Space, the final frontier

This is going to be a big year – we are taking steps to extend our home and with it comes a bigger kitchen for me.  I say me because the kitchen is really my room in the house, not that I’m some crazy cook that isn’t prepared to share it.  Of course I am.  That’s not how it works though.  When I’m cooking I generally have the kitchen to myself.  My son is usually off in his bedroom engrossed in some computer game and as I cook I can hear my husband tick, tick typing upstairs on his beloved computer.  This suits me fine.  I love to cook, it’s my destresser.  Why is it though that at the point when I really need the kitchen to myself (i.e when I’m trying to put out the food I’ve prepared) do both my husband and son suddenly have a need to be in the kitchen?  Every time – what’s that about.

How the Waltons managed I'll never know

Now this wouldn’t be a problem, but to explain when my husband bought the house he was a batchelor and the kitchen was, well the size a batchelor needs.  Now there are four of us and two cats and, well, need I explain.

Hurry up will you, they're ALL going to be in the kitchen in a minute!

So extending our home will also mean a bigger kitchen.  I’m so excited I can’t tell you.  Now I’m not into big fancy stuff.  I’m a basic kind of gal, but having the space so that we can ALL be in the kitchen at the same time will be wonderful.

Space is a bit of an issue in our house you see.  My husband is an avid collector at auctions, then I moved in (with my stuff), then my mother in law moved in.  Lets just say it’s been interesting.  We struggle to decide what should stay and what should go.  Now that we are also going to be building I come out in a cold sweat thinking about how it’s all going to fit together.

Oh it’s not the dust and the mess that bothers me much.  It’s where we are going to put everything when all of this is going on.  It dawned on me today that perhaps I’ve been looking at this all wrong.  In my head I’ve been trying to think of a way of doing all of this whilst still making things kind of manageable in the house.  What was I thinking?  For example when I’m writing an essay that needs to be in for my Open University course you only have to look at my desk to know what stage I’m at.  It begins all organised and then the closer I get to finishing it to more paper and mess I’ve created that to any innocent bystander it would look as though I’m really floundering.  Not so, this is how I work.  Despite the chaos; things on the wall, books stewn about the desk and the floor I know exactly where everything is and what I’m doing.  So, maybe this is how it is just going to be when we build.

OK I know it doesn't look it but I know EXACTLY what I'm doing - honest!

So yes we have far too much furniture, and yes I will be cooking dinner tonight and everyone will descend on the kitchen as usual but one day hopefully, like they used to do in the Starship Enterprise we will be embarking on ‘space, the final frontier’ – at least it will be for my bunch of happy campers

Captain I think we should wait until the kitchen has calmed down before we make a cup of tea - she looks as though she might attack.

So, if anyone out there has any tips on creating a harmonious working kitchen all suggestions will be gratefully received.

Hitting the right balance, whatever that is….

Now I will be the first to say that I am no superwoman.  I could probably be best described as disorganised yet driven with a dash of unpredictable workload, looming coursework deadlines and the usual mix of family highs and lows peppered with caring responsibilities.

Checking in this morning to my various Open University (OU) forums, the forum dedicated to carers was depressing reading – or was it? I embarked on my studies before I became a carer, so I’m able to reflect on things from both sides. Research shows that many carers want to participate in learning and training opportunities but they often experience real difficulties in doing so.

Carers experience all sorts of problems; financial for one.  If you qualify for Carers Allowance (which I don’t) you have to meet the strict criteria.  If you are awarded this means tested benefit the government pay you £55.55 per week.  This is based on providing care for a minimum of 35 hours per week, which if you work it out makes the hourly rate less that £1.60 per hour.  Yes that’s £1.60 per hour, and when you take into account that the minimum wage is £6.08 per hour in the UK this reflects just one of the significant divides experience by carers.

In addition you have to be over 21 for Carers Allowance, so young carers don't qualify!

Once you sort out the financial side of things then there is the problem of finding time to dedicate to your course.  Most carers I know for example don’t manage to attend tutorials. That may not be a big deal, but I know many feel guilty and challenged by this.  Many struggle with fitting in day to day stuff, that’s before you even get to the scheduling in hospital/GP appointments and working around day centres, travel etc.  It’s not hard to see that there are many obstacles that seem unsurmountable.This has thankfully not been my experience.  I’m fortunate that at home we work as a team.

Teamwork Rules OK!

The carers I notice who appear to struggle most are those are sole carers, folks that are doing the job single-handed.  The sole carers I have crossed virtual paths with through the OU they sometimes are unaware of the support that is available.  That’s where the forums come in handy.  Other students respond (and quickly at that) to questions and concerns these student carers have.  The information they share is absolutely invaluable.  OK sure if you sat down and trawled through the OU site you would probably come across the myriad of support and flexibility offered to carers who are studying, but in reality I haven’t met a carer yet who isn’t time challenged.  So these forums really are invaluable.

One thing I have noticed though is that there is a bit of a hierarchy of carers, not imposed by carers themselves, but by society.  If, like me, you work and have caring responsibilities you are sometimes not viewed as a ‘real’ carer.  I can understand where people are coming from however being a carer is such a person journey and the juggle of emotion and responsibility is both a challenge and a joy.  I’m thick skinned enough not to mind if people think that I don’t have as many responsibilities as ‘full time’ carers but only because our family have worked hard to make that so.

At the end of the day the thing I’ve noticed as being the biggest challenge for carers who study is not so much the financial stuff (there are ways around this and lost of fees waived etc) or the finding time to meet deadlines and get course work done / exam revision planned and started. What I think most carers struggle with is finding the headspace to truly immerse themselves in coursework.  Sometimes it just isn’t possible to shut yourself away and get on with what you need to do.  Interruptions are common and it’s not just about the time you have to study it’s about the quality of the time you have to study.  In truth this is something I continually struggle with.

So having read some of the messages this morning on the OU Carers Forum although I can identify with most of them my heart is also lifted by the encouragement and practical support that such a forum provides.  I know that being a carer can be a very isolating experience and sometimes you just don’t have the energy to source the support you need.  I can understand how, in no small way, the support the OU offers carers is invaluable on lots of levels, not just in helping them progress through their studies.

Anyhow today I thought I would just give a bit of a shout out to all these carers out there who have taken the plunge and are sticking with it.  I appreciate that study isn’t for everyone but it’s nice to know that there are opportunities for carers out there to pursue their study goals.  I know that my OU tutor is hugely supportive but I am acutely aware that, for me, only way I manage to study is because of a very important approach to life that we have in our home – our approach is ‘teamwork’.  Without it I would be floundering in the dark.

So I’d just like to say a HUGE thank you to my wee team – you know who you are and I am very, very grateful.

So, this resolution thing…….

Last year I was fairly focussed and decided to try a different tack with the old New Year’s Resolution thingy. Mine was to smile more. Not as much a cop-out as you might think. Smiling I find helps me focus on the positivity, something we all need in this life. OK I confess I can be rubbish at coping with stress and I’m also a born worrier. It doesn’t take an expert to figure out that one of the first things that goes is your ability to smile. The thing I discovered was that I didn’t notice this happening – so I set out to change it, and I did.

This year however, as I sit at my desk having returned to work I might still be kind of smiling but I have no resolution (lets face it it’s just ridiculous to attempt more than one, isn’t it?) I have no resolution because I haven’t even had the time to give this any serious consideration. Mmmm what does that say about me eh?

Ok let’s think about this. The holiday was a kind of holiday, but those of you who have a family will know that your commitments during the holiday go through the roof and your time is seriously challenged. Sure I got time to put my feet up but my days were void of routine and that my friends is where it seriously unravels for me.

I need routine – OK not a rigid routine, but I find that routine helps me balance things. Towards the end of the holiday I could feel myself getting stressed and edgy at the thought of returning to work. Interestingly instead of looking forward to the routine I was dreading it. So, maybe my resolution should be to give serious consideration to a routine that works for me. Should I be writing more lists? I’m not really a list person but I do think I need a plan. I mean what kind of person can’t find time in her head and her day to come up with a New Years Resolution?

I like to think of resolutions as things that are positive, rather than denying yourself something. So, for example, instead of giving up chocolate or losing weight then I would be more likely to think of eating healthier – and hopefully the rest will follow. So what positive things would I like for 2012?

I would like to have more protected study time – I need this if I am truly going to knock my amazing capacity to procrastinate on the head.

I would like more quality time with my husband – just him and I.  Sometimes life just keeps happening around about you and it gets difficult to just stop and be.

I would like to read more.  Sure I study but I mean read stuff that I just want to read, not just the stuff I have to read.

I would like to sleep better.  Me and 3am are just too friendly for comfort.

I would like to get back to running.

OK so there is a bit of a pattern here. Routine. If I managed my routine better then most of the above are more likely to fall into place.

So folks I think I’ve just had an epiphany moment. My New Year’s Resolution is to learn to prioritise and to dig deep and say no to some of the things that get in the way of me studying, spending time with my husband, eating and sleeping better and getting my trainers on and hitting the pavement.

Oh and as last year’s resolution was such a success I think I’m going to keep it going. In 2012 I’m going to be smiling more – fancy joining me?

Red Alert for Scotland

Well this is the last night of my holiday – back to work tomorrow.  It was a Bank Holiday today, so most folks were enjoying a day off.  Just as well really as it was blowing a hoolie in Scotland.

Last night the Met Office issued an Amber Warning, so our rather excited weather chappie on the tellie told us.  Then at 8.30 this morning the alert was escalated to RED.  Panic, panic!!!!!

Actually to be fair the Highlands of Scotland got off lightly for a change. It was the central belt that was badly hit, with winds of 102mph recorded in Edinburgh.

This was all unfolding as we were having breakfast this morning.  Listening to Radio Scotland  some quick thinker, in light of the lack of any other news, had scheduled a phone in so that folk could call and have a right good moan about report what damage/difficulties the weather was causing in their area.  Listening it became clear that this was quickly becoming a bit of a competition to see who was experiencing the worst of “Hurricane It’s Blowin a Hoolie”.  Lets just say that the guy who said he was thinking twice about whether or not to take the dog out was not really in the running.

Of course there were the calls complaining that we should have more warning (note to Mother Nature – could we have more warning next time) suggesting that had the Met Office been quicker to issue the Red warning people wouldn’t have attempted to make the journeys they did into the chaos.

Now lets be honest about this, every year the snow falls and the news reports are full of cars being dug out, folk being rescued.  You can look out the window and know that the snow is so bad that you’re not going to make it, but every year people come over all invincible and just go for it .  We’re used to the snow but I think what happened today is that folk just thought, “it’s only a bit blustery I’ll be fine” as they stepped over the fallen tree in the driveway.

So lets back track a little, we got an Amber Warning, which is like “look it’s going to be pretty bad out there you need to give some serious thoughts to whether the journey is absolutely necessary”.  When it became a RED ALERT then really it’s like the Met Office shouting “GET BACK INTO YOUR HOUSE NOW”.

So if any Scottish folk are reading this, next time the Weather Guy tell us it’s a Red Alert we need to stop translating this as “you’ll need to put your boots on and make sure your hood is up”.  It’s dangerous out there guys, take care.

Maybe today was not the best day to take the kids out for a walk eh?

2011 – the best bits

All in all this has been a pretty good year, and I will be kind of sad to say cheerio to 2011.  But what were the best bits.

Study

Well for me the fact that I am still a Mature Student Hanging in There has got to be up there.  Fitting study in with everything else remains a struggle and I can’t say I’m getting better at the juggle, but it would be fair to say that study has become such an important part of my life that I know I would be lost without it.  This year I secured a level 2 pass and forge ahead with my Level 3 course – the highest level I need to study for my degree. So far I’m hanging in there with that too.

Feel the fear and do it anyway....

My Blog

This year saw the start of my wee blog in April.  Since my first post I have gone on to keep the postings coming and my wee blog has an important place in my heart.  The best bit of course is that in my travels in blogland I have come into contact with some pretty amazing bloggers, all sharing their stories.

Home Life

Now this has been an area where there is much change.  For one 2011 has been the year when my husband and I won our epic battle with the local Authority to secure planning permission to extend our home.  It was a journey and a half and bits of it were, how can I put it bloody terrible rather challenging, but we did it and I’m proud that through sheer hard work and determination we got there in the end.

Me with our happy band of builders

Caring

We’ve now been carers for 2 years (or is it 3 – life passes so quickly).  We’ve fought the system and kind of won in this area too.  However 2012, I have no doubt, will present us all with new challenges and as carers we need to be ready to step up to the mark.  I don’t know that we’ve really managed the juggle here, being carers is such a huge responsibility, but we’ve done our best, and remain grateful for support from family.

Actually having a Holiday

This was a big highlight.  Peter and I have been married for 3 years and this was our first proper holiday away together.  I said at the time, and I’ll say it again, it was the best holiday I’ve ever had.

Being a Mum

Well despite not having ‘the manual’ I seem to have made it through another year of being a mum.  Not just a mum, but I think a good mum – certainly not an easy thing to do.  Sure I’ve made mistakes and there are things I could do better, but hey I’m human – we’re all still standing.

My boy and his girlfriend, Saffron going to the school dance 2011

Not taking yourself too seriously….. Well this year I’ve embarked on my grey period and having stepped away from the hair dye for almost 4 months now I’m surprised to discover that there isn’t quite as much grey as I’d imagined. 2011 also allowed for opportunities to do a bit of raising money for charity and The Race for Life, in support of breast cancer was definitely a highlight (just not at the time as I came wheezing over the finish line and collapsing into my mother in law’s wheelchair).

Work

Well I never did get that job I went after this year, but the process of applying for another job caused me to reflect on opportunities in my current job – things as they say are looking up (but I’m still on the look out for that new job – so come on 2012, lets see what you can do eh!

As I’m a glass half full kind of gal I’ve decided to focus on the highs, but of course we all have lows.  I don’t always get this life stuff right, but I’m nothing if not a trier.

I think the final word for 2011 and as we march into 2012 should go to Dr Seuss….

So what were your best bits of 2011 – and what will you take with you into 2012?

We’ll tak a cup o kindness yet

Well the year is drawing to a close and like most superstitious Scottish women the year end is marked by important traditions.

Now I wouldn’t say I stick to them rigidly but there are things that always mark the end of the year for me.  For one on the last day of the year I am like a crazy woman trying to get the house tidy.  It’s unlucky to bring in the New Year in with a house that’s untidy.  No washing, ironing and certainly no dishes.  The bin must be emptied and the house must be warm and cosy with traditional food like black bun, shortbread oh and of course a glass or two to toast at the bells.

Of course if you read this blog regularly you will know that I ain’t no crazy housewife in the domestic department, but I will do my bit tomorrow in the spirit that has been drummed into me by my mother and grandmother.  As I go about my task this is always marked by one thing, I am frequently tearful.  Yes I will be that woman going about my business tomorrow bursting into tears on a fairly regular basis.  It won’t be the arduous housework workout that will bring this on it will be the stream of memories that will flood through my head and heart tomorrow. Memories of New Years past and people no longer there to toast at the bells.

My husband knows this of course.  At the prospect of spending the day trying to duck out of the way of a blubbering, snottery wife with red eyes and a Dyson going like the clappers he has opted for a trip to Aberdeen to meet up with our architect.  I am pleased to have the opportunity to get the whole thing out of my system ready to change into my party frock and put a bit of lippy on.  When he returns both the house and me will be transformed and ready to celebrate the New Year.

For me New Year is of course summed up by one famous song, Auld Lang Syne.  For some it is seen as an expression of friendship and hope.  For others it is about remembering the past and re-affirming the future.  I’ve been singing it since I was a little girl and I think it is all of these things.  Here’s the words, and the translation.

Should old acquaintances be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And auld lang syne?

This first verse means…that old acquaintances should be forgotten and never remembered for long ago.  Then the chorus….

For auld lang  syne, my dear
For auld Lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

The chorus tells us….For old long ago, my dear, for old long ago, we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for old long ago.  The next verse…

And there’s a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie’s a hand o thine
And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang sine

This means…. and there’s a hand my trusty friend and give me a hand of yours, and we’ll take a good drink/toast for old long ago.

There are two other verses but these are the ones, with the chorus that are usually sung.

So I give this to you for the New Year.  I’ll be humming it and greeting (crying) as I do my housework, but not sad tears, just memories – for old long ago.

The other important tradition is ‘the first foot’ which is the first person over your door in the New Year.  It is said that it is lucky for it to be a dark haired man.  He must have something to eat with him, a bottle and a piece of coal.  Bringing his good will with him this should ensure that your house is happy, warm and food is aplenty throughout the year.

Now I know some of you gals who read my blog are without a man in your life, so my wish for you is that your first footer is tall, dark and handsome and doesn’t just bring a bottle and a bit of shortbread. Who knows they might even throw in a New Year snog if you’re up for it

For everyone though that has taken the time to stop by my wee blog this year I give you a cup of kindness to carry you into 2012.  Whatever else we have in our lives we all need kindness and I wish this for you.

I leave you with the lovely Eddi Reader singing Auld Lang Syne at the opening of the Scottish Parliament.  Happy New Year when it comes folks

A special delivery and a Tunnocks Tea Cake

It feels like the side of our house is about to come off.  We are currently being battered by 90mph winds and the rain is pelting against the window.  It’s been like that for most of the day and it there doesn’t seem to be any sign of it letting up.

Venturing out today however was for a very good reason.

Yes it would have been easier to stay in with my feet tucked in my warm slippers and dip into my stash of Christmas chocolates but sometimes a gal’s got to do what a gal’s got to do.  Today I had an appointment to give blood.

I’ve only been a blood donor for a year but it’s something I’m determined to stick to.  Reading an article in the local paper this morning warning that blood stocks were low in our area made me even more determined to keep my appointment, despite the howling gale.

Arriving at the local Blood Donor Centre I was met by an abundance of staff, but very few folk donating.  I was whisked through in record time and before I knew it I was hooked up for my donation.  Then something wonderful happened.  Chatting to the guy who was in charge of my gushing arm (I know it’s never that dramatic, but hey it’s my blog and it makes me sound much braver than I really am) he remarked on the queue – sure enough in the space of 10 minutes they were queued out of the door with people waiting to make their donation.

It seems that there were plenty of others also willing to brave the elements to try to improve the low blood stock situation.  So, yes it’s true giving blood makes you feel good.  I now have a warm glow – and it’s not just because they give you a hot cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit.  But hey if there are Tunnock’s Tea Cakes on the go then count this gal in every time.  I think that’s a pretty fair swap for a pint of blood, don’t you?

Hello laptop I’ve missed you. Have you missed me?

This is the first minute I’ve had a chance to sit down and open my laptop for what seems like ages.  I have no idea what is going on in the world and I’m scared to even attempt to start reading the gazillions of emails that have landed in my in box.  So yes, my wee laptop has been sitting redundant in the corner for days now as the only appliances I’ve used have all been kitchen based.  My oven is groaning from overuse and the dishwasher is quivering in the corner.

I have, as they say, cooked for Scotland.  Family and friends have been fed – not one but two Christmas meals cooked – endless cups of tea, coffee, pots of soup, sandwiches, glasses filled and refilled, sweetie papers picked up and binned.  Now, oh joy oh joy it’s just me and my little laptop.

They say this is the holiday season.  Holiday!  Well it might be for everyone else but for the cook in the house there is really precious little time to kick back.  Now don’t get me wrong, I love to cook and I am by and large a pretty organised cook – but when that last visitor leaves I’ll be honest and say that there will be a bit of a spring in my step.  I need to chill.

What’s the chance of closing the kitchen until New Years Day?  Yeh, I know I didn’t think so either.

Tonight however will give me a break because its’ leftover night – no cooking.  To top that off son is off out with girlfriend, my mother in law is snoozing, happy but weary from visitors, so the best of the day is yet to come. Hooray for a quiet night and some Christmas TV.

So happy Christmas blogland.  My wee laptop and I wish you all a quiet night too.

We’re on the countdown – but in our own kind of way…

The penny dropped last night and my husband finally acknowledged that Christmas ain’t far away.  ”We need a list” he said!  I smiled.

Actually to be fair he began approaching Christmas with some trepidation a couple of days ago – he bought our tree  Now you may recall that there was a bit of discussion in our house this year about whether we would have a real tree or whether we would invest in an artificial one that we could drag out every year.  I left it to Peter to decide and waiting with some excitement to see what he came up with.  Hooray folk, we have a tree, it’s up AND, best of all IT’S REAL!!!!

It’s true, when the tree goes up it seems to send out this signal to everyone in the house that it’s almost THAT time. My son has had his school dance, Christmas cards continue to be delivered on a daily basis and we’ve started thinking about our Christmas food preparations – well I have anyway.

There are only the four of us this year. Myself and Peter, my son Spencer and Peter’s mum, Sylvia. Normally we would have Christmas lunch in the conservatory, as that’s where the dining table is, however this year things need to be tweaked a bit. There are lots of different levels and stairs in our house and it became apparent that stairs are definitely a challenge Sylvia could do without on Christmas day. So, we hatched a plan. Rather than focus on her frailty we mentioned, as we were putting up the tree ,that the conservatory is really quite cold at this time of year and that we thought we would have Christmas lunch in her little apartment in the house. I said, “well if you think about it you came to us for Christmas dinner last year, so we thought we would come to you this year”. Sensitive though this was (it can’t be easy facing up to the frailty that comes to you when you’re 94) she was delighted. I later heard her on the phone telling an elderly friend that ‘everyone’ was coming to her for Christmas this year.  A big part of being a carer is trying to help people maintain their independence and drive – I think our plan worked – RESULT!

So, last night, feeling rather smug about how things were all falling into place, I sat drinking my coffee and flicking through one of this ‘how to have the perfect Christmas’ magazines.  Granted it was dated 2010 – but hey if you’re looking for perfection does it really matter what year you aim for?  It was the worst thing I could have done.  The magazine, full of pictures of shiny happy people, perfect houses decorated in beautiful homemade decorations that apparently “are so easy to make” are just a million miles away from what our house is going to be at Christmas.  We will be just delighted if we can manage to get the table into Sylvia’s little sitting room and provide a Christmas lunch that fits with all the necessary bits and bobs that our family love.  Of course the difficulty is that we don’t all love the same things so I will have to pitch it somewhere in the middle.

So as for the perfect Christmas 2010 – if I’m honest I didn’t aim for achieve it last Christmas and having flung the magazine in the recycling pile I don’t think I’m going to be attempting it this year either.  I think I’ll just aim for some reality wrapped in tinsel with enough love and hilarity to make our Christmas day special. That my friends will be good enough for me.

Calling all bloggers

You know when you start out blogging and you think no one will read your stuff.  When I started writing in April this year I knew nothing about blogging, neither did I really know any other bloggers come to think of it.  Well it just so happened that Lorna stumbled across my blog. Not only did she subscribe but she continues to be a loyal follower of my ramblings, for which I am grateful.  Lorna comments regularly, so you may have come across her here.  Her comments are always insightful and peppered with kindness and encouragement.

Lorna’s Voice is about “giving a public voice to her thoughts about certain aspects of her daring journey that most people call life”.  Lorna continues to surprise me.  She is one funny lady and a seriously good blogger.

ANYHOW I’ve discovered that Lorna has been shortlisted as one of the finalists in The Dark Globe Outstanding Artists Award for Blogger of the Year. What can I say but….WOW!

Anyhow I just thought I would give Lorna a shout out.  Lorna’s Voice – is one of the blogs you will find listed on my blogroll and I thought I would just pass this information on in case you may wish to vote.

Needless to say Lorna has got my vote, although it seems from looking at the other finalists that the competition is really tough with other fantastic blogs to chose from.  Of course you’re free to chose from the list of finalists as you wish.  Anyhow in the spirit of promoting blogging I’m passing this on – you can find more out about it and vote by leaving your comment detailing your nomination here.

While you’re there you might want to check out the other categories too!

Well a surprise BEFORE Christmas

Would you believe it another Open University student, Rosie has nominated me for this….

How lovely is that. Thank you so much Rosie.  I enjoy reading Rosie’s blog, not just because she is also an Open University person, but because wears her blog on her sleeve and I admire her honesty in the posts she writes.

For this award, I have to share 10 things that you may not know about me. Then I have to pass the award on to at least six other bloggers.

Ok so here goes.  Mmmmm 10 things.  I kinda think you probably know quite a lot about me dear reader, but I’ll give it a go.

1. I have a small tattoo of a cherry on my hip.
2. As a child others kids thought I was strange because liquorice was my sweet of choice – still is.
3. When I was pregnant with my son I developed Bells Palsy – which left me with a paralysed left side of my face throughout my pregnancy and I had to wear an eye patch – mine was pink, very trendy – NOT!
4. The highest mark I ever achieved from one of my assignments was 97%. I then went on to achieve a distinction in the exam – go mature student!
5. OK this is getting quite hard now….. oh I know I’m a Leo.
6. I don’t have a bucket list, but one day, I’ve decided I’m going to try to write a book.
7. My favourite new toy is my iPhone, except Siri can’t understand my Scottish accent.
8. I have a terrible sense of direction and frequently get lost.
9. I still cry at school productions, recitals etc – even if I don’t have a child in it (much to the embarrassment of my son).
10. I’ve kissed the Blarney Stone in Ireland – to do this you have to climb to the top of the castle and lean backwards over the edge to kiss this stone backwards AND upside down.  Having done it though it qualifies me as a chief chatty person.

Ok so that’s me, now on to you guys.  In no particular order I would like to nominate the following bloggers to receive the Kreativ Blogger Award….

I’ve Survived and I’m Ready to Fly

My So Called Dutch Life

Running Naked with Scissors

Four is a Family

The Big Blue Mess

Gilraensblog

So thank you again Rosie – and as for the nominees – go forth and nominate!

Life has a way of surprising you….thankfully!

Doesn’t it?

I remember when I was a single parent, living in a wee cottage right at the top of the hill.  It was tough starting again and making a home and living in such a remote part of the Highlands was no joke.  That said however life does often present you with an upside.  It was because I lived in that little cottage that I got to see the Northern Lights!

I’m studying now, but a couple of years ago I started and gave up because life was just too tough and I was coping with ill health. I’m back to it now and then some.  I’m on course for my BA/BSc Honours degree – just you watch me!

I always wanted to have loads of kids, but alas there is only Spencer.  Not quite. Our house is frequently full of kids, friends of his who arrive with their instruments and enormous appetites. It’s seldom quiet or dull. Life does have a way of providing – just not always in the way you expect.

I like to think of myself as older and wiser but this year, having ridden one with my son, I discovered that I am officially too scared old to ride upside down roller coasters!

Me and Spence - the AFTER photograph (and yes he was holding me up!)

Life and study certainly teaches you lessons along the way.  I’ve learnt that we don’t always see things the same way.  Study has also given me the confidence to acknowledge that neither would we want to.

Likewise we may all have our opinions and beliefs but it does no harm to spend a moment looking at things from another angle.

I spend oodles of time immersed in research, but sometimes there are things you accept as evidence because all the signs are there…..

And sometimes no matter what you’ve learned, what you’re dealing with or where you’re going – a gal has to just hold onto the dream that what she really wants to have hair like this!

So as we edge towards the end of 2011 here’s to life and it’s surprises.  To the things that life presents us with that we didn’t expect, to the things we learn from them and to the wee gems that fall into our life along the way.

Sure there’s the old, ‘you’ve got to paddle your own canoe’, ‘life is what you make it’ stuff.  For me though, this year the old adage that you’ve got to do it your way – whatever that is, has been the strongest.  I’ve really tried to follow my own path, find my groove and walk my path my own way – and aside from a few wobbles I’ve pretty much managed it.

So these are just some of my wee gems – what are yours?

Dear Santa, can you hear me?

I hope it’s not too late to be writing to you.

I know that you have a pretty tough gig.  I mean OK you have a whole year to get ready to do your thing but sometimes, if you’re at all like me that is, it doesn’t matter how much planning time you have there is always that last minute dash to the finish line.  OK I know you have elves to help but managing a work team, even if they are elves, can’t be easy.

I thought I would give you a break this year.  It’s been a tough year for all of us and I guess it probably isn’t any different for you.  So, I’ve decided not to ask you for world peace again this year.  I’ve just checked out the BBC News website and, well quite frankly, it’s not looking likely is it.

Instead this year I thought I would make my list a bit more achievable.  If you could see your way clear to getting to some of this I will of course be very grateful. However I should add that I’m a pretty amenable gal, so if it doesn’t work out I won’t hold it against you much.

Oh I should also add I’ve been pretty good this year and, well those times when I haven’t well I really can explain.  So here’s my list….

Health – I’m in pretty good shape all considered, but if you could keep me just ticking along that would be fab.

Study – OK this has been up and down, granted more ups than downs, but if you could help me kick my tendency to procrastinate into touch this area of my life would be a hellava lot more manageable.

Love – I’m pretty loved up so again if you could just add a sprinkle of magic to keep things topped up that would be grand.  Oh I should say that my man and I have moved bedrooms – we’re now next door to my son’s bedroom so please don’t sprinkle the magic outside his door by mistake.  I don’t think I’m ready to cope with a loved up 16 year old just yet.

Joy – I think it would be true to say that we all need joy in our life.  If you could see your way clear to reminding me that it’s my job to continue to cherish life in your funky Santa like way I promise to try to keep it going all year.  Hell I’ll even make it my job to pass it on whenever I can – deal?

Blogging – Now I know that you actually read my blog, and I’m very grateful for that.  Like most new bloggers my stats could do with a boost.  Maybe you could tell your elves to subscribe and read when they’re not doing the toy making thing.

Christmas – Now you know how much I love Christmas and how excited I get.  My husband, I know, loves it too he just kind of doesn’t enthuse about it in quite the way I do.  You know what I mean – on Christmas morning he takes a while to get into it instead of ripping open his presents in the wild frenzy I usually adopt.  This year can you make him really, really excited.  I know that he would love it and it would tickle the hell out of the rest of us.

Peace – as I said I’m not going to ask for world peace but maybe you could manage peace in our house.  You know the kind of thing.  Christmas day with a happy family, sharing chocolates and smiling at each other.  We’re a pretty happy bunch really but with a teenager and a 94 year old in the house we’ve got a pretty wide spectrum to manage. Even if you could work your magic and co-ordinate our Christmas viewing so that we all get to watch what we want to watch, no temper tantrums etc that would be great.  Oh and if you could see to it that I’m in the winning team for the Christmas quiz then that would be just fabulous, as I’m sure you know this would be a first for me.

Glad Tidings – Now you know you’ve let me down a couple of times in the past but I’m willing to forgive and forget if you can deliver some glad tidings.  There’s a group of gals, The Military Wives Choir, who have a wonderful song in the charts.  I sing it most mornings as I’m walking to work, hell I’m even getting quite good at the solo bit! Can you please help it along to No. 1 – it’s for a really good cause.

So Santa I hope you can see your way clear to some of this.  I promise I will leave you something nice under the Christmas tree and I’ll put the heating on boost for you because it’s bloody freezing here.  Oh and  you know that we don’t have a chimney so you’ll have to use the front door, well please be careful because the outside light is playing up and the builders have had a few glitches so there is still some scaffolding up, so be careful now.

Oh and Merry Christmas 👍

Love Jacqueline x

So what’s on your Christmas list folks?

Heavens, what an unusual start to my weekend!

Friday was hectic. I was out and about trying to squeeze as many clients into my day and needed to touch base with the office before close of business. My heart sank when I got to the multi-storey car park. There was a queue of Christmas shoppers waiting to park. Did they not realise that some folk REALLY didn’t have time to wait in this queue.

Eventually making it into the car park I knew that if I wanted to find a space I would need to head right for the top. This is a bit of a bummer in this weather as the top floor is exposed, so the likelihood was that despite scraping my car of ice already that day – after my time in the office I would be heading back to freezing car again.

Leaving the office later with too many bags of files and my laptop slung across my shoulder I almost ended up a a casualty on the frozen pavements. Getting to the car park I had well and truly had enough. Standing at the elevator I pushed the button – there was no way on earth I was going to attempt to climb the stairs to the 9th floor. As I waited I noticed a little cloud (yes, that’s what I said, a furry white cloud) on the ceiling beside the elevator door. Suddenly I heard the most calming voice coming from the cloud assuring me that my journey to Utopia would be calm and soothing. I was instructed to breath in and out slowly and to feel the cares of the day wash away with every breath. The elevator arrived, the doors opened and this is what I saw……

My lift to Heaven

I stepped in and the ethereal voice continued to calm me on my journey to heaven, assuring me that all was well and I would arrive in heaven feeling calm and at peace with the world.

Arriving at the 9th floor sure enough there was a sign…..

So yes, a very strange and pleasing end to my working week. I got such a kick out of it I got back in the elevator and took the ride again.  I wasn’t just in elevator 1 I was on cloud 9!

Hurray for local art projects that lift your day. I hope they keep it up all year.

Lets hear it for the kids – ALL of them

OK if you read my blogs you’ll know that I’m a carer.  For me it’s not a tough deal, stressful at times, but infinitely doable.

Today though I want to take my hat off to one lady in my life, another student.  She buddied me though my last Open University module, shared notes and insights with me along the way. She was brave enough to be honest about how difficult it can be to juggle work, family and caring but did it in a way that made me laugh and wonder at how she got through her day AND passed her assignments.  She shares her experiences as a carer by passing on her successes and solutions to problems that other carers can benefit from.  She has a wicked sense of humour and compassion to match.

She posted this on her Facebook today and I thought I would share it.

Kids with special needs aren’t weird or odd. They only want what everyone wants…to be accepted . Can I make a request? Is anyone willing to post this. This is an honour of all children that God made in a unique way. Let’s see who has a strong heart ♥ ♥

So here’s to all the carers out there, Merry Christmas to you.

As for the kids – ALL OF THEM -may the season bring you all you deserve, and then some!

Feed me NOW!

