Whilst i’ve been having an internal debate about where to take this blog next (its currently a grave yard of all my depressing thoughts, which needs to change) i’ve sadly noticed that it’s not all sweetness and light everywhere else either in blogland. Despite summer being around the corner it seems that depression is high on people’s agenda, as is the point of blogging in the first place.
So in the spirit of summer, feeling the sun and enjoying life and in a bid to get you all thinking about what you are thankful for, this is my ‘grace in small things’…
- My first cigarette of the day with a proper cup of espresso coffee, a crisp, freezing cold Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand, or a Millers Gin and Tonic , pink fizz and shots of slippery nipples,
- The Cicle (acoustic) by Ocean Colour Scene, Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones, Pink Moon by Nick Drake, Bright Side of the Road by Van Morrison and anything by the Counting Crows,
- Cooking a Sunday roast, sucking the chocolate off a Crunchie bar (or a Kit Kat), Chocolate milk, Magnum Temptation Ice-creams, Frazzles crisps, Galaxy chocolate, broccoli and stilton soup, and stuffed vine leaves,
- Friday at 3.15pm, Flexi-time, presenting really well, going back to university to do a MSc in September,
- Lilies, daisy chains, rolling fields and dry stone walls, fields of Oil Seed Rape, walking on a wind swept beach in winter,
- The Greek Islands, Scandinavia, The Arts Factory in Byron Bay, the Yorkshire Dales, Arran and Loch Lyon,
- Fits of hysterical laughter, especially when the kitten falls in the toilet,
- Edinburgh’s private gardens in the sunshine, the Botanical Gardens, the Zoo, remembering to appreciate the Castle once in a while and the Festival too,
- Going clubbing, seeing gigs and discovering new musical loves, dancing until dawn,
- Being appreciated for the crazy bitch I am, never being judged and always having a ready smile, and,
- Neal Stephenson, Alisdair Reynolds, Peter F Hamilton, and Dan Simmons amongst others…
But my favourite small thing is…saying “I love you” and really, truly meaning it.
What are your favourite small things?
Kx
right here right now
It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages… (but) women are not yet capable of friendship: she knows only love
Once upon a time there was a little girl in her £80 dress that didn’t care what they drank, or what the first song was, or what flowers she carried or the cake they ate. There was a sparkle in her eye that blinded her to the guests, on lookers, well wishers and even the vicar. She only had eyes in one direction.
But for all her belief in love, she was naïve. She was stepping off down a long road, which despite twists and turns and ups and downs would never come to a fork, a t-junction or a dead end; but she’d been blinded by the sparkle and never saw how rough the road really was.
Very quickly the sun went in, the dark clouds descended. The ring it seemed had begun to tighten around her new husband’s finger; he cried like it was around his neck instead. The little girl focused on playing house whilst he played away and was rewarded by broken plates and broken bones.
At Christmas, it wasn’t all snow that was white or wine that was red, at Easter it wasn’t only Easter eggs that had to be hunted for. In summer, the front door was always open, but no one ever came through it, came home. By winter she was left alone to frighten away the cold. The little girl learned that money and pain and fear and heartbreak was all there was left, that pain was real and clung on once the respect was gone.
But then the day came, with the help of another, that she realised that she could walk away, broken, miss-led, ashamed, but alone. When the light finally began to creep back in, and she could let go of that friends hand, she realised she had only taken one thing with her, one lesson to move on….
And today, that little girl, despite being so naïve, knows that in marriage, only one thing matters – that love is never enough – and if you find your best friend, you’ve found the one.
Kx
P.s Even overlooking his misogynist tendencies, Nietzsche still might not be the obvious philosopher upon which to base an opinion of marriage upon, but you have to agree he has a point.
right here right now
So she tells him she must go out for the evening, to comfort an old friend who's feeling down, but he knows where she's going as she's leaving…
In such an expansive language as ours, there are few words that beat the word ‘cheat’ for venomous synonyms (a charlatan, conniver, enticer, masquerader, or rascal?); Our language paints such people as double-dealers that scam, screw (literally) and fiddle (literally, mark 2) their way through life and that for this there is no acceptable excuse.
It may be a truth universally acknowledged that some people have significantly more self-esteem issues than most, but can cheating ever really ever be “it’s not you, it’s me”? Can someone’s low regard for themselves drive them to see such behaviour as a part of themselves; that cheating is just an old habit that would die very hard? Whilst a lack of self esteem is today accepted as a common cause of a multitude of human misdemeanours, using it as an excuse for being sexually unfaithful is not.
I guess this post is a kind confession, for I was that person; a cheat who never took responsibility for the fact that the person she was with just might not have been the right one and blamed it on ‘issues’ instead. Yes, I did say was; for this might have been a weekend filled with smiles and sex and hopes for anniversaries to come, but it also marked the passing of a secret milestone; an old habit I’m happy to have died hard.
For this weekend marked one year that I stopped saying “it’s not you, it’s me”, and started accepting the real reality – “it’s not me, it’s you”.
And that for me is a very large step forward.
Kx
crazy cat lady
That's true, Frankie, but they gotta learn to be pals or they ain't gonna make it out here
I promise i’m not becoming a cat blogger but this I had to share…
One of the delights of having a pet is obviously the interaction you get with them, but what is often funnier is the interaction between pets. My guinea pigs used to follow each other around the garden obsessively, my goldfish nibble each others tails joyously after they are fed and well, well my cats fight.
Oh, I know that a kitten’s raison d’être is to terrorise, but I’ve never before met a kitten that does it with such dogged (catted?) determination. My tomcat is being run ragged by 1.2kg of kitten; and it’s rather funny to watch.
Now the kitten’s best trick has been nicknamed ‘Eddie the Eagle’ and you’ll see why. It involves the kitten finding the highest place in the room to crouch on (top of the TV, halfway up the curtains, on the mantelpiece, on the radiator) and waiting there until the tom strolls past on his way for breakfast, dinner or a nice quiet sleep on his favourite chair.
On getting the tom in her sights, the kitten then launches herself into a death-defying leap at or onto the tomcat, which then results in him jumping a foot in the air and running squealing from the room in fright.
The little terror either darts after him, getting a few swipes in at the tail for good measure, or just sits there nonchalantly giving herself a nice clean like nothing has happened. (and metaphorical pat on the head – I can see it even if no one else can).
But this morning the tomcat got his own back. The kitten must have launched one of her sneak attacks earlier than usual as at 6.30am the tom came belting into the bedroom meowing in a plaintive angry voice. After checking that the kitten was still puffing up the stairs, the tom jumped on the bed and after a quick head butt (“mum, shhhhh!”) he climbed under the covers, curled up against me and went very still and quiet.
Seconds later, little miss evil climbs up the duvet onto the bed, squeaking in excitement and stands directly on top of the tom and starts searching for him. Of course she can’t find him and he wasn’t going to reveal himself in a hurry. Two minutes later the kitten jumps of the bed in frustration and goes off to hunt him down somewhere else.
Seconds later I feel another little head butt (“thanks mum”), a very loud purr and then the tom settles himself down to sleep. Victory for the moment was his.
Kxx