A sudden realisation...
No wonder the urge to blog came upon me. I just looked at the date and it is near enough exactly to the day when we decided to split. Wow. What a year. Aside from the expanded waistline, I'm able to be pleased with myself again.
Patience Strong
Gosh it's been a while. Preoccupied a bit with faceache, not feeling the compulsion to vomit out words any more, busy just coping with the practicalities of life, and then all of a sudden, I find the whole one line "Heather is..." thing to be a bit unsatisfactory... Yet blogging also now feels like so much narcissism, a bit yesterday's thing, a tad embarrassing if I'm honest.
Never mind.
I've pondered before (in my old blog) the relationship between happiness and circumstances. In my pre-separation, evacuated-to-the-colonies life, I tried so hard to force happiness in spite of my circumstances, yet all I found was transitory elation, mixed in with more bitterness, anger and a spikiness which is always latent in me, but which became savage at times.
I looked at one of my dear friends, whose health really impairs her quality of life yet who makes huge leaps to turn her mentality around, to be happy in spite of her circumstances. Why did it just feel like I was doing the equivalent of an enormous fixed grin which hurt my face it was such an effort?
Now, here I am, with circumstances which on the outside look much worse (in a cold climate, with far less money than I have had for years, far less freedom, and separated), yet on the inside give me a blissful peace of mind which eluded me for years. Love, acceptance, peace of mind - they sit hand in hand with each other and with happiness. Which is the source for the other? For me, circumstances are still at the root and that disturbed me for a while, until I recently realised the key. Patience Strong: "God,grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference".
In another age, I might have been, whilst not elated, happy enough in exactly the same circumstances which today were making me miserable. The difference being the knowledge that in this age it was in my gift to make a change. In the past, where people simply did not leave each other once married, acceptance would have been a much more possible course of action.
And what of it all then, my"circumstances"? Well, in spite of the fact that we seem to be "on trend" according to the Sunday supplements, people who don't know us really very well, are a bit mystified by us. He is for me, like an adored member of my family. I trust him completely, I respect him, I am in a constant state of gratitude for him. And I also recognise that we will never be lovers and that is now fine by me. I am loving being in my house without his mess. I don't miss him in my bed. At some point, it will get complicated, no doubt. But the context of absolutely wanting the best for each other and our daughter, assuming we don't break the trust, will see us through.
Life, meanwhile has got tougher, more demanding all round, more terrifying and I sometimes feel I gather wrinkles by the day. But I would rather be dealing with this, than dealing with the mental anguish of previous years.
Sorry it's long. Just had to say this.
Ram Jam thank you ma'am
Once a month, we head off to a jazz club called the Ram Jam in Kingston for an open mic session. The first we went to, back in the spring, we didn't arrive in time to sing, and sat at the back sinking into our seats wondering how we would ever dare given the standard was as high as it is...
Gradually as we have got better and the scene more familiar, it's become a monthly fixture. 50% of the time it goes tits up for me - I count the band in too slowly and a swing becomes a ballad, or I trip up getting onto the stage... you know the sort of thing, but when it goes well - it's such a rush.
This week I looked around and realised why I love it. There are some wonderful characters there.... old, young, male, female, fat, thin. The oldest of our singers is famous for picking some 60s anthem everyone knows and giving it some groove by shouting it in his own inimitable style. In spite of being well into his 70s and having to lean on the drums to support himself, he always gets us up joining in the chorus and waving our arms.
Every now and then we attract an up and coming pianist as part of the trio and this week was Joe Stilgoe who is tipped to be another Jamie Cullum and that just tips it over the edge from fun to fantastic (together with lots of swooning from the ladies of a certain age).
Tomorrow night is the culmination of a few months of practise at these open mic nights with Heather, Elise and I doing our first gig. In the words of the song, "I couldn't be any better or I'd be sick".
Comfort
It is sad but true that my mood has improved immeasurably since my house got comfy again. There are still manifold loose ends, including the requirement to crawl into the corner of my bedroom to get dressed because I have no curtains, but now one of my pleasures of the day is nestling into my electric blanketed bed, staring round at my lovely pale boudoir.