I wouldn’t say I’d had a bad day, but for some reason my juggling is a bit dodgy today . My husband is in London so I’m Carer Numero Uno, which is fine, I can do that. I am also chief confidante to my teenage son, in charge of the housework, cooking, making sure the doors are locked, heating is working, dishwasher filled/emptied and somewhere in there trying to get on top of finding the Christmas card list and squeeze a bit of time into working on my next essay.

Arriving home tonight I knew I had to get right on with things – cups of tea made, listening to the breakdown of of the school day, discussion about school dance and what to wear were handled as I rummaged about in the fridge trying to fling together something palatable for dinner.

My mother-in-law Sylvia and my son Spencer fit right into my routine and although things move along somewhat frantically (due to the fact that I also had to deal with some phone calls) we’re generally right on schedule. There are however two members of our household who are just not ‘getting’ the program. That would be our two cats…..

"Grumpy Tam"

AND

"Airy Fairy Bella"

Granted they are somewhat hacked off that it’s me they have to deal with. My husband is much more, how can I put it, responsive to their demands needs. Me on the other hand will explain to them, as I whizz about the kitchen like a crazy person, that I just need to do a couple of things first before I get to emptying their revolting smelling  nourishing cat food into their bowls.  For some reason my rational tone does nothing to  appease the situation, which by this stage has escalated to them rounding on me like a pack of crazed hungry animals.  Gone are the cute gazes and the affectionate purring.  They mean business.

Airy Fairy Bella has by this stage jumped up and is sitting beside the sink – the intention is that she has me in her line of vision and can do that crazy cat stare into my eyes.  As I get on with the cooking I can feel her eyes burning into my back.  It’s about this time that we move up to another zone.  They start with the noise.  You know that cat noise that says loud and clear, “IF YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO IGNORE ME YOU’VE GOT ANOTHER THINK COMING – FEED ME!!!!!”

Of course at this point any sane person would just give in and feed them.  By this stage of course I am not sane.  I’ve got a husband due home tonight, a zillion things to do and a son to get to his piano lesson.  I explain this to my two furry stalkers to no avail.

If you're not going to co-operate we're just going to have to take this into our own hands

Realising how ridiculous this all is I of course give in to the torture and feed them.  In an instant the food is finished and they wander off to their respective beds, either to get away from the crazy person in the kitchen or because their antics have zapped all their energy.

Left alone in the kitchen I wonder whether this owner/cat relationship is really equal.  For a while there I even thought I was in charge.

Step away from the quilted toilet paper…..!!!

I’ve noticed reading some of the blogs I follow recently that lots of folk find it a challenge to cope with the blues.  I think this time of year, despite being filled with happy songs, decorations and children is quite a difficult time to raise your game.  Maybe it’s the dark days, lack of light and cold weather, I don’t know.  I do know that at this time of year I always feel that people are happier and coping better than I am pretending to be.  Or are they just pretending too?

What I have noticed is a bit of a change this year, a shift if you like. OK we are coping with the precarious financial situation in the UK but I think what I’m picking up is a bit of a positive spin off.  Most of the parents I’ve spoken to are going back to basics a bit with Christmas this year.  Old boardgames are being discovered and people are cutting back on the over the top festive fayre – it’s got a kind of back to basics feel to it. I also know that lots of folk, instead of asking for a gift, are opting for charity options this year, or even doing something for a charity.

For some years now in our family we have done a Christmas draw where all the adults names go into a hat and the name you pick out is the person you buy a gift for.  This may sound a bit stingy but we all benefit from this.  For one you don’t spend days trawling the shops buying things that are more than likely to be returned and secondly financially it’s a real lightener at this time of year, so it’s a real winner for us all.  I know it’s not for everyone but it works for us.

I also think the recession has made people revisit Christmas traditions.  In our house, when I was a little girl my mum always bought new nightdresses for my sister and I to wear on Christmas Eve.  Yeah you know the ones made from that awful nylon material that would spark if you moved about in a dark room.  Oh yep, I remember it well.  The drill on Christmas Eve was bath, new nightdress on and then she would tell us to go and sit in front of the (open) fire to dry our hair!  As a parent myself of course, and in light of health and safety and the likes, how my sis and I managed to be here today I do not know!

Anyhow, as is usually the way I carried this tradition into my own parenthood (minus forcing my child to sit dangerously in front of the fire) dutifully buying my son new PJ’s for Christmas Eve.  Of course the other tradition I have (and I confess I know not where this comes from) is that I always buy quilted toilet roll for the Christmas holidays! I know that no explanation is required – I think it just sort of stems from having a bit of luxury at Christmas. In my defence I didn’t really think it through in any great depth.

Anyhow, I digress.  Oh yes, what I was going to say is that I’ve decided that these two traditions are effectively falling by the wayside this year.  For one my teenage son no longer wears the PJ’s I buy him and, if I’m honest, nobody will really miss the quilted toilet roll.  So having freed up a bit of cash and having been influenced by one of the other traditions that seem to be returning to Christmas this year I went of in search of something charitable I could do with the PJ and toilet roll cash. So here’s what I’ve narrowed the choices down to and I’ll share them as My 7 Days of charity Christmas Stuff.  They’re all just a little bit different and they all benefit folk right here in the UK.  Here’s what I found……

On the 1st day of Christmas

A session at an after school club - for UK’s latchkey children. 
 
 
 
 
 
 

On the 2nd day of Christmas

Warm Blankets for Chillie Grannies  - keep a granny cosy this winter 
 
 
 

On the 3rd day of Christmas

Granny’s Hairdo - do you know how little it costs to boost the esteem of an elderly lady? Well, an excursion to the hairdressers for shampoo, cut and set, or a perm, sets you back £25. And it all makes her feel like a million dollars. 
 
 
 
 

On the 4th day of Christmas

A Cat for Comfort - lots of elderly and housebound people love to keep pets for comfort and companionship. Trouble is the cost may make  ownership too dear.  This gift helps out with food and vets bills giving endless hours of comfort. 
 
 
 

On the 5th day of Christmas

Fresh Roots for Homeless People - Stump up for wellies, tools and seeds so that residents in UK hostels for the homeless can grow their own fruit and veg. 
 
 
 
 
 

On the 6th day of Christmas

Nice New Pyjamas and a Teddy - for a children in a women’s refuge, who had to leave it all behind. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
And finally…. being a student this one appealed to me…

On the 7th day of Christmas

Buy a Brain Cell - helps towards the development of treatments for diseases like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s.
 
 
 

So in the spirit of getting back to basics and thinking about chasing the blues away and reminding me of the simple but really important stuff of life I’m passing on this wee video shared by another OU student in her blog My Open Adventure.  Enjoy

So if you’re trying to simplify things this year what’s your plan?

When the blues get a hold, what do you do to pick yourself up?

Study is good for you, but some of the thinking is tough…

For those of you expecting a cheery post today I’m sorry to say I can’t oblige but I do ask you to stick with me.  Sometimes I feel like a bit of a sponge.  Returning to study has opened my mind to so many things. In my work I find myself dealing with many of the difficult and often tragic issues that challenge many in our communities. I’m always a fairly upbeat and happy chappy in that dealing with difficult situations doesn’t so much get me down as get me mad.  It fires me up and makes me want to shout so loud that the policy makers can’t ignore little old me.

Today my mind is taken into an uncomfortable area. Not only have I had cause to deal with clients threatened by homelessness at this time of year but as part of my research I’ve also been doing a fair bit of reading around homelessness and mental health. I am, as they say, surrounded by homelessness. I have found this both challenging to read and to reflect on. This stuck with me today and so, as with most things that come to the fore of my head and my heart – they end up here in my blog.

My husband called me from London this morning to say that it was a beautiful day, but bitterly cold. Spookily he called just after I’d read that half of the rough sleepers in the UK are in London.

Through my work I know that we don’t have a huge number of rough sleepers in Inverness. I do however know that regardless of the numbers the death rate of rough sleepers is 25 times that of the rest of the population. Sure there are emergency hostels organised by amazing charities but through my research I’ve discovered that for some homeless people these hostels just ain’t an option – why?  Well because they have pets. Recent research figures indicate that 86% are turned away from shelters.

For many homeless people a pet is their only companion and asking them to give up their pet must be like asking them to abandon a best friend. From my own reading I can only conclude that there is no doubt that being homeless must bring most people to the depths of despair. Having a pet is known to alleviate that desperation. Statistics show that pet owners on the streets are significantly less likely to suffer from depression and be drug users than homeless people without pets.

This issue was recently highlighted in the media and a campaign has been launched by animal welfare, housing and homelessness charities to encourage housing providers across Britain to review their policies. Put quite simply unless things change there is little hope of breaking the vicious circle that pet owning homeless people find themselves in.

Things do need to change. If you’re reading this and have a dog or a cat just reflect for a moment on how hard it would be if you had to make the tough choice to give up your pet. It would be terrible, wouldn’t it.  Importantly these companions don’t just deliver love and affection to their homeless owners, homeless charities advocate that the stability, love and responsibility of looking after a pet plays an key part in resettlement and a life of independence.

I’ll be honest, I’ve never really given this aspect of homelessness any thought.  Sure I’ve bought the Big Issue and given the dog a clap, had a chat and moved on into my day. I had no idea that the person selling me the big issue might be deprived of shelter that night because they have a dog.

This is a time of year for reflecting and I guess being thankful. It’s also a time of year when our mind naturally turns to charity. There are lots of charities out there working with homeless people.  Many will tell you that the recession and spending cuts have already caused a spike in youth homelessness. They also warn us that future welfare reforms are likely to add to this.

Image from Homelessness Charity Website

So yes today I’ve had a bit of a rant and I accept that there is little I can do on my own to influence any of this.  Or can I?  Well I’ve decided I’m going to use some of the fire in my belly that this research has generated and find out what the position is for homeless people with pets in my area.  I think I can feel a letter to our MSP coming on….

So what are the things that get you fired up and what do you do about it?

Me with the skunk stripe…

Katrina, who recently stopped by my blog and commented on My Grey Period described me to a ‘T’ – I am officially in the skunk stripe period of Project Hair.  All a bit depressing really.  Without a doubt the grey is making not just an appearance but a statement!

There's going to come a time when it's going to take more than a hat to hide this!

All does not bode well for this festive time when everyone else seems to be shiny and glittery.  So what to do?

Well as I’m sworn off the hair dye I am going for the old distraction technique.  Out with the old boring black beret and in with the brightly coloured hats and scarves.  I figured if I can distract the eye from my skunk like appearance then I’m on to a winner.

Today's ensemble!

However that is all fine and well when I’m outside but inside the skunk like person reigns. I have however come up with a cunning plan…..coloured hair extensions.

Now what colour to go for?

A skunk like Christmas is not for this gal, so I’ll be weaving a few coloured magical strands through the grey and I will go to the ball.

So yes I may be in my skunk like phase of Project Hair but the real me is still shining through despite the grey.  So for the big finale today it’s got to be the Leftover Cuties singing ‘All of Me’ for my husband who is putting up with All of Me – even the Skunk Me

Maybe there isn’t more to life than jumping in puddles…

In an attempt to keep the winter blues at bay – yeah I kinda succumb to them sometimes – I threw myself into making some Christmas decorations this weekend.  There’s quite a lot to be said for getting crafty.  I decided to go at it with Fimo and make some gift tags to hang on presents.

Fimo is a bit like plasticine.  When you’ve made your whatever you bake it in the oven for 30 mins and like magic it hardens.  Standing in the kitchen playing with all these nice colours, rolling them up, squidging them into shapes I realised that it’s actually quite nice just to play.  For about 30 mins there I wasn’t even a grown up, and do you know what, it felt pretty good.

How often as adults do we actually have that carefree abandon that kids have when they play?  Ever wondered why kids go splashing through puddles?  With my wellies on this week I did just that and it felt great.

If only I had my wellies on I'd be right in that puddle.

Now before you think I’m going to be stopping off at the swing park on the way to work…… actually that’s maybe not a bad idea.  When was the last time you were on a swing?

No maybe not. Actually as grown ups I think we are encouraged not to delve into childlike behaviour. It’s kind of frowned upon. I suppose you can sort of understand it, but looking at the two ladies in the picture above – tell me honestly, if you walked past the park and saw them up to their shenanigans would they not make you smile? Well there you are then.

OK so you might have to tag along with your kids or your grandkids if you want a go on the swings, but if you’re not up for that then for even just 15 mins do something that makes you forget you’re an adult. Sing, dance, whatever it takes – because, do you know what these little people have got this happiness thing figured out big time.

It doesn’t have to be like this….

Today my organisation are going out for our Christmas lunch.  Now I’ll be honest I did hesitate as to whether or not I was going to go to this or not.  I’m not a fan of big gatherings however I also acknowledge that it’s also important to get together with colleagues, especially as it’s been a tough year for our organisation, having lost funding and of course colleagues as a result of this.  They are all coming back to join us for Christmas Lunch and this changes the way I feel about it so here I sit in my finery ready to head out to meet everyone at 2pm.

Well, I say finery, I don’t really do finery however I’ve taken off the obligatory wellies, pushed the boat out and put on some heels (which I don’t do due to arthritis) but the lovely gel cushion insoles promise to see me through the day.

Get your wellies off girl, it's party time!

The talk in the office today is ‘are you ready for Christmas?’, ‘Ive still to do this’, ‘I’ve still to do that’.  It made me realise that I haven’t really done anything about planning for Christmas and, in all fairness, I’m not feeling any stress in this.

If I’m honest I think Christmas can be a crazy time, made worse by pressure to provide or produce the perfect occasion.  We are having a small family Christmas and so I have full confidence that I can turn out some decent fayre and that we can all enjoy the day with no pressure.

I love the excitement of Christmas.  Gazing into a Christmas sky I still get that little magical feeling that Santa will soon by flying through the clouds dropping gifts off in houses.  Silly I know, but despite being an adult I think the magic of Christmas has remained with me.

As I walked through town this morning shop windows are adorned with messages that gifts are about joy and love and yes they are.  However the cynic in me also sees the collection of shops as cathedrals of consumerism.  I think there is something to be said for seeing things differently and doing things differently  - even at Christmas time.

Just because you've always done things a certain way doesn't mean it wouldn't be fun to try something different

This year I’m not going overboard on the present buying, instead I’m going to make a few gifts.  Out with coffee with my husband this week I mentioned that I really don’t want anything for Christmas.  I’m not being all bah humbug, but in all honesty, now that I have my lovely bedroom there is really nothing I want.

When I say making things I’m not going to lock myself away in a room with oodles of craft stuff producing hand made crazy presents for people.  Having kept my eyes open I’ve spotted a few clever ideas that make something quite small seem special.  Here’s a few I picked up that look very do-able.

Lets face it, if you found this on your doorstep wouldn't you smile?

 

If you're missing a shirt husband don't look at me...

So any tips out there Blogland, cleaver little things that might bring a smile at Christmas?

 

A dash of social policy, mince pies and Christmas spirit.

Well the gales are howling around me and I’ve spent the morning with a group of enthusiastic young people looking at social policy issues.  The students work as advisers with our Youth CAB project and are fired up about about the proposed Welfare Reform due to come into effect in 2013.

The reforms proposed aim to save £7bn however the student concerns, quite rightly, are that the proposed changes are likely to impact negatively on vulnerable and disabled clients – just like the one’s they see when working as advisers.  As one student commented, ‘this is going to make us really busy’.

In their project blog today they flagged up the fact that many children’s groups are concerned that the bill could plunge between 50,000 and 100,000 young people into poverty.  They know full well that this is going to mean people in their own community. Yet despite the howling winds, rain and proposed benefit reform I feel warmed today by their enthusiasm and their very real concerns about what the future holds for many vulnerable people.  It’s incredibly humbling and I take my hat off to them in their attempts to raise awareness and voice their concerns.

As we speak the community complex where I work is buzzing with Christmas and there are more than enough free mince pies to go around.  It’s only nature therefore  that thoughts to turn to the spirit of Christmas – so I thought I might just share a wee Christmas Winter Warmer with you.

In our house we’re a big fan of our slow cooker. Anyone who is busy will know the joy a slow cooker brings into your life. There is nothing nicer that getting home knowing that dinner has slowly been bubbling away all day and there is nothing for you to do than simply dish it up and enjoy.

Having time to be around the house at Christmas means that I can indulge in my passion for cooking and so the slow cooker used to be shelved, sitting lonely into the new year when the return to work madness begins once again. No more though. Our slow cooker has a special job this Christmas.  Did you know that your slow cooker is a fantastic way to make mulled wine!

For those of you that haven’t tried it I would urge you to give it a go. Sure you can make mulled wine in a pot, but the beauty of using the slow cooker is this….. it keeps the mulled wine at just the right temperature for ages (without you having to stand over it) AND it fills the house with the most wonderful smell.

I’m sure you have your own recipe for mulled wine, but here’s two for you anyway….one with alcohol (hic!) and one without.

So, whether you are planning to have chestnuts roasting on an open fire or a box of chocolates on your knee, kick back, enjoy your mulled wine of choice and listen to this……

Be warned though, enthused by our young advisers , I will return in the New Year with a rant about the Welfare Reforms!

A strange day of memories

They say you should write about what you know. Over the months, throughout the process of writing my wee blog each day, I’ve come to appreciate both how important and how difficult it is to write from your inner core.  That’s where my stories are you see and that is where ‘Departures’ came from – quite an innocent little story really.  However, when I first posted it I will confess I wasn’t brave enough to say what it was about (although I did go back and add a little note one day).  It was about my Dad.

Today is my Dad’s 70th birthday.  I have no idea where he is, if he is well, or even if he is still alive.  He’s my missing person.  Although there is great sadness in this I’m not entirely unhappy that his chaoticness (the red line under the word tells me it’s not a real word, but hell it fits to me)  is not part of my life. I guess it’s natural to sometimes to wonder though.

I’ve always thought it is such a waste when families become disjointed and people drift out of lives.  Surely there must be a way; to try harder, to find the fix?  Of course I realise this is a simplistic view on what can be complex and challenging issues.

So come full circle and I understand that sometimes there is nothing you can do to change it.  I also accept that sometimes people just drift away.

Music can often evoke powerful memories.  I used to find this piece hard to listen to.  I remember dad playing it when I was younger and in later years it made me feel mighty pissed of whenever I heard it.  Not now though. My son recently discovered Simon and Garfunkel and plays it all the time.

I can listen to it now and sing along – progress is a wonderful thing, time is a great healer and reality is a wonderful leveller.  So wherever you are, this is for you.

A winter wonderland and our Christmas dilemma….

Peaking out the window this morning I wasn’t surprised or disappointed to see that, not only was the snow still with us, but there was even MORE of it.  A great big dollop had been delivered through the night.

Deciding to leave the car at home I figured the walk to work would be stress free and I could enjoy the snow – it is so beautiful here today because not only do we have lots of the white powdery stuff, but the sun is shining, making my wee Scottish world look quite magical.

Dawning my lovely fake fur coat (a recent lovely purchase from the charity shop) my warm wooly hat that comes right down over my lugs and my trusty hiking boots  I headed off.

Me in my trusty hiking boots

Now there is something about walking in the snow that makes people chat. Adverse weather seems to break down all sorts of barriers and perhaps giving people a common goal – to make it to their destination.

It wasn’t long before I was joined on my trek by an elderly stranger called Emma, a semi retired lady going in my direction (for a while at least). Only a few paces in and Emma had filled me in on how she fills her days of retirement and also how she copes with memory loss. We had a lovely, if rather disjointed conversation, peppered with Emma saying, ‘what was I saying?’. Emma may have been struggling to keep up with the conversation but I was struggling to keep up with Emma, who demands a surprising staggering walking pace from anyone that cares to join her. Our walk together ended at the park with Emma headed off down one lane, while I took the other.  Shouting goodbyes she happily trekked off into the beautiful wilderness.

The beautiful Bellfield Park this morning

Trudging along my mind turned to Christmas and in particular the debate in our house about this year’s Christmas tree. Having always been a ‘real tree’ house we are considering an artificial tree this year. Now before any of you traditionalist start shouting at your computer screens hear me out. In all honesty I’m with you, I love a real tree and the hassle that go with it doesn’t register in my life. I love the smell, the chaos of putting it up (and getting it out of the house after the festivities without depositing ALL of the needles throughout the house – which interesting never happens).

My husband Peter is usually charged with getting the tree.  Each year, despite discussions about what size of tree we are going with, he faithfully returns with the BIGGEST tree he can find. Last year he achieved a personal best – it must have been an eight or nine footer at least.

Spencer and I trying desperately to get the tree into the kitchen

Real trees are getting more and more expensive and we could buy a pretty good artificial tree that would last years – rather than shelling out every year for a real one. Ok, I know, there is also the environmental debate. From what I’ve read natural tree growers argue that artificial trees are more environmentally harmful than real trees (well they would, wouldn’t they). On the other side of the argument allegedly artificial trees have excellent recyclable properties. However I think I’m with the researcher from Kansas State University who called the idea that artificial trees are eco-friendly as an ‘urban myth’.

So what to do, buy an artificial tree and use it FOREVER MORE, never to dispose of it in landfill and benefit from the financial saving each year, or go for a real life traditional Christmas tree?

I will happily sit on the fence on this one. I’ll just be delighted to have ‘A’  tree and get this Christmas thing going in our house. So husband ‘Buyer of the Tree’ I’ll leave it with you – but if you go down the route of a real tree how about this one – it tops your record last year, and then some!

So guys what do you think – real or artificial?

Let it snow…..

I notice that WordPress have added a nifty little thing that makes snow fall on your screen. I’ve decided to turn mine off as this is what I awoke to this morning…

It is already pretty bad out there and it seems that we are well and truly in for it. So back to scraping the car and crawling to work on completely white roads.

Last year it was so bad that my wee car didn’t move for a month, but I dug her out this morning and off we trundled. Thank goodness the holidays are coming….:wink:

Now where are my thermal knickers!

Catastrophe

For those of you with a cat in your life….. this explains a lot!

For those of you without a cat, watch anyway and be thankful you don’t have a cat

Your eyes must not determine what you see…..

This is how my husband found me this morning….

The Grumpy Elf

I ignored his remark that “it’s the most understated I’ve looked in ages’.

With bells on my shoes and a song in my heart I was alas a Grumpy Elf. Why?  Well if you’re sitting comfortably then I’ll begin.

A big part of the work I do is to challenge inequality in society.  As an adviser I work with some of the most disadvantaged members of our Highland communities.  Today our project had a stall at a Christmas Bazaar held in one of the community centres.  I was there to promote our advice service and particularly to raise awareness about fuel poverty.  - a sad reality.  I meet people every day who live on benefits or who are elderly or have a disability – sometimes all three – who have to make the tough choice whether to eat or to heat their home.

So, as I hauled myself out of bed this morning I fumbled for my slippers and pulled on my dressing gown.  Our home was warm and I could have a hot shower whenever I wanted. There was food in the fridge for breakfast.  Outwardly I was warm and happy, but inside I was grumpy and annoyed that so many others are wakening to very different situations in homes across Scotland.

So today I was dressed as a funny elf, but, as the title of this post suggests, ‘your eyes must not determine what you see’ because inside I was a grumpy elf – determined to raise awareness that there are things that can be done, even on a small level. By popping in to our project, we can check the people are receiving the right level of benefit and liaise with fuel providers to ensure they are getting the discount – social tariff – they are entitled to. OK it’s not going to change the world but it will impact on the level of fuel poverty experienced by many.

I had a fantastic day, hell we all need a bit of changing the world – even in a small way.  So having returned I sit here with a cup of coffee and a full appointment book for next week.

So I’ve chatted with so many people this morning I now have virtually no voice left.  I’ve danced with the Brownies, I’ve judged competitions and I’ve eaten far too many free mince pies.  I’ve also chatted with some of the local councillors about why I’m so grumpy Of course there have got to be some perks for grumpy elves and this one was no exception……..I got to sit on Santa’s knee!

The book sitting beside my computer as I write this is Mary Anne Radmacher’s Lean into Your Life. The cover says’ “start each day as if it were on purpose’ – so I did – a Grumpy Elf with a purpose. I might not have changed the world, but hell do I feel good this afternoon.

Off now to fight with the staff at the local Vodaphone shop about the upgrade of my phone. Might just keep the costume on for that

 

A very worthy addition to the Mum’s Manual

I’ve often talked about wishing I had a manual to help me as a mum.  I heard a lovely story today that made me wonder whether us mums actually need a manual.

A colleague at work has a three-year old daughter.  The other morning said colleague was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she heard a gasp of excitement coming from her 3-year-old daughter.  Her heart sank as her gut feeling told her that her little daughter had found the christmas presents she had hidden in a storage chest (you know the one that said daughter never goes into).

Thinking quickly she called on her daughter to come and brush her teeth.  With her toothbrush in her mouth she was trying desperately to tell her mum about the presents.  My friend listened to her daughters excited revelations but didn’t say a word.

Leaving her daughter for a minute to finish brushing her teeth, once out of sight of the wee one she flew into the bedroom and quickly flung all of the presents in the wardrobe.  Returning to the bathroom she said to her daughter, “So where are all these presents then?”  Her daughter dutifully took her mum to the chest, opened it up and without looking said Tarrrraaaaah!!!

The look on the wee one’s face when there was nothing there must have been priceless.  My friend looked at her daughter and said, “Oh I know what’s happened, it must be the Christmas Elf, showing you what you might get for Christmas if you’re a good girl”.

Lots of questions then followed but the wee one bought the explanation hook, line and sinker, even to the extent of interrupting a telephone conversation my friend was having with her husband a couple of hours later to proclaim, “Dad WE’VE got an Elf!”

So I know one little girl who WILL be surprised on Christmas morning with lots of presents because she is now on her best behaviour – just in case the elf is watching.

Of course some may think that my friends’ way of dealing with this could terrorise the child into terrible nightmares and fears about going to bed at night while there’s an Elf kicking about.  Not just any old Elf either, it’s THE Elf that will ultimately decide if she’s been good enough to get those Christmas presents it’s given her a sneaky peak of.  Well I don’t think it’s any more scary than knowing that on Christmas Eve there’s going to be a great big man with a beard and a red suit coming down your chimney and eating your food.  Ok granted the Elf hanging around is probably adding extra stress, but come on, was this a good recovery or what!

So it seems that us mums, if put on the spot, can always pull the rabbit out of the bag.  Or in this case fling the presents in the wardrobe.

Good things happen when good things happen

It’s true, positive thing blossom out of good times.  It’s kind of like a domino effect it starts small and then grows and grows.

My New Year’s resolution this year was to smile more.  That might sound like a bit of a cop out when most people were pledging to go to the gym more and get fit, lose weight etc. Not so.  Smiling was something I realised I’d kinda sort stopped doing – not because life was bad, but just because I always seemed to be too busy and my ‘to do’ list never seemed to get any smaller. I have learned that when I’m stressed I have a habit of sighing more than I smile.  So taking this in hand I decided to change it.

OK so you can’t just make yourself smile – can you? Well no, but you can be more alert to opportunities to smile that would normally pass you by.  So thats what I did and so the domino effect began.

I discovered that when I smiled, be it in the office, at home or just a smile at someone passing me in the street, people smiled back.  Do you know what – it was a nice feeling.  And so it has been this year – my year of smiling.

Come on smile - I know you want to....

It won’t be my New Year’s resolution for 2012 (don’t know what that will be but I’ll keep you posted) but it is something I’m going to strive to continue.

So it’s true, good things happen when good things happen.  Today, sitting in my little Santa’s Grotto office surrounded by all the glitter and tinsel I don’t feel the negative impact of the dark day outside.

Living in Scotland the mornings are dark and I return home in the dark.  It’s hard sometimes not to be impacted by the lack of light.  I’ve decided though that this lack of light in my day doesn’t have to mean lack of light in my life.  So I’m off to find someone to smile at.

Care to join me?  Great – meantime here’s something my sister in law sent me.  Hope it gets you started with the smiling lark……… enjoy.

And the results are in…..

Despite all the procrastination, crying, beating myself up that I was a terrible student being challenged to get my first assignment for my module in I’m pleased to say I discovered that I achieved a very acceptable pass.

But hey this post isn’t about me!  This is about the passing on of  The Jennifer Avventura Reader Appreciation Award.

I’ve followed the rules on this earlier however due to a mega crazy day at work I wasn’t able to deal with the most important part;  the nominations.  So without further ado here are the six blogs I’ve selected to pass on this lovely sunflower award on to…..

Back on My Own - A smart lady whose blog will get you laughing, thinking, wondering… and the rest.

I’ve Survived! and I’m Ready to “Fly”!! – A ‘Sensational Survivor’ this lady tells it like it is, and then some, threading her posts with dollops of humour and insights.

Cerridwen’s Cauldron - the best way to describe this blog is that this lady rocks – go check her out.

Joanna Dobson - a student and passionate reader and creative lady who eloquently shares in her writing the things that help her mind stay healthy.

Piglet in Portugal  - A semi-homourous account of everyday life and travel in Portugal which I recently stumble on – and I’m glad I did.

And my final nomination is a shameless plug – but hey, it’s my blog so I guess I’m allowed.  I work as a Specialist Adviser with the charity Citizens Advice Bureau (CAB) and co-ordinate a project – Charleston Youth CAB which is the first and only CAB staffed by young people in the UK.  They recently started their own blog aimed at providing information to young people moving on from school to university or employment.  These young people are amazing and surprise me each and every day.  My final nomination is therefore for the young people at the Charleston Youth CAB Project.

So congratulations folks.  Here’s ‘The Rules”

1. Award your top 6 bloggers who have commented the most.
2. Be thankful.
3. You cannot award someone who has already been awarded. And you cannot give the award back to me.
4. Don’t forget to tell the bloggers you’ve awarded.
5. If you don’t want to pass on this award, that’s okay too. Just admire it.
6. Link back to the person from which you received it.

Mission Accomplished

Happy nominating

Thank you, thank you, once again, I thank you!

Despite my slightly maudlin moment yesterday a day sitting in my Santa’s grotto office, although quite surreal, certainly lifted my spirits. I moved into the evening knowing that I could look forward to picking my husband up from the airport and all would return to normal at home. It seems though that the night was to get even better when I received a wee note on my blog from Lynda suggesting I visit pop over to her blog as there was something there for me. To my surprise she has nominated me for this…..

I was delighted to receive The Jennifer Avventura reader appreciation award from Lynda, particularly as her own posts are laugh out loud funny. It is quite a complement to know that this honest, funny lady has enjoyed my ramblings.  Thank you so much

So what are my duties on receiving this award?  Well I have to:-

1. Award your top 6 bloggers who have commented the most. (OK I can do that – will nip over and have a look at my stats).
2. Be thankful. (I certainly am!)
3. You cannot award someone who has already been awarded. And you cannot give the award back to me. (OK so that means I have to do a bit of research – so bear with me).
4. Don’t forget to tell the bloggers you’ve awarded. (Of course I will – who wouldn’t want to pass something on that might cheer fellow bloggers up?)
5. If you don’t want to pass on this award, that’s okay too. Just admire it. (Can I do both?)
6. Link back to the person from which you received it. (Pretty pleased with myself that I now have this link thingy nailed!)

And so The Reader Appreciation Award goes to….. Oh No!  Guys please don’t think I’m a drama queen who has been watching too many of these award shows that keep people guessing whilst waiting to see if the spotlight is going to fall on them.  I have a crazy day at work today and so can’t get to this until tonight.  So we’re going to have to cut to a commercial break but you’ll find out the results when I get back.

Watch this space

Project hair and all that jazz

Crazy busy this morning.  My husband is away so it’s just little old me to get things organised for the day at Duart Lodge. So the day started with numerous cups of un-touched tea, half eaten breakfast and a fight with the printer this morning to get my son’s English essay printed – all this before 7.30.

Things calmed down a bit after Spencer left for school and I stepped up to the mark and got on with my caring responsibilities.  Breakfast to be organised for my mother in law, medicine to be dispensed and lunch organised. Why is it when you drop toast it always lands marmalade side down?

Getting dress in the morning however is a doddle for me now. My new bedroom doesn’t have the sloping roof the study/bedroom has so at least I’m not in danger of knocking myself senseless as I try to make myself look presentable for the day. Hey I even managed a bit of make-up this morning.

In truth I’ve been making a bit more of an effort on the ‘making myself presentable for the day’ front. I figured that as I was seriously embarking on my grey period then at least if things drastically unravel I’ll have a bit of lippy on.

As I inspected my efforts I was pleased to note that I didn’t look half bad. Even with my grey hair starting to make an appearance it didn’t look too obvious as I stood in front of the bedroom mirror. Things changed however about half an hour later as I sat at the traffic lights though.

It seems that my nice soft bedroom lighting is hiding a multitude of sins – or at least a multitude of grey hair. As I glanced in the rear view mirror the sharp Scottish morning light did something magical to my hair – and not in a good way. There it was, no mistake, threatening evidence of what is ahead of me.

Now don’t get me wrong I don’t mind the grey, but this in-between bit might be tougher than I thought. What to do? Well I could give up and just by the hair dye. Then I thought about Caridwen, my hair buddy, growing her hair in post chemo.  I checked myself for lolling in such vanity, put on a CD and sang along to this…..

Needless to say after singing along and doing a bit of car dancing I felt 100 times better.

As I arrived at work it seemed that the Universe might have picked up on my maudlin mood.  My wee office in the Community Complex, due to be the site of numerous kids Christmas parties, has been magically transformed into Santa’s Grotto. So here I sit, looking like a happy grey elf, surrounded by tinsel and fake snow.

Thank you Universe – you cheered me up no end – let the fun commence

Let the fun commence.....

Calling all the dreamers

I don’t think of myself as a very brave or courageous person.  I’m not scaling great heights and, in the great scheme of things, the successes that are most important to me are the little ones.

Ok sometimes I do have days when I feel I’m battling on but usually I think I slide from one thing to the next.  However this isn’t done effortlessly and sometimes I am less than graceful.

