and gently whispers 'hope'...

I honestly think, and fear, that I could let Christmas completely pass me by this year if I'm not too careful. I have by now opened the third window of my advent calender ('Fame' is its theme this year, Dad's choice as mum currently has a broken foot so was unable to have an input) and am fast hurtling towards the fourth. But I haven't yet written a Christmas card (although I have bought them) or put up any decorations, and have only bought one person's entire present so far! (Lucky Sarah K!) I have already been to my first carol service of the year, which was wonderful, but still with that weird and frustrating sense of distant 'make believe', as if we're just going through the motions of Christmas and acting it out, but it's not actually real. I'm enjoying the feeling of my ears carefully unwrapping and dusting down the Christmas repertoire of songs unheard since last year, and it feels strange but gratifying to have memories from my sister's wedding last year, which was the last time I heard many of them. Dancing to 'Fairytale of New York' with my cousins and other friends at the tail end of the evening do, and swaying with that sense of relief and don't-care-that-my make-up-is-now-smeared-across-my-face-or-that-I've-spilt-a-drink-down-my-very-expensive-dress euphoria. Those memories all unexpectedly rushed back to me when I heard the gravelling tones of that classic a week or so ago, like tinsel unexpectedly springing out of a dusty box hauled out of the attic.

Last night I was debating whether or not to 'bother' putting up my tree this year- please hear me out before you threaten me with the ghosts of Christmases past, present and future, or humbugs, or miserly tendencies, or small ill children with walking sticks- but my tree is currently chez les parents, and I am going away this weekend so the next chance I have to retrieve it would be next weekend. Essentially I would therefore have one mere week to enjoy its splendour, in solitude (not because I am a total loser- but just as all of my festive events involve me socialising outside of my flat) before heading back to Bangor to enjoy total festive warmth and joy at that juncture. Persuaded? Yes OK so part of me still thinks it would be some kind of defeat not to do it, like I'd given up on the brief window of opportunity to enjoy it, yes it perhaps serves no practical purpose, but not to do it would be like some kind of surrender to being a person who doesn't go out on a limb and do something 'just because' or seize the moment and join in. And I don't want to be that person. Driving home last night I passed a veritable grotto that garishly lit up the night sky along a country road and found myself chuckling to myself with delight, just with the pleasure of knowing that someone had gone to such effort just to mark the occasion and get into the spirit, and it cheered me that someone had had the cheer and energy to go overboard like that just to be part of this season we all share.

But no matter what motions of Christmas festivities I will inevitably end up going through in the coming weeks, it's whether I really end up getting into the spirit- the fizz and warmth and glow and spice and glitter (not Gary- pity though I did like that song back in the innocent day)- of it all. The type that sizzles in the pit of your stomach and makes you have a dance-around-by-yourself-for-no-reason type moment. I usually have at least one peak moment of this sort during the festive era. I distinctly remember it from last year, it was the first Saturday in December, I went to St George's market with some friends, there was snow on the ground which we slipped and slithered along to get there, and a band playing, we bumped into more friends and I bought myself a lovely necklace with buttons on it just because I wanted it, my cheeks were rosy and I started to feel giddy for no reason. I came home and put on my cheesiest Christmas CD and did a seriously energy-burning dance around my flat for at least 15 minutes on my own. I can't imagine even being anywhere near that point at the moment. I feel my head is still stuck in the mundane and the nitty-gritty of life and I'm not really looking around me and savouring it all. It's kind of like that quotaion about life being what happens when you are busy making plans, I'm kind of feeling that way about this whole festive season. Today I had my usual 12.5 hour working Thursday to trudge through and as usual I went into autopilot, totally focussed on work and calmly getting everything done. I forced myself to go out to a local shopping centre before my evening class and I marched, robot-like, past the glimmering lights and decorations and pottered around a few shops, until the grey haze of the office has all but lifted from my mind. I decided to pop into Starbucks for an energy-boosting treat to see me through rigours of the the 3hr class that lay ahead. I was standing in the queue and then I started to soak it up, a different feeling in the air. Two people huddled together over a laptop, making plans, their faces glowing in the light of the machine, and each other's company. People with rustling shopping bags, a louder and livelier background chatter than before, laughter and anticipation, and something kind of stirred in me from that mechanical, work-dulled state of mind, and because I wasn't yet free for the day I momentarily felt like an outsider looking in on all this crackling warmth and buzz. A feeling began to grow somewhere in my soul- not quite longing, not even sadness, or even weariness- it hadn't quite taken shape when I glanced up and saw a beautiful red bird that said 'Hope' on its side, and I felt my soul latching on to that word and lifting up from wherever it had been heading to. (No I wasn't hallucinating, it was just a decoration from those corporate giants and no doubt mass-produced in their 100's of stores but it was pretty nonetheless...) Yes, hope. Hope for a zombified, work-worn girl staring bewildered at the fading embers of her twenties, and hope for everyone else around me trudging through life with their own fears and confusions. Hope that life can still be warm and surprising and shimmering and cinnamon-scented and just plain unwrapped and new. And you'll be pleased to know this gal who is addicted to the-moral-of-the-tale is going to sit on her hands and not conclude that way- it's just enough to know that sometimes it's possible to glance up on a dull day and catch an unexpectedly soul-refreshing glimmer of hope on the side of a pretty red paper bird.

Feuille a feuille

I've always found Autumn to be an exciting, and even semi-magical time of year. Admittedly I do usually go through a slightly panicked phase at the very beginning where I realise I've worn my flip flops and sandals for the last time, and when the dark evenings seem to be drawing in alarmingly quickly, and all those evening walks that I never really took anyway are suddenly all the more appealing due to the fact that they're no longer an option at all. But somewhere in that brief time period between the end of the summer when I'm on high spider alert, and the Hallowe'en-to- Christmas period when I move to high mouse alert, I start to feel the odd spark and crackle of excitement and change in the air. I love the colours of Autumn, I love donning scarves and boots and tights, I love the rich melancholy magic of Eva Cassidy's songs about falling leaves and memories, and yet somehow amongst all the death and regret associated with this poignant season, I always feel a crisp sense of hope somewhere as the Autumnal air hits my lungs.

When I was studying in St Andrews my favourite time of year was always between the start of the first semester and reading week, when my new batch of stationery was as crisp and fresh as the leaves on the ground and I knew I had a whole year's lovely routine to look forward to with the stress of deadlines still far enough away not to be nagging. We were all drawn out into those three streets by the hourly bells that saw us flitting kaleoidoscopically from class to coffee, or to another class or home, always guaranteeing friendly faces and lighthearted chatter with the people who flickered across our paths. Hopes for what lay ahead were fresh and as clear as the bright Autumn sun. Everything was unspoilt and ready to be enjoyed, like a big pile of brightly-coloured leaves just begging to be kicked around and dove into.

