shapeshifting

That lunar eclipse turned my brain into Spaghetti Junction last night. No sleep for the inspired. But no clear thoughts either. If I was to write a long (too long) post about my interwoven thought processes right now it would include these threads:

• Online business coaching is producing multi-levels of clones and if the only business they have is telling other people how to run their business telling people how to run their business, who is actually doing anything? Making anything? Creating anything? I see the need for business coaching and there is some incredibly inspiring, fresh stuff out there but ohmygod sometimes it's like standing in a hall of mirrors. Of course I'm not an entrepreneur and I don't need to read any of it but when it's good, it's good. I like good now. Good's cool. Cloning isn't.

• Some of us may have no urge to take over the world but we still want to be part of it. We still want to have left some small positive imprint. And look, Bindu has been reading my mind.

• Being a catalyst for positive change among your immediate circle is a wonderful thing. The common ground you probably share will mean your interpretation of something is more likely to spark change than would the words of someone living an entirely different life. Why throw a whole lot of seeds on stoney ground when you can watch them thrive in your own back garden? I have been inspired to make real change by a number of close friends recently. Even though I've known for years that what they say is true, it took their voice and perspective to bring it home to me.

• Building an emotional immune system (my kind of parenting).

• Age ain't nothin' but a number. Voicing my trepidation of turning 50 in two years has made me realise that the number is simply a marker of how long I've been here. It in no way defines who I am while I'm here. I could as easily label myself as having arrived at 09.30 GMT. Who cares right? But I do think that in my mind it signifies an age at which I really should have grown up. And that's what I'm aiming for. Maturity. A smidgeon of wisdom from the many lessons I've lived through. Less manic intensity. Waaaay more serenity (no, not that one). Serenity is what I've always hoped I'd find when I grew up; I guess the unnamed project is a way for me to get there.

• I love the flavour. I'd forgotten just how much. Next year, now I know to pick before they flower, I'll be harvesting my own.

• Tasha Beagle has been rehomed bringing my charges down to three. And, with so much less to do now (there were seven dogs when I started, three have been rehomed and one passed away) I'm only going to visit them once a month. I have been given three Tuesdays a month to do something else. That's good.

• Megan Matthieson

• Restless. I'm restless. I'm getting that 'throw everything up in the air and see where it lands' feeling. I do not know if or when I'll act on that feeling. I do not know what I'd like to see in that new arrangement. I just have a feeling that there is space for something else. Something outward-facing and important to me. Something real and gritty and true.

• It may be wrapped in something imagined and shiny but still true.

• Thursday night is yoga night.

• The project...it is unnamed.

• Awesomised conversation and laughter with Susannah at Cafe Lucca. Also, standing at one of the busiest corners in Bath while she pokes her upper arm and shouts,"I mean, what the F*CK is THIS?" much to the amusement of me and many passers-by. @photobird...keeping it real.(N.B. It's perfectly normal triceps, in case you're concerned.)

• Dreaming of teaching people to fly by firing them out of massive cannons. I tried it, it was AWEsome.

 See? Scrambled. Good, but scrambled.

x

Together we've lived in five homes and seen many other four-legged loved ones come and go*.

He loves Nellie Bean - theirs is a 14 year friendship - and attempts to be nice to Jackson but neither of them are really feeling it. Jackson was half Casey's size when they first met and still gets his bum swatted as he walks past the cat, but he has good 'cat manners' and they live happily together.

In 1998 Casey was attuned to Reiki and has wonderfully healing paws. I also think it has something to do with his fine age.

He will only eat Whiskas sodding supermeat - chicken flavour - despite my attempts to tempt him with better food.

He loves teeny bits of ice cream and cheese and dog food and was once seen to indulge in some chicken tikka masala (not mine).

He loves flowers and sunshine.

He's scared of the chickens.

He is retired but went out to 'work' for many years, leaving at 8.45, coming home for lunch and then disappearing again until 5.

His miaow never really worked and when he's lonely he howls.

He is my Familiar.

This photo was taken a couple of years ago and now he has freckles of white fur all over his face along with the occasional white whisker - très distingué.

He was once a force to be reckoned with and filled the hearts of neighbouring cats with fear (he was a serious badass who would *chase other cats under moving cars) but age and arthritis took him out of the ring a few years back. Thank goodness.

He is a people-lover who likes nothing better than to rub heads again, again and again.

He had lived eight lives by the time he was about three and of course now he is immortal.

Just looking at this photo makes my heart fair burst with love for him.

If you look in the dictionary under 'awesome' you will find his name.

Happy birthday my CaseyCat. Many, many happy returns. I love you.

The girls are a bit miserable. The changing season has thrown this at them and it's uncomfortable. There are wing and tail feathers wherever you look unless you're looking at a chicken who isn't called Mr Xanthe.