I also think that it is easy to get bogged down with the practicalities of life.  OK I’ll re-phrase that…… sometimes it is easy for ME to get bogged down with the practicalities of life.  When this happens there is only one thing to do – get yourself into the company of dreamers.  You know who the dreamers are in your life, they’re the people who reignite your passion and make you see all those things that you think you can’t do in a completely different light.

Even dreamers can have tough times though. This weekend I received an email from one of the dreamers in my life. Reading it I realised that life is presenting her with some pretty unique challenges.  In my reply to her I sent her this quote….

My friend is a fellow carer but unlike me she doesn’t get to step out of that world each day and go to work.  Although I understand personally many of the challenges that carers face I can only empathise with the complexity of her caring role.  Ultimately for carers their challenges are infinitely unique to their situation.  That can sometimes make life lonely and hard.

Someone recently asked me how I managed to juggle study, work, family and caring and in all honesty I really don’t know the answer to that. Perhaps it is because I am fortunate to have dreamers like my friend in my life who dare me to dream and keep going.

So this this is for my pal Mrs Bim to keep her dreaming…..

Who are the dreamers in your life?

Smily Saturday

Husband is in Madrid, son is in the shower, mum in law having breakfast and reading the paper. Me I’m doing the housework while I sing along and dance to this. It doesn’t get any better than this….. enjoy

When you wish upon a star…

Well it might be freezing cold this morning and the sleet is battering down warning of the snow to come later today but I care not a jot.  Nothing can dampen my spirits today.  Why? Well because Christmas came early for this gal!

You may remember that when my husband asked what I wanted for Christmas I said I wanted a bedroom.  Our caring responsibilities meant rejigging our home and Peter and I have been sleeping in our rather cramped study and I desperately wanted a bedroom.  A little sanctuary just for us.

This is what I arrived home to yesterday…..

So despite the fact that the weather is pants today, my workload is chronic and my husband is setting off on a trip to Madrid leaving me in command at the front line that is our life. I care not a jot – because my wish came true.

Thank you husband

My mojo is officially back!

Have had a bit of a study epiphany moment.  Much welcome I might add.  My assignment is done, in and being graded as we speak. Whew!

Interestingly the process of writing this first assignment, for what is now my third module in my degree, has helped things fall into place.  Reflecting on this I considered why, when I was managing the reading and researching fine, was getting down to writing this assignment such a challenge for me?  What I realised is that for me (the student me) it is necessary not just to have the information in my head but to have some kind of structure to it.  I didn’t have that but that is what writing this assignment gave me  an order to manage what I was learning.

I will confess that much of what I’m learning isn’t really new to me.  Part of the reason I’m going for this degree is to validate what I’ve already done and know (yes I know I should have done it years ago).  That however is not to say that it is not a challenge, because as all students know, it’s not enough just to know the stuff, you have to be able to present it in such a way that others know that you know it – be it in an assignment, or in an exam.

So yes I’ve been floating about in a wilderness of information and it reminded me of ‘that feeling’ you get when you start something new, be it a new job, or embarking on being a mum, or learning how to knit or cook.  You know the feeling, your kind of floating along for a while and then one day you just realise that you are actually doing it with a level of competence.

I remember when my son was born, and like all new mums I was going through the motions trying to be a good mum.  Sure there were the sleepless nights, the days when I didn’t seem to be able to manage to get dressed in anything that resembled matching clothes whilst all the time the house always seemed to look like a bomb site.  Then one day standing at the cooker stirring a pan with my son balanced on my hip (while I sorted out the car insurance on the phone) I realised I wasn’t just learning to be a mum – I was a mum.  Hey I was even a multi-tasking mum!

And so it has been with my studies.  I fully expected to embark on this next module and just float into it.  That didn’t happen and if I’m honest it scared me a bit and I had to wait for that feeling to settle.  Then, finally, I got that feeling that I am actually doing it.

So, like me the multi-tasking mum, I am now back to being a multi-tasking student.  Oh you might see me standing at the cooker making pancakes but in my head I’m thinking about how hacked off I am that the consumerist/managerialist approach to involving service users in developing care services is often the preferred approach.  Why so when in reality the demographic approach, aligned with the social model of health, offers more potential in influencing positive direct change within the lives of individuals.  So while I’m mumbling about the importance of collective and individual action – even if I don’t figure it out I always have the bonus of some lovely pancakes to comfort me.

So I’m back to being a student who wants to change the world, or at least positively influence a care system that continues to struggle along.  I want to stop seeing headlines that tell me people are not only receiving sub-standard care in their homes but that even basic levels of dignity are not being afforded them.  I want to stop hearing sound bites where government ministers tell me (a carer – and often a struggling one at that) that services need to be streamlined to become more effective – knowing full well that this simply translates as ‘we’re going to cut the budgets’. I want, I want …….I could go on but you get my drift I’m sure.

So yes, I’ve got my study mojo back and I feel empowered to get through this module and aim for the best grade I can.  Reading other student blogs like PhD Pimpernel, Studying Parent and Old Girl at Uni to name but a few, have helped re-affirmed and re-ignited my passion for study (I know some folks from the OU site pop in to read my blog – you should check out these other student blogs).  I don’t just want to achieve my degree I want to take this thing as far as I can.  Whether I am able to do that or not I don’t know.  But I do know this – it’s going to be one hell of a journey.  This mature student is definitely hanging in there – and then some.

Groovy Baby........ you've got your mojo back!

Thanks for sticking with me.

Write little one, write like there’s no tomorrow……

I’ve confessed on here before that I’ve found it difficult to get back into study.  I’m fine with the reading and research – which I’m actually ahead of the game on, but writing my assignments is proving to be a real chore.  I used to feel that I could write the hell out of an academic essay but recently I don’t think I could write myself out of a paper bag.

Granted this has been made a bit more complicated as I’m sharing my home study space with my a 16-year-old teenager.  My son and I have different views on study time it seems. For him its ‘talk to mum about all the stuff that’s in my head time’ for me alas it has become about ‘dealing with the dramas in the life of a teenager’.  I’m the first to admit, that for me at least, it just ain’t working.

So a plan.  Well last night we re-jigged our study space and I attempted, sensitively, to set out some ground rules.  No chit-chat – instead said son and I will schedule in some time during the week to go out for coffee and a proper catch up.  He seemed pleased with that and quite frankly if it works I will be ecstatic.

Me and my study buddy

I’ve broken the back of my assignment – due in this week – and although I don’t quite feel that the fog has lifted at least I’ve found the fog lights and am forging ahead.

That guys is where you come in.  I’m going to step back from my blog until my assignment is finished.  Much as I love to write and to read all the interesting and quirky things everyone else writes alas my head is only full of my assignment at the moment.  So, if I’m going to get creative with anything at the moment this must be my priority. So hang in there with me will you?  I’m doing an Arnie ……. “I’ll be back….”

Quite a few of the other blogs I read are written by students, all at different stages of their learning.  I have picked up masses of tips and love the way they share their highs and lows (and solutions to turn said lows into highs). I guess having a break from my blog will give me the much-needed head space I need to hopefully turn this low into a high.

I’m also working hard to get ahead of the game as my husband is off travelling, taking photographs and having a necessary  well earned break from the craziness that is Duart Lodge.  I will be embarking on the adventure of being No.1 carer for his mum and also planning a weekend of catch up time with my son.  If all goes according to plan then I promise to return on Friday feeling elated that my essay is submitted and will have the head space to write a post to update you on my take on the craziness of life.

In the meantime feel free to check out some of the things you might have missed on my wee blog.  You will hopefully find my ‘tell it like it is’ attitude peppered with an honesty that explains my trials, tribulations sheds light on how I manage the eternal struggle of a forty something carer with work, family and life thrown in.  I continually work on the principle that I can do better, but I’m also a fan of your best is good enough.  So I’m off to give this assignment my best, dazzle my new tutor and await my stonkingly good marks. The only way is UP!

Finally I thought I would leave you with this.  I often write about how hard it is to be a “Mum without a Manual’ well this lady’s talk just about sums it up – enjoy.

See you soon.

Where’s the emergency shut off when you need it?

My husband and I hit the town on Saturday – well our version of hitting the town.  Normally this conjures up images of swanky nightclubs and folk in their bling and killer heels.  Our version of hitting the town is in broad daylight on a Saturday while we ponder where we are going to go for coffee and a blether.  It is the highlight of my week because it means I get my husband all to myself.

Anyway coffee over we split up and do a bit of shopping. Christmas it seems has arrived and our normally fairly quiet shopping centre was buzzing with shoppers and Christmas decorations.  In the crush, just as I was about to be run down by a stressed out mum, I thought I would dodge out of her way by jumping onto the escalator.  The poor woman was not only trying to manoeuvre a pram through the crowds, but negotiate her way out of the full-scale temper tantrum planned by the toddler refusing to hold her hand.

Watching all this, and feeling really sorry for her, I misjudged the speed and distance of the escalator and almost landed in a heap.  I quickly recovered my composure but this prompted a terrible flashback. A memory that still haunts me today (but makes my son Spencer laugh so much that he cries).

To tell this story I have to take you back to the time I was a single parent. Spencer and I were getting used to it being ‘just the two of us’. One day, fuelled on by my confidence and independence, I decided to plan a holiday.  It would in fact be our first holiday since I had boarded the one way flight to Planet Divorce. In my case the co-ordinates for Planet Divorce had not been punched into the flight programme thingy. Alas I was, for some considerable time, destined to fly about in crazy randomness.  So yes, a holiday seemed to be a welcome distraction.

The holiday was a success however whilst we were travelling back the ‘incident, which was destined to return as a terrible flashback, occurred.

As my son was only small it was my task when travelling to both look after him and to deal with the luggage. I had one of those pull along bags (which was rather large and heavy) and I also had a rather large and heavy rucksack on my back. Despite feeling a bit like a Sherpa I’d figured this would be the best way to manage things and it had actually worked fine.  Now it just so happened that our return travel meant that we had to catch a train in Birmingham. Arriving in the station could only be described by one word – ‘chaos’.

Making my way through the busy station with my huge pull along bag, rucksack and over-tired child was no mean feat. People were pushing as we tried to head towards an incredibly long escalator. I was struggling to manage our bags and keep an eye on my son so suggested he walked in front of me.  I figured at least that way I could see him and make sure he was OK on the escalator. We both managed to squeeze on and up we went. Behind me I could hear rugby chants. A whole rugby team had got on the escalator and they were in fine form.  That’s when it happened…..

As I reached about half way up the escalator crammed with people the weight of my rucksack started to pull me backwards – I was powerless to do anything and back I went quite unceremoniously. With my son looking down on me I created a domino effect on the escalator and, starting with the rugby team, everybody began to buckle under the weight.

No lives were lost in the telling of this story

Panic ensued.  I can remember lying there seeing my son desperately shouting and crying as he looked on at the chaos I had caused.

I never did quite manage to get to my feet properly from this rugby escalator scrum. In the end everybody just sort of spilled out onto the floor when they reached the top and scrambled to their feet.

The rugby team, bless them, were drunk and thought it was a right good laugh took it in good humour. Someone kindly helped me to my feet and located my bag. There were however a few people who shot me nasty glances and commented, in less than favourable terms, in my general direction. Although I confess to being totally responsible for the whole thing it’s not in my nature to stand out in a crowd.  But stand out I did, and then some.

Surely they realised that if I'd wanted to be the centre of attention I could have done my amazing escalator party trick for them!

It’s kind of hard to pick yourself up from such a bizarre experience and just get on with things. You just can’t act like everything is normal when you’ve taken out a whole escalator.  Spencer was fine and I had no injuries as such.’What happened Mum?’ my son asked with tears in his eyes as I sat there breathless and rather undignified trying to compose myself.

I don’t know what came over me but as I started to explain what had actually happened and why I began to laugh. I mean really laugh.  Tears were rolling down my face as I heard the absurdity of the story I was reliving. My whole body ached with laughter. By this time Spencer had joined in and there the two of us sat on our bags in the middle of the busy station laughing our heads off.

To this day when I get on to an escalator with him he makes me hold onto the rail.

What embarrassing moments have you had?

A Happy Box

I’m trying to work myself up to being a dedicated student again (honest, I am). Playing catch up with my course has been hard and I will confess to not feeling secure in striving to find the balance.  I also seem to have had to write off study time at home.  There is one main reason for this – I’m sharing my study space with my son.  How can I put it, he chats about everything and anything he likes to use this time to catch up with me.  Actually I know I’m blessed that my son enjoys sharing his world with me, but it does nothing for my concentration.

This surprised me.  You see I’m used to working in open plan offices with everything going on around about me.  I have, over the years, perfected the art of being able to ignore the chaos around me and this oblivion allows me to easily be fully engrossed in my work.

Jacqueline wondered why it was so quiet at work today

Not so with my study space. Strange, isn’t it?  Maybe not so much, I like to listen to what my son has to say.  This also provides me with the opportunity to offer my share of support, which I hope helps him cope with his own challenges in this life.  It just ain’t helping my study progress. I have no solution to this as yet, but I’m sure one will come along.

Capitalising on the wonderful Scottish winter's Jacqueline's new study space was just grand - now all she had to do was find the heating switch.

So yes I do feel anxious of ‘study me’ present in my life and sometimes this makes me feel a strange mix of anxiety and exhaustion.

One of the things I’ve been ploughing through recently has been research relating to the impact mental health on society.  My particular area of interest, for obvious reasons, is how being a carer can impact on the health and well-being.  There are oodles of information in this field and I’ve dutifully selected the information I feel have relevant to my next assignment.  In the process however I came across something that I thought was pretty sweet.

Carers were asked to provide tips on beating low mood and one jumped out at me.  Create a happy box.  A happy box contain things you love and if the low mood monster seizes you it is suggested (amongst other things) that you take time out, open your box and enjoy the contents.  You decide what’s in your box.  It got me thinking what would be in my Happy Box?

A bar of Galaxy Chocolate

Scottish Music

A recording of Jimmy Shand.  Yes I really do love this stuff – and not just because I’m Scottish – for me anyway it is impossible not to feel better after listening to a jig, polka, waltz – but the Dashing White Sergeant is my favourite (hey and I’m pretty good at the dance too!)

A bottle of Clinique Elixir perfume – my perfume of choice and I love it.

My Running Shoes  - I know that if I run I feel better, exhausted granted, but always better.

A Note to Myself - reminding me that I can only do what I can do and tomorrow is another day.  A cliché I know, but true – always!

Laughter Therapy - An oldie but a goodie.  I dare you not to smile and feel better when you watch this….

So what would be in your happy box?

Matching clothes and bundles of joy

Well today I decided to really be on the ball.

Yesterday was a BAD hair day.  It was also really foggy and freezing cold and I started the day on the back foot.  Caught out by the turn in the weather I hadn’t factored in time to scrape the car (or spent a good 10 mins searching for said scraper thingy).  Knowing that it was cold I donned lots of woolly things in lovely warm colours.  None of this detracted from the fact that “Project Hair” is really kicking in now.  My roots are terrible coming along nicely.

My annoyance with my noggin didn’t really last.  I don’t think I could stick to this if it really truly bothered me that my hair is less than spectacular, however you know when you look in the mirror and the only thing you want to do is scream sigh – well it was that way with me.

Today however was going to be different.  Not only did I manage to fling something rather nifty on this morning but I got my hair to look presentable passable AND, get this, I even found the time to put some make-up on this morning.  I also decided to throw caution to the wind and make a huge batch of scotch pancakes to take to work with me and  I even made it to work on time.  Give that girl a round of applause (but not too big a round of applause because I forgot the pancakes – they are sitting happily in my kitchen).

Oh her pancakes look wonderful and look, she's wearing matching clothes!

I had in fact decided to make a bit of an effort this morning as my work colleagues and I are going out for lunch to celebrate the start of one of our crew’s maternity leave.  I was really looking forward to this high in my day.  Alas it was not to be.  I received a text to say said colleague is (as of this morning) the proud mum of a baby boy – so lunch is cancelled.  I can live with that – the most important thing in the world is that a new and healthy baby boy has been delivered safely into their world and his parents are quite rightly joyful.  I love it when a plan comes together.

So here I sit in all my finery the matching outfit I managed to cobble together with my mind whirring back to the day 16 years ago that I became a mum.

Like most people there is a story that goes alone with it – but that I feel is not for my blog. What I will say is that the process of giving birth made me feel as though I was superwoman with the whole power of the universe surging through me.  Giving birth gave me an insight into something immensely painful magical and I felt on top of the world because I DID IT!

My own bundle of joy - a few hours old

So today in a wee crib in the local hospital is a bairn who is lucky enough to find himself with one of the nicest people I know as his mum and do you know what – this lady was superwoman even before she gave birth.  So universe, if your listening, send some positive vibes their way.  If she’s feeling anything like I did 16 years ago then she’ll be gazing on her wee bundle of joy with no idea what superpowers she’s going to need to rise to the challenge of being the best mum she can be – but she will.

So hair (check), make-up (check), matching clothes (check) and yes I feel wonderful today – but not because I sit here looking fabulous for a change presentable – but because my friends gift of new life is a truly magical thing.

A Wee Something for the Soul

Quite a few of the blogs I read are by people who have a wonderful gift for writing – many even have the vision and determination to be writing novels.  I take my hat off to you because I don’t think this is something I could ever do.

I do love books though.  Books are precious things but I find I don’t have room for all the books I get through.  Some years ago I decided to pass them on. So, when I finish a book I write a little note in it about why I enjoyed the book and leave it for someone to find. Sometimes I leave them on benches, in supermarkets, even in public toilets.  I never know who picks them up or even if the books I leave are read by those who find them.  I like to think they do – even better to be passed on again in a similar fashion.  There are some books however I know I could never part with and will come back to again and again. One of these is Anam Cara – A Book of Celtic Wisdom written by John O’Donahue.

Anam Cara translates as soul friendship and John was certainly big on love; love of others, of self, of the landscape and even what’s unseen but ever present.  It is believed that you are joined eternally with your anam cara and your friendship crosses all boundaries and convention.  This is made possible as the Celtic understanding did not set limitations of space or time on the soul. So reading this book always causes me to reflect differently on the past, present and even the future.

A trained philosopher John died in 2008.  His family described him as ”a beautiful wild soul that he showered with love and attention” and it is this that I think he shares in Anam Cara.  So, this book may not change your life but it is gentle, whilst still finding way to be rigorous.  It’s also pretty sweet but at the same time challenging. Every time I pick it up and leaf though it I take something different from the words.

My favourite is a poem he wrote called “Beannacht”, which is the Gaelic word for blessing. He uses a wonderful phrase to end his poem; “and so may a slow wind work these words of love around you, an invisible cloak to mind your life”.

Beannacht is wonderful to read, but even more wonderful when read by the author.  Enjoy.

Blogging Marvellous

Well would you believe it today I got a lovely surprise. Robert ( The Quiet Photographer) passed on The Versatile Blogger Award to little o’l me – how lovely is that.

I also received this award a couple of months ago and although I don’t think my blog is any more versatile it is still lovely to receive an award from a fellow blogger (particularly as it comes from a blogger whose work I both admire and enjoy.)

The rules of the ‘Versatile Blogger Award’ are:-

Rule No. 1 – Thank the person who nominated you for the award

• I’m particularly thrilled to receive this award from The Quiet Photographer - who is a nomad of the image.  Robert is exploring his roots and the culture of others, transforming his visual freedom in a style where choices and aesthetics depend on the emotions to be transmitted.  So a huge thank you Robert.  I’m greatly appreciative that you chose to pass this award on to me and I will try very hard to do justice to Rule 2 and 3.

Rule No. 2 – Make a list of 7 things people may not know about you

• 1. When I was younger my passion was ballet and I was fortunate enough to be selected for an audition at the Royal Ballet School in London.
• 2. Injury put paid to the above career path – but in my head I’m still dancing.
• 3. The only reason my passion for shoes has been curtailed is that I now have pins in the joints in my foot. (ouch!)
• 4. I was once invited and attended The Queen’s Garden Party.
• 5. Next to shoes hats are my most favourite things.
• 6. My favourite flowers are tulips – I’ve always thought they die so beautifully.  They don’t frizzle up they just kinda flop over gracefully.
• 7.  I grew up, for the most part in Saudi Arabia, South Africa and Ireland – only returning to Scotland as a teenager.

Rule No. 3 – Nominate 15 blogs you think should receive the award

• In no particular order I’m thrilled to nominate the following fabulous bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award.  I should also apologies at this point for the rather long post but I wanted to give a bit of info about you all.  I’m also pleased that, having previously made 15 nominations, I’ve come up with a new 15 for this list.

Old Girl at Uni - Check out the ramblings of a mature post grad student struggling to find her way through dealings with slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

Counting Ducks - A lovely blog that deals with the normal muddle and bewilderment of passing life with an optimism not based on any facts.

Dribbling Pensioner - A recent find for me is Harry who promotes himself as ‘just another pensioner with his thoughts – if he can remember them’. This gentleman now has time on his hands to write a blog – Oh and a lovely thing about his blog is that if you comment he always answers!

Kana’s Notebook - This interesting blog is ‘Life in Kanatext, er, Context’. Kana is a writer, explorer, coffee-drinker, book-dragon……. actually Kana is many things. Check it out.

My Open Adventure - This is Aimi’s blog, a young student who writes about being a student and working towards her degree – but not in the way you would expect. If you want to find out Aimi tells it her way, through her own eyes.

Joanna Dobson - Joanna has been blogging since 2009. Through blogging she has realised that it is ok to ‘prioritise to be happy’. If her blog is about one thing it is probably the out working of that discovery.

The PhD Pimpernel - She shares her dualist world – good and evil, life and death, student and supervisor battling eternally. The Pimpernel will tell you that she wanders unsupported and unknowing however this smart lady provides valuable insight and information any student will benefit from. Her journey began almost a decade ago – so there is no shortage of insight.

Jayney Rambles - A lady that loves to write about life and all the stuff that goes with it.  I’ve had many a smile reading this blog.  Jayney always writes what’s on her mind – so yours may need to be open.  A lovely blog.

Carridwen’s Cauldron - This lady rocks! You will find an abundance of wit, wisdom, humour, nonsense, rants and raves all brewed with her special pinch of individuality.

My Creative Voice - Taking the plunge back into education this lady is determined to find a way of combining her love of writing AND get paid for it. Both her love of writing and her determination shine through in her posts.

Angry Pear - Quite simply a joy of a blog.  Yes it is actually about pears, their troubles, joys and their anger.  Angry Pear is a recurring character who is angered by everyone and everything. Created by Drew the sentiment and humour in Angry Pear is just a delight.

Doing it The Open Way - Darragh’s blog documents her journey as an Open University student.  There is some lovely randomness in her writing.

Studying Parent - In the process of working towards a PhD in English Literature this is a lady after my own heart who says up front “I don’t know where this learning journey is taking me but I know I don’t want it to stop”.

Back on My Own - Through her journey from divorce to free spirit Pat kept a journal and discovered a love of writing. I always think reading her posts is like sitting down and having a cuppa with her. Delightful, insightful and personal.

My Open Experience  - Hayley is a young student studying towards a Humanities Degree with Philosophy and Religious specialism – but not in the conventional way. If you want to know more her blog fills the holes of curiosity, oh and her photography is wonderful.

So I’m thrilled – didn’t expect an award. I’m also delighted to nominate all of you.

 I hope that you bask in your glory and go forth and nominate.

It’s too early for Christmas

Lazing about on Saturday morning (when I should have been writing an essay) I decided to tune into my new ‘kick back and smell the coffee’ strategy to life that I re-affirmed whilst I was on holiday.  So that’s what I did.  Smelling the coffee I sat myself right down in the conservatory with my husband, poured a cup and immersed myself in the newspapers.

Me and the lovely Bella pretending we're reading the newspapers

Well actually that’s not true.  I would like to say I immersed myself in the newspapers (which would have been my husbands preferred option) but I’m afraid my brain was a whirring around.

Peter likes to sit quietly with his coffee and papers in the morning, whereas I like to chat. It’s probably the one area in this life that we’re not compatible.  That said he’s coming round

Earlier that morning we had a conversation about Christmas.  Peter mentioned that he didn’t want anything for Christmas, but was keen to know what I wanted.  So yes it’s a bit early for the “C” talk. Actually I hadn’t made any plans for Christmas as in all fairness there was nothing jumping out at me that I though he might like or need.  However I was a whole different story.  When he asked me what I wanted I said ‘a bedroom’.

Now I know this might sound a little daft, but it really is what I want.  You see since Peter’s elderly mum moved in with us we converted our bedroom and dressing room so that she has a little apartment within our house.  This meant that Peter and I moved upstairs to what used to be the study (a much smaller space).  As our new bedroom is in the eaves of the house the ceiling slants down.  This means, if I want to avoid knocking myself out of a morning, I have to do this strange limbo dance when I get out of bed. Lets just say I regularly forget which results in me starting the day not in the best of moods.

Jacqueline vowed to get better at this limbo dancing lark

Our current bedroom is also very cramped and although a lovely space it affords us little privacy. So my dream is to have a bedroom, a real bedroom.

This came to my mind when we were away on holiday. I enjoyed living in our little holiday apartment  as much as I enjoyed the holiday (particularly as said apartment came with a bedroom, privacy and high ceiling).  So the notion of a bedroom sort of stayed with me.

Anyhow joy of joys Peter said he would get right on to it and it wouldn’t take him long! He even roped in his friend Mathew to help – and get this – Mathew was arriving at 10am sharp today.  Now just to put things into perspective I wasn’t expecting Peter to magic a bedroom by way of building an extension whilst I was at work or anything crazy like that. We do have one other bedroom in the house but as we need to have space for family/carers to stay then this room is required.  I should also add that it doubles as storage space as we have never quite got the ‘extra furniture’ balance right since Peter’s mum moved in.

So that’s where we stand, however therein lies the solution.  The ‘Red Room’ as it is affectionately know is a beautiful room and sits empty most of the time.  This is to become our bedroom and when family /carers come to stay then we can decant back temporarily to the study/bedroom upstairs.  I am so overjoyed I can’t tell you.  The red room has an enormous canopy above the bed and the red walls glow with a beautiful warm colour in the mornings, breaking you gently into your day.  It also has its own en-suite AND, get this, SKY TV!

So over the next wee while my lovely husband will be working on my Christmas pressie, making my wishes come true.

So yes, this has been another juggle in our life as carers.  Why has it taken us so long I hear you ask? Well that’s often the way it is for carers.  You end up sorting so many things out for others that you either run out of energy or time to sort your own stuff out.

Sometimes I find myself lying upstairs in our little bedroom/study listening to the rain battering against the skylight window and feel slightly annoyed with myself for wishing I had a bedroom. After all there are people sleeping rough in the very rain that pitter patters against my window.  So yes it is true, I am blessed to have a roof over my head, but hey a girl can dream, can’t she?

So yes, it is too early to think about Christmas – but this gal is really hoping Christmas comes early

So when our house is full of teenagers I will care not a jot.

When the cats are hunting me down for food I will remain strong…..

…….because THIS will be hanging on our bedroom door…

Useful tip for fellow bloggers – passing it on…..

I just thought I would pass on a little tip I picked up from another blogger.

Apparently it seems that folks reading your posts on their iPad (lucky things) don’t automatically see your posts as they appear on your site – instead they get the ‘mobile view’ version.  This is because WordPress has a default setting on your blog called OnSwipe – which means that readers are only treated to this ‘rather rubbish’ and limited version of your post.

It seems only right that if we put in the work to write a blog then the readers should be able to read it in all it’s glory. The good news is they can, and this can be achieved by making a wee (and very easy) change on your blog settings.

I therefore pass on the credit to Kana of Kana’s Notebook for pointing this out.  Not only am I grateful to her for highlighting this but this canny lady also provides us with straightforward instructions on how to disable these pesky mobile settings. (Just click on the Kana’s Notebook link above and it takes you straight to it).

Thank goodness Mature Student Hanging in There changed her settings - that mobile view was rubbish

Happy blogging folks.

Calling all the heroes

One of the major things that has been going on in our lives is that in September 2010 we became involved in the mother of all planning wrangles. We planned to extended home when my mother in law moved in with us – sounds simple doesn’t it. Yeh we thought so too.

The struggle that ensued with the local Council however could only be described as one hell of a mud fight and although I wanted to jump into the ring and slog it out fight our corner my husband took a different tack. Singlehandedly he unleashed staggering levels of patience, resilience, insight, diplomacy and an amazing ability to absorb planning and policy law to a degree that now perfectly explain why he spent every waking hour in front of his computer. What ensued was our cloud with silver lining.

Despite incompetent  hesitant local Council Planner and a small number of obstructive concerned ‘nimby’ neighbours and ‘co-opted hangers on’ we finally got our planning permission. We now only require a building warrant.  (Note to husband – send more positive vibes to the local Council Department).

I’ll be honest. Despite all the wranglings there was never a time when we felt like throwing in the towel. Well we couldn’t really.  We had made a commitment to care for Peter’s Mum and so lack of space dictated that we really had to fight this.  However as far as the neighbours went this didn’t seem to figure in things.  The noise from Hewlett Packard printers going full bung in our neighbourhood churning out letters of objection was quite deafening. I understand that the paper trail on our application is now so huge that the Council are currently considering building another Archive Centre in Inverness. (Good luck chaps on getting the planning permission for that one then).

Yes I guess I do sound a tad bitter – however quite a few realisations took form as we inched through this process. For one it really made me question the role of public engagement in decision making processes.  OK there were lots of public objections to our application but the system, we quickly realised, really wasn’t geared up to deal with them, or us (and clearly didn’t).  It made me question whether it banks on people being too selfish, lazy or dare I say it stupid. Had we not been driven, aware and vocal enough then shocking inaccuracies would have been accepted as fact. Certainly the system gives a nod to engagement, but when they actually have to deal with said engagement you just become one of those ‘difficult’ people they want to go away a problem. The plus side to all of this is that it really was a ‘throw in the towel’ situation or ‘be prepared to turn into a superhero’.  My husband chose the latter – I just didn’t have time to make him the costume.

I'm gonna need more than just the Superhero Gloves!

So I guess we are now at the good bit; the stage of being able to think about the creative stuff. I love the creative bit and I’m focussing on this because that way I don’t have to think about the fact that walls need to be knocked down, leaving enormous holes, and stairs etc moved. I don’t have to think about the fact that the house will be full of workmen and that my husband will probably be working such long hours that he’ll be sleeping in his hard hat. Then take into account “Project Hair” and we could be looking at significantly more grey than I’d factored in. No I will not think of the disruption of building.

What I want to think about are things like this……

Who couldn't smile sliding down these stairs of a morning!

So although work hasn’t yet started I have begun to accept that, despite all that’s going on in my life, there will be a period of disruption development. However not only will this give us more space but we will also have a home that meets the needs of all of us.

Of course the other bonus of this is that I will also have a new kitchen space. I say ‘I’ because this is generally my area in the house.  Our kitchen is lovely but small – add the whole family crammed into the kitchen – then add two cats (sounds like a recipe doesn’t it) but let me tell you if you’re the gal trying to get the cooking done it’s enough to tip you over the edge make the task a bit more complicated.

So although the future holds upheaval I’m also looking forward to it. Do you think we should invite the neighbours in to see it when it’s finished?

Mum without a manual

OK, here’s the thing, you know when you become a Mum you quickly realise that there ain’t no manual and the startling realisation hits you that you are quite simply winging it on your own. Well I’ve recently had one of those “where the hell is the manual when you need it” moments.

Be a Mum and Live to Tell the Tale

My son Spencer is 16 going on 17.  He’s a good kid (despite my lack of a manual) and although he’s had his moments, on the whole he’s not the scary unmanageable teenager parents often dread.  He studies, granted with encouragement (note the positive word I used there) he plays piano and still has music lessons, he volunteers at a local charity shop and he has a job in a cafe. He likes to cook, does his own washing and ironing and despite lengthy periods of disappearing into his room he will still come and sit with us and watch TV of an evening.  Best of all he will pop his head out of the door when I come home and give me a kiss and ask about my day.  All in all he’s showing potential of shaping up to being one of the good guys.

Anyway back to the manual bit.  Well we recently made a change in the house which means that I have given half of my study space to share it with Spencer.  The psychology behind this is that he has a place to study away from his bedroom and the usual distractions.  So far it’s working pretty well.  When we’re both there studying I notice that conversations often start and I get the…..

Mum?

Yep

What do you think about……….?

I’ll let you fill in the gaps, I’ve probably heard most of them.

Anyhow the latest ones, and my reason for writing this post, are that he wants to grow his hair AND get his ear pierced.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  All teenagers are searching for their identity, it’s normal. We all did it.  Hell I’ve been searching for my identity for years.  Oh yeah I’ve been through it all – influenced by the glossy images in magazines I’ve probably spent years trying to look like someone else and it was only in my 40′s that I gave myself permission to give up with my quest and just be me.  If the genes are anything to go by Spencer’s probably got a way to go.

OK if I’m honest I like his hair short and I would rather he didn’t pierce his ears BUT I can understand where he’s coming from.

So (minus the manual) what did I say.  Well digging deep into my heart I reminded myself that I am blessed to have a son that isn’t disappearing out of the door on a Friday evening with a crate of beer under his arm and a packet of cigarettes in his pocket.  I know that he still accepts that ‘what we say goes’ even although at times he doesn’t agree with said advice/restrictions.  Sure he might push the boundaries a little bit but wouldn’t think to just step over them with blatant disregard.  So I took a deep breath and asked him to tell me about it. Which he did.

Having heard what he had to say I told him that as he’s 16 and I don’t really feel I have a big say in what he does with his hair.  I did say that I preferred his hair short and tidy, but understand and accept that he wants to grow it. What we agreed is that if he is going to grow it then he needs to ensure that regular visits to the hairdresser keep it in check and on track. He accepted this acknowledging that he needs to be smart for work etc.

