Exclusive exclusion

From maturity to immaturity in 60 seconds...maybe 43 is still too soon for me to aim for full blown maturity.  How do I know this?  Well, now you see, I thought I was pretty sorted in that department what with life, motherhood and marriage having kicked my arse into shape (no oxymoron intended) - but no, it turns out I still like to throw my toys out of the pram.

I blame social media. 

See I was on Facebook today and saw that a life long friend, whose relationship with me was ruined by a pair of diamond earrings and a lorry load of immaturity a few years ago is now getting married in May.   Actually I knew about this and I was genuinely happy for the girl.  She's been through quite a lot of shit in her time and I'm not just talking about the type of inconvenience and upset caused by losing a deposit on a holiday, I talking about the kind of pooh that lands you in therapy.  Yet she has always had an amazing outllook on life and only slightly self medicates on the rare occasions her seemingly perpetual supply of optimism fails.  I had a lot of time for the girl - still do.  Trouble is she doesn't have that much time for me anymore.  Long sorry story that frankly I've done everything to try to put behind me.

Over time however I chipped away at the crust of antagonism between us until I reached the softer layer of forgiveness - it has taken 5 years and it's been worth every chisel at the rock.  Finally I was able to meet with her recently where she showed me her engagement ring and it felt almost like a Hollywood version of old times to the point where she invited me to the aforementioned wedding.  Well, I was honoured.  I cried I was that honoured and for a moment I felt what Tim Robbin's character in the Shawshank Redemption must have felt when after 15 years he finally chips through the last of the cement that separated him from release.  My efforts had finally paid off and even though it felt odd to be invited in a way that was very obviously filled with caveats, it was something after years of nothing.  And if felt good.  It also felt just and I realised how hard this must have been for her to do.

So joy and gratitude were the specials on the menu that night .  Even talk of her bridesmaids had little effect on me other than more delicious happiness for the girl.  A few years ago it would have been inconceivable for me not to be part of her wedding party but today - I am lucky to be in the crowd and I'm happy for that huge concession.

Or am I?  Looking at her Facebook status update, as you do, I realised she'd had her hen party two nights ago.  Picture after picture of raucous fun to which I was most certainly not invited flickered on the screen. Click after click after bloody exclusive click .  Hell, an invite to the wedding was but a thought and a dream until last week.  So why am I feeling so deceived? So disappointed?  So down? I wasn't for a moment expecting an invite to it...was I?  I guess part of me was. 

It's clear then that I have a lot more scooping of earth with a tiny worn down spoon before I poke through the end of that long dark tunnel; before I break through the last layer of fuck up; before the tiny speck of redemption is revealed and I guess that's just my cross to bear.

I made my bed, I pissed in it and now I must lie in it.

The answer to the meaning of life is....

The Silverback and The Lish have been back for a week now after spending two in The Tundra visiting The Silverback's familia. Now don't get me wrong, I missed them of course and I was a little bit riddled with guilt over taking off on this yoga week but the biggest surprise was how quickly I began settling into that carefree (and selfish...or is it?) pattern of the single person lifestyle. Meals for one to suit whatever craving you have (had a plate of olives on my first night alone, standing up in the kitchen); washing up for one; TV exclusivity and the ability to do what I want when I want. I think it's important for any parent or carer to take that one week to themselves every now and again. And it's also nice to miss people you know you'll see again.


With the return of the family comes an end to all the above and that's how I ended up watching one of those BBC Four culture documentaries, this time on Elton John. Personally I would have happily watched Jerseyshore, my new guilty pleasure but The Silverback insisted; it's not that he is a big Elton John fan - in fact outside of the tune Tiny Dancer, which he and probably most people under the age of 40 know from the film 'Almost Famous' - I doubt he would be able to hum you one bar of any other Elton John song.  Still, he would rather watch a show about Elton's rise to stardom than watch 2 seconds of Jerseyshore.  And so I must compromise because after all when golf or snooker gets too much to bear, I make him watch shows about cookery and house refurbishments.

Anyhoo, the point that I am meandering towards is that Elton talked about how he feels he only really matured when he reached the age of 43.  Had I been watching this 10 years ago, I would have thought the man was obviously the worst kind of spoiled,  instead I found myself relating in a big way.  Having only just found a mental space that I feel comfortable with at the age of 39, Elton's own experience completely resonated.  In fact if I carry on like this, I too could be on the path to maturity by the time I'm 43.  And it only took 43 years.

