Category: General Musings

For most of my teenage years, I felt like I was standing on the sidelines, watching. I felt shy, awkward and like I didn’t really belong.

When I was seventeen, I had the chance to go on a school exchange to the United States for a month. I struck a deal with my Dad – he paid half and I paid half from the earnings of an after-school job.  My mother hated my gut for going, or probably more accurately for having the independent means to contribute to the project.

It was all terribly exciting, going on my first flight, going to the States and going away from home for that length of time. I stayed with a family of five in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania  – three boys and two girls (although the oldest two had flown the nest by then). My host parents were quick to joke that I was the girl to even out the gender imbalance in their family. I was welcomed with open arms and I got a glimpse of a family life that was rather different from my customary surroundings. The words ‘I Love You’ were readily spoken between parents and children, and not in the superficial way that Americans are often accused of. I am sure everyday life wasn’t a happily-ever-after fairy tale but still, I soaked it all up and loved being part of it.

After I came back home to Germany, a letter arrived in the post. My host father, a very busy lawyer, had taken the time to sit down and write to my parents. It was a handwritten letter on that thin, parchment-like pale blue airmail paper. It said lovely things about me. I can’t remember exactly what they were… something along the lines of me being a clever, worthwhile and confident person who was a joy to be around. The details don’t really matter. All I know is that letter said things I didn’t believe about myself. My mother didn’t either, and was quick to tell me so. It was kinda like reading about another person, but one you would like to grow up to be. Reading that letter made me feel important and hopeful that if somebody saw all these things in me, then maybe I could one day be them.

My dad kept the letter in a filing cabinet in his office. Ever so often, I would root through stacks of paper to find and read it again. My dad’s office has now been dismantled for a great many years, and I no longer have access to that letter. I guess a long time ago, someone threw it away along with the stacks of paper that surrounded it.

Still, I cherish that letter. Even now, more than twenty years later. I love that my host father stepped away from his busy work and family life long enough to write it. To him, it may have been a very small thing. To me, it meant the world.

Thank you, Mr Kaufman.

 

Ok, so we may not have had the ‘BBQ summer’ everyone on this wet little island continues to hope for relentlessly year after year, but there’s been enough decent sunny spells in the last month or so to get some of that summer feeling.

Which is precisely what inspired me to pimp up the small yet respectable outdoor space on offer in our current abode. It may not be ‘great’ but it’s private, and the definition of ‘outdoors’ may seem a stretch when you look up to see a succession of rooftops and chimneys lining the horizon, but nevertheless it is providing a much appreciated extension to our living quarters.

The whole thing started when I finally decided to acquire a proper gas BBQ. Add a table and chairs and hey presto, outdoor living!

The BBQ has pretty much been in constant use on most dry and sunny days. I’m too much of a girl to bother with charcoal so the option of simply turning on a burner suits me to the ground. I quickly learned about maintenance and cleaning – the hard way! I asked a few (male) friends how often you needed to clean such a contraption and the answer pretty much amalgamated to ‘Just scrape off the bits the next time you use it’. Hmmm. I figured there must be a bit more to it, so I dutifully scoured the racks after each meal. I had vague ambitions of cleaning the drip tray, too – maybe once a month or so.

That was before the great fire. Turns out after maybe 5 or 6 cookouts, enough grease had accumulated in said drip tray to flambé my lamb kebabs. All calm and collected, I turned off the burners, closed the lid and switched off the gas bottle for good measure. One peak under the lid later, I concluded it was time to summon a higher force. The higher force first suggested water, which I vetoed based on common sense, and a few first aid courses. We subsequently agreed on flour (all the while watching respectable sized flames shoot up), and a short while later I was left with no flames, half-cooked kebabs and my new gadget covered in white powder. Much more time-consuming to clean than maintaining a grease-free drip tray!

I also Googled some general cleaning advice and decided the following (written by a sensible man!) was a practice worth adopting:

If people thought of their grills like they do their stovetops, there would be a lot less problems with grills wearing out. Think of it this way, after you cook something on the stove you generally have to wipe up the spills.

True dat.