In my French course we studied some poetry by Apollinaire, a little selection of poems called Alcools and for some reason this guy too seemed to be a little entranced by l'Automne. One of my favourite poems in the selection was entitled 'Automne malade', which clearly implies he had perhaps more melancholy associations with the season that I do, but I love the final lines of the poem which read:

'Et que j'aime o saison que j'aime tes rumuers
Les fruits tombant sans qu'on les cueille
Le vent et la foret qui pleurent
Toutes leurs larmes en automne feuille a feuille
Les feuilles
Qu'on foule
Un train
Qui roule
La vie
S'écoule.'

So bear with my extremely rusty French skills, but a rough translation of the above is that he loves the rumours of Autumn, the fruit falls without being gathered, the wind and the leaves in the forest which cry all their tears in Autumn leaf by leaf. The leaves that one gathers, a train going past, life flowing by.

Another beautiful aspect to this season is harvest, celebration of plenty and life always seems to mirror that abundance at this time of year, plenty of social events, plenty of new things to try and energy to enjoy them, and no time to feel depressed or stuck in a rut as Christmas goodies appear and the countdown to the festive season never feels far away. So many good things happening and not enough time to gather each one up and enjoy.

Then he brings out the image of the leaves being cried on to the ground, which is a sad image, but somehow implies cathartic cleansing and the shedding of the old. It implies the old making way for the new, and the passing loss that inevitably involves, which is something we all experience at different times in our lives. The time old rule as steadfast as the law of gravity that for an oak tree to grow the acorn needs to first be buried in the ground and lost, the idea of surrender and sacrifice so central to my faith and idea of personal holiness. All the things I'm bringing and surrendering to God with tears but somehow hope and a crackling anticipation of what beauty and sense He will make of it all in His precious time.

He ends with the train going past and life flowing by, a sense in Autumn that life is not going to be the same forever, and with each Autumn the changes that come and the shedding of the years that have already been. I think this theme may become more pertinant to my blog in the next months as my particular train of life hurtles along to the big event of my 30th, as I have already started to ponder the fact that I am not going to be young forever, which is something I have never really had cause to grapple with before, and something I hope that will end somewhere along the lines of liking myself more with a bit of wisdom and experience under my belt and a few metaphors making connections to fine wine and cheese (can't let all that good French education go to waste!) but those will be ponderings for another day.

Now for settling down to the simple joys of the season, fluffy slippers, central heating, sparklers, the cosiness of being inside on a dark night, a rapidly filling diary, toffee apples, conkers, coin pie and a rich sense of abundance and having lot to look forward to, oh and hopefully a good big pile of leaves to crunch through in a lovely new pairs of boots.

harboured memories

This past weekend Belfast hosted its' biggest ever event'. Yes the Tall Ships sailed in to pay us a visit again, having last visited Northern Ireland's fair shores in 1991, and it seems the world and its dog turned out to welcome them back. I was among the estimated half a million visitors to the event, and I'm sure I was not the only person there who does not exactly harbour an active interest in things of a nautical nature per se, but still had a great day out enjoying the buzz of what was going on.

It's funny, the nature of people in this odd little province of Norn Iron. Maybe I'm being too cynical, and maybe the fantastic display of the ships themselves did lure the majority of punters in (they were pretty impressive after all) but are we not all just suckers for 'not missing out on a bit of craic when it's on the go' when it comes down to it? As I was pushed and pulled through the heaving masses of screaming children, family disputes, whining and whinging people of all ages and stages of life, and was starting to rue my decision ever to bother coming down, I heard one man behind me gently remark to the person he was with, 'Sure God knows when they'll be back, they may never be down our way again.' I think this summed up a lot of what drew people out over the past weekend, and this was confirmed by what I later read in the local paper, one woman quoted as saying, 'This doesn't happen all the time, goodness knows when the next time this will come to Belfast, so we were determined to come and have a good day, despite the weather.' Ah this made me smile, 'determined' to 'have a good day', it sums up so completely the Northern Irish attitude. We WILL have a good time, even if we get wet, muddy, trampled on and crushed in the crowd. We WILL see these ships, which have made it as the main news item on our TV screen all week, and we WILL have our own experience of it to share with all the people we know at work and in our street and in our families, so we don't feel we've missed out on any of the bizz! What other ENTIRE COUNTRY* would turn out for an event that is probably of interest only to some, just because 'who knows when they'll be back' and we wouldn't want to miss out on a bit of craic and a wee nosey around now, would we?! This is part of the Northern Irish spririt that I absolutely love and I have to say it does make me feel proud to come from here, which is something I've not had occasion to say much over the years.

Another part of my fascination in being there was remembering life back in 1991 when we last went down to see them. Eighteen years ago and I still remember all the hype there was then. Let's be honest, not many events dared or bothered to come to Northern Ireland back in those days. (I'm still recovering from thr excitement of finally getting to see New Kids on the Block in Belfast in January 09 as apparently it was not safe enough for them to come over in the late eighties/early nineties when we adored them!)""> As one article that looks back to event writes, 'the city, which was still badly affected by the Troubles, was now the centre of a positive, major event which on average had 100,000 people visiting every day. Chairing the committee behind the visit was Robin Dixon, now known as Lord Glentoran“Nothing on the scale of fun like this had happened in living memory of many people,” he said.


And didn't we look like we were having the most fun we'd ever had on our lifetime?! Maybe not!

It's funny the kaleidoscopic pieces of memories that stick in your head from such an event. Queuing up against metal railings. Eating a packet of Cheeto's while we grumpily waited. Dressing up as a 'small ship' for CSSM the next week. Being in that unsettled summer between primary school and secondary school. Feeling embarrassed to be seen on a day out with my parents. Noticing a few months later that a girl from my class at school had randomly ended up in the foreground of one of our pictures and we didn't even know her at the time. These are the flashes and fragments I remember from the last time they were here.





Some things I had forgotten until I dug out these old pictures, which are dreadful and hilarious in equal measure. I didn't remember that David and I had had our faces painted, Rachel must have been 'too cool' for it by that stage (in a peach-and-white-T-shirt-wearing, Simon Cowell-waisted shorts-wearing kind of way... hahaha) I had expected my Granny, who is the only significant member of my family who has since passed away, to be there in the photos, but when I saw them I remembered that she mustn't have come along that day as she isn't in any of them, and I can't remember why, althought it was probably something completely insignificant at the time.


