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Deadlines

11th Oct 201911th Oct 2019 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

And so it happened. The thing I feared most since I started my Proper Job happened. I jammed my hand between the wall and a heavy roller cage laden high with cases of beer, wine and spirits. There’s irony for you. I was heaving and hefting, huffing and puffing to get the bastard thing up the ramp into the fridges and, assisted by K, got my hand jammed just above my wrist. Time froze, as did my wrist afterwards, plunged into ice water in the canteen sink. Lightning quick thinking from K – thanks. The shock and shooting pain brought sorrowful sobs from deep down inside. Five minutes later, ice pack on wrist and dosed up with ibuprofen, I was back at the tills. With over 2 hours left of my shift, I asked if my role could be limited to lighter work, a more desirable option than going home and having to call someone in. Being busy helped keep my mind off the disaster that befell me but as soon as there was a lull in traffic, tears started pricking my eyes as I saw what’s left of my playing career wash down the drain. Don’t worry, it’s just bruised and a bit sore today but I can play a bit. I love a bit of drama me.

Proof that running makes your legs longer?

I’ve never taken my hands for granted. I’ve always been super careful but this year I’ve taken more risks. I’ve become more active physically and pushed my swimming harder, starting weekly lessons on top of my pool fitness classes in July. It’s a time saving idea, so I get a double session in twice a week which saves time fannying around in the changing room. This also gives my callouses time to recover and I think the chlorine hardens the skin on my fingers. With a very wet Autumn upon us, weather is no excuse since it’s often drier in the pool. The irresistibly addictive endorphin rush is the main reason I’m hooked on swimming, as well as running and walking. I often arrive at the baths grumpy and ridden with angst about the future. An hour and a half later I’m a hyperactive gregarious mass of energy, giggling as I bounce out of the leisure centre, whooping in my car as I drive home to get back to my work.

In September I completed my 100 miles walking and running. My friend and mentor Gareth instilled the idea in me, and getting so close in August with 87 miles in the bag, I decided I’d give it a go. No pressure as I had a lot of work to do, but the idea was niggling away in the back of my mind. Feeling a bit aimless about my career, having a target and anticipating that sense of achievement made me want to get up in the morning. So on the morning of 30 September, I notched up 100.9 miles. Think about that. I don’t think I drive 100 miles in a month these days, and that’s another story. I would have bettered my 100 but I wanted to celebrate my achievement with a flask of coffee by the res and a slow ceremonious absorbent stroll.

It was a spectacular morning and my elation was immense. I was at peace.

It’s difficult to describe Gareth Boot. He’s a bit of a chameleon. With his generous support, coaching and mentorship, I’m now almost 2 years sober and smoke free. I’m fitter than I’ve ever been and with his support, I feel equipped to face life’s challenges. If you need assistance with any aspect of your wellbeing, take a look at garethboot.com and drop him a line. He’d love to hear from you so long as you’re not an arsehole! With his lovely partner Sue, they run a company called Better 247 which focuses on all things wellbeing. Sue does a gorgeous banana cake too, amongst an ever expanding range of other delicious vegan recipes. Gareth took me on a run earlier this week and I notched up 10.34 miles. Me! It wasn’t pretty but that doesn’t matter. I did it. That’s what matters.

Since the incident at the shop, I’ve really got my head down and started to face the issues I’m avoiding around getting creative work. I can play the harp. I can write. I’m good at languages and I can cook, and clean if I must. The bigger issue is telling people about myself and getting people to hire me. My business skills are improving but I’m not a natural saleswoman. I’m aware of my talents and my weaknesses and that’s a good starting point.

What’s an introvert/extravert creative to do?

Rare Bit Out of Water

4th Jul 201910th Jul 2019 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

What a day this has been. What a swell mood I’m in, and it’s almost like being in love with life again. My day started beautifully with a 20 minute 2.2km run (yes, you read that right, this former heavy smoker/binge drinker never-exercised-in-her-life couch-potato) around the reservoir.