To make the most out of the good weather, we’ve also been having al fresco meals for the last three days. There’s something to this Mediterranean-lifestyle-thing. I mean, it’s hard to be grumpy when you’re lunching under an umbrella watching the girl have deep conversations with the cloth pegs on the washing line (they do look a bit like birds on a wire, I suppose). As an added bonus, not a single piece of food has hit the floor (just when you don’t have to worry about stains on the dining room carpet!), although cutlery still gets dismissed with great alacrity and a perfunctory wrist flick. I wasn’t quite convinced that this morning was nice enough for porridge on the porch, however, the fact that a certain someone had converted the vacant dining room table into a satellite office provided, shall we say, encouragement.

So here’s to making the most out of every ray of sunshine this country is blessed with. And to hoping that the next time you hear me say ‘It was a scorcher of a day’, I’m really am simply talking about the weather…

 




 

I’m in the process of snazzing up my blog.

Problem is, I’ve been ‘in the process’ of snazzing up my blog for three months (intermittently, obviously) and the ‘new’ blog has already gotten a bit old. My main challenge is the graphics side, and I’m currently on designer #4 with revised deadline #3. Nevertheless, I’m trusting that this project is finally coming to fruition; and thus I have been tackling the long overdue rewrite of my ‘About Me’ section.

Talk about a painful process! It’s a bit tricky to capture what you’re all about if you can’t progress beyond a marginally depressing childhood… and let’s face it, once I actually got beyond that (long and formative) bit, things have turned out pretty damn good! So like any good writer, I shall persevere, naturally.

Slightly cross-eyed from all that computer time, I decided to treat myself to a movie night on the couch. (Yes, there’s irony in taking a respite from your Mac by staring at an iPad screen instead. That’s what you get when you’re married to Mr Technology).

My chosen flick? I’m Fine, Thanks, a freshly released documentary that is ‘a collection of stories about life, the choices we all make, and the paths we ultimately decide to follow’. I’m pretty excited about this film as I made a teeny tiny contribution to its production via Kickstarter, a really nifty site that helps people get funding for their creative projects.

I’m Fine, Thanks is a cool movie filled with everyday people talking about their hopes and dreams, and about finding the courage to follow them in the midst of society’s expectations of the job, the marriage, the house and the 2.1 kids – all equalling safety and security, supposedly. What I like best about it is that it is so real, not filled with fancy people with letters either before or after their names (or both) talking about the manifestation process from a metaphysical angle. These are just average people who have dared to do extraordinary things (by their own standards, not anyone else’s); things like, say, make a feature-length film in less than three months, because that’s what they felt called to do.

Now, normally these kinds of films are supposed to leave you feeling all inspired. Ready to look at your own life and take (different) action. My reaction was slightly different. Sure, I loved watching people share how they are pursuing their passion, but I didn’t feel compelled to turn my whole life around on the spot.

Then it occurred to me that despite my ever-present desire to ‘do MORE and be MORE’ whilst simultaneously wishing to ‘DO less and BE more’ (yes, I’m conflicted a lot!), I’ve actually already ‘achieved’ a lot of what the movie peeps are talking about. I’ve already made the choice to leave that fabulously successful career in order to have a better quality of life. I’m already fortunate to pursue what I love, and I’m in a relationship with someone who does the same.

Of course there are always new adventures, new challenges, new dreams. And I sure have been quietly pondering some of those over the past 24 hours, like where and how I want to live next, for example. I’d also be lying if I didn’t admit to being a bit restless lately, ready for something BIG to happen. But sometimes I get so caught up in what I still want to do that I forget that actually, there’s a lot I’ve already done to create a lifestyle that works for me.

And on top of all that thinking , it’s a bloody fantastic feeling to have done something small to help someone else pursue their dream.

So check out the movie, and dare to do something to make someone else’s dream come true. Makes you feel good, and boosts your karma.

I’m obviously still making amends from my pre-parenting days…

 

The following takes place over a period of 24 hours.
Events occur in real time.

 

I participated in an experiment today where I got to talk for 10 minutes, and was LISTENED to. I mean, REALLY listened to. No interruptions, no suggestions, no pep talk, no feedback (except some gentle and most welcome comments at the end). It was a real gift, and part of a ‘soul listening’ project you can read about here.