When I was wandering through the crowds last Saturday taking it all in, a realisation hit me that almost made me vomit on the street. No I hadn't just eaten something dodgy from one of the market stalls, or gone on one of the dizzifying rides... but it dawned on me that if the Tall Ships return another eighteen years from now I will be FORTY-SEVEN years old. How could this be?!? Surely I can't be as close to that strange alien age as I am to being eleven, which I remember relatively clearly. I don't even think I really want to know anything about my forty-seven year old self, in all honesty! This thought is really quite horrendously disturbing, and it kind of makes the average expected lifespan seem shockingly short. However one slight reassurance is that when I do think back to my 11 year old self, I don't think I could have even imagined being 29, or cared much for the person I would be at that then strange alien age, and period of life. Part of me wishes I could go back and ask myself, but another part of me doesn't, as I would have probably thought my life as I knew it would be over by then, much the same way as I feel about being 47 right now. And when I think of all I have done since then, it simultaneously seems like such a lot and such a little; in a nutshell I've done secondary school, university and a few years of work. Full stop. Under the microscope I've done and said and thought and felt an infinity of different things I'll never quite remember all at once, and grown and been shaped in ways I'll maybe never even recognise or realise. Oh and I've definitely done the vast majority of my allocation of 'being young' in all the wonderful, terrible and just plain 'blah' ways that has entailed over the years. I didn't know I'd be on this strange thing called The Internet, writing this even stranger thing called a blog. Wouldn't that be like leaving your diary on the bus for dear-knows-who to read? How embarrassing. I didn't know I'd be teaching international people to speak English so they could integrate into life in Northern Ireland. Why would anyone want to come and visit, let alone choose to actually live and work here? I didn't know I wouldn't be married or wouldn't have had all my children by now (as that fortune prediction thing I'd done by drawing round the outline of my hand and couting up to a random number told me it would definitely happen at 21! And I knew it would be either Joey McIntyre or Ned Nickerson) or stranger still, that I'd actually be semi-OK with that! I didn't know how amazingly wonderful university would be, (after all my mother warned me it would quite a difficult period of my life where I'd be quite poor and may have to live in a not very nice house for a while and work hard) or what fantastic friends and people I'd meet, the laughs that would strain my stomach or the tears that would hurt my throat. I didn't know I'd have a fish called Amber or a navy Fiesta or dye my hair blonde or start Tae Kwon Do. I didn't know my sister would marry somebody called Jeremy or my baby brother would grow a beard. I didn't know about the troubles that were yet ahead in Northern Ireland, the bombs that would go off, the people who would be shot or the fear and anxiety there would be. I didn't that progress or development or tourism or hope would exist here, however deeply it's rooted or to whatever extent it may be the real deal.

But one thing I could probably have managed to guess; that nobody from 'the Pravince' would ever dream of allowing a little bit of rain to let them miss out on a bit of craic, a wee nosey around and a free day out.



*some exaggeration may have been employed at this juncture

but trust me on the sunscreen

I was thinking of writing a blog a few weeks ago before I went on my travel adventures to Seattle, followed by Cambridge. Unfortunately I didn't have time, so am doing it at this stage when I still have a lovely 2 and a half weeks of holiday time left to enjoy. What I really wanted to do was to capture the moment of being on the cusp of my holidays with so much adventure and free time stretching out unspoilt before me, and my return to work not yet even a distant dot on the carefree horizon. I'm not sure why I was so keen to do this, perhaps to let the future 'me' , who would no doubt be painfully jealous of the super-chilled 'me', know that the holiday-happy 'me' really treasured and enjoyed that period to the full. Then maybe the future deflated and work-saddened 'me' would forgive the footloose and fancy-free 'me' and then....what? Maybe the return to work will be equally painful either way! Or maybe you're thinking, when she returns to work she may be able to get this freaky mutliple-personality thing under control again and have less time to think weird thoughts! This is also true!

Does knowing that you really made the most of every moment of 'the good times' help ease the pain of the future when the rose-coloured specs seem out of reach? I guess I am widening this out to a larger scale of life in general, not just summer holidays - in case you think I detest work so much that I should look for another job before I go completely over the edge! In this final year of my 20's I have felt a renewed vigour to enjoy every last minute of being a twentysomething as it hit me a few months ago - I don't get to do 'being in my twenties' again- ever! Like ever ever EVER! I've never had to 'do' anything other than 'young', 'younger' or 'pre-young'! I look back at my most of my twenties and know I didn't fully appreciate being young, there were moments when the current 'me', and definitely a LOT of future 'me's' may be tempted to shake that unappreciative young scalliwag and tell her to wise up, seize the day and live for the moment!

But then there is a certain sympathy for the 'me' that didn't know any better, and only had the resources I had there and then to make my decisions, and tried to do the best I could with what I had. There is a slightly depressing saying that 'experience is the comb life gives you after you have lost all your hair' and I guess it's important to remember this before being too hard on yourself for things you did or didn't do! It's easy to have 20-20 hindsight but harder to see the woods for the trees at the time! I don't know what the conclusion is, I would love to end by saying I have found a great formula for living life to the full and eliminating regret, or that I've had 'Carpe Diem' tattoed on my brain and I'm never going to miss a moment or an opportunity again, but I know that isn't true. I love how Donald Miller takes the focus off trying to follow formulae in his book Searching for God Know What - which I really recommend for a refreshing, humourous and challenging look at living through ups and downs of life as a Christian. He writes:

I know there are some people who have actually gone from misery to happiness, but they didn't do it by walking through three steps, they did it because they had a certain set of parents and heard a certain song and knew somebody who had a certain experience, and saw some movie, and then read some book, then had something happen to them like a car wreck or a trip to Seattle, and then they called on God and a week later read something in a magazine, or met a girl in Wichita, and when all this had happened they had an epiphany, and someone may have helped them to fulfill what this epiphany made them feel, and several years later they rationalised this mystic experience with three steps, then they told the three steps to us in a book. And I'm not saying they weren't trying to be helpful; I bring this up only because life is complex, and the idea that you can break it down or fix it in a few steps is rather silly. The truth is that there are about a million steps and we don't even know what the steps are, and worse at any given moment we may not be willing, or even able to take them, and still worse they are different for you and me and they are always changing. I have come to believe the sonner we find this truth beautiful, the sooner we will fall in love with God on His terms, who keeps shaking things up, keeps changing the path, keeps rocking the boat to test our faith in him, teaching us not to rely on easy answers, bullet points, magic mantras or genies in lamps, but rather in His guidance, His existence, His mercy and His love.

I have found this REALLY helpful and incredibly freeing in the past year or so, and I think your life will really improve if you too follow these next 3 steps.....just kidding!

I was also inspired by this poem that was read at my friend Matt's wedding to a Danish girl called Gitte last Saturday. I think it is translated from the original Danish-hence maybe slightly clumsy in English although still true!- and was written by Piet Heins:

To live in the present is the art of life, and all people do their best
But half of them choose the now that has gone and half of them choose the next one
And both the now that is past and the now still to come are never life's true present
And all people's lives pass by anyhow, just remembering and waiting
For the now that has passed is gone for ever and the next is never right either
Always ensure that the now you live in, is today and forever the one.

And just in case you're not feeling that profound whilst skimming over this, have a listen to Baz Luhrman's 'Sunscreen', it's probably far too long since you've heard it and reflected on its teaching!

