Inner conflict

When asked to write about previous conflicts, the ones that stand out for me are the ones I have with myself.  Psychological struggles resulting from two simultaneous but often incompatible ideas that regularly leave me emotionally drained.  Friends and family say I over think things.

It was only last week that my recent internal conflict began.  The kids had brought home their leaflets for this years Operation Christmas Child mission.  It is run by Samaritans Purse and has the following mission statement

‘The mission of Operation Christmas Child is to demonstrate God’s love in a tangible way to needy children around the world, and together with the local church worldwide, to share the Good News of Jesus Christ”

In all honesty the God’s love, local church worldwide and Good News of Jesus Christ bits are absolutely meaningless to me but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a bloody good cause.  The kids wrapped their empty shoeboxes in Christmas paper and made their lists of things to send; bouncy balls, pens, crayons, paper, yo-yos, sweets, toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, flannels, hairbrushes and cuddly toys. 

I decided that whilst I was out buying the things for their shoeboxes I would buy the ingredients for this years Christmas cake.  Mark suggested making some mini ones.  Not a bad idea, could be given as presents for school teachers and I’m quite good at forgetting people so could come in handy for those unexpected visitors.  I searched every shop in Abergavenny but couldn’t find a suitable tin so decided that small baked bean tins would do the job.  £2.76 later and I was the owner of twelve tins of the cheapest, crappiest beans I could find.  As I started emptying the beans into our food waste bin I was suddenly swamped with guilt.  Why should I be able to throw away twelve tins of beans when there are people starving in the world?

I tried to rationalise with myself.  I told myself that it’s fine because we are sending our shoeboxes to children in under developed countries.  However hard I tried, there were no excuses to cover my arse this time, what I was doing was entirely immoral.

I concluded that as I had already thrown the beans away, committed the crime so to speak, I may as well continue.  As I was weighing out the fruit I was still searching for excuses to justify my disgraceful behaviour.

Half an hour later I put the cakes in the oven and headed back to Abergavenny where I bought 12 tins of Heinz baked beans and took them immediately to the food bank.  They would be given to local people in crisis.  I stopped at the bank to make a donation to UNICEF’s Children’s Emergency Fund and returned to my car a little less remorseful.

Later that evening I was telling Mark of my emotional battle.  We discussed how we are fortunate to live the lives we do.  We live comfortably in a secure home, we drive new cars, we take regular holidays and have food and drink on tap.  Mark admits that we are fortunate but he says he has earned our way of life, which of course he has, he worked hard to get where he is today but I still maintain that favourable circumstances have paved our way.

As Mark opened a good bottle of red I tried hard to forget about my own unrest.  I sorted the shoeboxes out and put them ready for the kids to take in the morning. 

As I stood in the bathroom trying to decide whether to use the L’Occitane or the Molton Brown it hit me that somewhere in the world a poverty stricken child is eagerly awaiting the arrival of a shoebox that contains a bar of Imperial Leather….maybe I will always be uncomfortable with how well off we really are.

A slice of life

I haven't posted on here for ages but I have been writing, I've joined a creative writing group.  I'm enjoying it, it's good to share ideas and helpful to gain feedback.  Here is a memoir I wrote last week.

It was the 2^nd August 2005.  James Blunts ‘You’re Beautiful’ was number one.  Beautiful is exactly what you were – all 7lb 7 ozs of you.                 

Seeing you for the first time led to a roller coaster of emotions.  At first I felt great resentment.  I had been in labour for 52 hours and following every man-made attempt to encourage your natural birth you were finally delivered via emergency caesarean section.  I couldn’t help but feel resentment.  You had offended my sense of pride and dignity.

Forty five minutes after you were born I got to hold you for the first time.

2nd August 2005

 

 As soon as Daddy placed you in my arms I was struck by a sudden wave of forgiveness.  The previous 53 hours immediately became excusable.  You were here, you were perfect and you were ours.  As I counted your fingers and toes I was amazed by how big your hands were…hands like Bampis I thought.  People often say that all new borns look like Winston Churchill but you didn’t – you had qualities in abundance that delighted my eyes.