I find that quite often when we talk with others, we don’t REALLY listen all that much, because we’re busy thinking about what we’ll say next, or we hear something we want to comment on and interrupt to get our point in before the opportunity passes. That’s all good and well, and I’m sure I do plenty of that myself… all I’m saying is that it was a real treat to just be listened to without comment or judgment. I felt as though I was being held in a very safe place where it was ok just to share what’s on my mind.

 

One of the things that’s been on that every busy mind of mine is something a friend said to me when he came over the other day. As he was arriving, he took off his shoes, and since it was a warm day I implied he might also want to take off his (black) socks lest the bottom turn white with Jack hair. I intended to propose this alongside the comment that even though I had vacuumed, there’s always some residual dog fur on the carpet. I got as far as “I did vacuum but…” before I was met with

“Yes, yes, I know… You don’t ever have time for anything because you have a baby, and you wish the day had 48 hours.”

 

Ahem – no, actually.

First of all, I do actually get the bloody hoover out… occasionally, anyway. Less because I’m expecting anyone and more because I don’t fancy half the dog on the bottom of my OWN socks, or all over my daughter for that matter.

 

Secondly, I don’t REALLY want 48 hours in my day.

Think about it: 48 hours would mean a minimum six meals rather than three (plus snacks), more innovative sleep-inducing techniques for all the additional naptimes, two dog walks; and extra visits to Starbucks to keep those sugar levels topped up. I’m not sure I’m ready to consider how many times in 48 hours my beloved daughter could empty the bookshelves, the kitchen cupboards, the dog bowl or the bottom of the changing table. I’m quite sure her newfound ability to squirrel stuff away would exceed the capacity of the space beneath the sofa. Besides, I already hardly ever know what time it REALLY is since Miss Muffet frequently resets the clock on the stove for the sheer pleasure of hearing the accompanying beeps.

No, for the sake of my sanity, I think I’ll stick to 24 hours, thank you very much.

 

Although if there was an extra hour ever so often, filled with a tanned Greek God of a masseur giving me some full body pampering… well, I don’t suppose I would complain!

Right, I’ve been thinking all week that I should expand on the birthday theme and write something clever about turning forty.

Problem is, I’ve been digging deep and not coming up with much. In many ways, forty is just another number… although I did fool a friend of mine into thinking the whole pink hair thing was a midlife-crisis move. Believing as I do that big birthdays warrant big celebrations, coming to the end of a decade in many ways is actually something to look forward to.

So, fuelled with another slice of Lilly’s first birthday cake, I’m marking my last evening in my thirties with a glance backward. I might not come up with much either, but by tomorrow morning I will have embarked on a whole new decade, so it’s basically now or never!

I guess my twenties were mostly about finding my place in the world. Like many people, that meant finding what I wanted to ‘do’ and dabbling in that thing called ‘relationships’.

My thirties were much more about finding me, with all the ups and downs that entailed. And that of course is a journey that never ends! Although whilst finding ‘me’, I inevitable continued to dabble in that relationship thing, and ended up with a ring. For the second time, but this one counts. After all, I don’t think I should make it a habit to get married every decade.

In my thirties, I’ve both learned and unlearned loads. I learned what makes me tick in ways that serve me and ways that don’t. I’ve done my best to let the latter go and make peace with my past. I learned to look at the world in more empowering ways. Most importantly, I learned to be kinder to myself. I learned that the thoughts and behaviours you pick up from your parents and your environment as a child are the foundation of who you become as an adult. That includes the good as well as the bad stuff! And the longer you hold on to the things that aren’t working, the harder they become to shake off. Inevitably for many steps forward, there’ll also be some steps back. That’s ok. That’s normal. There’s no need to break out the baseball bat and beat yourself up. I learned about forgiveness, and that includes myself. Of course there’ll always be loads more to learn in future, and occasions to take old learnings deeper in new ways.

 

I’ve been lucky to learn a great many things from a great many people. So maybe my forties are about sharing what I learned. To stand in my power and be even more of who I am. To do what I am here to do, which is to help children feel good about themselves and stand in THEIR power long before they’re forty.

