reflexologist. No, a homoeopath...

And all in the newly acquired knowledge that millions of people suffer with these unspecified problems and that they affect women more than men. Why is that so?!

Memories of events were coloured by the mental overlay: was I in pain that day? Parties spent in agonising smalltalk. Needing to lie down, to rest from the pain, the put my head down. Making conversation saying everything is fine because frankly, after years of saying it's not fine, who wants to know? What more is there to say?

And in the end, over a really long time, I had to change everything about the way I live. I studied myself to learn the triggers (some of which still allude me). I tirelessly learnt 'The Alexander Technique' and found indeed that it was postural and muscular and the enemy was within me; I was causing much of my own pain! Jaw clenching and muscle tightening and an entire overload of the system.

Now of course, it is better. For months at a time I can be pain-free. And what I do get an 'attack' I can manage it and cling to the knowledge that this too shall pass. I'm careful about getting enough sleep, I do yoga, I walk every day, I try hard to sit well. I gave up work. I take it easy. I try not be frightened of the dentist. I don't stress.

I look on with envy to those people who don't translate their worries into physical symptoms; they (in the words of Taylor Swift) shake it off. Somehow for me it became completely internalised. And now ,well now I take each day as it comes...

Louhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-23809770458521131562015-03-14T12:40:00.000+00:002015-03-14T12:45:42.471+00:00Growing up...I had a lovely birthday - thank you for all of the well wishes. 41; so far so good. I have a weekend of kid's sporting fixtures to logistics ahead of me; with a slow-down tomorrow for Mother's Day.

Some things on my mind:

With a daughter under my roof, issues that face young women are super-relevant to me (if not exactly for now, but I am getting prepared; the secret to good parenting?) This great post on sexual consent is about as clear as it can get and I will certainly refer back to it. This message should be taught to all teens; boys and girls.

Even though Spring and Summer feels like a long way off, I have decided that I need palm tree trousers - so this year it's these. I am in love. I also like this.

I started a new yoga session this week. I find yoga classes fascinating. For an activity which is so self-centred, for the self-aware, I am amazed how much attention the class pay to each others abilities. For beginners, who don't know their pigeon pose from their tree pose, it can be hard. I am now a few years into doing yoga and can hold my own, but there is something of beauty to be found in those whose practise flows and who can perform each position with ease. I have so been there (after the power yoga debacle) where every muscle is shaking and I feel like I am about to pass out from effort.

I have registered to vote; our country will choose new leadership in May and after all the Suffragettes did for us, it's criminal for a woman not to vote. Only 64% of women voted in the last election...

I have an American friend, Robin, who is building a little empire, one cool idea after another. She redid her uber-stylish home and got it featured all over the place and then started a fashion tote bag sideline. Meanwhile, her Pinterest feed is something else. And she rocks pink-tinged hair. I like people who make stuff happen.

Having discussed the existential side of growing older, can I also comment on the aesthetic side? A few times on this blog I have written about feeling saddened by the passing of the years and how ageing is affecting my appearance. A handful of commenters said that they found this disappointing, that I should embrace the process and not worry about what I look like. Meanwhile, I observe friends with interest and note how some are more affected than others. Here is an irony: I have an age spot (liver spot? sun spot?) on the side of forehead, and every time I get my roots done, the stylist thinks it's a splash of hair-dye and tries to rub the age spot off! I can see the funny side and depending how forthright the stylist is, they sometimes ask outright: is this mark part of your face?! I explain; they blush. They are usually all of about 20 years of age. Age spots have not arrived on their horizon. Have I learnt to love this age spot as it is a testament to a life lived? No, not really. Do I wish I had applied better sunscreen? Yes. Does ageing kinda suck? Yes. Do I wish I looked younger? Well, kinda, yes.

I do make a point of celebrating women whose faces show age and am often alarmed at those who medically intervene and look unrecognisable as a result, Renee Zellweger style. But I so understand the impetus to intervene, although the prospect of actually doing so scares me silly. It's not fun looking older. It's not nice when people say 'she looks good, for her age,' as the qualifier to the statement. And although it's all tied up with how society perceive age and how we should all find beauty in the different and the imperfect, it is an inscrutable fact of life.