Your lipstick grinning on our coat

My mum says she always knows when I have been home to visit as she can never open the bottle of Diet Coke, or the jam jar lids have been screwed on impossibly tight. When I'm having a meal with friends, you can guarantee that once the plates are collected in, mine will be the space with the large and widely distribued pile of crumbs (and not only on the table but my lap, the floor...). When I was a child, if there was 'WET PAINT' to ruin a new outfit with, I would be the one to walk into it, if there was a hair catastrophe to be caused by mishandling of chewing gum, my follicles would be the unfortunate ones stuck to it and needing hacked off en masse, (I blame Roald Dahl for irresponsibly letting one of the characters in Charlie and the Chocolate factory keep her chewing gum stored behind her ear...ridiculously appealing idea to an 8 year old!) or if there was a bubble blowing carton to be landed on right between the eyes whilst ducking under bubbles...yep I'm now the girl with the half moon scar. (wow that unintentionally sounded quite exotic and Twilight-esque).

This clumsy duckling sadly has not yet grown into swan-like gracefulness as she has become older, no siree! I am still spilling things, cracking cups, bowls and glasses, pulling blinds and curtains off the wall left, right and centre, destroying jewellery, ruining items of clothing, rugs and books by the dozen. Getting from the living room to the bathroom in my flat can sometimes feel like running the veritable gauntlet for bemused house guests, as they stand to discreetly 'use the facilities' they are firstly commanded 'Just yank it' as they realise the living room door doesn't easily budge, then 'It's up on the right' as they fumble to find the string for the light that the bauble at the bottom has long since fallen off, and 'Don't worry we'll remember you're in there'.. as I remember I still haven't got a lock for the door since the last time I had a group of people round. And they'd better hope I remembered to warn them that my toilet seat which I proudly puchased for £1.53 at IKEA is 'not quite attached' and 'may cause slippage' whilst sitting on, or approaching the toilet. This is probably after they have arrived into the flat having accidentally rang my neighbour's doorbell (as 'Judy' hasn't lived here since 2004 from what I've been told- how are they to know?- and sometimes 'Caroline' just seems like a safer bet...no idea why- would love to do a survey on that one, is it a 'right/left' of the door thing, or does her bell just look much prettier?! Or do people see me as more of a Caroline than a Judy? Who knows.)

But at least they get a warm welcome, hospitality, a good chat and a laugh while they're here, right? I mean, being clumsy and careless surely ain't the worst flaw in the world to have- it can be quite amusing, and it kind of makes me 'me' and it sure leads to a good story or two for a dinner party. And maybe I just can't help it...I'm naturally a butter fingers, Awkward Annie, Calamity Jane, I have limited core stability, I'm 'spatially challenged', I'm heavy handed, I 'don't know my own strength' and I'm just in too much of a rush and have too many other things to think about. So I don't think my clumsiness is the end of the world (well at least not for most people, except temporaily perhaps for the distant relative I once caused major eyebrow bruisage to, whilst playing a family game of rounders and enthusistically flinging the metal bat at full strength behind me as I ran to first base! Or the people whose stuff I borrow and mess up or lose. Or the guy whose brand-new car I reversed into 2 days after he got it. ) But despite this I'm not too worried about it. Part of it is carelessness, part is rushing too much, daydreaming a lot, these can probably be changed. But then the rest is just kind of who I am. And in light of the extent of it all, I hope it's endearing at least sometimes, or else I must just be 100% a pain to be around!

I read the most beautiful love poem from a husband to his clumsy wife a few years ago and it really inspired me- not necessarily to try to be more spatially aware or dignified (sorry!) but the beautiful contrast of his wife's endearing clumsiness with her warm and gentle spirit just struck a chord deep inside me, and almost moves me to tears every time I read it. I really and truly want to be that person, but how can I when I am also clumsy with keeping in touch with friends, getting birthday presents to them on time, or meeting up with them regularly; clumsy with recycling, clumsy with spending my money wisely or saving and infinitely worst of all -clumsy and careless with the words I say to and about people on a daily basis. That's a kind of regular spillage that no Dettol can make better and it's a stain in my personality that needs something (Someone..) a heck of a lot stronger than Vanish to remove. However I hope and pray that:
a) if I do end up getting married and living with someone they at least find my breakage/spillage rate a little amusing/endearing at least some of the time
b) even if I can never become a physically graceful person, that my heart and personality and delicacy of feelings will somehow be a contrast and not a complement to my tornado-style material presence.

Love Poem (John Frederick Nims)

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing

Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
the drunk clambering on his undulant floor

Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers' terror.
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before apoplectic streetcars-
Misfit in any space. And never on time.

A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease;
In traffic of wit expertly manoevre
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.

Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
So gaily in love's unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.

Be with me darling, early and late. Smash glasses-
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.

The Bright Side

If you ask me, the answer is always the same, without a doubt: the glass is half full. Maybe even 75% full if you want to round it up a bit for good measure. I've always taken a certain pride in the fact that my nature leans strongly towards optimism. I am attracted to positivity, spontaneity, living life to the full, making the best of things, being game for joining in and having a go. All of these things get my pulse racing and my foot tapping and make me think 'Yes! Life is for living!' Poems like this make my heart soar:

I have seen flowers come in stony places And kind things done by men with ugly faces. And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races. So I trust, too.
('An Epilogue', John Masefield)

or

Sometimes things don't go, after all, from bad to worse. Some years muscadel faces down frost: green thrives: the crops don't fail; sometimes a man aims high and all goes well. ... Sometimes our best efforts do not go amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to. The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.
('Sometimes', Sheenagh Pugh)


I've met a lot of people over the years who are self-confessedly of the more pessimistic persuasion, and to my surprise they are generally unapologetic for being so, and in fact often as proud of their 'half empty' dispostition as I am of my contrasting one. After all, they are the ones you can always rely on to have an umbrella or raincoat on their person in the event of rain, and with the best possible insurance for any unfortunate eventuality that may arise, and the ones who thankfully didn't put all their eggs in the one basket, and most definitely didn't dream of counting their chickens before they hatched. By contrast, I often end up wet and bedraggled after a day out, and although, evidently, I have never yet 'caught my death' of cold (as oft knowingly predicted by members of the half empty brigade), it has been known to spoil a good day, especially when you don't have a 'Plan B' and have spent all week imagining the fun in the sun that will surely be had. But often the anticipation has been part of the fun, getting me through a boring week, and if we can have a laugh about it, it can still end up being a memorable and fun event, and if nothing else, a good story. Plus, it feels so good to warm up with a hot cuppa and dry clothes in front of a fire, the colder and more miserable you were, the deeper your appreciation of the comfort afterwards. And although of course I'm not crazy enough to go without house or car insurance, I have to confess I have, at more financially tight moments, been known to 'uncheck' the insurance option on a quicky domestic flight, and to dodge the option of adding mobile phone insurance to my monthly tariff. And I know I would regret this greatly if anything did happen, but hey, 'what are the chances?' ;) (if you're a pessimist reading this I'm guessing that last phrase made you stutter incredulously at the screen or roll your eyes in a defeated manner, or at the very least wince and feel slightly uncomfortable!) And to go down the proverbial route, not only do I tend to put my eggs in the one basket, but I probably pick up the first basket I see, notice it has a slight hole in the bottom, think 'Ah well sure it'll be fine', set the basket on a precariously balanced pile of junk that I haven't bothered to clear up, then as I watch all the eggs crash onto my wooden floor in slow motion, start trying to think of ways of downplaying the catastrophe to my pessimist friends so they don't make a bad situation worse by pouring negativity and despair over it. Talk about walking on eggshells! Or in terms of counting chickens before they hatch, I am likely to have them not only counted, but rounded up to the nearest 10 for good measure, named them all , probably knit hats for them, spent my life savings (and pension- sure who knows I'll probably have married a rich guy by then anyway) on an amazingly brilliant chicken coop and updated my facebook status to something like : 'Deborah is knitting hats for the 300 wonderful healthy chickens that are on the way. Whoop whoop'.