Funny where you find answers to 'the meaning of life'.  So the answer in fact isn't 42 (for Hitchhiker fans) it's actually 43.  Who'da thunk it?

Union

Scorpion

I´m at the end of a week´s yoga retreat in Fuerteventura, Canary Islands.  It´s been a week of discipline and acceptance.  I found the discipline part quite easy, in fact - stepping out of that discipline was the hardest part for me as the group I ended up with turned out to be party animals despite being on average 15 years older than me.  And that is where the acceptance came in.  True to form I spent a lot of the week avoiding the loud ones but caved last night, it literally being the last night to meet them all at a tapas bar.  It was nice, I suppose. 

I have to say, I have seriously enjoyed my own company this week and the company of the more like minded yogis.  I can´t for the life of me understand why you would come on a yoga retreat when all you really want to do is drink and eat...and annoy the living shit out of everyone else who is quite happy nibbling on a lentil cracker. 

Again, acceptance was the key.  I did my last yoga class last night.  I could have done a pilates session this morning, but in the spirit of rebellion and given that the latest I´ve been up all week has been 7:30 - I decided to give myself a massive lie-in until 9.  WOOOH  HOO!!  Well, a little of what you fancy won´t hurt.  Of course now I´ve spent the day berrating myself for being so lazy. 

I´ve also had a bellyful of Spanish TV and took for the first time a yoga class in Spanish last night.  I have to say, no matter how hard they try, the Spaniards (and I can say this because I am one) will never to subdued easily.  Even when Omming, a guy from Pamplona sitting next to me sounded like he was running from a bull.

I´ve missed my lisherlicious with a raw passion.  I am happy to have this time for me for sure, but boy will I be happy to see her cheeky little face.  I´ve bought her a flamenco dress, as you do, see if I can´t tease the dago out of  her.

I can´t say I had any real expectations, this being the first time I´d done a yoga holiday and I loved it but next time I will go hardcore.  None of this mixed bag of holiday makers.  I want rock hard 6am no food shit type yoga.  It had renewed my love of the practice and given me impetus to impress the poop out of my bosses so I can start to reduce office hours and increase Omming hours.

And so I must leave as there are rays of sunshine to meditate to until the madness of Stansted airport at 2am on a Sunday.  Can´t wait.

Namaste everyone.

Sunshine of my life

What a splendid day for sun and fuck ups.  And let's be honest, if you're going to be on the receiving end of incompetence, better that the sun be shining than the rain be a-pouring no?  In my attempt to just let it go now, I will just say that when estate agents are bad, they are proper dreadful.  And that is all I will say.

On a brighter note, and I'm almost afraid to say this for fear of tempting fate, but either I'm getting better at managing time at work (and the art of delegation - let's not kid anyone), or things are miraculously improving in the office.  I shall take this as the 'flow' in what I've now long come to accept is the 'ebb and flow' of life.  Things appear to be generally looking up and I'm grateful for every last drop of luck.

On an even brighter note, my Lisherlicious is 5 on Friday.  We had her party last weekend - coincidentally Mother's Day...oops!  So a few people did drop out wanting to spend this sweet day doing something special and exclusive with their offspring, but plenty didn't.  One in particular simply dropped off her child and left with a toodles! and a see you in 2 hours!  Which just goes to show - the world is thankfully full of all sorts.  And me?  well  after all the cleaning and hosting, I'm thinking I might have to ask for a Mother's Day in lieu.  Ah but it was worth every lump of compacted cake on carpets and upholstery (which I'm still finding btw) for one glimpse of Lishy's smiling face. 

A far cry from last year when we didn't know a soul under 35 years old having just returned from Canada.  The best I could do was fill the room with balloons and hide her presents in amongst them.  She liked the balloons more than she did the presents, obviously. This year we substituted balloons for people.  Which was nice and they don't pop (as easily).

Tonight she fell asleep with her new digital camera still clenched in her hand - yes, at 5 that is what she asked for.  Gawd help us!  But whaddya gonna do?  She's my ray of light, the sunshine of my life and my reason for being (even though I haven't always found motherhood easy, I'll admit).

I guess in this sense, practice makes perfect? No?