I figure there is only one way to go - ignore it. Buy more clothes. Read more books. Inhabit the possible and not the impossible. Get some Vitamin D from the rare shards of sunlight that make it through the March cloud. Drink red wine. Happy days.

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-44027003638794334992015-03-11T16:23:00.001+00:002015-03-11T16:23:47.678+00:00The quality of your thoughts...Struck by the immediacy of the web, I scour for the perfect Spring coat. I actually get frustrated when I can't find what I want at the right price. I marvel at this, remembering how, pre-Internet, I used to actually go on shopping trips (invariably with my friend Dawn) and choose items in situ, in an actual shop, emerging with a real, live purchase. Now the postman is a trusty and long-suffering participant in my habit.

I am stuck halfway between a great book and a gripping book. The gripping one (The Girl on the Train) won over and I have read it cover to cover in less than 24 hours. I feel slightly dazed now; words swimming before my eyes. A satisfying read though. I will now revert to the great book (The Lives of Girls and Women) which is entirely more high-brow, but slower in pace.

It's my birthday tomorrow. After all of the fanfare last year of turning 40, what can I say a year down the line?! It's been a funny old year! The thing I wanted the most (freedom from working and space for myself) has turned out to be a challenge. Of all the times in my life, my 40th year saw me with more time on my hands than ever before and the reckoning that life had altogether shifted and changed. There were a few factors here; having a teenage child (which serves to remind you how long ago it was since you were 13) to noticing how many of my peers have returned to paid employment after years of housewifery. I did it all the other way round. The realisation that if I spend too much time alone, at home, I get this pervading feeling of stillness/frustration/boredom - even when there are a million things that need doing. The urgency seeped out of me month to month and instead I went from day to day; opening the blinds each morning and thinking: can another day have passed?? It's a curious thing.

So not an unhappy year exactly, but a pensive one. And I now conclude that the time is up for all that thinking and instead it's time for doing. I know, I know, I have said this before; bear with me.

I realise (and this could be my maturing years) that in fact the quality of your life DOES indeed depend on the quality of your thoughts. It's all about how you look at things.

I move steps closer to securing a place doing a Master's Degree in Writing; I had an interview yesterday, waiting to hear. I realise that of those million tasks that the housewife should complete; many can wait. I can steal a dog walk or a pub lunch with my husband when he works at home and feel grateful that we have that luxury. I covet things on line and then get over myself a day later; the beauty of the 'add to cart' option that never progresses to 'checkout'. I ponder whether I am too old for boyfriend jeans (I'm saying I can wear them; just). I try not to think too much about how it's all going to feel ten years from now. Or twenty.

I guess this year has been spent carving out a place I'm comfortable in. It feels as if before now, there were a series of choices (career, marriage, home, kids) that now, at the ripe of age of nearly 41, have come home to roost. Me? Mother of a teenager and a nine year old? Married for fifteen years? Washing my kitchen floor and hoovering most days? Seeing photos of myself and thinking - where did those laughter lines come from?! Furtively wishing I had once in my life been platinum blonde and wondering if I ever will be. Genuinely and actively deciding whether to age gracefully. Having a genuine interest in face creams that promise miracles. Being outraged by things that didn't used to outrage me. This is all part of life's rich tapestry...happy birthday me.

Louhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4487821624993979836.post-87518986209623194222015-03-06T14:59:00.000+00:002015-03-06T14:59:09.023+00:00Useful...A slow week as it happened; by choice, but still I get to 9pm every night and think how the day just ran away and I got nothing useful done. Useful stuff like cooking and cleaning but not useful stuff like building an empire. I take solace in reading books, I have a pile just so high by my bed and I dip into three or four at a time. I think to myself: these writers had weeks where they got nothing useful done. I try to listen in to the struggle that went on in their lives as they wrote those words, constructed that story, located their written voice. I read book reviews online; of books that I don't think were any good. I wince at the critiques and wonder: it is better to write a bad book than to write no book at all? It's these moments of self-doubt, how they creep when I have not done anything useful all week.