Soon pin feathers will emerge, pushing through and causing discomfort but ultimately, my girls will be beautiful on the outside again.

They are struggling and I understand. My pin feathers are troubling me too.

A C.S. Lewis quote has been doing the rounds on Twitter this week:

He'll kill me for saying it but Charlie is 50 tomorrow. We grew up a generation who believed that 50 was 'old'. The age of grandparents and dodderiness. Now here we are with a four year old daughter, a 9 year old relationship, big dreams for our future and a belief in our own relevance.

No one can teach you about ageing when you're young. You don't get it until you've done it and seen really how little and how much it matters. There are days when you remember every moment, every lesson hard-learnt and every trouble. There are days when you feel truly above the pull of time and gravity and no, it ain't nuthin' but a number.

It is what it is. We are who we are. Wherever we stand in the picture.

With Evie starting school in 5 weeks, Charlie finally quitting the airline and mapping his path forward and me learning how to live life instead of attempting to steer it, this is a time of change for us as a family. It has been for months and months - years even - but suddenly it's starting to make sense to us. And that's good.

One thing is clear to me: in my drive to secure life around me and us I've gathered a lot of weight. In my body, my mind and my home. It's impossible to stand here now and not feel over-burdened.

First, thanks to the translation skills of my holistic therapist, I learnt again how to listen to my body which was telling me it needed to drop some serious ballast in the forms of stored memory, pain and adipose tissue. And hair. The hair goes tomorrow. Couch to 5K starts today. Eating when I'm hungry is already underway.

A more daunting project is clearing my stuff. Seriously. I'm a thrifter and a collector and that's fun but I take it too far. I see lovely things that I want to buy to sell and then I keep them and now my feng shui is seriously fenged up.

Now, I'm not about to leave my sanctuary here in Wiltshire for the coast of Queensland (except perhaps to visit with Evie's sister there) but I do dream of travelling lightly through my life. Of being able to sit still in my body without constantly having to shift to bear the weight of my stuff. So with thoughts of shedding skin already in my head and heart I was inspired by Bindu Wiles' most recent post. Synchronicities like this make me feel even more as if I took the right turn. 

You'll maybe be glad to know I've settled on a new blog design too. Although as of tomorrow - Thursday - there'll be a rather fierce-looking woman in the profile pic. Or, someone in a balaclava.

While I wait for Lost to appear on my computer, I'm going to treat you to a fascinating look at the roots of my hair. I know, with these posts I am really spoiling you (with apologies to those for whom this is not a cultural landmark).

Last time I posted a pic was at four weeks without dye. Remember? Of course you do, you think about it daily.

Here's week 10. Yowzer.

Hair twisted back so you can see. Pretty darn white in places, huh?

I have to say it's not an easy ride. It looks a bloody mess, especially since I had my hair cut and then cut off a load more myself. Yeah, good move. I don't really know how to 'wear' it when it's not all long enough to tie back or up. But it grows fast.

I've wobbled once and put a toner on it that lasted about a week and wasn't very convincing. It's as if my hair has developed a mind of its own and henceforth will not be accepting any calls from Mr Clairol.

I have days when I love it and days when I think I'm making a huge mistake. It hasn't been well-received by anyone I know. They all look at me as if perhaps I've developed a drink problem and simply forgotten to bathe and look after myself. Charlie says I don't look like me anymore.

It is hard.

I may cave in.

But if I do, I think it will be by growing it out a bit further - with the help of temporary colour - and then maybe recolouring it but in a much lighter colour than I had it before. Not blonde, but very light. I don't know.

I don't know.

Today is my birthday. 

In honour of my recent revelation that - if I start looking after myself - I may only be halfway through my adult life and in fact I've never been better, I'm going to indulge myself.

Today I feel as if being older than most people I socialise and/or work with is a good thing. I think it worthy of some bullet points (Disclaimer: experience and what you do with it is the true measure, I have a sense of humour, etc etc etc):

• It means I got here first.
• It means I know my way around this place like the back of my hand.
• It means I know stuff.

• 
  
  It means I get to say that Jet Li and I are cosmically bound and  so I'm cosmically hanging out with my Movie Husband, Zhang Yimou.

So yes, I make decisions quickly. And yes I have been plagued by impatience most of my life. Once I'm decided on a course of action I need to do it NOW. This characteristic was tamed during our adoption wait - October 13, 2003 to November 13, 2006 - with the day we'd finally have a child in our arms repeatedly disappearing over the horizon as soon as we seemed to get close. I learnt some coping mechanisms. I indulged some obsessive behaviours. I ticked off every day of the last nine months on sheet after sheet of dates, typed out in weekly and monthly blocks.