Yesterday evening I had another stunning res run, more of an indulgent 4km dawdle really as I took in the flora and fauna and the incredible scenery I’m so lucky to have right here on my doorstep.

*Sunday – stormy weather. Spot the lapwing*

I’m still incredulous at the effect physical exercise has on my mental state. On Monday, I was flaky to say the least. Forgetful could periodically become my middle name – did I mention I left my house keys in the door overnight recently? My mood dropped on Saturday night as I felt worse and worse about myself and became isolated, condemning myself to seemingly endless hours of solitary confinement. It’s all about work really. I had a rough shift with rude obnoxious drunks (talk about pot/kettle/black – I feel a sense of regret, even though I was labelled a funny drunk and mainly drank alone at home) and I keep letting work affect me. I’m in a transition phase in which I miss music so much but I no longer crave the lifestyle I often enjoyed 5 years ago. I don’t want to sit in my car for hours on end. I don’t want to stress out about not being offered work. I have no ambition whatsoever to be Principal Harp with an orchestra. I want to share my love for music and creativity in different ways, through performance, teaching and perhaps writing. Maybe it’s normal at this stage in my life where I’m probably peri-menopausal. As I review my life and my choices, I regret a few things which I realise come down to living quite a nomadic life. Yes, I’ve travelled a lot. I’ve seen some amazing places and lived some life changing experiences, but I was always so focused on my work that my personal life was left by the wayside. I was never really a tourist at my destinations.

As I approach one big L of a birthday benchmark, living my life to its fullest has become my priority. I want to enjoy myself. I want to have fun. I want to meet new people. I’d love to meet a significant other. I want to finish my house off and get it looking and feeling like the dream home I envisioned when I bought it eight years ago. It might yet happen. I can see it a lot of the time, more and more as I write. Words become flesh.

Combining business with pleasure really works for me. This morning’s run took place before my 4 hour Wednesday shift. I saw oystercatchers and curlews and the weather was wonderful. I got so excited about my day! I had my long awaited picnic in the sun and basked barefoot before heading for the bakery scented air-conditioned shop. My mood dwindled gradually as the endorphins rushed away and by the 4th hour, my focus was drifting big time. I made a mistake, at least I thought I’d made a mistake. I’m still not sure but to be on the safe side, I called the manager and ‘fessed up. At the end of my shift I was called into the office by the other manager as he started his shift. We discussed events, and I felt worse and worse as I tried to make sense of the contributing factors which led to my hesitation. Dear readers, I cried. I couldn’t help it. It was out of guilt at the knock on effect my error has on others. I admit I’m slow and I lack confidence because I truly am a bit out of my depths. I feel like a fish out of water. Shop work isn’t my ideal job and I don’t think I’m cut out for it, but it’s a hell of a lot better than being on the dole and sponging off the state. I’m enjoying learning new skills and I LOVE meeting people, engaging with them and if I can and if it’s appropriate, bringing some cheer into their day. I suppose they call it work because it’s just that. Unfortunately, I find it hard to see it as just that.

I processed things before collapsing in a sleepy heap on the sofa for an hour and I decided to leave it all at the shop. I’m not carrying that round with me until my next shift. I likened my situation to that of let’s say an unmusical manager having a hundred hours of harp lessons and having to play for a wedding. I rest my case.

I have no playing work until the end of August (make that the end of July actually – oops!) which gives me ample time to sort my shit out and do some serious planning around my creativity and the life I want for myself. In many ways, I’m lucky not to have the burden of children but that brings with it an almost all consuming engulfing sense of emptiness. My cat is great company but she can’t satisfy most of my needs.