Now the ear-piercing.  Well in reality there are things that he’s lets slip of late (and he agreed with this). Having a piercing means that you have to take care of it otherwise you’re dealing with nasty infections.  What we agreed is that if he can show the commitment to get some of the things he’s lets slip back on track then we can talk about getting a piercing.

So folks that’s where we got to without a manual.  I know having your ear pierced isn’t a bit deal – or is it?  I think society has moved on a bit and having your ear pierced isn’t viewed as negatively as it used to be (although not by everyone).  The bottom line that I’m hanging on to is that at least with a piercing you can take it out if the occasion calls for it.

So I admit to feeling like I was floundering in the dark a bit.  Am I being too strict, am I not being strict enough?  Hell I don’t know.

If anyone out there has THE manual – could you look it up for me and get back to me on this one.

The Bogie Man

Today is the anniversary of the death of my much-loved cat Bogart (or Bogie Man as I called him) an enormous black cat that adored me as much as I adored him.

Bogie came into my life when I was 18 and shared a flat with my sister in Glasgow. Along with his sister (a wee black kitten name Garbo, on account of the fact that she wasn’t much into the affection malarky and looked at you with eyes that said, “I want to be alone”) they were the first pets that were truly ours – not just family pets.

The Bogie Man had some strange characteristics, one of them was that he was a wonderful thief. He had a penchant for jewellery and if ever you lost an earring or a necklace you would always find it tucked into the folds in his bed.

One night however his thieving ways almost killed him.  In the dark of night he managed to get into the kitchen cupboard and found a half full can of cat food.  Unable to resist he munched his way through the contents only to find that his head was stuck.  I awoke to bashing and crashing in the hallway outside my bedroom door and rushed to investigate. My sleepy eyes had trouble making out the sight.  There was the Bogie Man with a can of cat food rammed hard on his head crashing and bouncing off the walls.

Panic ensued as it became clear that the can was wedged hard and, with the vacuum that had been created, he couldn’t breathe.  Grabbing the now frantically flailing around cat, with all his claws fully extended, he ripped me to bits as I eventually pulled off the can with a loud gloopy pop.  He breathed heavily and shook his head as he regained full consciousness on the floor beside his shaking and bloody owner.

I would love to say that he never stole again, but he did.  From that day however he loved me unconditionally with a passion that was quite staggering.

The Bogie Man lived to the ripe old age of 18 ending his life with Feline AIDS (which the vet suggested he would hush up as I was by then working with an organisation supporting people with HIV – clearly the educational info on HIV transmission was lost on said vet).

Sadly todays blog has no photographs of my Bogie Man.  These were casualties of my divorce (don’t ask!).  I remember him fondly though and although I now live with two beautiful and crazy cats who have bags of charisma and I love dearly my Bogie Man will always have a wee special place in my heart.

So of all the gin joints in all the towns I’m glad that he walked into mine.  Here’s looking at you, kid!  I wish I still could.

**********************

7.49 pm – Just thought I would add this…..I realised when I got home tonight that I may not have photographs of The Bogie Man but I do have a small pastel done by my ex-husband of me and my Bogie Man.  Thought I would share it.

 

9 things I love about ‘NOW’

In the short time since I started blogging I’ve been fortunate enough to link up with some pretty amazing people and I really enjoy reading what they choose to share.  Spurred on by a recent challenge many of them have recently taken on I’ve decided, having read Caroline’s recent contribution, to pick up the baton and write about 9 things I love about now.  I do this for one main reason – it is such a positive thing to stop and take time to remind yourself of the good things in your life, in your now.

When I sat down to write this I wondered what on earth my brain would come up with. I cherish much in my life – so what would my brain throw up for this post.

Firstly I thought about those I love.  I don’t have a wide circle in my life of family or friends, preferring to keep things tight, simple and special.  These special folk know who they are and how much I love them and I in turn I know they love me – so I won’t go down too personal a route.  So here goes, in no particular order this is what came up….

No. 1 – Little Old Me

It’s true I love that I’m happy and confident in my own skin.

I accept who I am, I know my faults and foibles and I also know that I have great strengths. Put them all into the mixing pot and they are what makes me ME and I kinda like that.

Sure I know that there is always room for improvement but in an uncharacteristically (and very un-Scottish) way – I can honestly say that like the person I am.

Things that make me ME - my much loved Dr Martens

No.2 – Study

I love that I have found the confidence to study and I’m a better kinda me as a result of it.

No. 3 – Being a Mum

I love being a Mum.  My son is 16, and although being his mum is not without it’s challenges, one day I hope he will realise that he has shaped me as much as I hope I’m shaping him.

No. 4 – Writing

I’ve discovered through this wee blog that I love to write and I get a real do get such a kick out of the fact that folk like you take the time to read it.  I feel good about being brave enough to start this and can proudly say I’ve come to really love my wee blog.

No. 5 – Our Home

Duart Lodge is my most favourite place in the whole world.  A good while before I married Peter I was a single parent struggling to pick up life post (messy) divorce.  I lived in a lovely (but freezing) remote cottage at the top of a hill.  Since moving into Duart Lodge the place has seen a good few changes (and there will be more to come) but it’s now my home.  I share it with Peter, Spencer (my son) and Sylvia (my 94 year old mother in law).  There is also Bella and Tam our cats AND would you believe, despite living right in the centre of Inverness we have deer that visit for food morning and night.  One special one, aptly named Bambi, is a regular (and she has been visiting for about 10 years).

"Never mind standing there admiring me, where are my apples?"

She waits patiently in the garden for you to throw her apples (which MUST be braeburns) – she doesn’t even mind if you’re in the garden with her.  I will never tire of looking out the window in the morning and seeing her looking up and licking her lips.

No. 6  - Chocolate

What more can I say.....

No. 7 – Cooking

Cooking is my destresser and I love to cook.  My family will tell you that if I’ve had a bad day dinner will always come with a white sauce.  The way I see it if I’ve had a day of things not kind of working out when you put the ingredients into the pan, you stir and it thickens – every time!  There is something wonderfully predictable and comforting in that.

If you’re looking for real comfort then look no further than Scotch Pancakes…… Put 4oz of self raising flour in a bowl, add an egg, a pinch of salt and enough milk to make it thick and gloopy.  Using a ladle (the mixture should be thick enough that it doesn’t run off the ladle but instead kinda falls gently and apologetically off slowly) dollop out pancake size amounts into a hot pan.  Watch for the bubbles and then turn them over.

A perfect bundle of pancakes in 5 minutes tops - enjoy.

No. 8 – Humour

Show me someone who doesn’t like to laugh and I’ll show you someone who doesn’t know how to live.  Humour underpins my life. It serves to keep me sane and to keep those around me laughing (so they don’t actually notice how insane I actually am).

No. 9 – My Biggest Supporter

Although I didn’t intend to single out any one person I know that I couldn’t end this wee post without a nod to my biggest fan in this life.  My man has been my biggest supporter and he is solely responsible for encouraging me to take the plunge into study.  He has also given up bachelorhood to share his home and his life with a crazy woman, her son (who is now his step-son) and two pretty unusual and equally crazy cats.  I have not only transformed his home, but also his life – and not always for the better – yet he doesn’t complain.  He reads my blogs everyday and never comments – maybe today he will – what do you think?

Peter the Invincible

So what are you’re 9 things you love now?

Even if you never share your list it’s an exercise that makes you appreciate what you’ve got. There is also the distinct possibility that in getting to No.9 your realise there are actually many more people, experiences, food, wickedly joyous things you can’t divulge, things you could add to your ‘things I love list’.

Go on I dare you to give it a go.

Study Jitters

It’s really not unusual when starting the next phase of study to have the jitters.  Surprisingly mine have lasted a little longer than I had expected and worryingly have got in the way of me truly getting started in any real productive sense.

No caption required!

On Saturday however, with encouragement and help with my travel plans (which I’m hopeless with) from my husband, I boarded the 6.45am train from Inverness to Glasgow to attend a lecture/tutorial in Caledonian University.  Yes, little old me attending a lecture in a real university. I hoped the experience would steady my nerves and spur me on.

I checked the room we were working in and as I got in the lift to take me to the 4th floor I could feel butterflies in my stomach.  By the time I was standing at the classroom door with my hand on the door knob my stomach was lurching uncomfortably.  I turned the handle and walked in.  That’s when it all changed…….

The tutor was friendly and welcoming and it turned out that there would only be a small group of us working through our anxieties attending the tutorial.  There were polite ‘hellos’ and amazement from the other local students that I had made such a long journey (4 hours) down (and would make the same one back that evening).

By the time we had our first comfort break things had began to feel, well comfortable actually.  I was not alone in my anxieties I learnt from the other students and many are juggling just as much as me.  The common denominator is that we were all in search of the same holy grail – a BA/BSc (Honours) Health and Social Care.

With the tutorial under my belt I had faced my anxieties, gathered a huge amount of relevant information which would allow me to get the first essay under my belt AND importantly I had linked up with some valuable study buddies.

Feeling light of heart and with a spring in my step I left the tutorial to head back to the train station.  As I got close to the station a young man dressed in only a Darth Vader mask and his underpants skateboarded past me.  Nobody else seemed to bat an eye but I smiled so much I even forgot to try to take a photograph.

As I sat on the train Mr Darth Vader Skateboarder Man served to remind me that we’re all different and we need to believe enough in ourselves if we are truly going to follow our passions.  I thought to myself how blessed I was that the trip had reignited my passion for study and fortunate that my passion wasn’t in fact skateboarding in my underwear.  Study for me is infinitely more do-able!

'With our combined strength we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy (Darth Vader)

So today, as I open my books to get cracking, thanks to the tutorial and Mr Darth Vader Skateboarding Man I truly do feel that ‘The Force is With Me”

Please don’t ignore me, I’m standing right in front of you

I decided to walk to work today, not as part of my keeping fit regime but more for my ‘trying to reduce the stress in my life’ regime.  But more about that later…..

It was a beautiful mild November morning and I felt quite content kicking up the leaves as I walked along the banks of the River Ness.

This morning

I enjoy walking to work and am frequently reminded of what a beautiful part of the world I am fortunate enough to live in.  As I walked I passed the odd jogger, people also walking to work, mothers pushing prams and people walking dogs.  Manners and the fact that I’m a nice kinda person dictates that I always smile and say hello to people.  It never ceases to amaze me how many people neither react to or return the gesture. A simple smile or a hello is all that is required.  Of course some people do – even stopping to talk about the weather or let me clap their dog.  It’s nice to be nice I feel, but clearly some people just want to exist in their own little world and don’t want to be disturbed by my wee hello and smile – instead choosing to pretend that the smiling woman is not actually there – so they walk past looking at the ground.

Their attitude of ignoring me, pretending I’m not there took me back to last night – and the reason for my stress free walk to work this morning.

Last night I was late leaving work – I had some trouble winding up a meeting with a client who was not responding to my our meeting is now over signals, instead choosing to continue to go over stuff that we had already covered.  I understood this, he was stressed and worried and his problems could not be resolved quickly or in one meeting.  However we had spent some considerable time together and I had identified and agreed a strategy to sort things out.  It was the end of the day and I needed to get home.

Eventually I closed up the meeting, jumped into my car and in response to a text from my husband I stopped at the supermarket to buy something for dinner and pick up other bits and pieces.  That done I headed home.  Now Inverness might be a city but it’s not a huge place and although traffic was busy I don’t think anyone from a real city would consider it to be rush hour traffic in the sense that they are used to.  I waited in the queue of traffic to get on to the roundabout and noticed a police car parked up beside the roundabout.  I smugly patted myself on the back for remembering to display my new car tax disc on my windscreen – confident in the fact that they couldn’t pull me over for being in breach of road tax regulations.  It was my turn and off I went onto the roundabout.  Then NOTHING – my car died right in the middle of the roundabout.

Despite panic setting in I managed to turn on my hazard lights while people tooted and shouted at me.  I would like to tell you that I looked like a damsel in distress however the fact is that I looked like a crazy lady with a car full of shopping and eyes resembling a rabbit caught in the headlights.

HEEELLLLLP ME!!!!!!

By this stage cars were now dangerously trying to drive around me and there was no way my car was starting.  It felt like an eternity when I noticed a high viz jacket coming towards me. It was a trucker who had spotted my panic and parked up just off the roundabout.  The policewoman who had been sitting in the police car close by arrived and between them they pushed me off the roundabout and I parked up behind the truck.

I explained that my battery light had come on just as I pulled on to the roundabout so the policewoman said she would head back to base and get a battery charger.  The trucker, who I discovered was called Joe kindly offered to stick around – and so we waited.

Whilst we waited for the police to return we chatted and I discovered that Joe also hailed from Glasgow.  Not only that our grandparent lived in the same block of flats – Pinkston Drive – on the same floor!  Joe was just finishing his shift when he stopped to help but assured me that his wife and daughter would not be home until later – so he wasn’t missing anything important like his dinner.  The fact that I was safe and things were being sorted also meant that I didn’t have to call my husband – who I know would have rescued me – but that would have complicated things even more.  It’s not easy for carers just to drop stuff at home and come a running.

It was nice of Elvis to stop by and give us a tune, but in reality he really wasn't helping

Eventually the policewoman returned, my car sprung into life and there was relief all round, lots of thank-you’s from me and then I was off home.

In reality it all happened in a bit of a flash but as I drove home I could feel my legs shaking and my heart pounding.  So yes Inverness experienced a huge traffic jam last night with our rush hour traffic resembled rush hour in London – all down to little old me.  So if you were one of the people who were late home for your dinner last night I apologise and promise not to do it again.

So what’s the moral of this story – well like the people who choose to ignore me and not to smile and say hello as I walk to work they would probably also be the people who would toot at a crazy broken down woman and shout as they drove past.  However there are people who smile, say hello.

So yes, it’s nice to be nice, but sometimes when people find themselves in a bit of a rut it’s more than just nice, it’s a lifesaver.

So thank you Universe for the people who smile and say hello (and stop to help if you break down) – because it really does make all the difference in the world.  Well, it did to me.

But I don’t like Melton Mowbray pies!

Scots all over the world today woke up to the news that ‘we need to be eating like the English“.  First off I must stress that I am in no way, shape or form anti-English, but us Scots are a pretty patriotic lot and like it or not I acknowledge that there still a divide between Scotland and England.  You only have to look to the future and our Scottish Government’s proposals for independence.  It’s a kind of touchy subject.  I question this message’s place and effectiveness in promoting health.

In my past my work background was firmly rooted in health promotion, I am also studying in the areas of public health and social care at the moment but it is my Scottishness that was piqued by this message.

Health promotion messages are powerful things but it’s a fine line. I understand that people may feel that they are being blamed for their poor health.  Many health promotion messages impact on people by making them feel even more isolated and bad about their choices and place the blame on lifestyle instead of evoking the proactive positive change response they intend.  Lets be honest, change can difficult for us all, any change, and for us to initiate change we need to feel empowered to do so. So is the message to Scots to ‘eat like the English’ really the way I to go about it?

Lets be honest though the state of play in Scotland is that death rates from heart disease and cancer are higher than in England.  Diet is an important factor that cannot be ignored if we are to address these scary statistics.  Last year researchers figured that more than 30,000 lives per year could be saved if everyone in the UK stuck to the dietary guidelines on fat, salt, fibre and fruit and veg.  Experts from the Department of Public Health at the University of Oxford have, quite rightly, turned their attention to the difference in eating habits in the UK.

So how will this message be received in Scotland?  Well listening to a debate on Radio Scotland this morning the presenter (unhelpfully) joked that a balanced diet in Scotland is a pie in each hand.  Funny, but not really helpful (although I also have to accept that there is a bit of truth in this).

OK I’m Scottish and I think that there are lots of ‘healthy’ Scottish food out there.  I do eat haggis, neeps and tat ties – and not just on Burns Night.  I love Scotch Broth and oat cakes.  I love to cook and so I know what is going into my pot of Scotch Broth – unlike eating it out a tin which is probably higher in salt content than I would dare (or want to) include in my homemade version.

We all hear the jokes about chip shops making deep-fried Mars Bars in Glasgow – I’ve seen this, it’s not made up, people actually do eat this stuff.

Yep it's true - and comes with chips and an average calorie content of 400++++ !!!!!

I think part of all of this is education, but it really is on part of the solution.  There are a high number of people living on very low incomes.  It’s all fine and well telling them to eat more fruit and veg but if you’re trying to do this on a budget and only have access to a poor selection at a local overpriced shop I can understand why people give up when their kids turn their nose up at the stuff.  It might not be right but it’s real.  How does the message to ‘eat like the English’ help a young mum faced with this type of scenario day in day out?

On the flip side does this send a mixed message to the people in England (who think it’s OK to have chips for lunch and take-away for dinner) that their diet is OK?  Simplistic I know, forgive me, it is not my intention to over simplify what is a complicated situation – however I do believe you kinda have to look at it from this stance too.

This health promotion message is clearly accurate, sadly I just don’t think it’s really helpful. I don’t believe it’s going to dramatically change the eating habits of people in Glasgow East who are living in poverty and have a life expectancy lower than the Gaza Strip (sadly THIS statistic is true).

I know what I need to do to improve my diet – sure my diet is OK but there is always room for improvement, right?.  Importantly I know how to cook smart in order to make meals healthier.  You can make healthier fish and chips for example, you don’t have to stick to the traditional version sold in paper so that it soaks up the grease.

Small steps - healthier fish and chips

So it’s not always about foregoing things you love, it’s just about doing things a wee bit differently.  As I say I know how to cook and arguably I can afford to buy healthier food. Many folks aren’t able to and if no one has taught you to cook smart then the reality is that you don’t.

There is no sweeping solution to this problem and it’s not going to change overnight but as a nation we ignore the impact of inequality at our peril.

Like many Scots I will be interested in our Scottish Government’s response to the instruction for us to ‘Eat Like the English’ – not in terms of how they as a Government feel about this instruction but how they, in their position of some significant power, are going to address the deep rooted social problems that contribute negatively to the health of our nation.

Lest we forget health is a devolved issue in Scotland – so come on Mr Salmond how are you going to help us all to eat more like the English?

So I’ve had my rant, and although this is an issue for Scotland we are all targeted by health promotion messages.  So what do you think – do they work?

Can health promotion campaigns help us change our choices and behaviour?

What’s the best/worst health promotion campaign/message you’ve come across?

I should say I published this blog and was shamed prompted to come back and post these two photographs taken by my husband on our recently holiday.  Healthy eating – NOT

Yes burgers were also involved

Holidays don’t count though – do they?

It all started with an essay that’s due….

Languishing in a hot bath last night surrounded by the heady smell of lavender I confess to being in heaven.  We have a HUGE old bath – one of those ones on legs that I think must have been designed to accommodate an elephant.  You have to climb into it and when I lie down my feet don’t touch the end.  I just float about in steamy lavender bliss.

My favourite room

As I lay there  I felt the trials and tribulations of the day the day disappear – except that is for my studies.  Gearing up to writing my first essay for my next Open University (OU) course I could feel the tell-tale signs of it beginning to form in my head.

I’ve learnt that when I study I don’t just do it in front of the books or the laptop.  It kind of whirs around in my head forming all sorts of pictures and making all sorts of connections. On one hand it’s very comforting to know that my brain is actually processing what I’m reading.  Worryingly I haven’t yet discovered successfully how to switch this off!

Dunking my head under the hot water my Public Health reading stubbornly refused to dissipate so I just had to give in to it and let my thoughts about what I’ve been reading recently take whatever shape they felt necessary.

For some reason I recalled my mum talking about growing up in Glasgow after the war.  She lived with my grandmother and grandfather and her brother in a small tenement, which was effectively a room and kitchen.  It had no bathroom.

Back in those days to have a bath you actually had to go to the public baths.  It was a weekly outing for families and in addition to being able to have a bath or a shower (or sprays as they were known in Glasgow) you swim in a pool.

I remember swimming pools just like this when I was wee

These big old public baths with their swimming pool and baths/showers they also had what was affectionately known as ‘steamies’ where people could do their laundry. As people by and large didn’t have such amenities in their home by 1915 public baths and wash-houses could be found in nearly every British town.

The introduction of these public amenities provides a useful way of understanding the changing priorities of public health professionals of the time and also the changing attitudes of the working class.  The connection between personal cleanliness and disease had evolved and these wash-houses were I guess a response influenced by the sanitary reform campaign.

It was the Steamies (laundry) at these public baths that intrigued me and one that I used to ask my grandmother and mum to tell me stories about.  Laundry was ‘women’s work’ and so Steamies were places where women gathered.

Back in the day - a typical Glasgow steamie

So in line with public health priorities the demand for laundry grew out of the awareness of the link between dirt and disease.  Clean clothes were a sign of social superiority.  The women would gather at the steamie to do the washing (and also ‘take in’ washing for more affluent households to earn a bit of money) while the husbands and the kids went swimming and to the baths. (That’s why people of a certain age from Glasgow still say ‘I’m going to the baths’ when they go swimming).

Steamies were important places and despite the fact that it was clearly hard work my grandmother loved the steamie.  You see your friends were there – this is where you talked to you pals.  After all, in trying to cope with your lot in life, it was your pals that stuck with you and got you through it – and that was her experience.

So for all this being a focus on public health for my grandmother and her pals it was a necessary part of life.  The kids, husband and the clothes got clean and women benefitted from spending time with their pals – all women coping with the same things.

There have been plays and books written about this and with my mind drawn to the public health side of it I can’t help wondering whether communities gained a lot more than just better health as a result of the public baths.

I have no desire to return to this era but it just shows you how much community and health has changed and what influences us today.

I can stick the washing machine on while I’m running a bath.  I don’t have to buy a ticket and leave my clothes in a cubicle and I don’t have a limited period of time to enjoy the hot water.  I also have a little hand sanitizer bottle in the bottom of my handbag – changed days eh!

So all that started for me with a hot bath, an abundance of public health reading material and some memories.  Who said study wasn’t fun

So the in-between bit commences

Well my ‘should I just go grey post‘ prompted lots of lovely and funny comments.  It seems many of us have quite strong feelings about our grey hair.  I do too, but that aside I can say with some confidence (and a little bit of trepidation) that I’ve decided to bin the hair dye and, well, just go for it actually.  No more hair dying for me.

STEP AWAY FROM THE HAIR DYE!!!!!

I have to say that thankfully I’m not doing this alone.  Wonderfully my post prompted a lovely lady whose blog I follow (Cerridwen’s Cauldron where she has been offering her wit, wisdom, humour, nonsense, rants and raves all brewed with a pinch of individuality since 2009) to offer to become my hair buddy.  We are going to attempt to get to the root of our hair issues.

Actually it’s not really a fair match. My hair buddy is growing her locks in following chemotherapy and has firmly set her sights on ensuring that her hair reaches her tailbone.  I on the other hand am neither dealing with such stressful circumstances nor have I set myself such a high benchmark. However I am hugely grateful for her offer of support.

So I thought it only fair to update you on my ponderings following your comments, guidance and hilarity following my suggestion.  I fully support and understand those of you who were honest enough to say that a ‘grey period’ would be your worst nightmare.  Likewise I celebrate those of you who have taken the plunge, love it and even get compliments on your dye free locks.

So this gal is going for it.  I can’t say it is going to be easy,  but it will certainly be interesting. Growing out any style, or even just growing your hair, is a bit of a challenge.

Whose Idea was this exactly?

There will be days when I will be so fed up that I will want to give in, book a hair appointment and hope that my hairdresser can wave a magic wand.  In theory during this ‘in between bit’ I may also look a bit strange – I have no way of knowing.

What I do know is that I’m up for this.  I also think steering clear of the nasty chemicals is no bad thing.  But that’s not why I’m doing it.  I curious to see what the real me looks like.

For those who may be interested I’ll keep you posted on how I’m getting on with “Project Grey” meantime this gal is heading out now to buy some hats!

Scots the hail year roond

I’m pretty proud of my Scottish roots and in particular the fact that I’m a Glasgow lass.  The fact that I now live in the Scottish Highands means that I live with a different kind of Scottishness in particular the Invernesian traits.  As they say however you can take the girl out of Glasgow but you can’t take Glasgow out of the girl.  I still live my life very influenced by my Glasgow roots and hang on to my Glasgow accent with pride.

My Scottishness, I’ve noticed, seems to come to the fore at certain times of the year, particularly today, Halloween.  Now I’m not knocking any of the American traditions but I’ve noticed over the years that the Scottishness of Halloween is all but disappearing.  In my day we didn’t do ‘Trick or Treat’ mainly because most of our neighbours would have kicked our preverbal backsides if we’d tried any of the trick stuff on them.  In Scotland we went guisin (which is Scottish for dressing up).  There was never a shop bought costume in sight – most people (including the boys) raided their grannies wardrobes and went guisin as old women – quite a site.

Ready for their Halloween you would never guess that these guisers were only 9 years old!

Of course the important aspect of guisin was that it wasn’t enough just to dress up, you had to earn your treat by performing a song, reciting a poem or telling a joke.  This, I recall, was taken very seriously because if you were rubbish then ultimately so was your treat (yes I know we’re a tough race!).

I have fond memories of going guisin with my friends all looking like versions of our grandmothers carrying huge shopping bags we hoped to be fill as we wandered round from house to house.  Of course in those days the kids were free to wander without a responsible adult in sight – changed days eh!

It wasn’t just the kids who took it seriously.  It wasn’t uncommon to be invited into a house to ‘dook for apples’ (which translates as ducking for apples) – this meant leaning over a bowl of water and with your hands behind your back trying to pick one of the apples up with your teeth.  You would then move on to the ‘treacle scone’ (which was my favourite).  A scone would be smeared with copious amounts of black treacle and hung from the ceiling – with your hands behind your back you had to try to get a bite of the swinging treacle scone. It was not uncommon to find yourself soaking wet and with treacle all over your face and hair.  Of course the adult me has the utmost admiration for these households who didn’t seem to mind the water and treacle we left adorning the carpet when we left.

Folks would fill our bags with sweets, fruit and of course the proverbial monkey nuts (which none of us seemed to have terrible allergies to) but the best was money. People would put money in our bags and so at the end of our exploits we would have plenty of sweets to eat and money to buy even more to rot our teeth!

As for pumpkins I don’t think I actually saw one until I was an adult.  Our lanterns were carved out of keeps (turnips) – very Scottish!

So I guess my plea is to keep things ‘Scots the hail year roond’ and by keeping things Scots the whole year round we can hang on to our traditions.

So in our house there will be ‘Trick or Treat’ but the ‘trick’ will be that guisers will experience a Scottish Halloween with all the treats that has to offer.

Happy Guisin folks!

Me and my son Spencer getting ready for a Scottish Halloween

What traditions do you try to hold on to?

Is grey the new black?

I’ve been a thinking (see that’s what holidays do for you) and it’s been on my mind for a couple of weeks now – my grey hair.

Now I’m not really the sort of gal who gets too hung up on my appearance, I’m pretty happy with my lot but I am aware that time is slowly changing me and I’m not too sure how I feel about all of that.  Importantly how I really want to handle it.

This year saw me turning 45 I also became a member of the bifocal group so now I wear my specs all the time – and I freely admit that I’m hopeless without them.  A couple of months ago (when I was up to my eyes and studying and feeling pretty jaded) I wrote a post about my grey hair (which I freely admit was definitely out of control).  Fed up with the thought of having to take out a second mortgage to meet the hairdresser’s bill I took the plunge and did it myself.  The results were OK, but what a blooming faff!

So I’ve been kinda pondering the idea of just being the colour I am – the real 45 year old me!

As I’ve been colouring my hair for as long as I can remember I really have no idea how much grey is there, but IT is definitely there.

Yellow is NOT a good colour for redheads

When I was younger I was a typical Scottish red haired girl with freckles – the freckles have remained but years of living abroad when I was growing up gradually lightened the colour.

It's official, Madonna ruined my hair

Then came the obligatory excursion into teenage dying crazes. However my years of being brave on the colour front are long since behind me. Frankly I don’t know if I want to carry on dying my hair.  The dilemma is will I be brave enough to just be the colour I am and can I stick with it to grow out the current colour?

So folks I’m sort of thinking that ‘my grey period‘ may be my next experiment.  Of course it would be great if I could just wave a magic wand and wake up grey and looking fabulous but what if what’s really under the current ‘fake’ colour of mine looks more like the mismatched colour you often see in the animal shelters being sported by loveable but kinda strange little dogs looking for a home?

The alternative of course is to keep colouring it and admit the fact that doing a ‘home job’ is probably not saving much money due to having to practically redecorate the bathroom every time.  So that folks is my dilemma.

Its easy Ladies, all you have to do is decide what colour you want to be, follow the 101 easy steps and voila neither your hair or your bathroom will ever be the same again.

Sure on the scheme of it this is hardly one of life’s BIG problems to ponder but it’s still a bit of a milestone in life – well it sort of is for this gal.

So if it’s true that every grey hair tells a story then I kinda want to know what story mine will tell.  Sometimes it’s good to sit down and write a list of pros and cons – it really only comes down to two things.

The pros – I figure are looking like this…

Now THIS I could live with

However the reality could also be something along these lines……

The Cons –  what if in reality I look like this- a patchy grey person?

Cute on a dog, but on a middle aged Scottish person I'm not so sure

So, have you taken the plunge?

Are you thinking about it?

Are you a ‘No Way Jose I’m Keeping My Colour’ person?

I guess it’s not something I have to do right now, but I am thinking about it.

All ‘encouragement’ / ‘don’t do it warnings’ welcome.

Telling stories in your head

Well my studies with the Open University (OU) commenced a couple of weeks ago however despite the good intentions there was no ‘commencing’ on my part – deciding instead to go on holiday and completely ignore the books.  I refuse to be stressed about it and will just apply myself to catching up.

I might look stressed, but I refuse to actually be stressed!

Part of the reason I’m not too stressed about my current study predicament is that over the summer, while I was waiting to get back to full on study, with a nudge from my husband I took a creative writing class.  Never done anything like that before and despite my anxiety I continued to turn up every Thursday and spend two hours feeling panic that I have nothing to write and surprising myself with what popped into my head.  Plus, to top it all, despite life being incredibly busy I even managed to turn up with my homework done each week(here’s hoping I can keep up this track record with the OU). This class enlightened me somewhat and I discovered that the process of writing, whatever I write, was a positive experience.  It has kept me focussed and instilled a discipline that I would have long since lost over the study free summer months.

One of the tasks our happy wee glass were given one week were two photographs, with no other instructions other than to write whatever these images prompted in our head. I was pleasantly surprised to find that this didn’t present itself  as a difficult task for me.  I’ve discovered that images are clearly something that click with me.  Of course I should have learned this as, when it comes to study, mind maps have come to be my thing.  I can store oodles of these in my head – far more than if I read over pages of notes.

Our wee creative writing class was by all accounts a fairly odd group (meant in the nicest possible way of course).  I was staggered, although I clearly shouldn’t have been, to discover how differently we all see and translate the world into our writing.  There was certainly no shortage of emotion shared and this was clearly a mark of how we gelled as a group. There was also much humour – even in the pieces that people wrote about the tough stuff in life.

And we all have interesting stories, don't we.....

Humour is really important to me.  My son and I share the same kind of humour.  I don’t know what label I would put on it, but my husband will frequently shake his head at our antics and banter (although I will confess to see his mouth turning up at the corners – so I think we’re winning him over).

Glasgow humour, you've just got to love it.

Anyhow these images and what they prompt within us brought to mind a photograph I took recently in Paris on a visit to the Pere Lachaise cemetery.  OK not a cheery place to visit, but I’d always wanted to go – so thats we did.

Now I wouldn’t call myself a photographer, but images stand out for me – this one particularly.

Pere Lachaise - July 2011

I think this is probably the saddest photograph I’ve ever seen.  I think one day maybe I’ll write about it.

I was just wondering though, what images speak to you and why?

A skip in my step…..

Our recent holiday is not yet a distant memory.  It was quite simply the best holiday I have ever had and I said as much to my husband.  It was the best holiday I have ever had I think because it was so badly needed.

A significant portion of our lives are allocated to our responsibilities as carers – we do this lovingly and willingly and I’m not blowing our own trumpet in saying that we are, like many other carers, a hidden workforce.  This hidden workforce provides care that is estimated as being valued at £119 billion per year – pretty staggering isn’t it.  As a carer if you are lucky enough to qualify for carers allowance this works out at 35p per hour – that’s a pretty staggering figure too – how many people do you know who would feel valued at being paid 35p per hour?

Importantly carers aren’t just people fulfilling a really necessary role they are individuals with the same hopes and dreams everybody has.  I think that if the government really want to help carers then they have to take account of the fact that they need to be asking not just how they can support people as carers but what can be done to support them as individuals whose choices are limited by their caring role.

So yes our holiday was vitally important and as respite services are severely limited for older adults our holiday was made possible by the help and support of two special ladies – Janette and Aileen.

Our Respite Angels

My sisters in law took it in turns to come and stay, ensuring that there mum got the care and support she needed and that we got a holiday.  Without their support it quite simply would not have been possible.   Thank you ladies.

The dictionary tells me that ‘respite’ is a short period of rest or relief and I can’t tell you how necessary that is.  We all need respite from the stuff of life but I’ve never valued this more than when I became a carer – and that folks is probably why this was the best holiday I have ever had.

So thanks to our two ‘Respite Angels’ my husband and I got the holiday that we needed, we chilled and spent two weeks just doing what we wanted.  Once again we had the joy of spontaneity in our days (something that doesn’t exist in the world of a carer) and we savoured every signal second of our break.

So our holiday hasn’t just given us happy memories of sunshine, it has also given us the physical and mental boost we need. We are back into our lives with a bit of a skip in our step. Now all I have to do is figure out how I can ensure that we keep skipping – any ideas?

 

 

What’s the time – what’s the time zone?

My alarm rang at 6.30am this morning catapulting me back into my life.

Spotted on a wall in a shopping mall in Florida

It seems my planning for my return was firmly routed in ‘the previous me’ – I arrived home last night (long haul flight) with the intention of starting work this morning.  I lay in bed feeling exhausted and jet lagged and feeling mad with myself for not giving myself the option of easing myself gently back into work.

