A Coventry Kid Celebrates Her City

I live in the centre of England and for reasons which will become obvious if you live outside the UK, I’m most definitely writing in my very own vernacular today…

As Coventry play Man U in the FA Cup semi-final at Wembley today, I’m sharing a list of little known facts about the city I grew up in.

It shows how Coventrians live in and amongst deep history and boundary pushing achievement.

The image that some perceive of the city, of shabby, concrete modernity was built on its destruction by the Luftwaffe in WWII, who targeted it as a hub of discovery and life blood of manufacture.

My father – a plasterer from Cambridgeshire, served in the army, then after VJ Day, came here to help to rebuild the city after the war, in his brother’s building business. He grew his own family here, with his wife who was born in Scotland. The city is full of and descended from many such immigrants who came here to work and to live.

And over half a century later, I can still see how the work that my father, uncle and cousins did has left its mark, and I’m so proud to be part of the infrastructure of this family and this city.

So, you see… Coventrians are both ancient and modern.

And now… See the city centre and you’ll know we are a seat of learning for the next generations too, with our 2 universities.

And today our team is at Wembley… Wow….

I’m so proud of this city and of our footie team, today.

Play Up Sky Blues! #PUSB.

And here’s the list, compiled by a gentleman called Scott Duffin an Administrator of and contributor to a Facebook page called Visit Historic Coventry:

28 things you might not know about Coventry

* Legend has it that the city was the birthplace of St. George, dragon slayer and patron saint of England.

* Britain’s car industry was founded by Daimler in a disused Coventry cotton mill in 1896.

* William Shakespeare was said to have jilted a Coventry woman on the eve of their wedding to marry Anne Hathaway.

* Coventry has 26 twin towns and cities, including Volgograd (formerly Stalingrad), Dresden and Jinan in China.

* The first £5 note in a worker’s peacetime wage was paid in Coventry during the 1950’s.

* The authoress known as George Eliot lived and went to school in Coventry.

* Life in the city around 1830 was the model for Middlemarch, her most famous novel.

* All modern bicycles are descended from John Kemp Starley’s Rover safety cycle, invented in Coventry in 1885.

* The great Victorian actress Ellen Terry was born in Coventry and her counterpart a century earlier, Sarah Siddons, was married in the city.

* The revolutionary fibre ‘Tencel’ now taking the fashion world by storm, was developed at Courtaulds laboratories in Coventry.

* In November 1940, Coventry Cathedral was destroyed by a handful of incendiary bombs lodged in its timber roof. There was no water to put the fires out.

* The city was the birthplace of jet pioneer Sir Frank Whittle, the poet Philip Larkin and the pop impresario Pete Waterman.

* Coventry once had the only unfortified royal palace outside London. The surviving gatehouse is the oldest building in Britain to be used as a register office.

* George Orwell wanted to use Coventry as the model for his study of poverty in England during the 1930’s. But he found it too prosperous and took The Road To Wigan Pier.

* Warwick Arts Centre, the biggest complex of its kind outside London, is in Coventry, at the University of Warwick.

* Sir Henry Parkes, five times Premier of New South Wales and the father of modern Australia, was born in Coventry in 1815.

* Coventry has two universities (Warwick and Coventry) and three cathedrals – the ruins of St. Mary’s, destroyed by Henry VIII, the ruins of St. Michael’s, blitzed in November 1940 and Sir Basil Spence’s new cathedral, consecrated in 1962 and recently voted Britain’s most popular 20th century building.

* The expression ‘true blue’ has Coventry origins and dates from the 14th century, when cloth dyed Coventry blue became very fashionable and expensive.

* The first tank, the first traffic indicators for cars and the first dumper truck were built in Coventry.

* The first motorised funeral was held in the city.

* The phrase ‘sent to Coventry’ originated during the English Civil War, when captured Royalists were imprisoned in the heavily fortified and strongly pro-Parliament city. They were given a hard time by the local people.

* Glass painter John Thornton, creator of York Minister’s Great East window, the finest single work in stained glass in mediaeval England, was a Coventry man.

* Dick Whittington was member of one of Coventry’s mediaeval craft guilds.

* The Coventry Carol, from a 16th century Mystery Play, was recently voted the country’s seventh most popular carol.

* Chuck Berry recorded his number one hit ‘My Ding-A-Ling’ at a Coventry dance hall.

* Coventry was the birthplace of Tom Mann, one of the ‘greats’ of the trade union movement.