So clearly extreme optimism can tend towards carelessness, naiveté, even sheer stupidity, but conversely, extreme pessimism must surely lead to OCD, misery or anxiety. This makes me wonder, is one disposition really better than the other? (By the way if you're smugly reading this thinking 'Well thankfully I'm neither an optimist or a pessimistic, I'm a 'REALIST', I'm sorry to break to it to you, but realists don't exist, they are just pessimistics with an unrealistic view that their negative view of the world is actually reality. But hey don't mind me, this is just the warped and naive view of an optimist.) So I feel the need to examine this through the lens of a number of different life situations and see what I can conclude.

EXPECTATIONS

This is a discussion I have had a number of times with people who would claim to be more of the pessimistic dispostition. They would agree with Alexander Pope who says 'Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.' There is a certain attraction to this, as there is definitely further to fall if you have let your heart and hopes soar based on the smallest thing, and I know only too well the taste of bitter tears cried when I have let my hopes and imagination fly higher than high, and then come back down to earth with a bump. (and no parachute to soften the blow, as sure what would I need that for-a lot of fuss for nothing!) Is it better to spend months dreading an event, worrying everyone around you and not enjoying your life because of the dark cloud hanging over you, and then enjoy the relief and euphoria of it going better than expected, while everyone around you collapses exhausted from reassuring you over the past months? Or to spend months excitedly building something up, and looking forward to it, planning it, thinking and talking about it ad nauseum, only to find it falls flat and you're left feeling empty and deflated, and you have to pretend everything was great because so many people are asking for a detailed report due to the fact that it's the only thing you've been talking about for weeks. The wisest balance for me in this is in my favourite Proverb, (Prov 4:23) 'Guard your heart for it is the wellspring of life'. Whether you're a Christian or not I think there's great wisdom and balance in this for everyone, it's so true that when you let your heart soar, and then it falls, your life can feel like a spring that has dried up, and the impact can be massive on your appetite for life, depending on how much hope you've invested in it. I'm yet trying to work out a way to guard my heart and be careful, without reigning in my positive nature or my enjoyment in anticipating things. If anyone has found the key to this please feel free to share!

CAREFREE/CARELESS

I pride myself in being positive and 'care-free' but I am aware of how there can be an extremely fine line between 'care-free' and plain old-fashioned 'careless'. And I have to admit, more often that not, I am definitely the latter. I leave things to the last minute, I speak first and think later, I leave my handbag sitting unattended in public places, I build important things on the slightest assumption (although as a pessimist friend once quoted: 'To assume makes an ass out of u + me' - geddit?), I don't double check, I don't look before I leap (or sometimes before I pull out, or reverse...) I don't make a rough draft, do a practice run or have a Plan B. As Clement Shorter said, 'An optimist is one who fills in his crossword puzzle in ink'. Guilty! I know these things are really not something to boast about and in fact the way I act often reveals me to be impatient and hasty person rather than a cheery ray of light and I know that as I grow up I may have to consciously and reluctantly try to change my motto from' Cheer up, it may never happen!' to 'Be prepared.'

ATTRACTIVENESS TO OTHERS

Let's be honest- in general, optimists are a lot more fun to be around, and pessimists can quite often rain on the parade. (and NO I didn't bring an umbrella or a sensible coat to said parade.). In terms of spontaneity, fun and excitement when it comes to life outside work and responsibility, optimists are definitely the most fun people to spend your social life with. When you have good news, they celebrate with you and add to the excitement. They never say 'How much will that cost?' or 'Where will you park?' or 'What if it rains?' They can enjoy an evening without glancing at their watch and worrying about leaving early enough to be able to get up for tomorrow's events. With optimists you will probably have a wider range of activities, stay out later, end up doing things or going places you hadn't factored in and really enjoying it. A pessimist will book a taxi early just to allow for the fact that it may end up being 45 minutes late (and then have to leave early when it comes on time), and they are far more likely to stick to what they know because it was good before, and the new thing/place/activity may not be as enjoyable, or as safe a bet. However, to be fair, they are the ones who will have booked a table for an accurate number, so you won't have to stand for an hour waiting for a table at a restaurant, they will be on time for your birthday dinner because they'll have factored in the potential parking hazards and added in an extra 15 minutes just to be on the safe side, and they will definitely never plan a BBQ without a seriously viable plan B.

HEALTH

I have to say, I think this one could end up balancing out evenly, I really wish it was possible to look at real scientific evidence but I don't imagine 'Optimist or pessimist?' is one of the boxes to tick when filling in a form in the hospital waiting room. While a pessimist will surely have more stress-related afflications such as hernias, ulcers, bitten-down nails, on the other hand, they will be the ones to have had regular check-ups, to have every lump and bump examined and every necessary vaccination for every trip. An optimist may have fewer wrinkles on their forehead, but more laughter lines, less stress-related conditions, but a greater chance of crossing the street without looking or tripping over their untied shoelaces. They will leave the deflating tyre for another couple of runs, drive at the same speed whether wet or dry, and not have that nasty chesty cough seen to until it gets a lot worse.
As George Bernard Shaw wrote, 'Both optimists and pessimists contribute to society. The optimist invents the aeroplane, the pessimist the parachute. ' I love this quotation, and I think every friendship group, family and dare I say, relationship (though please don't say I have to marry a Victor Meldrew type just to balance myself out!) needs to have a balance of both. While there is probably little we can do to change our natural reaction to things and view on the world, I think it's OK to gently poke fun at each other to keep each other self aware and free from unhealthy extremes. And maybe keeping an umbrella in my car boot isn't such a bad idea after all- even though I'll probably never need to use it, right? ;)

Bloggings of yore

I had some leisure time over the Easter holidays and ended up digging out some amusing old pictures both of the retro childhood era, and the cringeworthy awkward teen era, which in my case also sadly lasted for most of my university years! Whilst looking through old memorabilia, I also discovered some amusing evidence of my early 'bloggings' in the mid -80's'. My sister and I were made to write a diary every night before we went to bed, and it makes for fascinating reading! Who knows- maybe that's what first got me into the zone of reflective writing! (though I do remember it being a chore at the time!) Perhaps this is completely self-indulgent but I have decided to scan some of them in and share them on here, just for the retro novelty value.
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Ah life seemed so simple in those days- I wonder if it really was as simple as these one line snapshots imply! OK so this next one seems a bit hard to read but I found it amusing. It was from my P3 school news book, which was a weekly thing that started off with some class news given by the teacher and then we added our own news to it. I love how the fact that I 'kept-on getting change' was the best news I had to offer that week- especially the 5p I had left to 'spend' at church 'at Sunday'. Ha ha!
(not sure why this bit has gone into an extra small font, but there you go- can't seem to change it!)