My holiday was much needed.  I realised when I was away how stressed and tired I have been (for a long time) and made a mental note that things need to change or I will become ill.

Good advice eh!

As I’ve said before I’m a doer.  My life with work, studying, family and caring is all encompassing but even I had to admit while I was away that the realisation had hit me that the juggle wasn’t really working.  Dilemma, what to do?

Well I’ve thought long and hard about this because in all reality my responsibilities have not changed.  What I realised is that what needs to change is me.  So I’m trying.

On holiday I fully planned to get some studying done – in reality I didn’t open a book.  What was even more surprising is that I feel no stress in this at all.  Having a break from studying, despite the fact that my course has started was more important.  Therein lies the answer. You see if I am truly going to be able to keep my head above water then I know that I need to have some time off to catch my breath and so that is exactly what I am going to do.

I am going to be the kind of gal who schedules time out to not just smell the coffee, but to drink it too (sitting on the couch with my feet up eating cake with my husband).  I’m going to access the opportunity to delegate some of my work, because in reality there are things that can be taken forward by others.

Mr & Mrs MacLean cakes!

My son is always asking if he can cook dinner. I’m going to let him instead of forging ahead and doing it myself because I feel I have to.  I don’t feel I have to anymore and he loves to cook.

I am not going to break my back getting things done perfectly when good enough is OK too. Clearly there are things I need to strive to achieve, and I will, but I am going to enjoy a much more balanced process rather than just the achievements.

Standing on the beach in Miami looking with the warm water lapping at my feet and the salty wind in my face felt wonderful.  When I feel stressed I’m going to close my eyes and remember that wonderful feeling – then, when I open my eyes I’m going to take a deep breath and tackle the day differently.  Sound like a plan!

Me on Monday Morning - It may feel like a lifetime ago, but this feeling will stay with me - I hope!

So if any of you out there have any suggestions for this gal then I would be grateful for any tips to make me and my crazy life less crazy.

I’m really here now…..

Ok I’ve really settled into this holiday thing now but it has taken a while.  This is the first morning that I haven’t been up tip-toeing around at 5am – I’m very pleased to be typing this at a very respectable 6.46am.

Isn’t it a strange thing though.  I’ve been so looking forward to this holiday, yet now that it’s here I’ve found it harder than usual to fall out of my life and into my holiday.  OK the Open University stuff needs to be tended to as I meander through my days, but that isn’t such a big chore.  Of a day the only real decisions I have to make are things like – do I want a cake with my coffee.

It's tough but someone's got to do it

Being on holiday has taught me that of late I’ve been more tired than I thought I was and more stressed that I would like to be – so that’s something I definitely need to keep an eye on. Yet I have no cunning plan that will drastically transform my life into an image of organisation.  I will not return home to less on my ‘to do’ list.  However I will return home a person who has had a right good rest – I can feel my batteries charging already.

Oh I so know this feeling

Last night we had dinner with friends – who in the real world live only 15 mins from our house, yet in order for us to have the time and the space to have dinner together we have travelled half way around the world.

Both Peter and I are adamant that we need to tweak our life.  We’ve come quite far down the road of being carers and we’ve learned stuff along the way.  However, we’ve also done what most other carers who are juggling stuff do – you put it on the back burner because don’t actually have the time or the energy to lever  any changes into your routine.

Being on holiday has made me think differently.  Life, as carers certainly, has been bit like running a long distance race. We started off not knowing whether we could actually do it – after a while we got into a rhythm, breathing regulated and, like a runner you just keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Eventually you get to a stage where your body is keeping going but your head starts with the niggling doubts, telling you that you’re tired and that you need to stop running. Even in real life when I do run I know this feeling well.  My breathing starts to get out of sync and I really do struggle – but if I stick with it then things begin to regulate and although I wouldn’t say I coast home – I always make it.

This might be what you feel like, but it serves not purpose to actually do it!

So what I’ve realised is that I although I can apply the same principle to being a carer and juggling, life, work, study etc and go the distance there are other things that are really important.  I want to spend time with my husband and if we need to apply the same dedication and determination as long distance runners to make changes to achieve this then I’ve got my running shoes on as they say.

As for me – well today we’re off to Disney with friends and I’m going to enjoy tagging along with their little daughter and seeing the wonder through her eyes.

Life is good, as they say but it certainly does no harm to reflect and reassess on how you’re doing on this race called life.

Just like everyone else Jacqueline was just keeping going at keeping going.

If you could, what changes would you make?

It’s oh so quiet…

Well it’s 5am and here in Florida and I’m sitting in front of my wee laptop.  It seems that the forces of time – or rather the forces of not knowing what time zone I’m in have taken over my life.  Jet lag has turned me into the kind of person who falls asleep in the car in the afternoon and creeps around the apartment at 4am in the morning (yes, I’ve already been up for an hour).

Welcome, you're one of our priority jet lag passengers - we won't give you a pillow or a blanket as there will be no sleeping for you.

I used to bounce back from stuff like this no problem but it seems like this is another thing my body has dictated is going to be done ‘it’s’ way – so I guess I just decided to give in and go along with the ride.

As a dedicated Open University (OU) student I’ve already made a start working my way through my reading and getting back into the swing of note taking this morning.  In this sense there’s nothing at all odd about sitting at 4am working – if I’m up I figure I might as well use the time productively.  The alternative of course would be to do something like watch TV but I can’t get to grips with the American version of TV.  I seem to spend my time flicking between channels that provide me with an interesting array of adverts – occasionally however I do stumble across an actual programme.

Those adverts though.  For one I am staggered at how many different forms of medication are advertised.  I guess of course things are different here – in the UK we rely on the good old NHS to decide what medication should be available to us – over here it seems that everything is available.  It seems to be the norm to have adverts for wonder drugs/cures for erectile dysfunction to flash up when you’re drinking your morning coffee and desperately trying to find the news.

What I have noticed is the increased advertising around cosmetic surgery, particularly on the radio – well not specifically cosmetic surgery, there is also a big push on laser eye surgery – because glasses are so yesterday – or so the radio told me (as I was cleaning mine).  But the surgery though – there was reconstruction stuff that just brought tears of laughter to my eyes. I’ve got to say it ladies – vaginal rejuvenation (I previously thought she said ‘reconstruction but my husband has just corrected me – guess he was listening too) is just not up there on my ‘to do’ list but for the gal on the radio it just changed her life.

So I guess I’m living between two worlds at the moment.  I continue to be a student keeping up with everything the books are throwing at me – on the other hand I’m a wide-eyed Scottish person mesmerised by how different life is in Florida.  I’ll keep you posted on how I get on.

Living in another world

Life is certainly different – for one I’m in Florida in the warmth, instead of Scotland in the cold. Secondly there is just my husband and I – no one else to think about.

Ok the holiday didn’t quite get off to the start I had intended – by that I mean I didn’t intend to be travelling with a walking stick and arriving in Miami with a rather swollen and painful leg. Neither did I intend for my husband to have to handle all the luggage etc (I’m a gal who likes to pitch in) but events have taken over and I anxiously had to accept that this is the way things are.  I just have to get used to this hobbling about bit.

We have spent time in Miami and Orlando before, so we know the drill, but there were lots of things I had forgotten – like the big beds they have over here.  From the first time I visited Florida I fell in love with those big beds.  Certainly we have a king size beds at home (but I think they must be pretend king size).  Maybe the ‘kings’ are just bigger over here.  I have to tell you that for a gal with a very painful leg and a husband who is 6ft 4 it is rather wonderful to be able to sleep comfortably in the shape of a starfish and still find that there is room in the bed for my husband!

As I type this I am living in a comfortable apartment overlooking the pool.  There is perfect order; I have no animals or people to tend to.  I can get up whatever time I like in the morning and go to bed whenever I want (although I’ll probably go quite early because I’m still quite tickled with the big bed situation).  The only thing we have to plan whilst we’re here is to meet up with friends, which is certainly no hardship.

Suddenly I feel I am on holiday  however I also realise how tired and stressed I have been of late.  I have already had work related calls so I’ve switched my phone off – happy to disappear. So throughout this holiday I will continue to sleep like a starfish, I will enjoy the sunshine and I will potter in our apartment and enjoy the fact that I have my husband all to myself.

I’m slowly but surely getting used to living in another world.

One rather happy starfish.....

One step c l o s e r…..

You know how I often say that my life is unpredictable, well today was certainly that.

For a start it was the last day at work before I go on holiday.  The day was going pretty well and I was cracking through the casework like you wouldn’t believe.  Clients turned up on time – proof that the telepathic messages I was sending them were being received loud and clear – and despite having to squeeze in a wee ’extra’ appointment today things were kind of going to plan. Hectic but manageable - that is to say I wasn’t hyperventilating.

The wee extra appointment I had to fit in today was a rather unscheduled stop at my doctor – it seems that I have torn ligaments in my leg. Not much can be done – rest, painkillers and some silly limping walking for a while.  I’m not really keen on the old painkillers, but I’m quite partial to the rest bit. I am however determined that this unpredictable injury won’t put a damper on our holiday – although it looks as though I will need to venture into the wonderful world of mobility aids.

Anyhow despite all the shenanigans the working day ended and as I left the office. The car park was fairly close but it felt like a million miles away.  By the time I got to the car park I was in so much pain I just wanted to get into the car and cry.  I got in the lift and pushed the button for the top floor – that was when everything changed.

Here I was feeling mighty sorry for myself and when I got out the lift and headed out towards the car I was aware of two policemen.  I turned my head to my right and there sitting on the ledge on the edge of the car park was a very lonely figure .  I returned to the lift and the car park attendant arrived, as did one of the policemen – clearly I was not going to be able to get to my car – I moved away down to the ground floor.   There were much more important things going on – the support services were trying to help someone decide not to take their own life, today.

Suddenly my torn ligaments didn’t seem like such a big deal, neither did the fact that I had to wait an hour before I could get to my car (although surprisingly this was a big deal for some people). What was a big deal was that a girl’s life was saved tonight.

So today started and ended not in any way I could have predicted.  As I sit here with my foot up on a cushion I can feel the throbbing down my leg if I try to move.  I know though that I can rest and take pills and the pain will subside.  How lucky am I.

For some people out there the pain they live with is unimaginable.  I hope, wherever that young girl is tonight she finds help and peace.

This life…..

I woke this morning to hear the sad news that Steve Jobs co-founder of Apple had died at the age of 56.  It was sad news and the world has lost a true innovator.

1955 - 2011

At the other side of the spectrum here at Duart Lodge we are gearing up for a celebration. Sylvia, my mother in law turns 94 this weekend.  She is a lady who is full of life and despite the challenges frailty brings with age, remains a lady who lives her life to the full.

Sylvia moved in with us a couple of years ago – initially somewhat against her will.  Sylvia lived alone, following the death of her beloved husband, in the little house she was born in.  She lived in a small Highland village where she knew everyone and everyone knew her – as is the way in a wee place.

Sylvia in a bygone era, cycling her bike outside the home she was born in

Following the death of her treasured friend Dorothy however Sylvia’s life became a little smaller, and a little more difficult.  Dorothy was younger than Sylvia and was always there to provide a steadying arm – without that life became a little more of a challenge – but not one that Sylvia was prepared to admit to.

Peter made the journey down to visit regularly through the week and I cooked meals, ensuring that she always had a home cooked meal at the touch of a button.  Concerned about the prospect of a fall we managed to encourage Sylvia to move her bedroom downstairs however despite this we began to notice the odd bump and bruise.  It also became apparent that despite the ongoing supply of meals transported down by Peter the freezer was brimming over – we worried that she wasn’t eating properly.

Sylvia sharing one of her many stories with me

Things came to a head a couple of years ago when she took ill and came to live with us to be cared for.  Slowly but surely things became a bit clearer.  She had experienced the odd fall, once in her bedroom where, unable to get up, she had just pulled the duvet off the bed and lay on the floor until she felt able to get up.  In our reality we knew that going home was really not an option and then sadly Sylvia experienced a bad fall in our home.  The ambulance was called yet she emerged from A&E triumphant that she had only required 6 stitches in her head.

So began Operation Transition and we tentatively took steps to encourage Sylvia to move in with us.  It took a while, and was a bit of a bumpy road, but one that we all managed to traverse – and here we are today.

Despite her age Sylvia’s life is full.  Duart Lodge, our home, is busy and she relishes in all that this brings into her life.  She knows all my son’s friends, a happy wee band of young folk all into music.  It’s not uncommon to find Sylvia at the piano with them all.

Neither has the transition meant that Sylvia is without her own friends.  She is off to the Day Care Centre today with not one but two cakes to celebrate her birthday.  It seems that the new group of friends she has is larger than one cake can accommodate.  Oh and there is also the obligatory bottle of sherry required for the celebrations.

Sylvia’s family has been blessed with the gift of long life.  Her sister was 103 when she died. So celebrate we will because there is truly much to celebrate.  Not just the wonder of reaching the age of 94 but the fact that she retains a love of life and lives every day savouring all that it brings.  I hope, if she is blessed enough to reach her 100th birthday that the Queen doesn’t just send a telegram but a marching band!

The MacLean Family

We certainly have much to learn from people like Sylvia.  She has seen some amazing changes in her life and at the age of 94 is embracing technology.  OK maybe not the kind of technology that Steve Jobs has joyfully introduced into my world.  Sylvia’s platform stairlift is a joy in her life.  She climbs on and it does the business – and she manages to work it herself.

So I guess today I just want to celebrate people who contribute to our lives on lots of different levels.  As I type this blog on my Mac I am grateful for Mr Jobs’ vision, having brought a computer into my life that I love and cherish.  I am also grateful to Sylvia for the journey she has taken us on as her carers.

If I am blessed with the gift of long life I want to try to retain some of Sylvia’s get up and go – she truly is a lady who gets up and goes.  She doesn’t give a second thought to the fact that, on some days as least, her get up and go got up and went, being replaced with frailty and daily challenges.

I marvel at the fact that she still puts her make up on in the morning and frequently buys new clothes which she keeps for ‘special occasions’.  It tickles me that even at this age she is planning ahead for special occasions still to come.

So for Sylvia I hope there are many special occasions – and I hope all of us are around to enjoy them too because as one friend said to me, ‘nobody promised you a tomorrow’.  So I guess we are all duty bound to enjoy the now, not knowing what the future holds.

Rest in peace Steve and happy birthday Sylvia!

Syliva MacLean - a force to be reckoned with

5 sleeps and counting…….

You know those organised, methodical women who float through their day delegating like there was no tomorrow – well I’m not one of them.  I am officially careering towards two weeks off work and I find myself approaching the end of my day before I’ve managed to cram everything I need to do into said day.

It seemed clear to her that today at least "Keep Calm and Carry On" was just not going to cover it.

I’m also acutely aware that I need to get things in place for going away – by that I mean at home. With both my sisters-in-law taking week about to look after their mum (Sylvia who lives with us) I am filled with some anxiety that I need to knock the house into shape.

Anxiety Girl goes on holiday....

I’m certainly no slouch, but in all honestly, with everything else I’ve got going on housework is just not at the top of my list (as any Open University student and you’ll probably get the same answer). If my husband is reading this I know he will be reflecting on how mad I am, wondering why I’m even bothering – the house is fine.  Knowing I’ve not got time to squeeze much housework into what is left of my week I long to reach that stage where I can accept that the house is just fine.  I suspect I am more likely to approach the end of the week in a raging panic defined by a ‘it will just have to do feeling’.  I can, and will, live with that.

Clearly the chaos isn't caused by lack of housework - it's the butterflies fault!

I’ve also had to spend some time reviewing my Open University module (as despite going on holiday the work will have to continue – essay’s due and all that).  I’ve got my schedule and I know where I’m going with this.  In all honesty I don’t mind that I’m going to have to allocate some hours in my holiday weeks to the task of keeping up to date with my coursework.  If anything it will be a doddle, because I won’t have the normal pressures of juggling time.

What only 5?

Thinking about how busy life can be an interesting thing happened to me today.  Part of the research I’ve been doing this morning led me to one of the carer support websites for a client. Having done the research I noticed a natty little tool that calculates the value of the care provided by informal carers.  All you have to do is enter the number of hours per day you allocate to caring duties and hey presto it comes up with the figure – which represents the amount of money you are saving the social services by providing said informal (and free) care.

£98,550 per annum!  That’s how much I’m saving the care services – and hey that’s just me, it doesn’t include my husband’s contribution.  With this in mind I am now feeling somewhat ticked off that, having months ago asked for additional care hours to be paid for by the authorities nothing has happened.

So I am going to go on holiday and forget my annoyance with a system that clearly struggles to provide what it says on the tin despite the input carers like myself provide.  I am going to forget about the fact that despite my juggling I will return to gazzillions of emails and telephone messages from clients. I will even give myself permission to forget that visitors to our home may be thinking ‘what kind of housewife is she?’ Do you know what the answer to that is -

I am the kind of housewife who may not be the best juggler in the world, but doesn’t stop trying to get better.

I am the kind of housewife that would rather have a happy home than a tidy home.

I am the kind of housewife who dreams about having a degree rather than a new kitchen.

Oh yes I am also the kind of housewife who is saving the social services a small fortune.

Thanks to the support of family Peter and I will get the holiday we need and things will tick along just fine while we’re away. Meantime I will go back to my crazy juggling in the hope that I can get to some of the good stuff – like packing my case.

I'm ready (almost)!

That was the day that was….

Well today is kind of a big day in Chez Duart Lodge. My man and I have been married for 3 years today. In the time we have been together much has changed in the life of Mr MacLean. Here are some of the things that landed in his life when I came along.

His house was ordered and he had lots of room. Me (and ALL my stuff), my son and two cats later the house is busting at the seams.

I didn’t pluck up the nerve to study until Peter nudged me in that direction. Now he shares my highs and lows, my struggles to get work done. He rejoices when I ace an assignment and he peels me off the ceiling when I over react (spectacularly) when something like the printer doesn’t work.

He no longer has a kitchen – that belongs to me now.

He is the self nominated travel organiser in the house – his study has been renamed ‘The Departure Lounge’.

Despite being a full time carer he remains better connected socially than me, despite having less opportunity to get out of the house than I do. This hit home to me recently when I realised how many friends he stays in touch with through Facebook – makes me wonder what the hell I’ve been doing with my time.

Gradually I have introduced him to the joy of soft furnishings – both he and my son regularly roll their eyes at the number of cushions we have on the couch.

Maybe it's a girl thing, but yes, we do need all of these cushions

His once organised bachelor bathroom is filled with potions and lotions – while he has been relegated to a little space in the corner.

I know that he doesn’t understand yet despite this he tolerates my shoe collection.

Ain't that the truth

He fully accepts that married to a hormonally challenged workaholic student who cooks for Scotland to relieve stress. He also fully accepts that things are probably going to get worse in the old hormone department but accepts this (unless of course I start making clothes out of the curtains or something equally weird).

She reckoned she was more than capable of running up some fetching outfits - can you help me get those curtains down?

He’s a ‘read the paper over breakfast’ kind of guy, whereas I’m a natter away about everything that’s in my head kinda gal – despite not being equally matched in this department he nods enthusiastically so as not to offend me. It usually works.

He fully acknowledges, without comment, my terrible sense of direction.  If travelling without him he always prints me a map – the simplified version.

He puts up with weird stuff like if we’re staying in a hotel I will always make him sleep on the side of the bed nearest the door (even if this isn’t the side he would normally sleep). I do this because he’s bigger than me and figure we would have more of a fighting chance if an intruder bumped into him first. I’m happy to help to finish said intruder off though.

He reads my blogs,  never comments, but tells me at night what he thinks of them. He clicks the like button though and he has been heard to say ‘don’t you blog about that! (he knows me so well).

I make him dance with me in the kitchen when I’m cooking – and even though I know he doesn’t really want to he still does this willingly (but only for one song though).

He knows my sizes and is the only man I ever known who can buy clothes for me that both fit and I like.

He wears hats – which I love. His are sensible, mine are a bit wacky, but despite this he’s still prepared to walk down the street with me.

So Mr MacLean – I take my hat off to you – so this is for you….

A frantic day…

Well it’s all happening here.  My Open University (OU) site is up and running.  I have a tutor – who seems to have rolled up his sleeves and got stuck in, so it’s all go, go, go.

So it’s official.  I have gone from someone who can bumble along (at least as much as my life allows a bit of bumbling) to having too many things and not enough hours in the week.  All in all though I’m happy.  I miss the study and having my books and my website (brimming full of other anxious and nervous students) fills me with the stability and drive that study brings into my life.

Bring it on.....

I have got over my first initial wobble, namely, what the hell am I doing this for and I’m not good enough.  I’ve now settled in that middle ground of raring to go, but remain a little unsure of exactly how much I need to raise my game.  I am however thankful to all of you who posted encouraging comments to my post rambling about my insecurity.  Thank you.

So a hugely busy week in the Duart Lodge household this week – made all the more complicated by a ‘little’ unexpected factor – but I’ll come to that a little later.  This week is the last week before my husband and I go on holiday – so in the life of carers this is pretty full on.  LOTS to organise before we hand over to my sister in laws (one arriving to cover the first week and one arriving to cover the second week).  At least that’s the plan, however sister in law in charge of the 2nd week has broken her arm, had surgery and is in plaster from her wrist to her shoulder – so not quite sure how this will plan out.

The weekend saw the house being organised for said sister in laws arrival and suitcases have been taken out of storage and sit in the hall begging us to fill them.  So it’s true, I am actually going on holiday.

It's official - we're outa here

Of course the other ‘little’ thing that has complicated life is the said mouse the cat brought in and duly let go to run around willy nilly in the house is, well, still running about willy nilly. Night time has been disturbed by the constant reminder that this little thing needs to be caught. The two cats in the house (Bella and Tam) seem to be unaware and unhelpful and both my husband and I have had numerous sleepless nights disturbed by the constant reminder that the wee creature is somewhere in the kitchen.

So, you think you can out-smart me do you?

Four traps last night set yet despite this said wee creature evades our efforts.  Trust us to get an intelligent mouse!  So as the days tick away so do it’s chances.  It is officially war in Duart Lodge – said wee creature just doesn’t realise it yet.

On top of all of this I have a pile of work to get through, clients to deal with and that anxious feeling of ‘your going on holiday and have only this week to deal with everything’.  Hard as it is until mouse in the house is caught it looks like I’m also going to have to deal with sleep deprivation.

If it’s true that life is as complicated as you make it then in my defence I am desperately trying NOT to make it complicated.  Honest.  However complicated it seems to be.

So tonight both cats will have to be on duty, traps set again and earplugs in my ears.  Sleep beckons.  I have enough to do and starting the day with a headache due to lack of sleep is not one of them.

So off to drink copious amounts of coffee and get stuck into client work.  Thankfully study is in hand – so that’s one thing off my list.

Sunshine here I come - don't know what shape I'll be in when I get there though!

Next week as I sit in the sun all of this will be a distant memory – bring it on.

Is this the right place for little old me?

My course website with the Open University (OU) went live yesterday and I was desperate to take a peak.

Logging in to the forum is a bit like being the new girl at school (and I’ve certainly done plenty of that).  You don’t know anyone and you wonder if anyone will talk to you – my mind taking me back to the 11-year-old me standing in front of the black board being introduced to a class of eyes all staring at me.  One bonus of the online forum is that you don’t have that horrible situation of sitting by yourself, while everyone else seems is gathered in happy little groups.

But this is the real world, my online world of study and I am no longer the young student who started too many new schools, destined never to be good at being ‘the new girl’.  The me now launches into the forum with an introductory post letting folk know who I am, what I do, what I’m studying and why I am on K303 Managing Care.

I’ve always found OU folk friendly AND really, really helpful.  Logging on to the forum on my last course was the first port of call if I had a question or a problem.  Without fail someone answered my call, as did I for others.  To me this has made studying a joyful experience.

Later on in the day I logged back into the forum to see who else had popped in to introduce themselves.  Yikes lots of very capable people, lots of folks with very important NHS jobs – what the hell was I doing here I thought – panic flooded in.

This is my first Level 3 course and already, just having peaked in the books, I can see that I need to raise my game.  I was OK with that until the doubts that everyone else had much more experience (and far more important jobs than me) – the doubts had certainly settled in.  What could I possible offer?

Then I did something important (although I didn’t realise it at the time).  Instead of allowing my mind to go off on some crazy “I can’t do this ramble’ I clicked on the assignments that will define this course.  Reading through them I felt a calm come over me.  I can do this.  If this is what I am going to be judged on then I know I will be ok.

My panic subsided replaced by a realisation that this wasn’t about my background, my knowledge or my job title.  This was about what I could apply myself to.  I calmly reminded myself that my track record shows that I can write the hell out of an academic essay and I gave myself permission to believe that, even at Level 3, I will do the same this year.

The real joy of it all was that I felt excitement at the thought of these assessments – they were all essays I wanted to write – ideas flowing even before I had tackled the obligatory reading.

So yes, I’ve had my initial wobble, but I’m back on track.  What is it they say – if you think you can’t do something then you certainly can’t.  Well I’m not going there – I lived in that world for far too long and I left it a long time ago.  Now I live in a world where I believe that I can – and do you know what – I will as well.

Back in the day….

Well it’s only 10 more sleeps until I go on holiday – 2 weeks in the Florida sunshine are coming my way.  The suitcases will be taken out of storage tonight and this weekend my mind will have to turn to packing.

My husband informed me yesterday that he plans to swim every day.  I’m ok with this, it will be lovely to spend time together lazing by the pool and dipping into the water to get a few lengths, in the spirit of fitness, under our belts.  Of course this means the obligatory swimsuit will have to be dug out.

As I grew up abroad swimming was always accompanied by sunshine, but in Scotland swimming is a whole different ballgame.  As a result is an activity that I seldom partake in. In Scotland I associate swimming with being cold and recall as a child that when you went swimming you always took what we called a ‘Chittery-Bite’ with you.  This was something to eat when you came out to stop your teeth chattering.  Despite the modern heated swimming if I’m going swimming in Scotland this is a tradition I still stick to, and for good reason.  It’s still freezing.

So the prospect of swimming again in the sunshine is one that I’m looking forward to.  That is of course apart from the swimsuit bit.  You will note that I say swimsuit rather than bikini – my bikini days are certainly over – but I think I can just about manage to hold my breath long enough to hold my own in a swimsuit.

So yes sunshine is going to mean wearing a lot less clothes, a bit of an anathema for this Scottish person.  I realised a long time ago that I like my winter clothes.  I am happy in my big coats that wrap around me, topped off with my collection of strange and wonderful hats and scarves.  I love nothing better than my warm wooly tights and my boots.  I am certainly a winter gal at heart.

My normal Scottish attire. No smile though - well I said I liked my winter clothes, I didn't say I liked the winter!

So to say that I’m not entirely comfortable in the minimal amount of clothing hot weather requires is an understatement.  I have made a bit of a stab at preparation this year.  My eating from a smaller plate trick (instead of a diet) is working and walking to work has paid dividends.  Having lost a bit of weight I feel that the swimsuit is in sight, or should that be I won’t be a sight in my swimsuit?.  Either way I think I can live with it.

One of the joys of getting older is that I care less about what people think however having written a post yesterday about advertising my mind and my eyes have been since been drawn to how much the ‘perfect woman’ figures so much in advertising.  Svelte women with perfect skin and shiny hair are everywhere.  This I am not.

So for any of you who have ever tried to get into a wetsuit let me tell you that this might be similar to what I have to go through to get my swimsuit on.  I will be sure not to attempt this unless I am alone and in a darkened room however I am confident I will emerge triumphant with my head up and my shoulders back.

It seems back in the day things made a lot more sense!

I’ve decided that when I go on holiday I’m taking leaf out of Marilyn’s book.  She famously said ‘being a sex symbol is a heavy load to carry’ so I am thankful not to have been gifted this burden.  So, when the svelte women with their perfect skin and shiny hair gather at the pool I will breath in and think to myself.  Yep you look great, but I bet you didn’t get a Distinction in your last exam.

It seems even in a swimsuit I am destined to be the eternal student.

Many a small thing has been made large by the right kind of advertising

Well as I’ve been blogging for a good few months now I’ve taken the step to make my blog ‘advert free’.  I’ve done this for a variety of reasons.

Thanks to the advertising Jacqueline was happy to just sit and read her book on the way to work.

For one I have no control of the adverts that are posted on my site and it seems as I don’t actually subscribe to my blog then I don’t actually see any adverts, so I blog away blissfully unaware of what is being tagged on when other folks read.  It kind of came to a head with me though when I was blogging about some of the challenges we were/are facing at chez Duart Lodge.

As I have said in previous posts Peter and I moved in together some years ago, combining not just our lives, but two homes (and all the furniture that comes with that!).  Then, Peter’s mum moved in to live with us and be cared for and yes, you’ve guessed it, she brought her furniture too.  The result is, well we’re still living with the result and in honesty we struggle with what to keep and what to give away.

My husband is a collector extraordinaire – he is the only man I know that is the proud owner of five chaise lounges – a challenge for any home.  We have two pianos (three if you count the one on the wall), together with all of the other bits and bobs that go with living with a collector. My lovely husband has a wonderful eye so our home is interesting and eclectic to say the least.  It just ain’t big enough.

In an attempt to find space for the 3rd piano the only solution was to put it on the wall.

So about two months ago my husband made the groundbreaking step of deciding to sell/donate some of the said chaises – it was a monumental day.  So of course when something monumental happens you blog about it, right?  However what I discovered on said blog were adverts about furniture upholstery.  Those bloody adverts must have sent subliminal messages to my husbands and so the chaises remain – destined to be upholstered.  Meantime all we have to do now is find space for them.  Back to the drawing board then.

OK in his defence I should say that we have planning permission to extend our home, and so space will be in abundance.  So yes we continue to struggle with our more than ample supply of (beautiful) furniture.  But struggle we do.

This one I actually quite like

Of course adverts are part of all of our lives.  Thankfully with the likes of  SKY plus you can just push the fast forward button and skip past the “look this will clean your floors leaving no streaks” or endless images of younger women worried about lines around their eyes (that they don’t have) who are clearly relieved to have found the wonder cream that will keep the wrinkles at bay.  I have to tell you girls that ‘wonder cream’ doesn’t actually exist – but the advertisers will happily tell you that it does.

Mary finally admitted that the wonder cream just wasn’t working

Clearly what happens is that the adverts must be matched to text in your post.  When I think about some of the things I have blogged about I despair at what adverts have been attached for all to see.  It’s all in the interpretation of text and my posts have probably thrown up some scary and maybe even funny advert choices. So if adverts for haemorrhoid cream have appeared please be assured that I know not why – and it wasn’t by my request.

The women were surprised to learn that hands that do dishes can feel soft as your face - with mild green fairly liquid!

So I’ve taken the decision to go advert free, so whenever one of my blogs put up it will be just be little old me instead of great big adverts.

No caption required here then!

Will Rogers said “Advertising is the art of convincing people to spend money they don’t have for something they don’t need” – well count this gal out.

I would be interested to hear what others think. What gets you about advertising?

It’s oh so quiet…….

Sssssshhh.

Can you hear that?

What do you mean “why am I whispering?”

Of course you’re right, I don’t have to whisper, but it’s so quiet in here.  You see this doesn’t happen very often but I’ve kind of got the house to myself (well apart from the studying teenager holed up in his bedroom – but that doesn’t really count). Peter has taken his mum to visit a friend in hospital so it’s really just little old me here and it’s a very odd feeling.

I am cozied up in the living room at the very top of the house looking out over the twinkling lights of Inverness.  The house is warm and little Bella the cat is snuggled up beside.  I haven’t moved an inch since everyone left.

Of course there are lots of things I could be doing, but it’s just nice, well doing nothing really. As I sit here I can hear sounds the house makes when it thinks nobody is listening – the odd creak here and there.  I can hear the cat flap shudder as Tam our older cat comes flying through it at the speed of light because scary black and white cat is chasing him at 100 mph. Bang! Then silence as he composes himself and saunters through the conservatory and into the kitchen to sit patiently and silently beside his food bowl.  You see I know all of this without even looking.

Hey you, ya got to ask yourself, "Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya punk?

I love the bustle that goes with our house but I can understand where Greta Garbo was coming from when she famously said, “I want to be alone”.  Actually what she really said was “I want to be left alone”, which is quite a different thing.  Well I don’t want to be left alone (at least not for any great length of time). I will be glad when they all come flooding back into the house and routines fall into line again. But for now there ‘s something to be said for a little bit of nothingness.

I started the day feeling tired.  It seems that one of the cats brought in a mouse and promptly let it go.  It turned out that my husband could hear it in the night and so was up 3 times on mouse patrol.  He did try to get grumpy Tam to catch it, but not a chance.  I did smile as I pulled the duvet over my head while my husband (whispering) lectured Tam about how rubbish a cat he is.

Maybe if we pretend we can't hear him he'll come back to bed.

So having started the day off tired I was even more jaded when I came home from work.  So, if the best cure for the body is a quiet mind then I’m certainly getting just what the doctor ordered.

So I’ll sit and enjoy the peace for before long mousetraps will be unpacked and set and battle lines will be drawn.  I might just take myself off to bed early tonight – just in case I’m asked to report for duty at 3am.

Despite the 3am wake up call Jacqueline appeared in her camouflage PJ's ready for the attack behind enemy lines

It may be quiet, but it’s certainly never dull.

A bid for freedom

Well this week is looking up already – it’s only Monday morning and I have a date!  Now before you have me down as some two timing so and so I should point out that my date is with my husband. We’re going to the cinema!

Boy had things changed since Jacqueline last visited the cinema!

So what’s the big deal I hear you ask.  Well having the opportunity to go out together is something of a challenge in our life.  Our household comprises Peter and I, my teenage son and Peter’s elderly (94-year-old) mum.  Our days (and nights) are a mixture of all the responsibilities that go along with being the two ‘responsible adults’ in the house.  This ultimately leaves little time for much else.