And yet, despite this preparation course, my patience often fails me now that I'm a mother. The last few years have opened up corners of me that are often a joy but sometimes shame-inducing. They are inextricably linked. My drive and need to explore the joyful corners, the positive developments, means I am horribly impatient and resentful of being pulled away from them. I don't need endless Me Time but oh dear god I need some.

I've felt this need sharply recently and there have been days, weeks when I have despaired of ever being able to follow the call of my personal wild. And that leaves me like a caged animal: frantic, then aggressive and then depressed and resigned. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This week I've been trying to find time to work on some essential business. We need income fast. There are two things I'm trying to get going. One is new, the other is a revamp, both could get off the ground quickly. But I can't get more than about 30 minutes on either of them and that time is not focused time, it's another plate to spin. This isn't just being a mother, it's being an employee, it's being a daughter, a partner, a sister, a cook, a friend, an animal-keeper, a chauffeur, blah-dy blah blah blah. All at the same time. You know what it's like. And while I may be an ace decision-maker, I'm a crap organiser. I do less with one daughter and a part-time job than many women do with 45 hours a week and three kids. I'm easily overwhelmed and underscheduled. And my daughter says,"Mum, you are the waitress of the family." Way to go with the role-modelling.

Yesterday I took the dogs for a quick walk on my own so there was no discussion of the relative strengths of the ninja turtles or even any blissful playing of poohsticks. I did some quick thinking. And because this post is long enough already, I'll break it down:

• Maybe I just wasn't designed for family life.
• I'm just like my Dad and I'm even beginning to look like him.
• I'm a stoopid lone wolf who got ideas above her station and now look.
• But perhaps these are the lessons I'm here to learn because dude...they're hard, and that's what they say about the hard ones.
• I love my family. We rock. 
• I'm just being intensely selfish.
• No I'm not, this is not 1956.
• Funny, I always thought I'd end up as a slightly eccentric woman with lots of hair, lots of silence and a dog or two. Creating something a bit unfathomable. Being wise. Soooo not gonna happen.
• Wait.
• So not gonna happen today. Or tomorrow.
• Or maybe for a few years.
• But (and this is where I demonstrate my lack of a healthy perspective by seeing this for the first time) I'm 47 on Monday, not 94. By the time Evie's 20 I'll only be 62 not 235. That leaves plenty of time to wander around being vague and eccentric and still very, very productive. If I look after myself.
• Ahem.
• I can wait. Can I wait? I'm useless at waiting. Actually no, I'm quite good if I have to be. Keep your eye on the prize but enjoy where you are. I can do that.
• I can't do that.
• Yes I can. I have to.
• So, what I'm saying is...I actually have Plenty Of Time? Well who knew???
• Everyone else
• Shut up

Yeah I'm wondering when the Nobel Committee are going to be in touch too. Soon though right?

Now, my creativity and lifestyle dreams may be able to take a nap on the back seat for a  while but the old income generator thing cannot. And Evie's happiness is, despite my yearnings, my first concern. Nothing is more important than her. She needs a happy, unstressed mother. So here I am on a Saturday afternoon. Charlie is off on a mission in Somerset. Evie has been with my mum for two hours and then my sister offered to have her at her house until 5pm to play with her favourite cousin. It's now 2.30. I have spent a loooong time writing this post and tweeting and checking email and drinking coffee and relaxing damn it. It feels amazing.

Next I'm going to take my dogs for a walk that would be too long for a four year old's legs and work out how I'm going to launch two businesses ASAP.

I think I'll start with,"Do I expect too much of myself?" and take it from there. And decide what to cook for dinner.

EDITED TO ADD: Yes, yes I do. And mushroom stroganoff.

Here it is at four and a half weeks. Typically, I am impatient. When I'm at home, I twist back the front of my hair and pin it so that I can see more grey. I want it to grow faster. When I look in the mirror, the grey looks right against my skin while the rest looks hard.

Who knows? Maybe in a month or so I'll bore of it and not want to spend the summer with the two tone hair but today I don't think so. Today I think I'm more likely to cut a load off as soon as it'll look okay.

It makes me feel brave and wild and determined. All things I seriously need to feel. It feels like the truth.

Maybe it sounds strange to describe the simple act of letting your roots grow through as a profound experience but believe me, profound it is.

As you can see, up close there's a lot of grey for just four weeks! And the hair at the ends has horrible colour build-up despite my best efforts to avoid it. I should say, I'm using medicated shampoo at the moment. Not for dandruff - I've never had it, touch wood - but because it lifts colour out of your hair. The newer hair, with less colour to start with, is clearly fading fastest.

Also, in all my un-Photoshopped glory, you can see that when my hair is down or up, you can only see a little bit of the grey. I usually wear it up.

I have to say, it's waaaay whiter than I thought it would be and it goes further back. But then I go pretty far back myself.

Next update in a month.

Three weeks without colour. See what I mean?

The tiara

The baby badger