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This next one is for Ali P's benefit- yes one of your guys' visits made it into my news (maybe not that much of a compliment due to the previous item that made the headline- getting change!) and I even managed to draw a picture, although it looks like I didn't have time to finish colouring it in! (and I don't actually think you're in the pic due to the fact you were at home playing with David!)

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Wow my love life wasn't that bad in August 1985 going by the first entry in this next one!
I love how the fact that I was 'shivery' on Tuesday 20th August translated so clearly into my writing style in that day's entry! One expressive advantage of pen and paper as opposed to a keyboard!

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The terrible spelling in this next entry is what makes it so amusing to me. Look for for clangers including 'haliluya' 'yuneform' (say what you see!) and 'supost' (again a logical attempt in its own way!)
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This is my attempt at giving an account of my cousin Kathryn's birth, and I still remember being quite traumatised when I heard she was blue and 'chocking' when she 'came out of the tummy' due to something around her neck 'not put on properly' -later known as the umbilical cord, interesting the way in which my little brain must have computed the explanation I was given! And I have no idea why there is such a massive light shining on to the bed, or why my aunt is so tiny! Or it could be the baby...hard to say really...including the visitor on the left hand side who has an interesting non-human appearance!
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A year later and I have started my attempt at 'joined-up writing'. I was never any good at it. Interesting glimpse into 7 yr old child growing up in NI- 'Bomb went off in Enniskillen' right next to an entry about walking home with my sister, just another regular day-to-day event?
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Well...looks like my font has gone small again...I'm as good at controlling this as I ever was at my joint writing!! (ie, not very!)

Just a small glimpse into a fun era of life and I'm glad to have it all on paper still.

Who knows, maybe one day I'll look back at these as the fun times and be glad I kept a blog- although I sincerely hope I won't be cringing as much at my bad spelling!

green grass and monsters

Have you ever looked at someone and just thought 'I want their life!'. And have you ever managed to have that thought without it being directly followed by something along the lines of 'It's not fair!' or 'Ungrateful so-and-so' or 'Bet she has cellulite, ha!' I have to admit that when it comes to the syndrome of the grass being greener over the fence, 'monster' is sometimes a mild term to describe the spirit of the girl looking on behind these hazel eyes. However, it's interesting to note that, conversely, when I'm on what is perceived to be the lush and lively side of the fence, and can sense a jibe or a vibe coming my way from 'next door', sometimes I find myself acting like something of a monster as well.

Of course I know that in both situations I have to rein myself in, but it's interesting to look at the way we act and react when things are looking pretty in our back yard, and what an impact this can have on friendships and peace of mind. To give a mild example: as a teacher-type person I get a sickening, disgustingly good amount of holidays. So when it comes up to times like Christmas, Easter and summer, I have to start to prepare myself for some indirect bristlings and even some direct attacks, sometimes very thinly and unconvincingly disguised as banterous sparring. Because I know this to be the case, I try not to boast too much about the length of my hols and to only disclose the amount of time I'm off for when probed. Through trial and error I've learned that a defensive bark about how 'I've earned it!' is generally not going to go down very well, and that is of course because most people also work extremely hard and deserve a very long break. So I have learned not to do this, and that to smile and graciously say something about how it seems unfair and we all work hard usually has a much more placating effect. Similarly to say 'Well we all sat at the same crossroads with the careers advisor and you chose to take a different route' is not going to be that helpful or endearing either, I've learned, especially if the person didn't have the opportunity to go to university or have parental support and funding.

Even though I believe in my heart of hearts that it is unfair that I should get such a generous helping of leisure time while others struggle on equally tired, why is it that I always have to make a conscious effort to quell my initial instinct to make a jibe back, when I know they are already feeling the unfairness of the situation? Is it because jealously is an ugly weed that I want to yank from my pretty yard because it's spoiling my lovely flowerbeds, or is it deeper than that? Why does it make us so uncomfortable when we can sense people looking on us with envy? I'm using the very mild and neutral example of holidays but there are a whole lot more deeply personal and heart-wrenchingly, soul-tramplingly painful examples out there, from both sides of the fence. Does it make us panic because we fear we don't have a 'get-out clause' when we mess up because others are thinking we have it easy? Is it because we don't get to indulge in a 'poor me' moment without feeling extremely guilty and ungrateful? Or perhaps it's because we crave the approval of others and know this is removed when others are looking on us with scorn, or not-so-secretly hoping for us to mess up. And sometimes it could be because we keenly feel the pain of the other person and we know there is nothing we can do about it, and we know that the joy of our green grass is exacerbating their pain by the mere fact that it is existing, growing and thriving, but we wouldn't, couldn't, and indeed shouldn't give it up for the mere reason that someone looking on is longing for growth but choking on deadly weeds. And maybe the helplessness caused by this feeling, and the fact that we care deeply for the other person, can cause us to snap at them, or try to minimise their pain, or give them a pep talk out of it, or try to stick a band aid on it, or worse, start avoiding them and the negativity they can bring into our lives.

Obviously we've all been on both sides of the fence, often in multiple ways at the same moment, sometimes in ways we don't even realise. Someone said to me recently about how they find Mother's Day so painful and also every time they see someone out walking around the shops with their mum on an ordinary Saturday, they feel such a stab of pain and envy, and sense of loss. This is something I hadn't even realised, and obviously take so much for granted, and something that some others would give their right arm to still be able to enjoy. By contrast, from the other side of the fence, I have to keep reminding myself that people's lives aren't perfect just because they're in love or have a massive home or lots of babies. I have found that it is useful -although not always easy, or natural- to apply how helpless I feel when others look at me with jealousy about other aspects of my life, and then to try and remember that the people I envy have not supped a magic potion of happiness and perfection, they still struggle with the difficulties of life, and often even more so because of what they have received. This enables a positive cycle to continue, as sometimes a lack of communication can feed the myth that the other person's life is sickeningly perfect and a bed of thorn-free roses. This is the beauty of community, and it's sad that barriers can be put up in so many directions between people who really need each other to point out the good things in each other's lives, and to share the pricks from the thorns, or stings from the nettles.

I heard a saying once, I think it was by someone like Woody Allen, and it goes something like 'Some days you're the statue, and other days you're the bird.' It's good to remember this, and whether we seem to be thriving, or want to curl up and die, or anything in between, to realise that how we interact with others in these circumstances, can have the power to make or break important friendships, friendships we may desperately need for all the changing times in our kaleidoscopic lives as we oscillate between vibrant green and sun-withered brown grass. And if our inner monster needs an occasional outlet, I guess there's always Heat magazine's 'What were you thinking' or 'Stars without make up' to give us a sneaky cackle over the fence.