Now, I need something stronger than Lilly’s bottles to toast to that! Bubbles anyone?

 

(She writes heroically approaching midnight, matchsticks holding open her eyes, whilst praying that her seemingly wide awake daughter doesn’t launch herself off the parental bed!)

CHEERS!

I’ve lost my mojo. It’s absent without leave. Or, paraphrased from something I recently read, it’s switched the lights off and went out clubbing – without me. Not for long, but long enough for me to notice.

So let’s use a process of elimination to work out where it’s not: It’s not in the bed. It’s not on the couch. It’s not in the rhubarb crumble with custard. Trust me, I’ve looked. More than once.

Life without mojo is no good. It’s ok for it to goof off for a few hours, maybe a day. But not several days in a row. Me and my mojo need to talk. Eye to eye, heart to heart. It will probably say I haven’t been fun to be around. Bit gloomy and overwhelmed. Too much research on agents and publishers and not enough writing. Definitely not enough laughing and bouncing and seeing the world as an abundant place. Hmmm, put it like that and I would have probably goofed off too.

It’s kinda like Dr. Seuss’ fabulous Oh, The Places You’ll Go:

…
“You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.
…

Except when you don’t
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
…

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.”

And on and on it goes… I love Dr Seuss! Have a look at this fab little video my friend Sarah posted a while ago:

So today’s mission is to find me mojo. Get my bounce back. I’m pretty sure it’s not in the porridge either. But the hungry girl says I better look again. So let’s go make porridge with mojo. Maybe a pinch of Paolo Nutini will spice it up. Alongside all my other favourite good mood tracks. Like Ace of Base It’s a Beautiful Life (walked off the aisle to that one). Or Footloose (first dance). A bit of Tiziano Ferro, a side of Abba. The Bongo song and Dolly Parton.

So was my mojo hiding in my iPod all along? Well, maybe not entirely, but it’s a step in the right direction.

Mind you, I’m not sure if an early morning jukebox session is music to Lilly’s little ears. But then again, it must be a damn sight better than the sight of a gloomy mummy…!

So let’s take that step to the right. Or was it a jump to the left?

Aaaaw, sunshine! Always brings out the best in me. Especially those first few days and weeks when it feels like spring after a long winter (even if that winter has been exceptionally mild), and before anyone starts moaning about how it’s too hot. In case you’re not in the UK, the weather is glorious at the moment and I am relishing every minute, alongside millions of other Brits (and those of us just living here).

And the whole good mood thing isn’t just in my head either. I think we’re all pretty familiar with research into the positive effects of sunlight on our psyche, boosts in our Vitamin D production and all that. No wonder all those Mediterranean people are so damn happy! Well, that and wine at lunchtime. Not to mention siestas.

One of the best things about leaving the colder months behind is a welcome change in wardrobe. I am always insanely happy to ditch the woollies, even though I adore my cashmeres. And whilst I love my boots, they’ve earned a well deserved rest at the back of the wardrobe, or some other distant place that will be instantaneously forgotten and have me searching high and low when it’s time for their seasonal reappearance. I’m ready for a summer wardrobe of floating dresses, shorts and flip flops. Not to mention shades. Shades are the quintessential summer accessory. Preferably big with a fancy logo (guess I’m a bit of a snob).

And the warmer months inevitably lend themselves to us shedding our inhibitions along with our winter layers. It’s easy to feel upbeat about life, dream big and maybe even pluck up the courage to act on those dreams.

It’s also the time for Brits to develop selective amnesia about last year’s lobster moments. I used to have a boss who inevitably got roasted on the first sunny day of the year, or his last day on hols, and would show up to the office peeling for a week. Never flattering. Aside from that, and the fact that he would frequently raid his staff’s chocolate stash, he’s one of the best people I’ve ever worked for. I digress. But honestly people, a little sunscreen goes a long way. 

And the perfect song to celebrate all this good stuff? My firm favourite remains Paolo Nutini’s Pencil Full of Lead. Go on, put it on. Turn up the volume. I dare you not to feel bouncy!

 

It’s springtime. Let your inner tigger out to play…