Throwing caution to the wind she dared herself to take her 'responsible adult' badge off just to see what it felt like!

Before you start hearing violins I should point out that our life is good, challenging, but good. It would however be lovely to have time to just do stuff that ordinary folk do.  When going to the cinema midweek represents a big adventure in your life you kinda have to admit that your life is far from ordinary!

There is nothing ordinary about being a carer – I don’t care what people tell you.  It is however a very normal state of affairs in many households there are gazillions of us out there trying to juggle and wiggle a little time for ourselves into life.  I only hope that we’re not all going to the cinema on the same night as I don’t think I could handle the disappointment of seeing the ‘sold out’ sign when we arrive.

Having hacked into the social services website and clicked the 'respite for all' button carers descended on mass to the cinema.

But hey, my husband and I need to get used to this freedom as in a couple of weeks we’re going on holiday together – alone!  Yes we are officially having our honeymoon.  Oh joy.

My son decided he wanted to spend the holidays with his Dad, family are coming up to say so Peter’s mum has both visitors and carers on hand and so we’re off.  It all feels a bit strange.  We will be able to do things at the drop of a hat, have long lazy breakfasts, read, jump in the car and head off to I know not where.  How will we cope with all of this?  Well it will certainly be a transition and one that I have no doubt we will handle.

Determined that even the Scottish weather wasn't going to stop this honeymoon Peter and Jacqueline hijacked the local snow plough and got to work.

We’re truly fortunate to have family to step in.  As a carer I fully understand the need to step back from the situation, pass the baton to someone else for a while.  Sadly most carers, as a result of budget cuts, are going to find these opportunities diminishing – respite for many is disappearing into thin air, leaving carers to, well, get on with it.

People find themselves as carers for many reasons but mostly because they love the person they are caring for.  Some may tell you that they feel an obligation to care, and although that is true this is not the prime reason that people become carers.  Sadly the system relies on this combination of love and obligation, knowing that if services are withdrawn then carers will absorb the shortfall.  For many, sadly, this has a huge impact on their quality of life and health.

So this carer is very grateful that life allows time for a break and I fully intend to enjoy it and cherish the memories.  So this week, at the pictures, my husband and I will start taking some steps to enjoy some time away from responsibilities – hell we might even sit in the back row. After all, we’ve got a honeymoon to prepare for!

“A” is for Application

OK today is ‘D’ Day, or rather ‘A’ Day.  Application day that is – said application for the job the Universe kindly nudged into my path.

I took the plunge instantly, mentally at least, when I read the job advert.  I knew immediately that this job was for me and of course the only way to move things along in said direction is to get the application done and in.

Jacqueline had metaphorically jumped in even before she had finished reading the job spec

A hectic week has left me precious little time to get this task complete, but I’m not worried.  I know I will get there.

As this job is with an organisation linked to the one I’m currently working for my husband pointed out that it might be worth mentioning my intentions to my current boss.  He’s right of course so I confessed all on Friday.  My boss was supportive, even to the extent that he gave me his personal email address and said he would look over the application for me before I submit it.  It seems that the Universe is certainly doing everything in her power to make this happen.

I was, after all, really only getting one clear message from the Universe

So a short post today as I’m a lady on a mission.  I’m off to blow my proverbial trumpet (application style), tell this organisation that I’m their gal and wait for an invitation to attend an interview on 5th October.

So Universe if you’re listening I’m keeping up my end of the bargain but if you could ensure that, when they receive this application, it (metaphorically at least) jumps up and down on their desk, I will be very grateful.

Jacqueline's Application - THIS IS THE ONE YOU'RE LOOKING FOR!

Thanks again Universe, you’re a pal.

Sing, even when you’re not winning

Well this week has not come without its challenges.  The days have run into each other at a staggering speed and my Open University (OU) books are sitting on my desk ordering me to get on with the job of having a peek inside at what’s in front of me.

Go on, you know you want to

Learning is a funny thing – by that I mean it’s quite a personal thing.  We all have our little habits and ways of approaching tasks and it got me thinking if there are any tips out there for students, but particularly for mature students.  This is what my trawl through the internet threw up.

Don’t feel like you have to hit the ground running – fair enough that makes sense and actually most courses allow you a bit of settling in time.  What I recall,  when I went back to studying, was that I had no idea how long this so-called ‘settling in time’ went on for.   In the end I just aimed to make my first deadline without being sidetracked by being sectioned under the mental health act for stress.

Got that crazy feeling again

You will need to be organised - of course you do.  This one stumped me a bit.  You see my life is far from organised.  When I began to study I knew in the very core of my being that the juggle was only going to get worse and oh was I so right.  But, do you know what, the experience of study teaches you much and slowly but surely I got into the rhythm of it all – as did my family, who bless them stepped up to the mark and got in the “I’m going to have to delegate this” queue, happy to take their turns.

She knew 'organised' was in here somewhere, she just couldn't find it - yet!

Work to your Strengths - Well if that means be prepared to get up at 5am to finish the Tutor Marked Assignment with a looming deadline (that you are behind with because you watched a movie last night) then I’m pretty sure I can count this as one of my strengths.  Study is important but so are the other things, remember to try to keep some time for yourself and to keep a balance in your life.

Maybe being a bit of a Wally ain't such a bad thing.

Strengths – mine would have to be focus, determination and maybe a little bit of crazy!

Learn to discard information – now this one I like!  It took me a while to get the confidence NOT to do everything the books told me to do.  After a while I got into the swing of it and purposely skipped activities that did nothing but affirm my knowledge.  I decided bravely to concentrate on the new learning, confident that what was already in my head and would be required to be dredged up and included in the next essay would not desert me.  This shift in my learning approach gave me time for the important stuff of life – like making Spaghetti Bolognese for my family instead of running home and firing a dinner at them.  So think about it, be honest with yourself and be brave would be my advice here.

As a result of copious note taking Jacqueline was quietly delighted to be told to discard information

I am not the perfect student, I get the juggling wrong and this probably impacts on my life more than my learning – no matter how precarious the juggling is I still somehow manage to get the grades I need.

So as I start again with the next phase of my learning I’m going to try to take some of this on board, try to be not such a crazy disorganised person and try not to drive my family nuts in the process.  In all honesty it’s not just me that’s going for this degree because, of the nature of my life as a mum and carer etc I’m taking them all with me.

The bottom line is that none of us so-called mature students can do this without the understanding and support from our families.  To this end mine get a gold star – thank you guys!

So for those of you out there plodding on with your learning(or thinking about getting in on the act), scaling the highs and lows that take up residence in your life as part of the process of study I wish you well.  Learning is truly a gift, a gift that keeps on giving.  My life is better as a result of embarking on this journey, crazy granted, but better.  For one I have confidence I didn’t have before and I have discovered hidden depths I didn’t know were there.  So whether I’m in one of the highs or the lows of my journey I’m going to sing, even when I feel I’m not winning.

1, 2, 3, La, la, la, what have you done today to make you feel proud.

What about you – can you sing, even when you’re not winning?

What tips would you share with other students out there juggling like crazy?

And if you are singing – what are YOU singing?

Here we go again!

This will be me!

Well the Open University (OU) books arrived  - a large parcel of stuff  - so that’s me officially back to being ‘Mature Student Hanging in There’ and a head start is just what I need.  So I’m starting early in the hope that I can buy me some wiggle time when the deadlines come a calling.

Finding time to study isn’t so hard, but finding quality time to study is.  Meeting deadlines can be tough and pair that with the disadvantage of finding myself trying hard not to hold on to the title of the worlds greatest procrastinator – it would be fair to say that I’m known for cutting it fine. But hey the important thing is I do get the stuff done, so maybe I shouldn’t get too hung up on how I manage it.  It’s a bit like my spectacular bike riding skills (not!) – if I think about it I’ll just fall off.

So yes there are going to be moments of panic, Red Bull induced revision and tears of doubt.  I will look for shortcuts that aren’t there and I will, on more than one occasion, throw my essay in the bin only to retrieve it the next morning with new found determination and vision.

Reading her essay with fresh eyes she was pleasantly surprised

So I’ve got my books, check.

Got my desk and study area sorted, check.

I know there's clingons on the starboard bow but Jacqueline needs to get to her tutorial

The only thing I need now is for one of those transporter thingies they had on board the Star Trek Enterprise to be installed in the conservatory.  Why?  Well it seems that if I want to attend tutorials then I need to do a round trip of 300 miles (oh yes and they are in the evening between 6pm and 8pm).  Not a chance then.

At this stage, the just before you start bit, like many students I am full of good intentions.  My desk is neat and tidy, I know where ALL of my books are and my study timetable is begging me not to deviate off track. Of course what my study calendar does not have is a slot that says ‘have a life’ but I think I can find a way to lever a bit of time here.  Hence my starting early.

So yes I dream about being one of those students who knows what she’s doing, who doesn’t sail so dangerously close to deadlines and hitting the ‘send’ button 30 seconds before time runs out to submit my assignments.  I want to come to love my study calendar as a tool that will aid my learning, not view it as some evil form of torture dreamed up by the OU to ruin my life.

I have learned that as far as study goes it’s not what you do it’s the way that you do it.  So this student is going to try to iron out some of the creases in her haphazard approach to studying.  This year I’m going to try to do more than just ‘hang in there’.  This year I’m going for a Distinction – and do you know what I think I might be in with a shout there – it’s worth a try isn’t it?

So what are your study tips?

How do you manage the juggle?

An acceptance speech I wasn’t expecting to make!

Give this girl a drum roll please……. I discovered today that Studying Parent has nominated me, yes little old me, for the Versatile Blogger Award.  How cool is that!

There are a few rules that go along with this award, so in the spirit of it all here goes.  I have to….

1.  Thank the person who shared the award with you by linking back to them in your post.
2.  Pass this award to 15 recently discovered blogs and let them know that you included them in your blog post.
3.  List 7 things about yourself.

It’s particularly nice to receive this award from a fellow blogger who is also a student.  So a huge thank you to Studying Parent a fellow WordPress blogger.  Studying Parent is an Ex Nurse and Midwife, now a Post Graduate Student of Literature, currently writing MA Dissertation. In the process of applying to work towards a PhD in English Literature. Mother of 3 teenaged daughters: 16yrs, about to go to college to do A levels and 13yr old identical twins, about to go into year 9. Wife to an IT person, carer of two elderly cats, one of whom needs lots of TLC. So check out her blog.

7 Things about me

Well I’ve decided to be really honest here and tell you stuff about me that, even if you read my blog, you won’t know.

1. I have a small tatoo of a cherry on my left hip (always wanted one and when I turned 35 I thought what the hell).
2. My first boyfriend was a fire-eater (huge explanation required but I’m going to leave this for another post)
3. I once auditioned for the Royal Ballet School in London
4. When I separated from my husband Tilda Swinton (the award-winning actress) gave me her house to live in until I got myself and my son somewhere to stay.  Thank you Tilda
5. Last year I learned to tap dance (badly but loved the fun of it all and my tickity tack tap shoes remain my favourite shoes in the whole world).
6. I once commissioned a play that toured all of the schools in the north of Scotland
7. I’ve just given up drinking red wine, giving 100% support to my husband who, due to nasty medication he needs to take, isn’t allowed the stuff anymore.

And my 15 nominees are… in no particular order:-

Damsel with a Dulcimer

Lorna’s Voice

Poor Cow in France

Oscar Hokeah

Ben Rowe Photography

Bennis Inc

Knit the Hell Out

The Human Picture

Tempie at Diablotintelevision

Pea’s blog at Simply Humble

Only One Chance

Caroline’s I Can Survive Blog

Charley Hand

Gilraen’s Blog

The Quiet Photographer

So wonderful –  now go forth and nominate!

When your smiling, when your smiling, the whole world smiles with you

Ok the Peace Blogfest continues and today we are asked to consider Peace Through Connection and particularly ……

What unites people?

What inspires you to be peaceful?

A pretty tall order eh? OK here goes, here’s my take on things. What I think unites people is connectedness (Is that a word? Well if it isn’t it should be).  People feel connected if they share a common goal, if they feel they belong and if they understand the value of their involvement.

My work sometimes gives me the opportunity to work with people who are homeless. It strikes me that the situation of not having a home has such a knock on effect on the individual’s ability to feel connected to the world. A high percentage of homeless people don’t have a GP for example and so health issues frequently go untreated. Not having a home can also mean that you lose your place, or at least your sense of place, within the community. I know that our local homelessness shelter is a busy place and there at least people struggling with living in temporary accommodation (with it’s uncertain future) or living rough on the streets can, through the centre, find some kind of connection with society. So it could be argued that it is not just the positives in our life that unite us but sometimes the negatives. What seems to be important when we consider how we connect with the world is what are our common denominators.

I can remember once feeling a strong sense of not being connected to the world.  It was about 12 or so years ago and it was a couple of days before Christmas.  I had travelled down to Edinburgh to attend a meeting and was walking back to catch the train home.  The cold was biting as I walked along Princes Street and the Christmas windows of the shops glowed.  The huge Christmas tree dominating Princes Gardens twinkled and the smell of cinnamon filled the air from the Christmas market stalls.  All around people bustled about their business, rushing hom or to office parties.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed by a feeling of intense loneliness and isolation.  My world in that instant became very still as everyone around me rushed around.  I felt detached from the world.  I was on my own travelling back to my son to spend my first Christmas as a single parent.  It struck me then that there must be lots of displaced and lonely people out there.  All it would have taken at that very moment to pull me back from my invisibility was for someone to smile or say hello.  Just that gesture of connection would have spoken volumes.

So what inspires me to be peaceful and to remain connected is that I know that there are lots of people out there struggling with life, who are coping with the challenges in our society and trying to make it though the day. Peace can really only come from within but when your life is in turmoil it is difficult to feel peace on any level. It is however our connection to the world around us that makes it infinitely possible for us to have a chance of coping with the turmoil of life.

My New Year’s Resolution this year was to smile more. Not as daft as it sounds. By smiling you make connections with people, it’s a simple but powerful gesture that might just remind that person of the power of feeling connected. It’s scary to feel invisible and disconnected. A smile can go some way to changing that.

So get out there and start smiling because do you know what – people smile back. How good is that!

So that’s my take on things for today, but what do you feel unites people, and what inspires YOU to be peaceful?

Peace Blogfest

Inspired by a fellow blogger – Lorna’s Voice -  I’ve joined the Peace Blogfest and the theme for today is Peace Through Tolerance and Non-Violence – despite religious, racial, socioeconomic or personal differences, everyone deserves respect. Bloggers involved in this aim to focus on overcoming discrimination and stopping violence, so that’s where my thoughts turn today.

One of the reasons this subject hit home today is that on the news last night, following the Rangers and Celtic match, the figures for incidents of domestic abuse following the game went through the roof. I have no doubt that as I write this there are women in Scotland nursing broken hearts and broken bones. There will be women who have escaped to shelters or relatives homes afraid to go home and there will be children misplaced and afraid of the situation they find themselves in. Of course there is also the sad reality that there will be women who have remained with the partner who has abused them afraid for their futures and waiting for ‘the next time”. This paints a very bleak picture.

I’ve never experienced domestic violence personally, but it was something that blighted my life as a child from time to time. It’s a complex and difficult situation for anyone to cope with and for a child to witness it leaves you feeling helpless and fills your world with fear and resentment.

Research has shown that in whatever form it takes, domestic abuse is rarely a one-off incident. It is likely to be a pattern of abusive and controlling behavior where the abuser retains power over the victim. The sad facts are that one in five women in Scotland will experience domestic abuse at some stage. As a result of this she may lose her home, her job, her income and her place in the community. The effects on society are also significant. Shockingly statistics published by the NHS in England and Wales reveal that £1.2 billion a year is the bill for physical injuries as a result of domestic violence and mental health care is estimated at an additional £176 million. All this and these figures don’t even include Scotland.

Scottish Women’s Aid provide vital support for women coping with and trying to survive domestic abuse. They have shelters for women who need to escape situations at home, they have a helpline and they have a website. Interestingly on their website in bold letters across the top they highlight that “if you are worried someone might check what websites you visit click the link to find out about web safety”. Clearly for some women even looking for help can put them in danger.

Scottish Women’s Aid believe that the root of domestic abuse lies in historical inequalities, which sadly still exist between men and women. Shockingly it used to be legal for a man to beat his wife. Yes, I’ll say that again, shockingly it used to be legal for a man to beat his wife! No one deserves to be abused and no one should have to put up with abuse.

So these statistics showing the rise of domestic abuse following a football match in Scotland at the weekend fill me with sadness, because they’re not just statistics they are people who are trying to cope with a situation that they should’t have to.

I don’t have the answers – domestic abuse is complex but with organisations like Women’s Aid around raising the profile of this issue and supporting women to make difficult and brave decisions fills me with hope.

So today, in supporting Peace Blogfest and signing up to the principle that everyone deserves respect and to live without discrimination and abuse I’m sending out my plea for peace in the lives of women and children whose lives are broken as a result of domestic abuse.

Sorry, I don’t think I can make it in today

Sometimes life is just too busy and yet we’re constantly encouraged to squeeze as much as possible into our day. Hell we’re even encouraged to carry on regardless when we’re ill. Have you seen the adverts of that well known cold remedy portraying flu ridden people who, after one pill, are bouncing off to their work, smiling as they go? Now I don’t know about you but there’s something not right with this message. People get sick, it’s allowed, isn’t it?

Even calling in sick has changed. You used to have to call your boss and ‘sound’ ill – reporting in to be granted the necessary permission to have the day off. OK we’ve all had the odd day in our working life when we were at it perhaps we weren’t that ill and could have gone in but honestly, even when I’m really sick, I feel terrible making that call. I defy any of you to say that you don’t make yourself sound just that little bit sicker just to be believed. Hilarious! Now of course people don’t call, they send an email or a text – seems like a fantastic get out clause to me.

The whole office arrived just to check that he REALLY was ill

Off course if you need to be off work for any length of time you need to be signed off by your GP. Ah but you see that has all changed too. You no long get a Sick Note from your GP you get what they call a “Fit Note”.

Now I understand the thinking here, a positive approach to illness is important and looking at what people can do, rather than what they can’t (as a result of illness) makes sense, doesn’t it? Well now you’ve got me there. On the occasions that I have been ill I’ve been just that, too ill to work. During these thankfully few periods in my life I have been wracked with guilt about having to take time off and my colleagues having to shoulder the burden of extra work. Horror of horrors is the scenario that people thought I was ‘at it’.

I think there is something sad about the attitude that it’s not OK to get sick, that you have to keep going whatever. This has hit home to me a few times supporting clients coping with long-term illness. Without exception they have felt under pressure to give up their job because they are too ill to work, despite the fact that they have medical evidence to support their illness and are entitled to Statutory Sick Pay.

I can at this very point in time pin point a couple of people in my life who need to have time off work due to illness, but who continue to work. It begs the question, if we lived in a society that did not judge so harshly or punish people for being ill perhaps these individuals would take the necessary time off, thus avoiding the impending long-term condition that they are clearly heading towards at the speed of knots?

Of course I understand that this is a complex issue and that absenteeism is bad for business, but sometimes we just need to take a practical and realistic stance to all of this. So when I get my obligatory heavy cold this winter making it impossible for me to haul myself out of bed I will reach for that well-known cold and flu remedy and then do you know what – I’m going back to bed.

100 today!!!!!!

Today is a big day folks I am officially a centenarian! Well at least a centenarian in the blogging sense – this is my 100th post! Woop, woop, hang out the bunting, give that girl a gold star!

When I started out on this blogging journey I had no idea what I was doing, I wasn’t even really sure how to set this thing up. Neither had I any idea if people would actually read it. But do you know what, they do – you do – and what’s more people take time to comment. Thank you!

I have, through my wee blog, come into contact with the most amazing people, all prepared to share their ideas, photographs, opinions – and even the highs and lows of life. Everyone of you have different approaches to blogging and you all have wonderful stories to tell.

I decided on the “Mature Student Hanging In There” bit because that is exactly what I am. I juggle work, a family, being a carer and also have found the nerve to return to study. I am, and have been for a few years now, a fully fledged member of the Open University community.

Returning to study is certainly not easy. When people I meet discover that, in addition to everything else in my life, I also study they say things like, “oh you must be so organised”. I like to think I am but in truth I know that I’m not. One of the big things I’ve had to accept, in making room for study in my life, is that life is quite simply unpredictable. I am not superwoman and I quite simply can’t, on a regular basis, fit all the stuff of a day into, well a day. I’ve had to give myself a good talking to permission to let things go, and I will admit this h was tough (and still is at times). The difficulty is how do you decide what to let go? I’ve got braver and better at this as I’ve progressed however I frequently have days where the whole thing unravels and I’m back to square one. My husband is the best unravelled I know and, thanks to him, it’s not long before I’m back on track.

Ok as a student it’s got a bit easier with experience. I have learned to speed read the bits that I kind of know, or have the gist of so that I can spend time on the bits less familiar – the new learning. I’ve discovered that I have the ability to study even when I’m not sitting in front of my laptop or my books. The bottom line when you study is that the most important tool you have is your brain – and even I can manage to take that everywhere with me. So, when I’m walking to work, or going around the supermarket that far away look in my eye doesn’t mean I’m day dreaming – I’m probably planning my next essay in my head or trying to see how well I’ve memorised those endless mind maps of theorists.

Whoa, how big is this thing going to get.....

Things also have to be flexible at home. Now I’m not big on housework, but I tick along just fine. Sure I would love to be able to roll up my sleeves and give the house a good once over on a more regular basis but the likelihood of this happening in my crazy schedule is pretty slim. Accept it and move on. Oh and that wonderful word delegate is your survival guide here. We work as a team at home and that my friends is the only way to do it.

Stay connected. This is a biggie. You see I’ve found that if I’m busy I can easily get out the loop with important people and things in my life. This is something most carers identify with – spontaneity leaves your life pretty quickly when you are a carer. I have to say I rely on two things; one I actively plan and do keep in touch with people and this is where the computer is great. Your friends, I have learnt, are just as happy to get a newsy email that only took you 5 minutes to type (ok I type fast, but you get the gist). If they really are friends they will understand that finding time for a long telephone catch up isn’t always possible. No. 2 is use things like Facebook. Now I know that people aren’t always fans of this but it has two benefits. It keeps me up to date with people in my life and it also acts as a reminder that you are still around. Lots of carers become invisible. I have also discovered that with my trusty wee Mac I have access to a whole world out there, and as a result of my blog I’ve found that my world (albeit virtual) didn’t just get bigger I was enriched by the experience.

So yes my wee blog has opened up all sorts of doors and I have enjoyed taking a peak behind every single one of them and I am truly grateful to everyone who has taken a peak behind mine – and come back for more!

So, from the word go I decided I was going to write honestly about the stuff of life, about being a mature student, a wife and mother and a carer and I hope that, so far at least, I have been able to give you some insight into my successes and failures with a bit of hilarity along the way. What I wasn’t prepared for is that this process of writing gives you quite a lot of insight into the person you are, or who you think you are. I too have discovered things along the way.

With my studies due to start again shortly the luxury of time I’ve enjoyed over the past few months will abruptly disappear. However one thing is for sure, I won’t be disappearing. I will continue to blog like a crazy person otherwise, with all this juggling, I might just turn into a crazy person. I acknowledge that my wee blog has come to have an important place in my life.

I said when I started this blog that it was going to be my wee sanctuary, where I would come and share all that my endeavours and experiences brought into my life. I think I have stayed true to that and, consistent with my personality, I’ve even had the odd rant along the way.

So this blogging centenarian won’t be getting any telegram from the Queen for ‘hanging in there this long’ but that’s OK. I’m celebrating anyway. Fancy joining me?

Thank YOU for sticking with me

Quirks and all that jazz

Ok here we go. I’m not known to write two blogs in a day however after my rather depressing post this morning about my 4am wake up calls I decided to write something upbeat. One, because (according to Monty Python) it’s important to ‘always look on the bright side of life’ and two because I don’t want to scare away those people who take the time to read my blogs. So here goes.

I came across an interesting fact today, well one that I found interesting anyway. It states that the average number of items in a typical woman’s bathroom is 437 and that a man would not be able to identify most of these. Now in thinking about this I surmise that I am therefore not a typical woman, although I agree about the second part – once we get past the face cream and shampoo my husband doesn’t have a clue.

Her husband had no idea she had 437 toiletries hidden in this little cabinet!

So what other ways am I (or am I not) a typical woman? In the interest of good research I googled this – what is a typical woman? I have to say on this occasion I was disappointed with what google came up with. However in the interest of not having my creative flow dissipate I cracked on.

This typical woman thing is really about stereotypes and we all know how dangerous it is to go there. OK I’m a wife and mother – I cook and clean and take care of my family, all pretty typical stuff. I also work – well so do gazillions of women – so nothing spectacularly different there. OK then we move on to the fact that I study and OK the ‘mature’ rather than the ‘student’ bit defines me in this area, but again there are lots of women out their returning to the world of academia. So I guess you need to scratch below the surface a bit to look at characteristics. This is when I came across ’10 characteristics of successful business woman’ intrigued I read on…….

So, to be successful in business this is what it said a woman needs to have”-

Self belief (yep I think I’m pretty ok on this front – I’m a go getting type of gal who believes that if I go at it I will get).

Faith (well I have faith in myself, trust my instincts and my gut feelings, well a fair dollop of the time).

Passionate (have you seen me fired up?)
Humble and willing to learn (see ‘mature student’).

Ability to handle criticism (menstrual cycle permitting I could probably say yes to this).

Persistence (Yep, I’m nothing if not a trier)

Dream (If that’s the same as vision then I think I’m in)

Ability to go beyond your comfort zone (a good description of the majority of my days).

Balance their acts (I do hold the title of chief juggler in the house, so yes again).

Strong sense of purpose (I am therefore I do – or is it the other way around).

So does that make me a typical woman or a typical business woman? I really don’t know. What I do know is that there is no such thing as typical. We all have our quirks and that’s what truly makes us who we are although reflecting on mine I don’t know that they actually go a whole long way to improving who I am. These are the ones I’m brave enough to share….

When something needs to be assembled or fixed instructions don’t even come into it I truly believe I can figure it out.

I get upset when I can’t figure it out.

Before irreparably damaging something (see above) it doesn’t even come into my conscious that I have no idea what I’m doing.

Looking for something at home? – ask me, I truly do know where everything is and I have absolutely no idea how I do that.

What is important is what I mean – but that’s not the same as what I say – but I’m working hard to change this one (if you’re reading husband this will either be a huge relief to you or fill you with fear).

I always judge a book by it’s cover.

When someone says dress smart but casual I still have no idea what that means.

I ask my husband “how do I look” every morning before going to work, despite the fact that I know that men live in fear of this little question.

Also on the getting dressed front I always aim to wear matching underwear each day and usually don’t actually manage to achieve it. Is life just too short?

My back problem is probably due to the amount of stuff I carry about in my handbag. The weight of it would probably frighten Sherpas. When I place my handbag in the passenger seat the weight is such that the car tells my handbag to buckle up. Perhaps it’s time to downsize.

When I receive a text from my sister in capitals I know that she’s shouting at me – I’m never brave enough to reply in capitals.

I struggle to identify with people who don’t get the phrase “it’s just a game”.

I cry every time I hear a pipe band playing – maybe it’s a Scottish thing.

Some days I can reverse park like a professional – other days I haven’t a hope. Worryingly I never know ‘which’ day it is until I start.

It seemed Jacqueline wasn't the only one having one of those bad reverse parking days.

So what are some of you’re little quirks? I dare you, do tell.

The runaway train……

I remember a song we used to sing when I was as a child, it was called “The Runaway Train” and the words I recall were, “The runaway train came over the hill and she blew”.

This came into my mind this morning because my runaway train is stress. Now I don’t mean the kind of stress you feel when you have a deadline to meet, or have too many things on your ‘To Do’ list and not enough time. I mean the kind of stress that seems to grip you from I know not where. The kind of stress that wakes you at 4 in the morning (why is it always 4 in the morning) and knocks you for six.

It seems I'm not the only one up at 4am!

I’ve noticed of late that my 4 in the morning moments happen more frequently and that’s not good.

Four in the morning is a funny time to be awake (just not funny ha ha). For one I am the only person who is up. I creep down the stairs, trying to miss the ones I know that will creek. In getting up at this hour I try very hard not to wake anyone else in the house however our old cat Tam is not one to be fooled. This for him is a wonderful opportunity to mooch for food and of course I give in because I’m quite glad of the company. I’m sure that it doesn’t even occur to him that I’m up at this ungodly hour because I can’t sleep, figuring, as only a cat can, that I have chosen to leave my lovely bed to spoon out some of his foul smelling cat food because I think he needs the nourishment.

Oh no she's up again and she going to make me eat!

Sometimes I creep down the hall to my son’s room for Bella, our little grey cat. The reason for this is that, unlike Tam, Bella is thrilled to see me at whatever time and 4 in the morning is just fine with her. She will purr and with sleepy eyes beg for me to pick her up, and is happy to sit with me in the conservatory.

Don't get me wrong I love our early morning times together but I didn't get in until 3am. Can we not just know this 4am thing on the head?

Sometimes from the conservatory I see the odd light on in houses nearby – other 4 o’clock in the morning people I guess.

Four in the morning seems to be a fairly key time, I mean there have been countless songs written about it – none of which are particularly upbeat I hasten to add. A friend also informed me that 4 in the morning is when the spirit world are at their most active (although what she means by this I’m not sure). Not that I find it easy to subscribe to this notion, but it certainly doesn’t comfort me to be wandering about in the house at this time just in case. I mean I’ve got enough going on in my own head without coping with so called messages from the spirit world surely?

No I think four in the morning for me is just a message to say I need to give myself a break, acknowledge my stress and allow myself time and space to level things out – and they do.

So before you get the impression that I have completely lost the plot and am wandering about in some emotional wilderness I should say that I think I’m a pretty smart cookie. Cookie was my grandmother’s name for me, the smart bit came later.

Been there, done that - and I do actually have this T-shirt

So, when I find myself up at 4am I’m not going to get stressed by it. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea, feed my cats and accept the fact that this is how things are this morning however tomorrow, at this ungodly hour, I am quite likely to be tucked up in bed fast asleep. Ever the optimist.

I was wondering though if there are any other 4 in the morning people out there?

If so why do you find yourself up at 4am?

What do you do with the time?

Even better how do you avoid being a 4 in the morning person?

Any reflections / advice gratefully received.

Yawn.

Passing on our wisdom

One of the joys of cracking on a bit, as a mum anyway, is having the confidence and timing to pass on knowledge to my son.

Spencer is 16, has just commenced 5th year at school and as a result the realisation is setting in that it won’t be long before he will be joining the world outside school – a new chapter is not far away.

He arrived home yesterday with a bag full of information from all the universities and colleges in Scotland. Smart looking glossy prospectus after prospectus was unpacked onto the coffee table. I made a mental note that my son seemed enthused and excited – always a good sign.

Spencer, like many young people, has to work hard for his grades and to be honest I don’t think his teachers have given him the impression that he is ‘university material’ (whatever that is anyway). Despite this I rejoice in the fact that my son doesn’t seem to identify the boundaries and restrictions laid out in front of him by the education establishment. On one hand he feels the world is his oyster, on the other he has anxieties about the fact that he doesn’t know what he wants to do or what his next step should be. “What should I do mum?”, he said.

Sitting there together flicking through the trendy glossy brochures I was probably more acutely aware of the university courses that were not for him. Microbiology, medicine, engineering are just not the direction he is likely to take – but that’s OK.

I found this little voice inside of me saying ‘tell him what you know’ – of course the little voice didn’t tell me what to say on this occasion!

I don’t know where the words came from but I found myself telling him that no matter what he chooses all of these courses, without exception, open doors and create opportunities. I told him that in his course choices this year he has discovered new things that not only interest him, like psychology, but subjects he has learned that he is good at. It is not the choice of course or subject that’s important. What is important is that you choose something you enjoy. If you have a passion for what you are studying you are more likely to excel. So, instead of focussing on the glossy brochures (which of course we will do at a later date) I encouraged my son to look inwardly at what fires him up, what interest him – then we could try to build something around this.

Returning to study later in life has been a joy for me, but I understand my son’s anxiety. Experience certainly allows us to view the world differently, thankfully.

All this got me thinking. If I could write a letter to my 16-year-old self, coping with all the anxieties of life at that age, what would I say? I think it would probably go something like this.

Dear Jacqueline

My letter to my 16-year-old self……

Firstly, don’t stress, things turn out OK. What you need to know though is that if you want to achieve something you have to make it happen, nobody can do that for you. Don’t be put off by the people who try to tell you it’s not important or that you can’t. Always remember it’s OK to get things wrong, that’s how we learn. Oh and that streak that you have, that passion for challenging things in life that you feel are wrong – stick with that because it will be the basis of your future employment and there is nothing more wonderful than the joy you experience when you right a wrong.

In most things in life listen to your gut feeling, trust your judgement and try to understand where that all comes from. Be aware of the things in your life that shape you, good and bad and aim to laugh more than you cry.

Your red hair and freckles are beautiful and you will come to love them, I promise. Oh and don’t cut your hair too short, you will only end up spending years trying to grow it back. Cherish your individuality in all things and that wacky fashion sense your friends tease you about will come to define you as someone who is brave enough not to feel the need to look like everyone else.

Keep up your interest in all things creative – you will come to rely on it in every area in your life. Years from now you will be the kind of mum who can magic a fantastic Halloween costume in minutes, much to the joy of your son.

Your creativity will also extend to your home and your habit of changing rooms and furniture around will give you joy, but drive your family nuts. The day will come however when you are not able to move that wardrobe from one end of the house to the other single-handed but you will be blessed with strong people in your life who will roll their eyes at such a suggestion, but will roll their sleeves up and help.

