Shapeshifting

Just because

Oh how I love this photograph.

Sharecropper and sharecropper's dog, North Carolina, 1938 by John Vachon.

This and other wonderful images can be seen at Dog Art Today.

The Universe is a reader of hearts

I was reminded today, by the quiet internal voice that I call my intuition when I'm not actually sure it's even a part of me, that my little family's world may look like it's been thrown into chaos but that doesn't mean that it has.

I was reminded that this has happened to me a number of times before and that from the ashes of apparent disaster has flown a dream fulfilled. It just got a bit messy there for a while.

I thought of my Mondo Beyondo list (even though I didn't do it properly) and how the current scenario/drama/'opportunity' could actually be the Universe taking us just where I wanted us to be, only first we need to be shaken out of our torpor and set to work. I know that's how the U likes to operate, at least when it's dealing with the ADD-ness of me. Give me a focus and keep this butterfly brain out of trouble.

And I realised that while it may not appear that some of the seemingly important items I've been wishing for (because I'm a veteran of 'putting it out there', visualisation, manifestation etc etc) are likely to come out of this, it is more than possible that the Big Ones, the ones that I can't quite put into words or even pictures yet, the ones that only my wisest self thinks are a good idea...well maybe the U doesn't bother with the words and pictures sometimes.

Maybe sometimes it goes over our heads.

Maybe sometimes it goes straight to the heart.

Written all over my face

One day, I'm not sure which, probably in 2007, my face started to fall off.

I'd got by until 40 looking younger than my years. Cynics would say it's because I lived alone until I was 39. Whatever. At 40 the lines started to show. They were nothing serious, in fact they were definitely laughter lines. Both my parents are very youthful and I foolishly believed I'd inherited the good genes.

At 43 I became the mother of a 13 month old baby. Just like that. At 3pm, November 13th 2006, I wasn't a mother. At 3.01 I was.

The last three years have been a joy and I love my sweet girl more than life but I'm exhausted. And that's what I see when I look in the mirror. Exhaustion. One day, I managed to pull myself from the bed in which I'd been attempting to sleep for the previous 12 months or so and I left my face on the pillow. I've tried sticking it back on, in a Travolta/Cage stylee, but to no avail. I blame my neck, what's left of it. No longer able to hold itself up, it just sits crumpled, prevented from sliding to the floor only by my shoulders. And it's damn well dragged my face down with it. They're both just too bloody tired to sit up straight and look perky.

Oh how I've laughed.

Not.

For one thing, it doesn't look good when my turkey neck jiggles.

I hate the physical ageing process. Hate it. On the inside, on a good day (and they're mostly good days) I feel better than I ever have. I feel more powerful and empathetic than I ever did as a younger woman. I love the experience and perspective I have now and you'd have to prise them out of my cold dead hand before I'd give them up but the wrinkles and the sagging...no no no no no no no.

This is a serious issue for me but it's hard to write about without feeling shallow or silly or both. I've never been a vain woman. My appearance has always been something to have fun with rather than to celebrate or preen. But now that my face is ageing it is destroying my confidence in other things. It makes me feel as if I no longer fit; as if I'm no longer good/attractive/young enough to be out in the world doing 'new things', starting over, building.

And yes, I am aware that this is INSANE. Why would those three qualities belong together? And yet...I believe it. I don't need to take apart the effects of our society's obsession with youth or the media's evil air-brushing ways - we know that stuff and cling to it like a drowning man clings to a deflating balloon (with my features on it). It doesn't seem to matter that I know how fake and crappy botox-ed, lifted and/or filled faces look, and how Most Women don't look like that. I still want to cry when I look in the mirror or at photographs of myself.

And it's this near obsession, this complex, that is one of the major blocks to me moving on to the next stage of my life. A stage that I think will probably be the best yet - the first 6 years of my 40s have, after all, been the best of my entire life - but that, on some level, I think I must fear as a slippery slope into obsolescence. All the great ideas I have...all the creative projects I start and never pursue...all the dreams I know I can reach...I don't follow through publicly on any of them because at some point someone is going to look at me and think,"God she's way too old for that."