It wasn’t long before Grandma had taken you off me.  As you led there, cradled in Grandmas arms, I felt a sudden sense of love and I knew that I would love you unreservedly, without any limitations and with immeasurable devotion for the rest of my life.

It was 1am, you took a good amount of milk from a bottle and we both slept until sunrise. 

 

3rd August 2005

 

Daddy was back first thing.  He couldn’t stay away.  I was a little confused when Daddy picked you up, kissed you, looked you in the eyes and quietly whispered “Good morning Jamie”.  I don’t remember having a discussion about your name other than 6 weeks previous when I really liked the name Max and Daddy hated it.  Apparently, I had agreed to naming you Jamie only minutes after you were born.  I was exhausted, completely drained and wiped out by my long labour and huge quantities of medication.  Quite frankly, Daddy could have named you Stripe or Spot and I wouldn’t have quibbled.  By mid-morning cards congratulating us on the birth of Jamie had started to arrive.  Daddy wasn’t backing down and you had even begun to look like a Jamie.  I left you with Daddy and went for a shower.

As I made my way back to the ward I had a sudden urge to take you home.  I didn’t want to share you with doctors and midwives.  In all honesty, I didn’t want to share you with our visitors either.  I wanted to go home, lock the door and enjoy our new existence as a family.

“You can go home tomorrow as long as you are able to walk the entire length of the corridor unaided” said the consultant.

“I’ll Jog” I said.

“Completely unnecessary Mrs Williams” he said.

Twenty four hours later Daddy came to take us home.  He placed you in your car seat.  We discussed how, even though you being in a car seat was the law, you didn’t appear safe.  Your miniature body, surrounded by big bulky seat, secured with a network of straps and buckles.

You looked extremely comfortable in your moses basket, fast asleep swaddled in the blanket that your great grandmother had knitted.  Locking the door didn’t work.  We had visitors after visitors after visitors.   Most were family and close friends which were fine.  Your extended family and our close friends have become very important people in your life.

No more than a week later we had settled into a routine.  You fed well, fortunately for us you slept very well and you were an extremely content little man.

12 months later, as we discover that I am pregnant with your sister, Shakira is number one with ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ and I can assure you that mine most definitely don’t and probably never will.

Jamie and Carys - 9th June 2012

 

Summer in a bottle

Some people say that the British summer starts when the elder blossoms and ends when its berries ripen.  Umm....not 2012!  Summer quite clearly isn't here but as we walked the lanes last weekend the almost citrus aroma of elderflower floated downwind to greet us.

My great grandmother used to make elderflower champagne that my great uncle Arthur would take to his shed.  My grandmother says that five minutes after arriving at my great grandmothers my grandfather would say "better pop up the shed and check that old Arthurs alright".  He would return, half cut, not long after.  Uncle Arthurs shed sat about 150 metres beyond the cottage in a place known locally as 'on top of Trostrey'.  The shed housed a couple of tatty armchairs, a table, Uncle Arthurs bike and an assortment of jam jars that the elderflower cordial was sipped  from.  The only time they drank from proper glasses was when the vicar popped by!

I remember the cottage as my great aunt lived there after my great grandparents died.  It was a fantastic place to play as a child....the hiding places were endless.  My brother and our cousins would argue over who got to put the chickens away.  The chosen one would get £1 in return.  There was a fallen oak tree half way up the drive providing hours of fun.  It was an aeroplane, a boat, a bus, a spaceship and if you crawled beneath it became a secret cave or dungeon.  Even though Uncle Arthur had been dead for many years, his bike remained in the shed.  I clearly remember a pair of birds nesting under the saddle every year.

Anyway, back to the elderflower.  My great grandmother would make cordial too and this is what I did with my bountiful harvest.  In the supermarket elderflower cordial is marketed as a luxury.  They sell it only in fancy shaped glass bottles and charge ridiculous amounts of money for it.  I have just made three bottles and it cost me next to nothing.