Aside from bereavement (which has to be the worst and no I don't want one please), I have been through most of the things they say are most stressful in life over the last couple of years. I have to say that living on a building site, which doesn't even make it onto the list, is worse than moving countries, houses, jobs and splitting up. (Some might be tempted to think it was a bit of an odd split of course as we still speak, but hey we're happy).
Meantime, she who is both cantankerous and delightful at the same time has already made her mark as a diva. When asked who at nursery would like to stand up in front of the class and sing, she shot up and apparently sang a note and word perfect "Twinkle, Twinkle". What a star.
the patron saint of lost causes
You can tell I went to a convent school
I was just about at the end of my grumpy tether last weekend, in spite of a trip to sunny spain which we all felt hit the spot, my spot was well and truly supurating by the end of my first week back. When oh when was I going to stop wading (Ok exaggeration) through plaster and sawdust to find a clean pair of pants? Was I ever going to have a bed in my bedroom rather squeezing past it upright in the corridor?
Then in walked (St) Jude - in the mumbling guise of my next door neighbour who happens to be a freelance set designer, in between two contracts and eager, after the chimney episode, to be neighbourly. For a very cheap price, he just came in and with grace and ease (contrasting with my huffing and puffing) just did all those big jobs I couldn't see an end to. Friday saw me and the (even cheaper) moth scrubbing carpets so that the bed could finally go back into my room. Snuggling down with my new electric blanket in a pristine, pale girly boudoir, I was happy as Larry.
Ok there are still lots of bits and pieces to finish, but what it is to feel at home in my own home again. The little minx is at grandma and grandad's this weekend, and me and the girls have spent all day singing, practicing two group numbers for our gig which is now only one month away... Tonight I'm performing in a restaurant in Kingston. Unbelievable.
Reasons to do the happy dance...
I'm extremely grumpy. I'm hating living in chaos and the gig is more stressful than I could have anticipated. Nothing to do with artistic differences dahling - merely that the three of us have very different ways of going about things - no wonder bands have hissy fits with each other.
Yesterday the building inspector insisted on a particular fire security measure which meant all the doors and their frames had to come off - trashing not only the door painting I had already done, but the adjacent walls too. The chippie got sawdust absolutely everywhere (again) so I didn't even have any jim jams. Then I spilt a bottle of paint brush cleaner on the carpet. Oh and Rosie was in a really bad mood all day and experimenting with new ways of saying "No". ("Not today", "Not yet", "no thank you darling", "no my poppet", or, as is more usual. "NO!!!" shrieked raucously)
This morning I was asked how I could do a blog entry about the works without mentioning the amount of help I have had. I've been very grateful it's true, but I can't be satisfied - I just want it finished. I keep trying to feel better and failing.
Then I got a youtube video from a dear friend telling me what I mean to them and a text from another offering more help.
Suddenly a little ping of light came on and I remembered that yesterday I got my telephone line back and it was the same number as before. Then suddenly the help thing sank in - the babysitting, the painting, the e-mails and texts offering love and support .... and I felt so blessed.
Hollow laughter..
I am one of these people who is always talking about how busy they are. I'm conscious of it, because it is ridiculous. They are all chosen activities, I'm aware when I book them that they will overwhelm me at some point, and yet I do it anyway. Don't like to sit still, don't like to be left out, don't like to let people down... whatever the reasons, they all lead me to take too much on.
I'm very aware that "Busy" is also regarded as a "good" thing to be these days, and I genuinely do admire those people who can sit still, stare off into the middle distance, and twiddle whatever is available as I genuinely don't see busy-ness as synonymous with virtue. Merely that those such as myself who cannot not be busy, are enslaved to.. something.
And whilst I stress through these periods and complain to whoever will listen, I'm aware that I usually look back on them fondly, and I'm sure that "the time Richard moved out, me and Rosie lived on a building site, I rehearsed for my first gig and BT cut me off" will be looked back on in the same way..
There is an edge to this one though. What will it be like when the gig is done, the house is pristine again and I'm back in communication? Will I sit and enjoy my new found freedoms in my made to measure house, or suddenly realise I am on my own?