Driven crazy

I have had so many irksome experiences as a motorist recently, I've decided to try to vent my frustrations by putting them into a blog post. By the end of this post you may no longer think of me as a nice person, but hopefully through the process of venting I hope I will be cleansed of some of my rage and consequently become a more agreeable person, both on the road, and in real life! I am planning to categorise my frustrations into different types. If you agree with any of them, let me know, and feel free to share your own...or to tell me I'm a psycho!

Pull out Slowus Annoyingus
This is possibly the biggest of my frustrations, not least because it happens to me most frequently of all. Yes, you have seen me coming along the road, at approximately 50 miles per hour, yet you still decide 'La la la, let's just mosey on out here at 0.2 miles an hour and saunter along not much faster without even bothering to check whether or not a near pile-up has been caused behind'. It is so maddening to have to slow down suddenly and dangerously to a quarter of my speed and then remain at a snail's pace for the rest of my journey just because some people cannot judge the speed of oncoming vehicles! Boo! Rahhh! Etc .

Left Turnimus Eternimus
I get that turning right can sometimes be a lengthy process, it's one of those things that just has to be accepted as part of the package deal of life. However there is nothing more frustrating than when someone is turning left and s....l....o....w....s r....i.........g.............h...............t d......................o..................w..............n to a gearbox bustingly impossible non-speed, even though you could see for miles that the street they were turning into is a wide open paddock and about as free from potential obstacles as the great plains of Siberia. Best to just check though, by grinding to an absolute halt, often without any indication whatsoever, right?? NOOO!

Learnimus Slowimus
Yeah yeah, we've all been there, blah-di-blah, poor them etc etc, so the only thing I can really justifiably say is, PLEASE try to avoid rush hours. Or Sunday mornings when I'm very late for church. Or Saturday mornings when I'm running late for Tae Kwon Do.

Mid life Crisimus
No I will not exchange glances with you at the traffic lights- your gleaming sports car does not hide the fact that you are at least 300 years old and clearly have a toupé.

Tartanus Blanketus/ Cushionus
Good luck to anyone stuck behind a car displaying either tartan blankets, embroidered cushions, worse still, a range of cuddly toys. I guarantee you are in for a tooth-grindingly sloooooowwwww ride.

Espacimus
Also likely to drive irratatingly slowly and/or erratically, worse for the fact that it's impossible to see past the bulking great, oafsome contraption. (sorry to anyone who drives one, I know they're very handy for kids etc etc)

Bodily Fluidus
OK I acknowledge this one is a bit 'out there' but I would like to note that I have never seen a car that is the same colour as a bodily fluid (pee, snot, poo, vomit) driving at a reasonable speed (ie over 10 miles an hour). I'm not sure why this is, but if anyone knows any exceptions to the rule, or can think of any explanation for the above, do let me know.






Tractorus Ignoramus
Apparently in other countries, tractor drivers actually have the courtesy of pulling over every few miles to let the stream of cars that has built up behind them pass. Tractor drivers around my area have clearly never heard of this concept. Oh the minutes, nay, HOURS of my life I will never regain due to ignorant tractor drivers around my area. Please SOMEONE tell me there is a law or a number I can call to report them!!

Cyclimus Pestimus
Yes I know this will be controversial- but I have to let it out of my system and then I can start working through it-Just get your shiny lycra-covered butt off the flipping road and out of my way! There I've said it, now let the healing begin!

Pedestrianus Jovialus
I first encountered this specimen last week when making a right turn across a busy dual carriageway into a petrol station. There was a car coming in the distance but I knew I had time to nip across.... that is until mid-swing I noticed a man on foot who saw me coming, but still made the decision to dander across the road I was aiming for, giving me a jovial and apologetic wave as he put on a 'fake-exagerrated' jog, which was really nothing more than a slow shuffle- very nearly putting me in the dilemma of slowing down and getting crashed into by oncoming vehicle, or ploughing straight into his' jovial 'self. Not.impressssed.

Followus Dangerous
This can be terrfiying and recently was nearly the death of me on the Lisburn Road, with a full carload of Chinese students in tow, might I add. I had pushed my nose out to check there was nothing coming, and the car behind me immediately followed, making it impossible for me to retreat and get out of the way of the oncoming traffic. Chaos ensued, it was extremely dangerous and I'm actually quite surprised we all got out alive!

Queue Jumperus Arrogantus
Yes I would rather run the risk of crashing into the car in front of me than letting some arrogant and selfish driver in at the last minute when the closure of their lane has been warned about for the past 20 miles. I can't stand it when people think they are above waiting in a queue like the rest of us. We're all in a hurry too, bucko!

Green Light Ditherumus
It is almost unbearable when you are waiting in a queue of traffic, knowing that the lights stay red for a very long time, and green for a split second, yet the person at the front of the queue either DOESN'T NOTICE the lights have changed, or decides to take 3 years to get organised, meaning only about 2 other cars get though. There should definitely be a penalty against this, especially at the end of my road when the traffic lights can stay red for up to 3 full minutes at a time.

Door Bangus
It is extremely annoying to have a passenger who thinks nothing of banging the passenger door of your car against another car while making their exit, and worse still, has the cheek to laugh when you ask them not to. The sound of my passenger door being bashed off another car is a million times worse than the nails-down-the-blackboard effect to me, and I will not be impressed if you do it in my car, especially if you are not suitably apologetic, and especially if it happens more than once! (and yes this has happened before!).

One thing almost as annoying happened to me a few weeks ago when a middle aged woman banged her car door against mine quite violently a number of times when loading up her car with shopping. I was sitting in my car at the time, and horrible person that I have become, actually rolled down my window and said 'Excuse me, you're actually hitting my car quite hard, I'm worried you're going to damage it', to which the lady patronisingly replied, 'Don't be silly dear, I'm hardly touching it'. BANG BANG BANG. (that was the door again and not me fantasising about violence...though believe me, by that point, I was getting there!)

Another similar incident occurred last week when I had to park in a very tight spot because the driver on one side was so badly parked, and well over the line. Just after I had returned and was preparing to drive away, the owner of the badly parked car returned, and looked at me with hatred, presumably for parking so close to her, and deliberately banged her door off mine while getting in!! If I wasn't on the high of just having collected a Chinese takeaway I would have raged but soon my angry thoughts were replaced by 'Mmmm prawn crackers...'