The flowers taste best when they are picked on a dry, hot day and the cream coloured heads are far tastier than the white ones.  There wasn't going to be a dry, hot day so I had to settle for a damp, cool day and hope for the best.  I dissolved some caster sugar in boiling water and added the elderflower, sliced oranges and lemons and a sprinkling of citric acid.  Citric acid doesn't make any difference to the taste but enhances shelf life and stops it going cloudy.  I left the heady scented infusion for 24 hours before straining it through muslin (eating some slices of orange) and pouring into sterilised bottles.

Diluted with sparkling water and served with a sprig of mint over ice is perfect for a summers day.  With no sign of summer and friends over on the weekend I am thinking that the elderflower cordial might make a tasty gin mixer!

In our house, one project normally leads to another.....meet Curly.

He is a he because Carys says so and he came home with the freshly picked elderflower.  We don't know a great deal about caterpillars other than he can eat 6 leaves in about 12 hours, he will hopefully change to a pupa from which a butterfly or moth should emerge.....may be we'll come back to Curly at a later date!

Moving

Moving house is always stressful and our move last weekend was certainly no exception.  We were really organised prior to moving day, I have been packing boxes for weeks which I clearly labelled with its contents and the room in which it should be placed.  However, moving day turned into a long and stressful day of chaos and disorganisation. 

I have friends who find moving house stressful because their fridge freezer may not fit in the gap or they may be unable to plumb in their washing machine.  Things like that don’t bother me, I was more concerned about ‘my stuff’.  I think we were all concerned about ‘our stuff’.  Jamie couldn’t wait to see that his bike had arrived safely, followed by the tortoise and the cat.  Carys needed to know where her drawing pad and pencils were, followed by her hama beads.  Mark feared for the well being of his gadgets, of which there are lots!  We couldn’t find his USB stick.  “Don’t worry about it, it will turn up later” was quite clearly the wrong thing to say!  Mark continued to explain that he had important documents relating to his treasury of Usk & District Royal British Legion saved on the stick, he also had photos of our trip to Skomer Island back in April saved on the stick.  “Maybe in future you will back things up more carefully” was also quite clearly the wrong thing to say!

I had several things that I considered precious cargo.  My books, a couple of paintings and a tiled brandy bottle, all of them precious for different reasons. 

A family friend painted this one, sadly he is no longer with us.  The chap in the painting is my Grandmothers oldest brother, Arthur.  He died before I was born.  According to my Grandmother there is a discrepancy regarding the number of horses.  Apparently only one horse would be used to draw timber not two.  I don’t know that much about art but it doesn’t strike me as a particularly wonderful piece. However, it is what it is and I like it very much.

Uncle Arthur

This one was painted by Mark Charlton, it was a wedding present.  I like
Mark, his wife Jane and their boys very much.  I like the painting not only because it reminds me of them but because it reminds me of all the bits of art work they have.  I clearly remember a very random looking pig and the most bizarre flat cow.  I used to laugh at them when I was 13 but I kind of get it now….sort of.  You can find Mark at http://www.viewsfromthebikeshed.blogspot.com/.

Seascape by Mark Charlton

My great great grandmother made this.  During her later years she suffered with dementia and attended a day care centre where such activities were thought to ‘keep the brain active’.  If you look at the bottom of the bottle you will notice some wire poking out.  Originally it was a lamp.  My Grandmother used it as a lamp until very recently when she moved to a smaller property.  When I was given it I immediately removed the wiring…..it really was beyond dodgy!  I may replace the electrics one day but for now I like it just the way it is.

Great Great Grandmother tiled brandy bottle

So, with everything eventually in its place we can start to enjoy our time in the country.  We have taken a 7 year lease on a property on Llanarth Estate.  The property was built in 1859 and used to be the laundry for Clytha House.  Its quiet here, one of only 6 properties and 3 of them are small bungalows occupied by elderly people.  The late husband of the lady next door used to be the game keeper on the estate and I am looking forward to talking further with her. 