But then I think, actually no. I made two recipes that went down a treat and were super-healthy and super-tasty and I found that if I just get a little nudge I can rediscover an interest in cooking and not dread the hours from 6pm to 8pm where somehow, over the course of time, it's become expected that I will produce a crowd-pleasing dinner for four (or three) each night! This week, I triumphed. And oddly I did it without meat. I am wondering whether we really need to eat meat? Meat (with the exception of The Sunday Roast) has become an addition that has not really earned its place on my plate. Not even sure why it is there, a protein fix? Lentils work much better and then I don't get the guilts when I pass a lorry-full of sheep, crammed in together in a claustrophobic, nightmarish last huddle. Not one to dwell on.

Useful things? I installed a desk in my daughter's room so she can do homework there - instead of hunched on her bed, periodically checking her phone, as she describes the differences between Stalin and Mussolini in History.

I cleared a cupboard or two. Fluffed and folded. Drove about. Walked the pup.

There is something wonderful about having nothing useful to do. I really can't knock it. My friend has returned to work in our (my) old profession after a 14 month break. She described sitting at her new desk, feeling self-conscious about taking a lunch-break, clock-watching till 5.30pm when she can hurry home and get on with that 6pm to 8pm dinner production and get her kids to bed. I don't miss being a working mother for that very reason. I admire her tenacity. This life of housewife and mother carries on and on; work can be a welcome interlude. But it's by no means easy for either the working or the stay at home mother. I see that I am a novice in this new life really. I still sometimes wake up and think I have a presentation to give or a paper to write. Muscle memory of the corporate kind.

So it's Friday; the weekend ahead with that subtle (although not significant) differentiation from the working week. We have unseasonably warm weather - well at least it's double figures in temperature for the first time since Autumn. The yearning for Spring grows each day...I think that one day, it will be possible to wear cotton and not wool. To have bare ankles. Or to leave the house without a coat (padded shroud)! One day...

Louhttp://email@example.com


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Spalding NBA Tempered Glass 88830G 60 in. In-Ground Basketball System
U~Turn Pro more
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Lifetime Acrylic Fusion 1269 44 in. Portable Basketball System
Pro Court more
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Lifetime Shatter Guard 71286 52 in. Portable Basketball System
Power Lift more
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Lifetime Shatter Guard 71524 54 in. Portable Basketball System
Action Grip more
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Bison Club Court Super Glass White/Orange/Black Basketball Systems
Bison Club Court Super Glass Portable/Adjustable Basketball Systems Features: Spring Assisted Infinite Goal Height Adjustment from 6' to Official 10' 1" Thick, Black Padded Front Base and Riser Easy Flip Down Front Panel for Transport Fully Enclosed... more
$3,818.59 $2,236.99go to store
Spalding 316 U-Turn Lift System Mounting Bracket
Connects from backboard to 4-inch square pole or flat wall more
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Lifetime Shatter Guard 71799 50 in. In-Ground Basketball System
Action Grip more
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Goalrilla GS-III Anchor Bolt Basketball System
Take it up for a quick bounce off the 54" x 34" tempered glass backboard, and get nothing but net through the medium-weight pro-style flex rim. Set your desired height with all-steel precise height adjustment control with 3" overhang welded extension arm. more
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Bison Club Court Portable Basketball System - Acry
Clear acrylic backboard measures 32" x 48" Spring assisted infinite goal height adjustment from 6 1/2' to 10' 1 1/2" thick, black padded front base and riser Easy flip down front panel for transport Oversized ballast box holds up to 425 lbs. of ballast... more
$2,639.99 $2,111.99go to store
Spalding 79354 NBA Slam Jam Backboard / Rim Combo
48 in. - Poly Carbonate more
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Bison Max Portable Adjustable Blue Basketball Systems
Bison Max Portable Adjustable Basketball Systems Choices: Super Max Complete System: Glass Breakaway Backboard Size 36" x 60" Super Max with 60" tempered glass backboard and 50" safe play area Glass Max Complete System: Glass Breakaway Backboard Size... more
$7,645.69 $4,478.79go to store
Aosom Youth Adjustable Height Indoor/Outdoor Portable Basketball Hoop, 8'
Hone your shot to perfection with this Aosom youth size basketball hoop. The rim is able to adjust from 6' 8 1/2" to 8' 2" with the 3 piece telescoping pole so it is perfect for youngsters trying to learn the game. This is the perfect neighborhood or... more
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Lifetime 1558 Shatterguard Action Grip XL Portable Basketball System
Adjustable Height - For Outdoor Court Use more
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