Roadimus Ragimus

I was stuck behind a slow van on my way to work last week and the man behind me was clearly having none of it. Whilst turning left off a roundabout, he attempted to do a very dangerous cut along my left hand side, where there wasn't even a lane, so I veered over slightly to ensure this foolish (and pointless, as the obstruction was still in front of me) move did not occur. When I happened to glance in my rearview mirror the guy was doing the strangest miming of giving me a mock exagerrated round of applause. To be honest I have no exact idea why, he looked a bit strange and pathetic but I guess the road rage just got the better of him. Poor guy, he really needs to get some anger management classes under his belt. Or failing that, some blog-o-therapy;) Thanks for putting up with mine, peeps! :)

Freckles and endorphins

Today marked the first day of my training for my debut attempt to run a leg of the relay in the Belfast Marathon at the start of May! Better late than never....I hope! I decided that in terms of exercise, a change is as good as a rest, so I decided to make my maiden voyage into this period of exercisehood by heading down to a public running track about 10 minutes from my house. I enjoyed a good 40 minutes doing a variety of jogging, running, sprinting, walking and an assortment of cardio exercises I've learnt at Tae Kwon Do within the last year. The sun was out, I had the entire track to myself, I was completely safe from dangers of the road, uneven ground, and overexcited dogs or builders, all for the reasonable price of £2.50. You can't be bad to that.

As I drove away, with an unexpected buzz of endorphins coursing through my legs, I found myself making arrangements in my head about what my commitment was going to be to training within the next month. I already have TKD every Saturday morning, so I figured that 2 extra sessions per week would be adequate/reaslistic. Anyone who knows me at all, is aware that I am not well-known for my sporting prowess. I have never been that into sport or exercise, being quite a clumsy person with terrible core stability and a shocking lack of spatial awareness. I am much happier relaxing on the sofa or sitting in the cinema than doing anything active, although I do always enjoy a day outdoors or a bit of activity when it does end up being forced upon me. (usually in hindsight, though, rather than anticipation!)

One thing that interests me on the rare occasions when I am pondering upon the topic of sport is the seeming simplicity of the cause/effect related to it. I mean, technically, if I devoted my life to the right type of training, I could be as toned, athletic and muscular in whatever places I wanted. (well- I hope I'm still young enough for this to be the case!) I think I only realised this recently- normally there is so much about our bodies we feel we can't change- I had myself in a box as 'unsporty' and happily accepted my body as what it is, built for comfort, not speed and all that. But I think what I have realised recently is that... I could be built for speed if I really really wanted! I could turn myself into a leopard-esque, concord-paced sprinting phenomenon if I had the time and resources and was willing to put the effort in! Couldn't I??? I mean, technically it's possible, right???

I think I properly realised this element of control that lies with me for the first time a few months ago when slimming for my sister's wedding. (Yes, I really am that slow!) I had never really lost a good chunk of weight before, just a pound here or there, usually only after a brief period of illness! When I made the risky decision to choose 'The Smaller Sized Dress' (the other one being a discouragingly enormous tent!) at one of the bridesmaid's dress fittings, I suddenly became shockingly aware that I HAD to lose weight, or the zip just wouldn't come up (at least without creating a mountain of back cleavage of Quasimodo-style mmagnitude) and my sister/mother would perhap kill me! (this was not unconfirmed by a number of pep talks from both that ensued at various intervals). In the sporting realm, I've always been slighly less hideous at sprinting than any kind of long distance running, and I guess this is parallelled in the mental realm, so it figures that in the first 10 months since my sister got engaged, I managed to lose approx 2 pounds, and then with the big drive in the last 2 months I managed to lose a whopping 12 pounds. I achieved this through:
a) 'Straight Talking' from both mother and sister
b) The usefulness of having a project to put my pre-wedding nervous energy into
c)Telling myself that soup was my New Best Friend and bread was The Enemy.
d) The shortness of the period of time I would actually have to endure it for.
As well as this I had to come to the realisation that the only times I lost weight was when I felt extremely and unnaturally H.U.N.G.R.Y. Again, another cause/effect thing that I hadn't really thought through. I gradually realised I could live with hunger, I wouldn't faint or start to hallucinate, but it was just a slightly uncomfortable sensation. And I did it, yes, in those pre-Christmas weeks of Jumbo Macademias, special edition crisps, endless parties, Starbuck's flipping Gingerbread latte and cold dark days where you just want to come from work, curl up on the sofa and eat a LOT of chocolate. The zip came up, everyone was pleased and surprised and I enjoyed a fortnight of having a waist! That was very exciting! I was blatantly never going to sustain it, because of the plain fact that I just don't like being hungry! Plus the builders' bum look and regular hoisting up of trousers probably was an unhelpful distraction in the classroom and elsewhere (and not in a pleasant way, I'd imagine), and given the fact that I can't afford to replace my entire wardrobe, it's probably a good thing that this hasn't continued!

But if I KNOW that it is technically within my capabilities to turn myself into a human machine, or a girl with a bikini bod to die for, then why the heck am I not out there doing it, and benefitting from the fact that age is still (hopefully!) on my side? I guess it's not all 100% laziness, even though I admit that a good proportion of it is. It also comes down to time management- it's important to me to see friends, and I have a lot of other commitments, so it would have to take over all of those things. And if it was more important to me to be a toned and muscular babe with a 6 pack, I think that would make me into a not very nice, proud, self-obsessed person. And I think I would lose friends, and the fulfillment of the other commitments I have, extremely quickly. Plus how often would I really have the chance to flaunt myself in a bikini in this freezing country?!?

So, like everything else in life, it benefits from wisdom and balance. It is useful for me to know that I CAN improve my body and fitness levels, and I hope I'll use this knowledge to do my best to improve myself in this 'sprint' of one month until the marathon, and hopefully beyond that. I think there is something pure and helpful in thinking a little more about the cause/effect of sports and exercise, especially in this modern middle-class world we live in where so much is handed to us on a plate, and I mean that literally- most of us have very little idea of where our food even comes from. If we overspend we have a credit card or overdraft, or a parental unit to keep us from going without. Cause and effect is something I could do with reflecting about a lot more- in terms of my finances, friendships, the words I speak, my attempts at holiness, and my environmental conscience, to name but a few. To a certain extent we have control over a lot of things in our lives, and in a lot of cases it's up to us to get off our butts and make things happen.

However, as I arrived home feeling the mixture of motivation and guilt brought on by these thoughts, I looked in the mirror. FRECKLES. Oh yes. Those. Every Autumn/Winter I manage to completely forget about the full extent of my Spring/Summer frecklage, much in the same way I forget what it's like to have lighter evenings for almost half the year. And it reminded me that even though there is a good bit in our lives we can control, there is a lot - both good and bad, major and minor, that comes our way out of 'left field', whether we like it or not. In my life I have a lot of peace and comfort in knowing that God has everything in control, he reigns, that he is providential, knows me better than I know myself and cares about the tiny details, even more faithfully than my own mother does. I know others understand this through concepts of 'luck', 'fate', 'karma'- whatever our perspective I guess it's as universal as the law of gravity that in each of our lives there are things we have control over, and others that we most certainly don't. And like in everything it's up to each of us to work out the balance that keeps us from the equally harmful extremes of striving, obssessing and becoming a self-centred control freak, or sitting back fatalistically letting friendships, exercise and responsibilities fall by the wayside. And somehow being ready for the outbreaks of freckles, or unexpected bursts of endorphins that can spring unannounced into our lives at any point.