Mark is enjoying the garden.  We have space for his veggie patch but are still arguing over where to put the greenhouse.  The kids have made a den.  Quite a well equipped den with chairs, rugs, wind up lamps and chalk just in case they need to leave a message!  They are also enjoying being able to go on the school bus….so am I.  I used to do about 30 miles a day to get them to school and back, now I haven‘t got to do any if I don’t want to.  

It was until Tuesday evening that we put our bird feeding station in place.  Between then and now the birds have eaten 14 fat balls.  I’m not complaining….we have seen pied wagtails, blackbirds, a tatty looking robin, dunnock, blackcap, long-tailed tit, blue tit, great tit, starlings, sparrows, chaffinch and a great spotted woodpecker.  In the field beyond our garden we have also seen a lesser spotted woodpecker, a green woodpecker, a pipit of some description (meadow maybe?) and several linnet.  Several buzzards circle overhead and a pair of red kites are nesting two fields away.  I was pleased to hear that Defra have overturned their plans to destroy buzzard nests on estates such as Llanarth.  At night a tawny owl hoots from not far away and bats are present in great numbers.  I don’t know that much about bats but will try and find out what breed they are. 

What I really like about this property is that the view changes all the time.  I knew exactly what I would see every morning when I opened my bedroom curtains in Usk.  Here, it is different everyday.  Yesterday there were two horses looking over the hedge into our garden, a load of sparrows by the bird feeder and a male blackbird singing away on the fence post.  Today, an orderly queue of sparrows and blue-tits all waiting for the great spotted woodpecker to vacate the bird feeder and countless rabbits out playing in the field.

For the first time, Mark and I can both say that it feels like home.

Friendship

“Will the new girl at dancing be my friend forever?” asked Carys.  “Probably not” I replied.  Carys then continued with lots of why’s and how’s.  It was hard trying to explain my understanding of friendship to a four year old, especially with the assistance of Jamie. 
Jamie and Carys both suggested that people become friends because they like the same things. 

There is a lot to be said for this but I think real, long term friendships run a lot deeper than that.  The new girl at dancing, in my opinion, is an acquaintance.  Carys knows her name, she obviously likes dancing, she has the most amazing glittery pink dance shoes and her and Carys are now ‘best friends’.  During 8 years as secretary of Usk and District Pool League I have met hundreds of people but I wouldn’t class any of them as friends.  “So, you don’t like the other pool players?” asked Carys.  I don’t dislike any of them but they aren’t my friends.  At quite a young age I decided that I would try and find at least one thing that I like about a person, even if it is just their shoes.  I can honestly say that only on one occasion have I ever failed….but that’s a different story!  I tried to explain that someone you have met through a shared interest is an acquaintance with which you have a relationship that isn’t quite as intimate as friendship but that further interaction between the two of you may lead to friendship but it can also, in the case of myself and other pool players, continue indefinitely. 

“When will I know if we are friends” asked Carys.  My honest answer is when you know that you can express your feelings, be yourself and make mistakes without judgement.  When you desire the best for them, when you feel concern for them and when you know that you can depend upon them for emotional support.  When you can be honest, especially when pointing out things that could be perceived as negative.  I think it was Oscar Wilde that said ‘A true friend stabs you in the front’.  A friend of mine once said to me “they think you are a hard faced cow because that’s the impression you give.  I’m fortunate enough to know you very well, therefore, I know you care very much”.  There have been many occasions when I have assessed a situation, looked back on this and, as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right!  I didn’t get into all of this with Carys, I told her that she will know when she is 16!  On reflection, this isn’t true either.  I have friends that I went to school with and I knew that they were ‘proper friends’ long before I turned 16.

“Is Daddy your friend?” asked Carys
“No, he’s her husband” said Jamie
“They must be friends Jamie, I wouldn’t kiss someone who wasn’t my friend” said Carys

It was at this point that I decided the conversation must end.  I was mentally exhausted, Carys slightly confused and Jamie still adamant that Uncle Dan is his best friend.