Thumping the pavements and grass verges around the village and its environs gives me headspace, and the meditative state I enter is a very positive addiction. I WANT to get up in the morning. I still feel fear around getting lost, falling and failing but that soon passes with the passionate pumping of my increased heart rate. I used to avoid exercise out of fear for my hands and feet. Breaking something would mean loss of income and not surviving. That’s gone and I mock myself a bit as encouraging phrases like “she galloped gazelle-like past flaming gorse on a scramble through burnished broom, brazen bramble and nettle” stream through my head, huffing and puffing, red-faced with exertion. When it’s not words, it’s music and lyrics. Just now, I was preparing a hard boiled egg for lunch and “Peel It” by Michael Jackson popped into my ears. It’ll be there all afternoon if I’m not careful! Does it ever stop? I’m not sure and I find that reassuring. I’m learning to manage my creativity in new ways. I’d say my resilience is at an all time high.

In the pool last night, I watched my buddy C get out and ogled her sculpted left buttock. She goes to spin class. Hmmmmm. I wonder when I could fit spin in…

Funeral Blues

25th Jun 201927th Jun 2022 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

I just got back from a 36 hour flying visit to Wales for a family funeral. To say that a funeral is an emotionally charged occasion is an understatement. Myriad memories of the deceased are relived. A panoply of tales are told with a twinkle in the storyteller’s eye.

My Aunt was a character and a half, and then some. She shone very brightly. She was totally bonkers. Nice bonkers of course. The cars lining the leafy b-roads leading to the crossroads where the tiny chapel is situated told the tale of her popularity. She was a much loved woman.

Clever! Did I mention the chapel was rural?

There weren’t enough pews for everyone. Her friends and acquaintances overflowed into the vestry, where the funeral tea was served afterwards.

On our way up, I pleaded for a pitstop at the bakery in town as I desperately needed a little something to keep me going before the funeral. My family went ahead without me as I wolfed down my scalding hot crispy savoury snack in the car. It was a significant improvement on the mass produced slightly anaemic sausage roll I got at the services the day before, but that filled a gap. My hunger meant I had to go into the small intimate chapel on my own. My worst nightmare! There was no room for me until my considerate cousins cosied up. I breathed a sigh of relief as I nestled in.

It was quite a long service and a loving tribute to our Annie. A storm was forecast, rendering the chapel airless and stuffy. After the vicar greeted us, the service started with the singing of one of my favourite hymns, Calon Lân. The organist played beautifully for almost an hour as we congregated in the chapel. The singing was heartfelt and most definitely Welsh. There’s always a welcome in the hillsides. Music was a focal point and the service was brought to its close with a recording of a simple stunning male and female duo featuring some chromatic harmonisation that was very easy on the ear.

The wake was very busy and smalltalk was difficult with a crescendo of voices clamouring to find out the latest news. Tea always tastes exceptionally good at funerals, the piping hot brew served up from giant teapots soothing the souls of those who’d come to pay their last respects. Buttered bara brith and icing sugar dusted sponge cakes sweetened our sorrows and offered a metaphoric hug to mourners.

Mam was a bit subdued. Quite a few of her friends have passed away recently. She told me about one friend who had fallen, struck her head and died immediately. What a blessing, I thought to myself. If I had a choice, I’d like to go like that. No long debilitating agonising illness that robs me of any remaining dignity please. I’d like to be healthy and mobile with as many of my marbles as possible.

I got a bit upset just before I drove back. I didn’t see my eldest nephew at all and saw too little of the twins who had their own social agendas to attend to rather than mess about with their daft flaky aunt. It’s tough spending snippets of time with family to return home where I feel rather rootless at the moment. I have this feeling of stripping back the layers and being so very exposed and vulnerable as my defences are taken away one by one. Music, my safe hiding place, is less available to me at the moment and although I find some solace in writing and spending time safe in my nest up here in the attic, it doesn’t provide the same emotional and artistic nourishment that live performance does.

On Sunday I visited close friends on my way to Wales. Tea was brewed just as I arrived and we went to the local award winning chippy for a Sunday special of cod, chips and mushy peas with a side of order of battered gherkins. Wow, how good were they?! Tart and vinegary and just the right texture. Who’d have thought? Small tubs of ice cream were on special offer and although they weren’t nearly as nice as the ice cream we had in Sardinia, dark chocolate won. I rein it in but I’d fight over ice cream. Sundae spoons were drawn after noon.