Did I mention, INSANE?

Because the thing is, when I do the 'What if it was X telling you she was going to do this or that she was feeling this way...?' test, I do the full 180 turn. Nothing I feel about myself is reflected in how I think about other people.

But they don't have my face.

• I inherited the skin of my Celtic/Gaelic forefathers - designed for damp and cool environments, incapable of tanning, shrivels like Spongebob out of water.
• I smoked from 17 to 35. Don't even say it.
• I have a very sweet tooth and it transpires that sugar is the wrinkle's friend.
• I've spent the last 12 years working and relaxing in front of a computer screen.
• I love the outdoors.
• I'm light-sensitive and squint a lot even in average daylight.
• I have a daughter who only just started to sleep at night. She's four.

Y'know that show, Ten Years Younger? They put some poor, hapless woman in a shopping centre, under fluorescent lighting, in her oldest clothes, dirty hair and no make-up, then ask the general public to guess how old she is. If that was me...Ten Years Older. They'd all think I was in my late 50s.

I have three good friends who are either in their 50s or about to be. One, she knows who she is, got carded a couple of months ago. Enough said. Another, I've known since I was born (I made her an aunt at 3.5) and when she and I are together there is no time or age or stuff like that. Another has one of those delicately pretty faces that is so enchanting you just stare at her.

Meanwhile at work I am, bar one, the oldest person working for the organisation in one of the most junior positions. When I applied for the job I came in on - an entry level position but I was desperate to get in - I was 39. Six months from 40. I didn't put my D.O.B. on my application and I got an interview, followed by the job. I was interviewed by my future boss, then just 30, and the girl I'd be working under. She was 22. The Directors were all in their mid-30s. For years it was a standing joke that no one knew how old I was and then when word got out there was a respectful silence. Ha! But the culture here is ageless and no one cared one way or the other. Except me. I did, and do, feel old here. And on a bad day, I look it.

The awesome women I've met here in the UK, the beautiful BBCers...all at least 10 years younger than me and rocking it. It makes me feel a bit lame and yet internally, I kick ass.

Other women my age, blogging, like-minded, are amazing to me. It wouldn't even occur to me to consider them anything other than vital and full of potential and future and time and energy and relevance. Holy crap, they're only in their 40s/50s! Charlie reaches a big birthday next year and nothing can convince me that he isn't about to have the best fresh start ever - full of the things I listed above with added knowledge, experience and determination. I know that to be true. Know it. But to me they don't look older. I don't look at them and gasp at how much time has passed the way I do when I catch sight of myself in a window. It's not the number, dude...it's the skin.

And there's the thing. If I could just reprogramme myself to say,"I'm older now" and, to quote the youthful but botox-ed Simon Cowell,"own it", maybe I could say,"Well you're a tired 46 but that's okay." But when I'm still expecting my younger, smoother face...yikes. It's like 50 First Dates with myself. You think I'd learn.

I've rambled on and on about this but my point is that this is a huge block for me. It makes me sad, it weighs me down, it makes me want to hide and for once in my affirming, visualising, straight-talking life I have no idea how to fix it. And I am ashamed to feel this way and so the urge to hide gets stronger. It doesn't match my life values or my belief in women. It is ridiculous and petty and belongs to a world I don't want to be part of. And yet, it hurts.

I fully intend to be around at least another 35 years and my face is going to get a whole lot more crepe-y than it is now. So am I just going to take to a darkened corner rather than look people in the eye and see my reflection?

This is a huge part of my Real & True for now. I hope the extra sensitivity I'm feeling right now and the urge to admit to it are the first stages of healing, or I'm in deep trouble.

I'm not writing this for comforting comments. I know you're supportive or I wouldn't be writing this. I don't even really want to talk about it in conversation. If you've read this far, thank you.