In choosing your direction you might feel like you’re bumbling along for years, this is not so. You will come to understand the words of Aristotle – “where the needs of the world and your talents cross, there lies your destiny”.

You might hate things about yourself, like your smile (thanks to some awful NHS dentists) but you will come to learn that if you smile, people smile back and that will become more important to you.

You will look back on your life with some regrets but this will be balanced by the belief that you are up for the challenge of learning new things. You are smarter than you think you are, and your teachers were wrong. Many years from now you will nervously return to learning and will be overjoyed to receive a Distinction for your efforts.

You will be fortunate enough to have people cross your path who share their wisdom with you. You will come to strive to live by the not so silly mantra – “nobody promised you a tomorrow” and you will learn that it’s not such a daft idea to strive to cherishing every day.

You will learn to do things you never thought you could and, through travel and those important people in your life, you see things you never thought you would. Life turns out good, I promise, so trust that this is your direction.

So that’s me. What words of wisdom, if you could, would you share with your 16-year-old self?

A woman on a mission…..

Well the Universe has not let me down – this morning a friend brought a job vacancy to my attention and it sounds just up my street. It would take me into the realms of policy and development work AND pays better – result! So it’s official, I am a woman on a mission.

Oh please pick me!

Of course this is just the early stages however having read the job description I am already in the zone, focussed and determined and planning how I’m going to swing a day off work to attend the interview in Edinburgh – ever the optimist then!

I know that I will be gutted if I don’t get an interview, but for some reason whenever I apply for a job I just don’t see this as a consideration. I’m always convinced that my application will shine brightly enough to put me on the ‘give that girl an interview’ pile. To my credit I have only been let down on a few occasions. So yes, I am a ‘the glass is half full kind of gal’ on this occasion.

Jacqueline was convinced that the guy on the left was just not taking this seriously enough!

Interviews are of course strange things, artificial situations where you project the perfect you, try to engage with the interview panel in the hope that you leave them with the impression that you are perfect for the job.

As it happens I’ve been on both ends of the scenario – both the interviewer and the interviewee, and I have been staggered at how many people struggle in an interview situation. Interestingly I have found that it’s not because they don’t understand or that they can’t do the job, it tends to be more because they, for whatever reason, struggle to engage with the people on the interview panel.

Of course nowadays it’s supposed to be an even playing field, with all candidates being asked the same questions – obviously aimed at fairness and equality. What no interview can restrict however is the candidates personality and it’s this aspect that I feel goes a long way to securing a job offer.

So I will diligently fill in my application dredging back on my professional track record and making it fit in with the person specification and job description. As I post the application I will, as always, say a wee prayer to St Anthony to ask that he finds a way of getting my application on the ‘interview’ pile and then I will wait.

Being from Glasgow I’m not the kind of girl that’s backwards at coming forwards, however neither am I the kind of girl that blows her trumpet so loud that it deafens those around me – I’m banking on that being a fairly good mix.

Today I would just like to say thank you to the Universe for placing this opportunity in my path and to say that I will give it my best shot. However just in case I don’t shine brightly enough to get the golden prize Universe if you have any more up your sleeve could you keep me in mind.

I'm an optimistic realist so I'll keep my eyes wide open - just in case!

Onwards and upwards.

Where are we now and where are we going?

OK I’ll be honest I’m not a girl who gets easily fired up, but when I do it’s not always for the reasons you think. I read this yesterday……..

‘Abortion providers are already legally obliged to provide non-directional counselling and advice services to aid women in reaching the correct decision for themselves. We are strongly opposed to any move that would increase the involvement of ideologically motivated religious groups who are seeking to promote their own agenda rather than the best interests of the women they are advising, and as such would prefer to see the situation left unchanged.’ (Andrew Copson, Chief Executive, British Humanist Society)

So yes, I’ve been fired up around the media reports I’ve read on the proposed amendments to the Health and Social Care Bill.

My understanding is that the current situation means that counselling available to woman faced with an unplanned pregnancy is provided by counsellors affiliated with the British Association of Counsellors and Psychotherapists (BACP) – sounds fine so far. The BACP are, I know, an organisation who through its work ensures that it meets it’s remit of public protection whilst also developing and informing its members. One of the main aims of BACP is to ‘enable access to ethical and effective psychological therapy by setting and monitoring of standards’.

The pro choice groups are concerned that these proposed amendments that could strip established abortion providers of their counselling role. The very real concern is that this role would be filled by counsellors from faith-based Crisis Pregnancy Centres (CPC), which are often overseen by religious anti-abortion groups and my understanding is that CPC monitoring and standards differ from the non judgemental, non directive stance valued by BACP registered counsellors.

From what I’ve read in the media I think that ultimately these proposed amendments are less about counselling provision and more about tightening Britain’s Abortion Laws and I appreciate that people have strong views on abortion, as is their right. However for me this current state of play is about the provision of appropriate and ethical counselling services, which, if my understanding is correct is already in place.

Good counselling makes all the difference in the world - bad counselling makes all the difference in the world!

Fortunately I have never been in the position of having to cope with the trauma of an unplanned pregnancy but I know that the choices available to me in such a situation are not limited to abortion. I could choose to have the child, have the child adopted and yes I could choose to terminate my pregnancy. I also know that whatever decision I make is one that I will have to live with for the rest of my life. What I do know is that if I was in such a position I would want to know that I was able to consult a trained, ethical counsellor able to offer me non directive support and accurate information to help me reach my own decision – whatever that may be.

Having experienced both good and bad counselling and psychotherapy I know how important and life changing consulting with an experienced and ethical counsellor can be. I have been on the receiving end of bad counselling, where the counsellor places their own agenda and beliefs in a position of priority, second to mine, and I have experienced how damaging this can be. Good counselling on the other hand offers the client the opportunity to feel empowered enough to consider decisions and, if appropriate, to make changes to their life by making their own choices.

If what we are debating here in these proposed reforms is about women’s right to choose to terminate a pregnancy then lets just come out and say it. The world is complicated enough without cloak and dagger politics. Surely a debate about a woman’s right and access to abortion is too important to debate at the back door? I also question whether this really should be a debate about quality and choice and not about politics? The world is certainly a complicated place.

The ethics of abortion are complex and justifiably require careful consideration on an individual and collective basis. However if this is what is required please can we not erode crucial and appropriate services in the meantime because there are people out there right now faced with making probably one of the biggest decision in their life who need access to services just like this.

So what road is this taking us down I wonder?

OK I’ll get off my soapbox now, but thanks for sticking with me on this one. Health and Social Care is my area of study but I would be interested to hear your views? After all it is only by listening and considering things from all perspectives that we can truly learn.

Life is a cabaret

Today is a good day. For one I feel quite proud of myself, mainly for finding the courage to push the ‘publish’ button on my wee blog yesterday. It would have been so much easier to just have kept that all to myself.

I decided when I first started writing my blog back in April that I wanted to write about things that touched my life. Sometimes I write about things that are funny, sometimes sad and sometimes I just have a good old rant at things in life I feel are wrong. I don’t expect people to agree with me and I am truly humbled that people take the time to read and to comment. Most wonderful of all is that through my own wee blog, and other blogs I read and follow, I have connected with other people, particularly other women, who also share their joys and struggles, wisdom and their humour. These connections have come to be incredibly important to me.

Arriving at work today at the community complex where I’m currently based I found that the wee room I use for training had been double booked and so I had to decant to the little cafe in the complex. It was no big deal. I found myself a little corner table and one of the girls in the cafe made me a frothy coffee. I sat down with my computer fully intending to get lost in the world of report writing. How wrong I was.

In the other corner of the cafe a group of students were pretending to do homework, but the songs on the radio were too much of a distraction and it wasn’t long before singing broke out Mama Mia style, and of course the dancing followed. It was lovely.

The only thing missing were the costumes!

People know me here in the complex. They know that part of my role, when I’m not training, is to work as a Welfare Rights Adviser. So employment, housing, benefits and debt are just some of the topics that I grapple with of a day for my clients. I quite often get people saying, “I don’t know if you can help me but do you know anything about………” It seemed that today was going to be one of those days.

One of the girls from the cafe pulled up a chair and started to unpack a problem relating to her employment in the little cafe. I listened patiently to her concerns and offered information and guidance to help with her quandary. She returned to her work with a bit of clarity on a situation that would no doubt unfold, but one that she would be more prepared to deal with.

Hearing some of the conversation an elderly gentleman sitting with his wife said, “oh your the lady who helped my friend with his Attendance Allowance form, do you think I could make an appointment to see you”. And so it went on.

The Mama Mia girls had now moved on and sitting with my coffee and the radio playing it struck me that it was nice to sit here and just let the day unfold. How often do I take the time to do that?

A few minutes later a seagull wandered into the cafe so all hell broke loose as two of the cafe girls shouted and waved their arms about trying to encourage it back out the door.

Can I have a cappuccino to go and a pot of tea for 10 please

I was doomed, I thought, never to finish this report, but I confess to caring not a jot. This day it seemed was one that was just going to unfold and there was no point in fighting it.

My phone dinked and I expected it to be a message from my husband. Peter had taken on the challenge of finding a quaich (a Scottish silver goblet type of thing used to drink whisky from). This was to be a wedding gift for the wedding at the weekend. It’s tradition to fill the quaich with whisky at the reception and passed it around for all the guests to drink from. It is said that whoever drinks from the quaich will remain in the couples lives throughout their marriage. I think it’s a lovely tradition although if any of the guests work in health and safety I’m sure there might be raised eyebrows.

Anyhow the text wasn’t from my husband but from a lady I worked with many years ago. This is what it said…

“Every time I come past your house I admire and enjoy your wall boxes. The flowers are a joy. I’m sure I’m not the only one ”

Our boxes brimming with flowers - thanks to the Scottish rain and a bit of TLC

It seems that I’m not the only one who was kicking back today and taking time to smelling the coffee. There is much to be said for just letting life flow over you and allowing yourself to feel connected to the world and whatever it presents you with.

Life is messy

This has been whirring around in my head this morning. You see in truth I feel like I’ve been bumbling along with the perception that if you get out of life what you put into it then I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’ve felt misplaced and struggled a bit with life of late. However throughout all of this mind whirring some stuff I’ve heard, read and seen has seeped through and I think I might have figured some stuff out.

WARNING for those of you with a fragile disposition - Look Away Now!

Let me explain. I’m a doer, a fixer. I try in all situations to make things better but sometimes I just can’t. Actually having just written that I realise it is much worse, you see I’m in there before things even go wrong trying to make sure they don’t happen (no pressure then!)

OK my life isn’t straightforward. I juggle work, study, caring, being a mum and a wife and all the responsibilities that go along with that. But hey it’s doable, isn’t it? It’s just that I haven’t felt that I’m ‘doing it’ that well lately. I’ve come to realise though that it’s not life I have been struggling with, what I have been struggling with is vulnerability. My vulnerability.

You see when I can’t fix things, make things run smoothly then I feel as though I’ve failed, I’m not a good enough wife, carer, mum etc. I realise that my main position in life is to lean into the discomfort, meet it head on (not such a bad approach). However when I can’t put things right I adopt the position of feeling I’ve fallen short of the mark; leaving me feeling vulnerable and disconnected.

We are all vulnerable, but we strive, as we move through life, to hide that vulnerability because vulnerability is negative and if we are vulnerable we ultimately adopt the mindset that we are not good enough, no one will like us and we become disconnected. It is at this point that I think we need to choose.

If we accept that we are all vulnerable then I also know that there are folks out there getting on with it and there are those whose vulnerability becomes such a focal point in their life that it stops them from getting on and living. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to curl up into a ball and give up, that just ain’t me – as I’ve said my main position is to lean into the discomfort.

It seems that the trick is to have the courage to acknowledge our vulnerability (check OK I’ve done that) and the compassion to accept our vulnerability (OK thinking about that one). If I can achieve this then I should have the ability to remain connected to all the other positive stuff in life (of which there is much). The people who really succeed in this struggle are the ones that can let go of who they think they should be and find contentment in being who they are – vulnerability and all.

So, I should be a good mum, carer, wife etc it’s how I’ve been programmed to think. But what if for example I don’t feel I’m a good carer, what if I get tired and worry that that this might not be a position I can sustain. What if my son is unhappy and I can’t fix things, what if my husband gets fed up with me because of all the what if’s? See I told you I was feeling vulnerable!

So what is my plan? Well for one I want to accept that my vulnerability is part of who I am. I don’t see myself as a perfectionist but I can identify myself as someone who, when I feel vulnerable, feels the need to fix it, fix me (at least that’s what the voices in my head were doing this morning). But, and here’s the clincher – I’m not perfect and that folks is OK. I need to have the courage to be comfortable with my imperfectness (I know that’s not a word but hey today I don’t care).

I remember when my son was born and I looked at my little bundle and I thought that he was just perfect and I vowed to do everything in my power to help him strive to be the best. But like all of us my son was born into a vulnerable and imperfect world where we are all struggling with our imperfections – all trying to be the best we can be. If I was to go back to that day I think I would change my vow to him and tell him that I will always love him just the way he is and that in this life being good enough is a huge achievement.

So the juggle of life continues however having thought the hell out of this today the voices in my head are now confidently telling me……

• It’s perfectly acceptable to be good enough.
• Some things can’t be singlehandedly changed/influenced/solved (who made you chief anyway!)
• Being connected is the answer and this is always possible because you have people in your life who love you.
• Don’t always expect to make the right choices – aim for making good choices.
• Your husband loves you and already knows how crazy you are. He has stuck it out this long – let out a breath -he’s probably not at home packing.
• It’s OK to question life, just don’t expect to have all the answers.

So having shared my head space and heart with you today and where my thinking took me, what about you? What nugget of wisdom, penny dropping moments have you had? All contributions gratefully received.

Eggs and Headdresses

I’ve noticed some blogs seem to be given awards, but today I’m actually giving an award…. read on and I’ll explain.

Give that gal a gold star!

I have a wedding to go to and boy am I looking forward to getting dressed up. Remember that feeling when you were a little girl and your new shoes and dress were sitting neatly by your bed ready for the morning. My excitement was such that I used to get up and switch the light on just so that I could look at them again. Patent shoes were my favourite and I recall that I was partial to dresses that had something quirky about them – oh yes, it was all in the detail.

Today, for me it was all about detail. You see this wedding is, it seems, going to be a bit of a swanky affair. I don’t do swanky, but I do ‘do’ (yes I know that sounds odd, but stick with me) – where was I, oh yes, I do ‘do’ me. When I say ‘me’ I know what I like and it’s not usually in fashion – which can create a bit of a problem.

There is of course a particular wedding fashion favoured by many ladies and well, that just isn’t me either.

When they told me 'morning blue' was 'in' I didn't realise they meant EVERYONE at the wedding would be wearing it.

My passion is vintage clothes and I would much rather buy something beautiful (but second-hand) from the charity shop than pay the money for something that might be new but doesn’t quite fit the bill but will kind of do.

Anyhow, this wedding. Well I confess to not having anything to wear. I know women all over the world say that, but I really didn’t. However by chance I stumbled across a beautiful 50′s style day-dress. If it had been in a charity shop I would have snapped it up, but it was new, and although in the sale I hummed and hawed. My lovely husband however got me on the straight and narrow, loved the dress and bought it for me. Thanks to him I was well on my way to having an outfit.

Last weekend I rummaged in my box of shoes and found a pair that perfectly match my dress and a little 50′s style jacket with 3/4 length sleeves to set off my dress. I even have beautiful little pair of vintage gloves to wear. What I didn’t have however was a hat.

Now I love hats and have been collecting them for years, but with the colours in this dress I just didn’t have anything. Anyhow recently I was discussing what 50′s headwear looked like with Ultra Creative Friend who amazingly hatched a plan and said she could make me a headdress to match my dress. Fantastic! All I needed to do was to find a handbag.

I trawled around the charity shops today but alas no handbag. However the day was certainly not lost, not by a long shot. In the afternoon I visited Ultra Creative Friend to discover that she had made me the most beautiful headpiece. Not only that she filled me with coffee, stories, and friendship and on leaving I got a huge hug and a dozen of the best eggs in the Highlands from her chickens. Now that’s what I call a friend!

So the Gold Star Award goes to you Ultra Creative One you are quite simply the best. With my 50′s outfit almost complete, thanks to you I know that I will certainly not look out of place at this swanky affair. Oh and yes, the night before the wedding I will probably get up and put the light on, just to look at my outfit again. Old habits die hard.

Eggs and Headdresses

Thank you Ultra Creative One - it matches perfectly!

Thank you Mr Shakespeare

Well I survived creative writing class number two and what a joy it is turing out to be this little class.

We meet in the theatre in Inverness in our little room, with not enough tables. We are all squashed in together and for two hours and we write, talk and share our work. We certainly are a mixed bunch, from all walks of life, and a wide range of abilities in the writing front.

I am staggered by how much emotion swirls around our little room when our class meets and I acknowledge the strength that it takes for each of us to write from a personal viewpoint and share parts of who we are. It is very humbling to have that experience within a busy and chaotic week.

Our little class starts at 6.30 sharp so for me it’s home from work, a whistle-stop catch up with my family, dinner – cooked and eaten quickly – then off to the theatre across the river.

Our tutor, Peter, taught me when I was a sixteen year old and it is interesting now at 45 to interact with him again and to learn from him. Last night it was poetry, sonnets in fact. I will confess to being apprehensive but as I was in good company my nerves soon dissipated – or so I thought.

Of course when considering sonnets William Shakespeare is the man it seems. Huddled around our large table, that is not quite large enough, we read through some of his sonnets and Peter shared his knowledge on how to approach writing a sonnet. It’s all about the rhythm and the flow and the rhyme – then it was our turn.

As I sat there surrounded by beautiful pieces written by Mr Shakespeare, and aware of all the other students working away – pens scratching on paper – I confess that my mind was blank. “I can’t do this” I thought to myself. Now even I know that when you believe you can’t do something then you quite simply can’t. Filled with the horror that in 15 mins my peers would all be reading their hastily prepared pieces I felt anxious that I would be the only one with nothing to say.

Me with nothing to say, that will be a first! So I gathered up Mr Shakespeare’s poetry and put it in my bag. In doing so I suppose I was acknowledging that I could’t even begin to write to his standard – hey it was only my second class. The pressure of trying was stopping me creating anything.

You can, it seems, write a sonnet about anything, but for me it had to be about love. Idea of course pinched from Mr Shakespeare, but I felt he wouldn’t mind me drawing on his influence. My little sonnet began to flow out of me. My 14 lines (the required quota for a sonnet) was about an old lady, widowed many years ago, reflecting on the ebb and flow of memories of her lost love. I finished just in time.

One by one each of us read our sonnet, but as it was approaching my turn I began to feel uneasy recalling that one ladies in our group had recently been widowed. I felt anxious that my piece would be painful for her to listen to. So, I squared my shoulders and in my Glasgow accent (which for some reason becomes much more pronounced when I’m angry or nervous) read my piece. The lady reached over the table and touched my hand. It was such a simple gesture, no eye contact, just a touch.

Later when the class finished and everyone was pulling on their coats and gathering their belongings the lady came up to me. Quietly she asked if she could have a copy of my sonnet, saying it was such a beautiful way of explaining the sadness she feels. Feeling almost as tearful as her I tore the piece out of my notebook and gave it to her.

So Mr Shakespeare I may not be in your league however I now understand the distinctive rhyming scheme of a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f and I even managed my last two lines in your distinctive style of a rhyming couplet. More importantly however I did something I didn’t believe I was capable of – my words connected with someone else. Isn’t that, after all, the best we can hope to achieve?

Other authors are available, but thank you Mr Shakespeare!

I did it my way…..

Hooray my husband is home and I am no longer a single-handed carer. It seems that life is immeasurably better when we work as a team. This caused me to reflect on an old Jewish proverb which says, “I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders’. My husband is, it seems, my broader shoulders.

I did OK as a single-handed carer though felt completely disorganised. Thankfully I have no study at the moment but I did have to find the time to clear some head space to do my ‘homework’ for my creative writing class.

Starting a creative writing class has been one of my better ideas. It’s quite different approach to the writing. One of the most difficult things to get used to I think is to feel confident enough to give free rein to your thoughts. Also not to be too afraid to read something over, chuck it in the bin and move on. This week we had to write a piece entitled habitat, that’s all the guidance we got and joy oh joy mine is written and off to my tutor. As I type this I can feel the butterflies in my stomach at the thought of having to read it out to the others in the group tonight. But hey, life is nothing without a challenge so I will square my shoulders and try to read my piece without the nerves showing too much. Makes you feel very alive though!

So life this week has not been dull and my time as Person in Charge taught me much.

Plan? Nobody told me I needed a plan

I reflected that the best description I can give you to describe the life of a carer is that you have to be on hand to manage the ‘emotional labour’. I am frequently in awe of other carers I know and their ability to get through their day.

I smiled yesterday though when I got an email from a friend who is also a carer. She had emailed a few of us to ask if we wanted to play Carer Bingo. Now I might be cracking on a bit but a trip to the bingo is not high on my list of things I want to do in life. This however was quite different.

Oh no, was this not just another way of juggling more balls?

My friend had emailed a list of statements and, as a carer you tick them off if people make these remarks to you. My friend had set us the challenge to see who would win our Carer Bingo – here was her list of remarks……

“If you carry on like this you’re going to have a nervous breakdown.”
“Oh, you’re an angel/a saint/a martyr. You’re so good to do what you do.”
“I couldn’t do what you do. It’s different for you though, you’ve got a naturally caring personality.”
“…but you work so you’re not a proper carer.”
“Your life must be so hard. I don’t know how you cope. Anyway, bye…”
“You need to take better care of yourself.”
“Oh I wouldn’t have time to do what you do. It’s good that you do it though.”
“Why don’t you just have a holiday?”

I can vouch that this really is the sort of stuff people say to you. If it’s a good day then it’s water off a ducks back, but there are the days when you feel that a punch in the face is quite simply the only appropriate response.

She whispered quietly under her breath whilst expertly feigning a smile

I’m in good company though. There are currently about 6 million carers in the UK all of whom make a massive contribution. Without them society and public services would simply not function and the care provided by friends and family members to ill, frail or disabled relative clearly demonstrates how strong our families and communities are. This care is estimated to be worth a staggering £119 billion in the UK. Now that’s impressive.

So like me there are loads of folk out there fixing hearing aids, helping people dress, wash, eat etc whilst tip-toeing their way through difficult emotional situations with their caree. You have to be able to smile when you feel sad, say everything is OK – even when you feel it’s not, and you have to be able to get things done quickly, or slowly, as required.

But hey I’m no expert and this week I muddled through. If there was a theme tune to describe my week as a single-handed carer it would be good old Blue Eyes singing “I Did it My Way”.

Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.

I confess though, it is much, much better being part of a team. Welcome home husband!

Come on Universe, blow my mind.

I woke up this morning with a heady mix of hormones and apathy. It was certainly going to be a tough day.

At work I checked my emails but failed to muster the energy to deal with much before heading out to do some training. I’m currently training a group of young people with a zest for life that takes my breath away so figured that this would get me back on track.

As I drove across town a little niggle in my head (or is it my heart) made me realise that I need to look for a new job. This voice inside my head wasn’t just whispering it was shouting – megaphone style. So this little niggle is no longer just a niggle it’s real and it’s now top of my list. I am, as of today, officially looking for another job.

and another thing..... IT'S TIME YOU LOOKED FOR A NEW JOB!!!!!

I have no idea what I’m looking for. I have a range of skills that could fit around a variety of challenges. I’m a team player, but also just as happy to work away enthusiastically on my own. I’ve also been round the block a bit, come through the war zone of office politics a few times, so I can, as they say, hold my own.

There is nothing particularly wrong with my job, other than that it’s me that’s in it. OK it can be pretty tough working with some of my clients but it’s rewarding work. I frequently bask in the success of challenging a system that allows vulnerable people to fall through gaps that leave them trying to cope with stress and financial instability.

Studying for my degree through the Open University in my spare time has also influenced me. Studying has been hugely empowering as, in addition to new learning, it has also given me the opportunity to validate stuff that I actually already know. I have discovered that I can write the hell out of an academic essay, I can speed read like you wouldn’t believe and I have the confidence to juggle my coursework just enough to allow me to draw breath and cope with my other responsibilities. Do you know what, I’m doing OK!

I know what direction I'm heading in.....

So hormones and apathy may be my companions today but I’ve had a word with the Universe and asked her to look out for another job for me. She has never let me down yet and I have no doubt that at some point in the future she will nudge one into my line of vision.

Meantime I will continue to pull my weight and raise my game when necessary in the full knowledge that life is moving me in the right direction. Come on Universe, blow my mind!

Come on Universe, where to next....?

Memories are made of this

With my husband off travelling I’m staying at home to keep things ticking over here. One of the nice things about being at home is that I’ve been able to spend a bit of time with my 16-year-old son, Spencer. I felt quietly honoured when he suggested we watch a movie together on Saturday and we even managed to spend some time together on Sunday.

For years I was a single parent, so spending time with him took me back to times when it was just him and I. We cooked and watched our movie and it struck me how much he is growing up. The movie was 127 hours – The Danny Boyle film about the guy stuck in the cave whose only chance of survival is to cut off his arm. Perhaps not the best movie to choose when you’re having a TV dinner, but I noted with a smile that this didn’t seem to impact on my son’s appetite.

Apart from the movie being shockingly gory in bits it was also hugely thought-provoking. As a result of this I got a glimmer into the workings of my 16-year-old son’s head and heart. It turns out he is developing into rather a philosophical young man.

My son is a bit like me, he’s a talker. Never happier than when he’s nattering away and before long of course the conversation turned to “do you remember when mum”. He likes to reminisce. The memories that he often returns to are the funny things we have done together. Like the time when he was about 7. I had driven into the petrol station put petrol in the car and unusually I had just paid at the pump rather than going into the kiosk. Getting back into the car to drive away my son said, “Aren’t you going to pay for the petrol mum?”. I just could’t resist it and I said, “Och lets just drive off” and I did with my son looking horrified. I gave him just long enough before I told him I had paid at the pump and I was only kidding. He laughed uncontrollably all the way home in the way only a 7-year-old boy can. It was wicked I know but it was very funny.

Humour is a big part of our relationship. Being a single parent is tough and from experience I know that coping with your parents separating is tough for any kid, so ensuring that there was a much laughter as possible in the house was important. I know that Spencer and I are blessed that we are able to look back at those times with some fond memories.

The best by a long shot was when my son asked me if his Dad remarried would he have another mum and what would happen if she didn’t like him. I could feel my heart pounding and with all I could muster I calmly explained to my son that I was sure that if his Dad married again he would want them to be a special person and that special people are usually kind and nice. I told him that he was such a special boy that I could’t imagine his Dad’s new wife not liking him. My son seemed happy with this and I carried on with the cooking while he poured himself a drink. Standing there with milk around his top lip he looked up and said, “so really she wouldn’t be my mum then, because you’re the one true Mum”. My heart simply melted.

To this day he still calls me The One True Mum.

Do I get a medal for surviving this long?

Well it’s a grey day today in not so sunny Inverness and whilst my husband is struggling with the heat in Florence (40 degrees yesterday) we are coping with the misery of torrential rain and, just to keep it interesting, thunder and lightening.

The house is quiet this morning. Sylvia, my mother in law, is staying in bed for a while and having peaked in my son Spencer’s room the only sign of him is a lump under his duvet. So it’s only me and the two cats wandering quietly around the house.

Sitting at my desk in the conservatory I have a hot cuppa (in my husband’s Beatles mug) and peace and time to write.

This is my little space in the house and I love it. Right in front of me is a painting by Anne Murray, a Scottish artist with no formal training, who took up painting when she separated from her husband. This change of direction resulted in her becoming a successful artist quite late in life and my painting of Anne’s is one of the few things I secured from the contents of my home when I divorced some ten years ago now. It’s a beautiful painting that serves to remind me that anything is possible in this life.

It struck me that I have come across quite a few women who have changed direction as a result of life throwing them a curve ball. Certainly many students I have met through the Open University (OU) have their own stories to back this up and find themselves studying as a reaction to some of the lows in life. So the ‘every cloud has a silver lining’ seems to ring true for many women in my life. One thing they all have in common is that without the push life gave them they may never have made the change, taken the chance or followed the path that resulted in adding so much to their life.

So, when I sit here, desperately trying to write an essay that will take me closer to achieving my degree, Anne’s painting spurs me on, acting as a reminder that if you throw everything at your dream you have a good chance of achieving it.

At the moment, thankfully, my little desk isn’t strewn with books as my next course isn’t due to start until October. So this valuable time allows me to concentrate on things that usually take a bit of a back seat. For many students I know one thing that niggles away at you on that back seat is the dreaded housework.

Now I’m not big into housework, sure I keep the place ticking over, but when you notice that there is a little gathering of rice crispies under the couch it’s time to rise to the challenge and knock the house into some kind of shape. That, I’ve decided, is my task for the day. So after this cuppa, and with some trepidation of what else I might find, I’ll be getting my working clothes on an mucking in.

I’ve never been an organised housewife, I have my moments sure, but I’m not an ‘everything has a place and everything in it’s place’ kind of gal. I can however see the sense in this and so for this reason I’ve also been having a bit of a purge of ‘things’ that I neither need anymore or have no place for.

When my mother in law moved in with us we were happy to make space in our home for this feisty 93-year-old lady who could no longer safely live on her own. My husband and I gave up our bedroom (which became Sylvia’s living room) and the adjacent room (my study and the place I kept my clothes, shoes, handbags etc) became her little bedroom with her own en-suite bathroom. Quickly we were able to pull these rooms into shape and as a result of this Sylvia has her own self-contained living space within our home.

Of course the other side of this successful equation is that my husband and I had to cobble together our bedroom in a room upstairs that was far smaller. Space for furniture is limited due to the sloping ceiling (it’s in the eaves of the house) and it’s not uncommon for me to come dangerously close to knocking myself out if I get out of bed too quickly. But hey, I’m not complaining, from my bed this is the view I get every morning!

Views across beautiful Inverness

Sylvia has been with us almost two years now and I confess to still trying to get our space right. Initially of course I tried to cram everything that was in our spacious two rooms downstairs into one. Through time however I have come to realise that I need more order, at least in my bedroom if not in my life. So, gone are the shoes I no longer wear and clothes that I have stopped kidding myself I will ever fit into again. I have donated so many lovely things to Cancer Research that I’m surprised they haven’t called to ask if I’d like to become one of their patrons!

I’m a big fan of charity shops, always have been, and of all the things I have donated over the past two years I can honestly say that I haven’t missed a single one of them. Today, as part of my attempt to knock this house into shape, I will be having yet another clear out of my clothes in the hope of creating some order and calm in our little bedroom. I mean how much stuff do you actually need? I frequently come across some item of clothing or another and realise either I forgot I had this or I haven’t worn it for ages and if I’m honest never will again. My goal is to have a wardrobe of things that I actually want AND wear.

Now I’m no minimalist – actually this is a bad word in our house. My husband has been collecting things from auctions for years and the result is a rather eclectic home borne out of combining my possessions and his when we married a couple of years ago. However as I’ve grown older I have come to realise that for me I really only want to make space in my life for things that are important.

I think becoming a mature student has taught me this. Time for example is very precious and with deadlines to juggle I have had to learn to use my time wisely. I have also developed the skill of saying no to things that I know I will neither value doing or have the time for. I think this way of thinking has spilled over into other areas of my life and slowly but surely I have donated or given away ‘things’ that I no longer have space for in my life.

Of course this isn’t just restricted to your wardrobe etc. I have also found that this way of thinking impacts on my head and my heart. Over the years, as a result of all this studying, I’ve been cramming knowledge, information, theories into my head. So to make space for it all I’ve discovered that I’ve shed some of the emotional stuff that was lurking around in there (doing nothing and just taking up valuable space). Talk about a mental clear out!

So today the rice crispies (and whatever else is under the couch) will be banished, my wardrobe will get a good going over. I will shed a couple of pounds as I haul the Dyson around the house and I will emerge with a huge bag of ‘stuff’ to be donated to charity.

I read an article recently that claimed that women, on average spend 51 days a year doing housework. Well if that’s true then I’m a woman on a mission alright because we’re already half way through the year and I’ve clearly not met my quota!

Whilst mopping the floor she vowed that these shoes were on their way to the charity shop - they hurt like hell!

As I write this our little cat Bella is purring beside me. I realise it’s alright to be on a mission, but it’s better to have another cup of tea first! Bring it on…….

She was no Wonder Woman but everyone marvelled at the ease with which she banished the rice crisps from under the couch.

When the going gets tough the tough go to Creative Writing Class

Well it is day 2 of being a singlehanded carer and we seem to be ticking along nicely. I managed to get everything done and get to work this morning, but I will confess I was not as unfrazzled as I was yesterday. I can accept that though, I know that as a carer you quickly learn to take one day at a time.

I’m a singlehanded carer thankfully only for a short period – when my husband returns from his travels life will return to some kind of normality (at least what normality is for us). I accept the responsibilities of being a carer, but being a singlehanded carer is like riding a bike without stabilisers – once you get the hang of it you’re fine, but there’s a bit of wobbling goes on initially. I will confess to wobbling a bit mostly because I’m not at home all day. I work full time and so I worry about everything being OK at home.

Worrying it seems is part and parcel of being a carer. Carers worry about all sorts of things. Take this morning, when I was just about to take my mother in law breakfast and give her her medication I stood there at the door, as we do everyday, and you think – is she still going to be with us today? I apologise if that sounds awful but my mother in law is 93, soon to be 94, and well it’s something we have to face. Along with many other carers, that’s just our reality. There are however some things you never get used to.