Wanting to spend as much time engaged with other humans as I could, I was dismayed to be overcome by postprandial fatigue. My consolation was that it was the kind of situation where I could whip off my boots, dangle my feet over the end of the sofa, put my sunglasses on and comfortably go into a deep coma for half an hour. Never mind FOMO, it would have been rude not to!

There was a cracking golden red yolky sunset when I left town this evening and as I drove up towards home, it was into mist, but that summery sort of mist that brings with it good weather. Lord knows, we need it. I swapped this afternoon’s shift with one of my colleagues so I could attend the funeral, so I’ve got a double whammy 8 hour shift on Wednesday. Sunshine wouldn’t half sugar coat those hours. It is what it is, and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

I love/hate funerals. They’re a poignant excuse for a family get together. “Why don’t we meet more often?” were words I heard again and again at the wake.

Why don’t we?

Rare Bit

Play

19th Jun 201920th Jun 2019 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

Bruno Catalano – Les Voyageurs, Marseille. Mind the gaps?

Play is an evocative word. Even as responsible adults, or maybe especially so, play features less than when we were in our youth, but play is crucial for our physical, mental and spiritual health and wellbeing.

You can play in the sun and in the snow, and you can play in the rain. In fact, one of my favourite things is putting my wellies on in Winter and splashing through muddy puddles and getting a bit mucky. It feels naughty and rebellious, and anticipating a telling off before getting cleaned up and warm again is all part of the fun of that playtime.

Some words that conjure up play for me are: beach, sea, water, sand, cinema, popcorn, ice cream, food. Food. Now that’s a fundamental one for me as I live to eat and I love cooking and baking. I’d rather shop for food than clothes. Clothes shopping definitely isn’t play, it’s not my idea of fun.

We all have very contrasting ideas of what play and fun is. Last week a lovely Finnish couple stared at me confusedly when I asked if they had their loyalty card handy. I hadn’t yet heard they weren’t locals or fluent in English. With their limited vocabulary, they went on to explain they’d come to town for the Last of the Summer Wine Experience. Can you imagine that? A vintage bus trip around town visiting locations from the series followed by supper at Compo’s chippy wouldn’t be my idea of fun. For this couple, it might have been the highpoint of their holiday.

The other day, yet another grey great big fat fucking miserable rainy June day, I was so fed up I decided to wear my bikini instead of underwear. That was fun. I was transported back to the beach where I experienced a few magical moments of blissful ease and carefree abandon as I gazed out at the azure blue sea and basked in the warm sunshine.

At the shop much of the food has a playful theme. Fun sells. Despite the weather, picnic goods are strategically positioned next to barbecue equipment, hinting that Summer is definitely on its way to Yorkshire. Branding and product naming is big business and companies play on our inability to handle boredom, emptiness, solitude and hunger. Joy Fills. Tony’s Chocolonely. Feast. Magnum. Not sure what that’s about but if it could make Tom Selleck appear, that would be rather nice thanks.

Play is a very musical word too. One plays music on an instrument. But in order to enjoy playing, you have to put in hours of often gruelling practice to reap the reward of sharing your expressive fun with an audience. That was a notion I genuinely struggled to get my younger students to grasp.

My cat Llwyd, basking beneath the hedge in the sun

Look at my cat. She’s just turned 16. In human years, that’s about 84. She’s not in the best health and she has a liver condition but she’s still young at heart and on several occasions throughout the day, she has mad moments where she goes a bit nuts. She runs after a scrunched up piece of discarded scrap paper like a lunatic, rolls on her side and air kicks the rug. Breathless after her energetic aggressive exertion, she looks around with the expression of a creature that was just possessed by an unknown force. And maybe that’s what we need so as to access our playful fun side. The opportunity to just say fuck it and do inanely insane silly things without worrying about the consequences.

I think it comes down to honouring that instinctive authentic free spirit that resides in each and every one of us, whether we’re 48 or 84.

What does play mean to you? How do you express your playfulness?

Rare Bit