So, in summary, if you think that I’m a hard faced cow then you are an acquaintance.  If you know that I care very much you can consider yourself a friend.

Negative for one time only....I promise!

I have spent the last few months thinking about writing.  Should I continue to write?  What should I write about?  How often should I write?  I concluded that I should continue to write and that I should write everyday and post here at least once a week.  What to write about was a difficult one but as there are already so many negative things out there I have decided that all posts will be of  positive nature…….except this one!
As I write I am sat outside a rural village hall.  My children are inside attending a 6th birthday party.  What’s negative about that I hear you ask?  Not only are there hundreds of kids in there but several snakes too…..yes, snakes!!!
I don’t get and I certainly don’t do snakes.  I don’t like them and I don’t understand them.  In fact, they are completely unnecessary.  It isn’t natural that something without legs can get from A to B.  I get swimming things and flying things but can’t get to grips with things that slide along the ground.  They have beady little eyes and…..I bloody hate them!
Watching them on television or looking at them in books is as unbearable as the real thing.  The thought of the reptile house at the zoo makes me want to cry and the bloke who works at our local reptile shop scares me….and I’ve only seen him through the window.
Jamie isn’t too sure about snakes.  Carys can’t wait.  “Can I wear it round my neck like the man on the television mummy” said Carys.  I joked that she would be asking for black nail varnish next.  This is a bit of a generalisation but I kind of think that pet snakes and black nail varnish go together in a gothic kind of way, not that I know anyone with a pet snake or any ‘goths’ for that matter. 
I once heard my Grandmother use the saying ‘evil as a snake’.  A rather harsh saying I think.  When it comes to evilness I can’t think of anything that could out do or equal the snake.  I haven’t even got to the poisonous ones yet, or the ones with the ability to crush us to death. 
I often find that phobias of things like snakes or spiders are not taken seriously.
Carys has just come running out to the car shouting “Mummy, Mummy….I just held an Albino Python” (no medals for stupidity in this life Carys Mai)
The ignorance of others offends me.  I wouldn’t find a phobia of heights amusing.  It wouldn’t make me laugh if someone suffered from claustrophobia.  Fear can’t be helped, it isn’t something we choose and very rarely is it something we can opt out of.  I suppose the fear of snakes is tangible where as a fear of heights isn’t.  For example, I am sat in my car with the doors locked.  Not because the Albino Python may escape, slither across the car park and let itself in but because I know there is a joker in there who will, undoubtedly, appear with a snake at some point……arse!!!  He has a fear of heights but I can’t pick up a quantity of height and dangle it in front of him.  I will, however, get revenge at some point.
A couple of other mums have come out to the car to try and persuade me to go in.  This is 30 years of phobia, I haven’t just decided that I don’t like snakes.  Because they don’t dislike snakes they give the impression that I am being pathetic.  I have a friend who is scared of feathers….now that’s pathetic!  I have another friend who claims to have a phobia of cotton wool because she doesn’t like the feel of it.  That isn’t a fear or a phobia.  I can’t stand the texture of polystyrene or the horrible high pitched squeak that it makes but I’m not polystyrene phobic because, quite frankly, that would be both stupid and pathetic.
My main gripe here, believe it or not, isn’t actually with the snake.  My issue is the combination of a kids birthday party and a shed load of snakes.  The birthday party thing is becoming a bit over the top.  Who can have the biggest bouncy castle, who provides the best party bag, who can book the best soft play venue……I know….how about we chuck a few anacondas into the equation just for good measure!!!  Jamie doesn’t do parties but Carys is a bit of a party queen.  How does one match a snake party?  Invite a few crocs and a couple of black widow spiders?
On a positive note, today has taught me two things:-
1. To make sure that I am away on 26th March 2013 because who knows what the 7th birthday party will involve
2. To never moan about soft play parties ever again.