So worrying is up there and if I’m not careful I could ‘worry for Scotland’. Last night for example I got home from worked cooked, got things organised and then I was out from 6.30 to 8.30 at my creative writing class (first one ever – felt very brave – give that girl a gold star). Of course this meant that my mother in law would be home alone, and as she’s a lady with a high risk of falling, we had to have the ‘while I’m out you’re confined to barracks’ conversation. Her living area in our home has been kitted out properly to minimise the risk of falling however if she wanders into other parts of the house then the odds of a fall dramatically rise. So once I negotiated this I was off to my class.

Creative writing is not something I’ve ever really dabbled in so taking the plunge and signing up for a class was a first for me. This was certainly going to be interesting, particularly as the tutor is a guy who taught me in school when I was 16. Peter is a lovely man and when I nervously joined the class he came over and gave me a kiss on the cheek explaining to the others that I was one of his ‘students’. He then got very embarrassed and explained that he wasn’t in the habit of kissing pupils but that I was an old pupil, which led to further apologies that of course he didn’t think I was old etc…… and so it went on. With the antics of it all my nerves dissipated as it seemed our tutor was nervous enough for all of us.

The class was a real mix of people and before long there was a nice feeling that we were a group. I know that I will learn much from the others and was quite staggered by the presence of emotion in the room, a reminder that in this life we all have a story.

As I drove home exhausted with little worrying niggles – would everything be ok when I got home? Well it was apart from the fact that Bella, our little grey cat and mouser extraordinaire, decided to lay on some entertainment for me when I got home. She had brought in a mouse and promptly left it to run around the house. So in the absence of my husband, not only was I chief carer but also chief mouse catcher for the evening.

Bella took her role as mouse catcher seriously, but she really wasn't helping.

Everything eventually settled down and by about 9.30 and I got the chance to catch my breath. It will, I thought, all begin again tomorrow.

So today wearing my various hats I have had to use diplomacy, negotiating skills, patience, flexibility, adaptability and of course mind reading, not to mention outsmarting mice, just to get through the day. What will tomorrow bring? Come home husband all is forgiven.

Life is for living – what are you waiting for?

I seem to be collecting quotes. I come across one every now and then and hurriedly tap it into my phone. I came across one from Mae West this morning that went like this….

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough”.

I like her thinking. Life certainly is for living although I confess that because of the stuff of life I do put things on hold, happy for them to fester away on my ‘tomorrows’ list and then be promptly forgotten about. The way I see it I’ll get to them eventually. It’s a bit like the list of quotes on my phone – every now and then I flick through it and discover some I have long since forgotten about.

I’m a doer – I like to do things, however I am also acutely aware that I’m guilty of procrastination (something that has come glaringly to light since I began studying) – a strange mixture me thinks. So either I’m excited and fired up and doing things or I let things slide. I put them off until one of those tomorrows I figure will be a more appropriate time to address whatever my conscience has worryingly put to the bottom of my list. This I am sure, for those who live with me must drive them mad. In my defence I know my pitfalls and I do my best to address this.

I confess that my life is a complicated juggling act. I work full time, have a family and am also a carer and a student working under her own steam. I’m not a free agent as far as my time is concerned and compromise is the name of the game. That however is no excuse – when Mrs Procrastination raises her head, squares her shoulders and plants herself square in my life it is because I have allowed her to do so – it’s nothing to do with anyone else.

But hey, my life is a work in progress. I take joy from the fact that at 45 I’m still happy to be finding out new stuff about me, brave enough to acknowledge some of the stuff I don’t like and kind enough to myself to trust that I can find the confidence and the energy to address those little (and not so little) creases that my friends loving tell me make me who I am.

In terms of the old adage, “you only live once” then I am happy to say that I’m living the life I want, but I also accept that life is unpredictable and any one of us can be faced with tough challenges and hurdles to climb – but for now I’m happy. Whether I’m doing ‘it’ right – as Mae West points out – I don’t know, but I must at least be on the right track.

Having the opportunity to live the life they want in reality is a challenge for many carers. I have a good network of people who are carers and having experienced the restrictions to getting out there and living your life first hand, and also hearing other peoples stores, I know the importance of not putting too many things on that “I’ll do it tomorrow list”.

This came up recently when my husband Peter and I had the opportunity to travel to Rome and Florence with friends. Caring responsibilities in our life dictate that doing anything out of routine is complicated. Dangerously this can often be the first stumbling block for carers and certainly for me I knew that it was not an option for me to go. Travelling together was certainly not an option as someone has to be at home to deal with things.

Sometimes as a carer you have to live your life a little differently if you are to add to your opportunities of ‘doing it right’ and really living. The solution for us was that my husband goes off travelling. His life has been influenced greatly recently by chronic rheumatoid arthritis and I know that, thanks to his newly acquired prescription for steroids and a lecture from me about taking his painkillers, this trip will bring him the opportunity of a much needed break, some sunshine and joy. So I’m staying here, granted with a bit more to juggle, but as I said I’m a doer, so trust me we’re in good hands!

My husband left early this morning and despite the extra care responsibilities remarkably I made it to work on time looking unfrazzled and ready for the day. Hey I even managed to put on some make up (granted it was applied hurriedly in the car whilst stuck behind a bin lorry – but that’s OK I’m nothing if not adaptable).

So Mrs Procrastination ain’t got a look in today, I’m busy and I’m on a mission. Yes there is lots to organise and yes it’s tougher to do it all without support. However there is a little nugget of gold waiting for me at the end of the day. Oh yes my husband might be off enjoying the pleasures of travelling but I start my creative writing class tonight.

It would be fair to say that if we only live life once then we’re having a stab at doing it Mae’s way and, in doing it right, once is enough. Care to join me?

Life is for Living! (NOTE TO SELF - learn how to do mirror writing)

Take time to wake up and smell the coffee

I came across the Arabian proverb, “All mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move.” Today I definitely fit into the category of ‘those that move’!

I was up by 7am, mainly because I had to (as for some reason it has come to be the norm) encourage my son out of bed in the mornings for school. Then it was out into the garden in my mismatched pyjamas and slippers with wee Bella, my son’s lovely grey cat. This has, over the summer, become part of a ritual for Bella and I. We have a wander around, deadhead flowers in the pots and just generally meander, breaking ourselves gently into the day.

The lovely Bella pretending she's a study aid

Then it’s get the coffee on and today I made pancakes. I used to make pancakes every morning – for some reason this has fallen by the wayside – but not today. Why have I stopped I wonder, they only take 10 mins tops and everyone in the house loves to eat them? Then I chatted with my son as he poured himself a huge bowl of Rice Crispies – half of which he probably wouldn’t eat and I would have to chastise him for the waste (not today, sometimes you just needed the day to start without having to be ‘bad cop’ – don’t you). Then I helped him do his school tie (for some reason this intricate manoeuvre still alludes him) then breakfast with my husband and off to work.

When I say I was on the move I mean that quite literally as I was walking to work today. So rucksack packed I started my trek to the school I’m working in this morning. Down past the park, along by the River Ness and then followed the route along the canal. I was passed by the odd runner (who I noted don’t seem to do that rather unattractive heavy breathing thing I do when I run – neither did they of that rather unattractive purple face I seem to develop after only a few paces). I also met a few people with dogs who wanted clapped and lots of ‘good mornings and nice days’ were exchanged. It’s good to talk as they say. Forty minutes later (whew) I was in the school cafe, latte in hand feeling, well great actually.

There is a lot to be said for this walking lark. I used to walk to work quite a bit during the terrible snow we had earlier in the year as there was just no point in even attempting to dig the car out. I also found that when I walked to work I could think about the Tutor Marked Assignment (TMA) I was working on at the time. You see I’ve discovered that these essays often form in my head and if I am kind enough to give my TMA some headspace then it tends to flow out of me far easier. It’s a bit like having a cunning plan and it has been a joy to me to learn that I don’t have to be sitting in front of my computer to studying. A bonus when you have to find the obligatory 15 hours on top of your normal life per week to dedicate to coursework.

Of course the other up side to walking to work is that it could feasible contribute to my weight loss plan. I say plan – it’s not really a plan, more something that floats around in my psyche popping into view every now and then. Now I’m not desperately trying to lose weight but if I shed some of it along the way then hey, a bonus.

With this in mind I stepped gingerly onto the scales this morning to discover, joy, oh joy, that I was now in the 8 stone category – at last. Well, ok to be honest I was in the 8 stone category dangerously close to 9 stone mark but when that little ‘8’ appeared in the display I cared not a jot that it was followed by 10 pounds. At least my walking will go some way to keeping me on the right side of the line. ‘BMI’, I thought to myself – today at least, means Bloody Marvellous Isn’t-it!

Now before you have me down as a dedicated student with a passion for keeping fit let me come clean. The real reason I walked to work today is that my wee car is sick. Of course it will go into the garage but not until I’ve been paid, and if I’m truly honest I can’t cope with the stress of it going into the garage at the moment. You see I have this awful feeling that said car won’t be coming back – I think her days are numbered.

My wee car is my first car, at least the first car I bought (not long after I separated from my husband) years ago now. At that time I had a little Punto that had quite simply done too many miles. My job at the time took me all around the Highlands of Scotland – an area that is the size of Belgium – so me and my wee Punto fair chalked up the miles. Eventually (and it did not go unnoticed that wee Punto waited until I had separated from my husband, was a single parent and living on one wage) to develop so many problems that the AA guys who had to repeatedly come and rescue me in various lay-bys began to wave to me. When it got to the stage that I was on first name terms with the AA guys with their trusty vehicle recovery trucks I knew that it was time to bite the bullet, waved goodbye to my sad and broken little Punto and welcomed my new silver car into my life. So, for various reasons, it would be sad to see my wee silver car joint my clapped out Punto in the scrap-yard in the sky.

I could of course have taken my husbands bike this morning. It used to be my bike – a lovely old traditional dutch bike however this bike and I have had little success together. The phrase ‘it’s just like riding a bike’ just doesn’t apply to me you see. I’m the kind of cyclist who needs to be wearing her crash helmet just to get on the bike and I have this marvellous ability to take other road users (and the odd pedestrian) out quite spectacularly. It is certainly no understatement to say that I am so rubbish at cycling that I am a danger to myself and to others – so walking was my preferred, and for the good of humanity, my only option.

Maybe not the best way to start the day

Maybe this inability to ride a bike is something I need to address. You see in this wilderness between study that is the summer holidays I have made it my task to learn to do things, albeit basic things, that have so far eluded me in life, or get back on track with things that have fallen by the wayside. I have, for once, used my time wisely and so my wee list of ‘To Do’ list is now a list of ‘Things Done’ and reads something like this…

THINGS DONE…….

Learn to knit (booties for my friend’s baby finished and looking fab) – a major achievement having been written off many years ago by a rather intolerant primary school teacher.

Spend time with friends – I have learned to my horror that study makes me reclusive, which is probably just as well when you’re in the throws of it, but unfortunately it can get to be a bit of a habit. This summer I’ve made some inroads into conquering this – I think?

Create a study – Since my mother in law moved in with us I haven’t had any set place to study, which resulted in me frequently spending time trawling the house trying to find this book or that. This shaves valuable time off my study hours (it’s hard enough trying to find time in the day) and usually puts me in a bad mood when I do eventually get down to it. Throw in that I am the eternal procrastinator and you get the picture. I am pleased to say that I now have a study and can’t wait for the books to arrive = good mental attitude for starting a course (whether this enthusiasm stays with me is another matter – I live in hope).

Joy, Oh joy a study has appeared

Travel – This is often difficult for us as Peter and I care for his 93yr old mum who lives with us, throw studying and working full time into the mix and you will understand that getting away to travel can be a logistical nightmare. Thanks to my husband’s skills and dedication to the task in hand we’ve been on a wonderful trip to Paris and I am shortly due to go to Northern Ireland for a wedding. What’s more we are also heading to Florida too. So I’ve ticked the travel box and more I think!

Keep up my blog – It would be fair to say that you have to have an element of dedication to keep a blog up to date, at least to write a post regularly. An Open University (OU) student recently commented that she found blogging a useful study tool and that it helped her reaffirm her goals and to continue her journey. I sometimes blog on the OU site, but tend to spill my thoughts into this wee blog, mainly because my head is everywhere and I don’t seem to have the discipline to stick to writing about just the academic stuff. However in my defence I am aware that if I am to study then I have much to juggle and so writing about the other stuff of life is quite important to me. To my joy I have discovered, from the people who read my blog, that they also at times draw parallels with what I write and I am grateful for the fact that people take the time to read what I write and leave comments. I have, through blogging, opened up a whole new world of people I can connect with – all writing about their journey – and I am constantly surprised and impressed by what I read. Learning it seems is not just part of the coursework and through writing my own posts and reading other peoples blogs I have learned all sorts of things. I continue to been amazed by what people achieve and are challenged by and wonderfully I have laughed at the funny things they choose to share.

I’ve signed up for a Creative Writing class – technically this is still on my To Do list as although I’ve signed up the class doesn’t start until Thursday. But I’ll be there feeling like a nervous 6 year old starting school – bring it on.

So I seem to have got quite used to not studying and it has turned out not to be quite the wilderness I expected it to be. I’ve never been good with ‘down time’ and noticed I had developed a terrible habit of not being able to switch off and enjoy not having so many deadlines and responsibilities. However, as I measured the water for the coffee machine and spooned in the wonderfully strong coffee this morning I thought to myself – “d’you know what, this time at least you have managed to wake up and smell the coffee”. For a disorganised student with a crazy list of responsibilities and a propensity toward procrastination that is quite an achievement – A+.

One in four of us is nuts, we should be able to arrange something.”

I read this on the BBC website – I think I’ll say that again – One in four of us is nuts, we should be able to arrange something.” Isn’t that just staggering!!!!!

So it seems that, as I look around, there are quite a few of us wandering around trying to cope with the challenges life places on the state of our mental health. I know from my own experience, and that of friends, that it’s not uncommon to feel like you’re possessed by the devil that is ‘mental illness’. I guess the realisation that we are not alone should be some kind of comfort – shouldn’t it?

But on the scheme of things until someone actually has a breakdown, that’s as plain as day for all to see, what actually happens is that people struggle invisibly trying to maintain their mental health. This, it seems, is the preferred option. There is a huge amount of stigma attached to mental health.

Lets be honest – we’ve all experienced times in our life when the state of our mental health, for a variety of reasons, has been challenged. OK then, I’ll be honest – there have been times in my life when I have felt I am going quietly crazy. Granted I’ve always been able to track it back to an event – like the time when an organisation I worked for put me through hell – also around about the time when I was trying desperately to juggle life and get to grips with being a carer (with all the challenges this brought to our home, life and relationships). Certainly it doesn’t seem to me to be a stretch to suggest that I’m not alone in having to deal with the odd curve ball life throws at us.

I heard a comic recently quip that ‘Those alcoholics have got it made’ meaning of course that a network of support for people with mental health problems similar to Alcoholics Anonymous might be a good idea. This lady has a point and as she was speaking from experience, having ploughed her way back from her own breakdown, it is difficult to argue with her.

It’s common, I think, for us to feel that we’ve been knocked off kilter. Most of the time however we find a way of bouncing back – but what happens if you don’t? What happens to me is that I feel somewhat detached from the world and dis-empowered to change or influence anything. Not good!

Now I like to think of myself as a pretty resourceful lady – I’m also not backwards at coming forwards either but at the risk of going quietly crazy, during one of these ‘off kilter’ periods in my life, I went to see Avigail – a wonderful psychotherapist. We met once a week in a little room overlooking the River Ness. As my appointments were on a Thursday evening my sessions were peppered with the sound of the bell ringers practicing at the Cathedral across the road. Avigail, and the sanctuary she provided, gave me the time and space to relearn that I was an articulate, intelligent lady who – it seemed – already had all the answers. Very quickly I was back on track. Boy did Avigail work me hard!

I’m a firm believer that each of us has within us the resources to cope with whatever life throws at us. I also believe that sometimes we have to learn to step back – this, I discovered, is what I’m pretty rubbish at – I’m a fixer.

Yep, I'm your gal. No job too big, no job too small.

An unknown author provided us with the quote, “A smile is the light in the window of your face that tells other people you’re at home.”  It seems that even when I’m feeling rubbish my light is not just on but flashing brightly so if you ask me to do something for you I’m driven to say yes. Proceed to state of exhaustion, do not pass go, do not collect £200.

Avigail did not provide me with any answers – oh no, that was my job. What she did do was help me to understand how my brain works and appreciate that I can process things differently i.e with more control from me, it made life a hell of a lot easier.

As I write this blog today I can hear our builder friend talking to my husband about the impending demolition of part of our home to allow work to start on our extension. “What hotel are you moving into then?” he asked (knowing full well that I was within earshot and that there would be no fast exit to a hotel for us).

No problem, we'll have this finished and cleaned up by tomorrow

Now, seeing as I’m doing a grand job of presenting myself as a crazy person, you would expect this impending chaos to be something that will stress me out. Ok there will be dust, disorganisation and coping with the reality of living ‘in’ a building site, but there is nothing for me to actually do in all this other than be a bystander. It’s when I feel I need or want, or have to sort something that brings stress – because sometimes you just cant fix or change things.

Of course life is complicated enough and then you throw in hormones and hey presto suddenly you find yourself dealing with a whole different ball game. I can be driving to work and find the tears rolling down my face when a particular song is played on the radio. Yet ten minutes later I can be dealing with a client who relays truly tragic things happening in their life to me. Do I dissolve into floods of tears? No I listen, I remain professional and focussed on my task at hand. Why can’t I be like that all the time?

Worryingly the hormone thing – according to my menopausal friends – is only going to get worse. I only hope that I can keep afloat – at least at the moment if I’m not sleeping at night I can take some comfort in the fact that it’s not because of the hot flushes.

So what’s the secret. If there are so many of us out there who find our mental health challenged by the stream of s**t that hits the proverbial fan of life how do we know (if we’re in the thick of it) if it’s us that’s teetering on the edge and how can we cope?

Tune in next week for the answer folks……….

Only joking!

But joking aside, humour is, I think, part of the answer. I know that if I lose the ability to see the humour in life then I have to stop and take a serious look at things.

Rita Mae Brown said, “The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four of us are suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they’re okay, then it’s you.”

I think Rita has it spot on. The parting shot however has to go to Liza Minnelli who said, “Reality is something your rise above”.

So, like everyone else I’m strapping on my flying gear as it seems the only way is up. However just in case I experience some turbulence I’ve got my crash helmet.

Onwards and upwards.......

Thank you universe…….

Having turned 16 recently my son Spencer was desperate to find work after school and at weekends. There was a glimmer of hope that he may be taken on at Starbucks (which would have been prayers answered as he, for some reason, wants to work in a cafe). Sadly, despite putting in an application and me pleading to the universe to give him this break, he didn’t hear a peep back.

So, armed with a batch of CVs he headed into town about a month ago, calling in at shops, cafes and hotels to introduce himself in the hope that there would be a vacancy somewhere for a 16-year-old with little experience but bags of enthusiasm. The weeks passed – nothing. Then a wonderful message on the answering machine from the manager of a local cafe – swiftly followed by an interview and hey presto Spencer was hired. He did his first shift today. I am now the proud mum of a boy, neigh – young man, who is walking on air.

My excitement was such that I came rushing home, threw together some dinner then hotfooted it into town to meet him at the end of his shift at 6pm. Well whatever boy went in that door was not the boy who came out. He came bounding out towards me, threw his arms around me and as I looked up at him my heart was fit to burst. I was so proud I almost did that crying thing in public that he warns me about.

So with a first shift on the rota under his belt – cleaning toilets, washing dishes and sweeping floors – he is now a fully fledged member of the ‘crew’ at Coffee Affair. His next shift is tomorrow and it’s on to making sandwiches and cappuccino.

So, what’s the best thing about this job, according to my son? The free hot chocolate of course!

He’s off out tonight with his girlfriend to celebrate her birthday so won’t be around for his favourite – pasta and meatballs (the said meal quickly thrown together earlier). His parting shot was “save me some mum – otherwise there will be no coffee for you!”

So begins another chapter of a boy experiencing another level of what the world has to offer and a proud mum and stepdad who are just relieved that, finally, it worked out for him.

Thank you universe.

I want to be waving, not drowning

One of the joys about not having to study at the moment is that I am able to turn my attention to other things. I notice stuff now that I perhaps don’t see (as easily) when I’m busy – like the Rice Crispies under the couch (no idea how long they’ve been there).

One thing I have noticed, and that my husband Peter and I have had time to talk about, is that his Mum, Sylvia, needs a little more support. Now by that I don’t mean that she’s not getting the support she needs. Of course she has a wonderful carer, Kasia, who comes in to help with dressing, washing etc and of course Peter and I are on hand when needs be. Lately however I’ve noticed that the funding made available for Sylvia to pay for the care hours she gets from Kasia is just not enough.

When we first started out on this journey a social worker visited our house and completed an assessment of Sylvia’s needs. Now bearing in mind Sylvia at this stage was still of the mind that she could do everything herself. This is of course hugely important in terms of positive mental attitude (which Sylvia has in bucket-loads) however the flipside of this is that safety and reducing the risk of falling were not yet high on Sylvia’s agenda. Thankfully Peter and I were also able to contribute to this assessment otherwise the outcome would have read something like….. “93yr old independent lady shows no sign of frailty and can do absolutely everything on her own – NO FURTHER ACTION REQUIRED.”

Our social worker disappeared off with the assessment finally reporting back that Sylvia should have 7 hours care paid for per week. It had been deemed from on high that Sylvia needed support from a carer for half an hour in the morning (to help her wash and dress) and half an hour in the evening (to help her get ready for bed). As I type this I accept that this is of course completely ridiculous and Peter and I should have pushed for a more realistic care package. At the time, and I can recall this vividly, we were so desperately trying to get something, anything, sorted out so that we could employ a carer with whatever funding we received so, like many, we just accepted the decision. Very quickly on we bit the bullet and privately funded an increase in Kasia’s hours to 10 per week. It has remained like this with Peter and I filling in the rest. This all changed a few days ago….

I telephoned social work and have requested that the assessment be revisited, respectfully pointing out that at 93 you arguably need longer than half an hour to get up and dressed in the morning. Hell I need longer than half an hour to get dressed in the morning! I have also asked that Occupational Therapy visit as I know there are some aids that now appear like they may come in handy for Sylvia. Actually the biggest ‘aid’ would be to have a care system that is respectful and responsive to the needs of people like Sylvia – and also to Peter and I as carers – is that such a tall order?

My mum frequently informs me that when ‘her time comes’ she’s going into a home. I guess ‘our time’ will come to all of us – if we’re lucky – and it is surprising how many older people I know who don’t have too many choices on this front. It seems that living in residential care for many families is the preferred option.

I have nothing against residential care. Granted there are some awful ones out there, but my experience of visiting and working with people in care homes is that for many it is a positive experience. There is however a caveat to this – it can be a positive experience if you choose to be there!

So what may become of me…. what will my dotage bring? Obviously my dream would be to be living with my husband in my older years, but with statistics showing that women live longer than men, it is not unrealistic to assume that fate may decide that I hang around on this mortal coil a little bit longer than my man. So what will my dotage be like if this is my fate?

If I am fortunate enough to be blessed with a long life I know what I don’t want:-

I don’t want to be one of those old ladies rattling around in a house that’s too big/dangerous/cold etc and in need of repair.

I don’t want my son to take on the responsibility of caring for me.

I don’t want to live in a residential home with rules and regulations – it’s like boarding school for older people.

I don’t want to spend my days watching daytime TV I’m not interested in or play games like bingo only to find when I win my prize it’s a tin of soup or the likes.

I don’t want to be lonely or bored.

OK so that’s a stab at my list of “I don’t wants” – so in theory my ‘what do I want’ list should really be the opposite of this. OK here goes.

I want to be studying/writing/ using my brain until my brain stops letting me use it – wherever I live must enable me to pursue this.

I want to make choices about where I live before an emergency arises – in other words I want to make a smart choice and settle in – rather that be ‘put’ somewhere because an option had to be found (you’d be surprised how often this happens and it can prove very dis-empowering).

I want to have a garden small enough that I can manage it and big enough that I can sit in the sun.

I want to have a cat or a dog (but probably a cat) for company.

As I type I have suddenly been hit with a realisation – if I find myself elderly and alone I want to live like The Golden Girls – or at least my equivalent of Dorothy, Rose, Blanche and Sophia.

My version of course would require a few amendments to the arrangements, tweaks here and there to bring it up to date. Maybe as I plan to carry on being a mature student my other Golden Girls could also be ‘Mature Students Hanging in There’ – in our pensioner student pad! Ultimately I think the important thing would be to have the kind of life that makes me feel as though I’m connected with the rest of the world – on lots of levels.

My mother in law, I know, appreciates that she is fortunate to live with family and be cared and supported to enjoy life as independently as possible. We may have a fight ahead of us to secure the care she respectfully requires, but bring it on I say – we’re up for it. As for me, such thoughts of what my future may be as a pensioner are far off but I know, come the time, that I will be making choices, not taking chances that things will just work out. When I find myself in the rapids of elderly life I want to be waving, not drowning.

What do you want and where do think you might want to be if your time comes?

Watch this space….

I’m embarking on an adventure. Spurred on by my husband I’ve signed up for a creative writing class!

I have no idea where this will take me, or what will be expected of me, but it’s certainly going to be an adventure and it’s one that I’m looking forward to.

It appears also that this ‘adventure’ is taking me back into my past somewhat as the class is being taught by a teacher who taught me when I was 16 back in Glasgow. Certainly our paths have crossed since then, but not quite in this way.

It would be fair to say that I hated school. That’s a strong word I know but my memories of my experience of education were influenced by a few key things. For one, as a result of my father’s job, we were frequently trailed around the world, moving from school to school in the process. I was, I felt, always the new girl.

Back then I didn’t have the confidence I do now and I found that my tendency towards shyness was a real hurdle in these situations. Not only was I the new girl in school, but I was also having to get to grips with the different education systems each country presented. As a result I got a fairly unusual education – for which I am grateful for now, but didn’t value back then.

What transpired was that at a very early age I got fed up with all the travelling and when my sister and I were presented with a move to South Africa from Ireland we decided to stay in Ireland. This brave decision meant boarding school for us.

When I think about it now it seems like madness for a child of to actually want to go to boarding school – in the full knowledge of course that our parents would be living in a different country. No home visit at weekends for me then. Before long it was all arranged and I could proudly wear the badge ‘boarder’.

The school in question was an old Irish school that had always been a boys school. Changes over the years had dictated that they had to open their doors to girls, which ultimately led to girls being allowed to board. On reflection this was clearly not in the school plan – they had I suspect always viewed themselves as a boys school, but reluctantly for financial reasons had to let us gals in. When I first started boarding there were about 500 boys and just 12 of us girls.

Now this was no upmarket school and our living conditions were – well pretty rubbish. Basically you had a bed in a dormitory (with bare floors) and a wooden box to hang your clothes up. Not so bad if you only had 4 things to hang up. We were very cramped, usually cold but blissfully happy. Even doing simple things like going for a bath became part of a rota and if you missed your 10min slot then tough.

No creature comforts for me then

Looking back it was more like borstal than boarding school!

I loved my introduction to the routine of boarding school though and I never once suffered from homesickness. The thought however of sending my son off to boarding school fills me with absolute horror but for me and my sis it was a joy – which probably says more about our home life than the school.

Living and being educated in a different country of course meant that during holidays, when we had to go home, we were those children in airports with tags pinned on us saying ‘Unaccompanied Minor’. So, by the time I was 10 I was a seasoned traveller with an ambition to join the ‘Mile High Club’ – thinking of course that this was something to do with being a frequent flyer where badges (a bit like the brownies) could be collected. When I eventually found out what the Mile High Club was I was of course shocked and stunned, for no reason other than dismay at how it was possible to achieve this amazing feat in such a small toilet. I’m still at a bit of a loss with that one.

So being at a boys school was certainly not bad and definitely had obvious advantages for us girl boarders. We found all sorts of ingenious ways to organise midnight feasts – our’s were legendary and before long the boys wanted in.

The fun of Midnight feast – in fact fun in general – was pretty much forbidden at school so us girls also found ourselves on the receiving end of the kind of punishment dished out in boys schools – the dreaded cane. Weighing it up I was probably caned far less than I deserved and the school never did find out how we got the boys in to our dormitory for midnight feasts. Had they realised that midnight feasts were the only perks us girls were offering I would like to think that we would have experienced the horror of the cane less often- but alas I will never know.

The other downside of this boys school was that they made pretty much no concession for us girls in sports. As a result I was frequently subjected to taking my place in the rugby team and fully accept that my time as a scrum half probably stunted my growth. I can, from personal experience, fully understand the adage that rugby is a thugs game played by gentlemen whereas football is a gentleman’s game played by thugs. At least if I was injured one of the boys would carry me back to the nurse.

It's going to take more than Persil to get these stains out girls

Sadly after a couple of years my rugby days were numbered and it was decided that my sister and I would move to a boarding school in South Africa. This it turned out was a whole new ball game.

St Andrew’s was a school for girls, very classy and expensive and it’s aim was to turn us into educated young ladies. I hated it. Standing there in my new uniform I felt stupid in my panama hat and longed to be back in my rough and ready Irish school, where the only time you wore a uniform was on Sundays when we were all marched down to the village church.

St Andrew’s didn’t have a play-time or break-time in the day like normal schools – or at least the ones I had experienced. When the bell rang you traipsed out of your class for tea and sandwiches on the lawn. Things were very, very different. We even had uniform inspections for goodness sake. So thorough were these inspection they they even checked that you were wearing the regulation school knickers. I was in hell.

Punishment for not wearing the regulation knickers was to stand in the corner reading a boring book.

Of course eventually I came to love the place and have wonderful memories about not being caned anymore. It was however about this time that my jigsaw of an education started to unravel and so, when I eventually moved back to Scotland, I was already convinced that I was a failure and interestingly all but a few of my Scottish teachers were happy to keep this vision alive for me. One teacher however saw something in me and his drama classes became a complete and necessary joy for me – Mr Whitely I thank you.

An so, next Thursday, I will find myself in Mr Whitely’s class again. Peter, which I’m now allowed to call him because I’m a grown up – has also moved on from those days and is now a published author and playwright and like me has discovered the joys of living in God’s Country – the Highlands.

As for me I know, having since returned to education and experienced the joy of studying for my degree, that I will be a very different kind of pupil in Mr Whitely’s class next week. The girl, who back then, believed that she couldn’t turned into a woman who believes she can.

Took me a while though!

So I’ll be there at the Creative Writing class, as instructed, with my notebook and my pen, feeling nervous and excited. I have no idea where this part of my journey will take me or whether there will be any gold stars, but I know one thing – at least I’ll be able to write about it!

Watch this space………..

Cultivate your curves!

Mae West famously said, “Cultivate your curves – they may be dangerous but they won’t be avoided”. How true.

This has come to mind for various reasons, for one I need to find a dress for this forthcoming wedding that I can get my curves into, but also there has been much talk in the office of late as most of us ladies are having a stab at loosing some weight. This is of course with the exception of one pregnant colleague who is getting beautifully round by the day and is, it is fair to say, blooming.

I remember being like that when I was pregnant and I enjoyed having a bump. My blissful state however was curtailed in the 6th month of my pregnancy when I fainted one day. Not all that unusual however when I came round I discovered that the left side of my face seemed to be paralysed. Thinking I was having a stroke I hot tailed it to my GP who said I had developed Bells Palsy, a condition that causes temporary weakness or paralysis of the muscles in one side of the face. Yep that was definitely me alright. So relieved was I to discover that I wasn’t having a stroke that I found myself smiling – on one side of my face (not a good look).

It turned out that my paralysis was so bad I was unfortunately unable to blink my left eye (at least not without contorting my face into a strange shape) so my GP announced that I would have to wear an eye patch (probably for months). I came out of the surgery wearing a hideous pink eye patch, crying out of one eye and feeling completely miserable. None of this of course detracted from my continued joy in my roundness and despite inevitably getting bigger and rounder I enjoyed the experience of my new curves when I was pregnant.

“It’s not the curves that are the problem”, noted one of my colleagues, “it’s when you can’t actually see the curves anymore”. Most, if not all the ladies I work with are over 40 (and the rest) and we all have different approaches to loosing weight. I’ve never really been a dieter so I’m not up to speed with calorie counting and this BMI thingy – my approach is quite simply to use a smaller dinner plate.

So our little band of curve seeking women in the office continue on our journey to reclaim our curves. Slowly but surely it seems to be working and we have all accepted that our desire is not to be a different weight, but a different shape.

To any of you ladies out there I will share one tip, passed on to me recently. It is quite simply to get a bra that fits properly. I have discovered the joy of ‘Bravissimo’ a chain of shops started by a woman who was so fed up with not being able to find good bras that fitted. There are now loads of these stores in the UK and I am now a convert. I should also point out that the lady in question is now a multi-millionaire – and I know why. After one visit I came home with a garment that does ‘exactly as it says on the tin’ and I emptied my entire underwear drawer vowing never to wear badly fitting bras again. There must have been hundreds of pounds worth of underwear in my recycling bag. Was I upset – was I hell, because with my newly purchased bra I instantly looked like a size 12 instead of a size 14 – result! I celebrated with a bar of galaxy chocolate.

I’m not much of a ‘if you’ve got it flaunt it’ kind of a gal, but I am also acutely aware that if you’ve got it there is no way you can hide it (good bra accepted) and I know – I’ve tried. This whole flat stomach thing for example, what’s that all about?. Historically speaking ‘plump’ was considered both beautiful and normal (oh joy). You only have to dip into the art world to see that voluptuous women were celebrated. What they hell went wrong then?

Out in town today I noticed lots of young women who were, well skinny. But you can’t take credit for being skinny at sixteen, managing to be beautiful in the face of gravity is what you need to take the credit for girls.

So, as us girls in the office are busy cultivating our curves I’m going to forge ahead with my smaller plate and my Bravissimo bra and to hell with gravity. In the outside world ‘thin’ might be used as a synonym for pretty, but not in this office.

Curve:  The loveliest distance between two points. ~ Mae West