This is part of my story.

Real and true

Autumn is really here. I can feel my brain doing the Autumn Thing, which is far less absurd and manic and fun than the Spring Thing but possibly, if I can stay out of the doldrums, far more useful.

I feel as if I'm stripping down thought patterns - prompted no doubt by the rewriting of rules by the wonderful Megg at creatingwings.com, the general feel of 'Okay let's bring in the harvest and see what we've got for all our hard work' and also the feeling that we are finally home, here in this little house. And then there's a whole new year on the horizon to plan for. I want to be off to a good start.

I've also made full use of the amazing resources available from Fabeku Fatunmise. I know I'm sounding like an evangelist for his work but it's remarkable. I'm very sensitive to sound anyway, but this works on some other level. I swear I can feel the old, dead, useless and obsolete stuff I carry around with me being vibrated out into the ether and dispersed. I know...sounds crazy...but it's true. And it continues into my dreams. A venue that was central to a very unhappy phase of my life, that crops up in dreams again and again, appeared in last night's dream. Only it had burned to the ground. Gone. Never to be rebuilt. Download the freebie and the CD, put it on a loop on your iPod/Walkman, stick in your earphones and drift off.

I read Rachelle's post that felt as if she'd been reading my mind. I can't stop thinking about the issues she raises. Such as story-telling. My story. All I need to do for me is tell my story, forget the rest. We should all be able to tell our story regardless of who is reading or listening. We should help each other in our story-telling.

I read this beautiful post from my friend, Sas who writes her story 'properly good' (xx to you, my lovely).

"Real and true", she says. Real and true. There's so much loveliness out in the 'nets that it's easy to overdose and wind up feeling a little bit queasy and befuddled but wanting more after ten minutes or you fall into the glooms. And, continuing the chocolate analogy, there's some really good stuff out there. High quality. Makes you feel wonderful. Soothes you in times of confusion. The rest...meh. Not so healthy. And I consume the stuff like a starving animal. Insane.

I've been thinking about my real and true. And how I think I've been a bit out of focus with my real and true.

And I know why. Thanks to Fabeku the sludge has worked its way to the top and now I have to deal with it. Make it positive. So that will be my next post. You may want to skip it when it pops up in your reader - it's not exactly world-changing - but I need to write it. Maybe later.

Happy Thursday.

I love to be this close to my Nell.

Jackson

Because there's not much better in the world than a terrier's bottom.

So sayeth the Englishwoman.

Friday Fourteen

Phew. I feel the need for a catch-up. Skip this post if you like, it may turn into One of My Lists. There will almost certainly be bullet points. In fact I can feel one coming on...

• Dog photography I have some lovely ones sitting in my files waiting to be edited. They're mostly of my dogs but I don't care. I love my dogs. There's definitely a dog pics post coming up soon. They make me smile.
• Notebooks I've been drawing up some ideas based on things I'd noticed in my work notebooks. Sounds vague and yes it is, for now. Then I just pulled out an old notebook from home that I'd grabbed on my way out this morning; in case I felt the urge to scrawl or doodle in my lunch break (in fact I'm blogging but anyway...). The last time I used it looks to have been about 18 months ago (I have many, many notebooks on the go). I was supposed to be writing notes for something else but as I flick through, I see the word symbol on virtually every page along with squirls and scribbles. Not just for that one project, but for about three separate things over a long period. Talk about ignoring the obvious.This is what happens when I leave my brain in future gear - I miss the present and its simplicity. Hmm.
• SAD So far so good. A little medicinal help, a lot of being outdoors and so far I'm doing okay although my brain does seem to have gone into,"Hey HERE's another great idea!" mode and I'm having trouble staying asleep at night. I actually quite enjoy these times. Some of these ideas are great.Our clocks change back to GMT in a week or so. Things could go a little bit Pete Tong at that point.
• And your point is..? My daughter officially has "an attitude". Yes? You try living in an under-resourced orphanage for the first 13 months of your life, with a load of equally needy babies and no sign of your birth mother or your twin sister. How do you come out of that strong, smart, healthy and...oh yes...alive? You either have an attitude or you develop one pretty quick. So we'll work with her on maybe not sounding quite so much "like a 13 year old" but we'll be leaving her attitude intact. Kthxbai.
• Yeah I have an attitude too. When it's needed.
• Gym I'm back this week after a few days off and it's kicking my butt. Thankfully it also restores the range of movement in most of my joints and makes me feel good about myself. 4.5 stars.
• Meeting I just heard about a new(ish) group in Bath for families who've adopted from overseas. They meet twice a month and there's lots of familiar faces that attend. E and I will be making the short drive over to see everyone next time.I think E will be The Big Girl.
• The Big Girl She had a haircut. A real 1920s-style short bob which makes her look so ridiculously cute and cheeky that all I can do is stare at her.But she's growing, oh my how she's growing (thank you melatonin for helping her sleep so that she can grow and be strong).
• Potential disaster My laptop is on the blink and refuses to acknowledge the presence of the images on my camera's card. Hence no photo of the aforementioned haircut.
• The Universe I must say the U is doing a fabulous job at the moment. I'm feeling the love all over the place. In fact I'd go so far as to say 'universally'. See what I did there?
• Unravelling Further: exploring the senses Week one and Susannah has 'nailed it', 'made it her own' (oh wait),'given an authentic performance' and clearly has given it '200%'. She is very definitely this year's winner of eX Factor. But seriously...best. ecourse. ever.
• Mondo Beyondo I'd love to go here. Amazing. And that's just Maggie Doyne.
• Fabeku He's not kidding. I love what he's doing and he loves cake. Perfect.
• Beauty Is a dog called Doula.

Happy Friday.

Tuesday

Busy but lovely times. I've been swooning through Flickr looking for images to share with you, to illustrate some current loves.

Clockwise from top left...

• I appear to be a bit taken with Bench Monday. Watch this space for my contributions.
• For the first time in my long life I'm feeling the urge to be girlie. Maybe it's the whole 'not cutting my hair until at least christmas' thing (which I am very much enjoying), maybe it's because it's boot weather (although I wear them all year round) and I don't love much more than a nice pair of boots, but I'm getting very excited about skirts. Trust me when I tell you this is most unusual. Nice knitwear with girlie bits? Yes. That's been a thing for a while. But suddenly I'm all about the skirts.
• I think my superstitious nature and my love of tattoos have both been well-documented here but lately they're taking me in an interesting direction. I'm playing with symbols and meaning and hope to bring something of it to the blog soon.
• I bought a bike. Once Evie had one it was only a matter of time. I bagged a bargain at a boot sale (from a bloody brilliant bike bloke) on Sunday and have been out a few times since. I'm instantly transported back to my childhood when my trusty Raleigh was in fact fantasy a horse and we'd fly like the wind round and round the garden for hours on end. This bike is, as yet, no beauty. It's not a vintage, Miss Marple-esque, basketed classic with a tinkly bell but...I'm blushing...I think I may have fallen a teensy bit in love with it.

Happy Tuesday.

And then she was four

for Evie on her 4th birthday from Jo H. on Vimeo.

What he said

I started writing a post and it was rubbish. I was trying to write about how I'm already thinking about my words for 2010. So far I have integrity and success on the short list. Interesting combo. I'm particularly fascinated by integrity. It's having a hypnotic effect on me...has totally pushed its way past authenticity. Anyway while I was warping around looking for stuff on integrity I came across the following (alleged) quote from my main man:

Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it.  Do not believe in anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many.  Do not believe in anything simply because it is found written in your religious books.  Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders.  Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations.  But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it. 

~Buddha

I need reminding of this some days more than others. Thanks B.