* Coventry Transport Museum has the biggest collection of British made cars, motorcycles and bicycles in the world. In the nineteenth century

* Coventry was the biggest manufacturer of pocket watches in the world, at one time there were over 4000 people in the trade, the skills they learnt in the watch-trade past down through generations to sewing machines and bicycles, motor bikes then onto motor cars.

So there you have it… being ‘sent to Coventry’ is full of history and fascination…

Here’s a pic of Coventry legend, Lady Godiva – AKA Pru Poretta and me, celebrating our city

Obsessions & Recycled Possessions

I’m not so secretly addicted to Vinted – the online app for pre-loved clothes – and have been busily buying and selling on it for the last year or so.

I love the fact that I get to recycle and usually get a brilliant bargain too…

Because of storage limitations, I have to have a strict ‘something in’ / ‘something out’ policy, otherwise my greedy magpie tendencies tend to take the house over and it resembles nothing less than a clothes strewn Armageddon…

Hand in hand with this is my new favourite toy – a fluff shaver..! It’s totally revived some of my recent purchases – which have arrived in reasonable nick, but for being covered in bobbles of aging fuzz. So I set to and shave away, emptying surprising quantities of lint away afterwards, when the deed is done.

A freshly shaven pre-loved purchase

And it’s just so satisfying… zizz, zizz, zizz, et voila! A garment restored to its’ former textile, tactile glory.

And today yet another Vinted parcel arrived… A pair of Vivienne Westwood shoes, which fit this Cinderella perfectly. They are SO me… I’m in love… So now I have to decide which pair of shoes has to be pared away, to make space for them.

So I have Vinted to thank, too, for being able to finally afford pieces by that unique, beautifully eccentric designer and I’m slowly building a collection. Now THOSE ‘Viv’ – pieces are not gonna be recycled just yet, oh no – they are mine, mine, all mine, and going to be worn on (and for) occasion… and treasured… and generally lusted over, for a long time to come 😊

My ‘new’ old Viv’s

So I’m wondering WordPress Wordsmiths – do YOU have a new favourite thing or obsession, too?

A Peach of a Christmas

I’m ’in a good place’ at the moment and had a great week last week – high energy, healthy habits – feeling motivated to go out and exercise everyday.

This week, not so much…

Feeling… ill, tired, grumpy…

But… I’m remembering last week, and it’s such a great memory, not a regret… And despite how I feel right now, I’ve kept the healthy habits going – so I’m proud of myself…

But then Christmas is coming and there’s so much to do…

So, those tears of frustration I used to see my mother cry at this time of year, start to spill from my very own eyes…

But, you know what..? I’m giving myself permission NOT to do Christmas ‘chores’ this year. It’s a kind of reverse psychology I like deploy, to take the pressure off…

I choose instead to dance around the kitchen, or wrap a blanket around me and watch a corny Christmas movie…

It’s actually Christmas magic, because somehow still, Yuletide happens.., cos I’m filled up and everything gets accomplished with so much more ease. Yet in the process, I took care of myself first, so then I had the joyous energy to love and cherish everyone else. Basically I decided to enjoy the experience, rather than be overwhelmed by it…

PS: On holiday in the USA, in October, with a friend, we encountered a Christmas shop in Boston. It was a veritable cornucopia of baubles, nick knacks and toys of every Christmassy shape and scale… And in amongst the sparkling, heaving, ho ho ho spectacle of it all, I found my very own Noel holy grail… A secret wish, cherished at my core, for a score of years… A peach shaped Christmas bauble for a Peachey girl! Oh yesssssss..! Hallelujah to me…!!!

PPS: So enjoyment for me HAS to include having fun, so I’ve only gone and tweaked Mariah’s magnificent Christmas classic into an Advent anthem of silliness, self care and love:

🎄🌟⛄️❄️ 🎄🌟⛄️❄️ 🎄🌟⛄️❄️

I just want a lot for Christmas

All the things on which I’d feed…

I really care about the presents,

underneath the Christmas tree.

❄️

I just want me for my own,

More than you could ever know.

I’ll make my wish fat free…

All I want for Christmas is ME.

❄️

I’ll just go hang my stocking,

there upon the fireplace.

Santa Claus can make me happy,

with Tiffany’s, on Christmas Day…

❄️

I just want me for my own,

More than you could ever know…

I’ll make my wish come true,

All I want for Christmas is

fu-el…

❄️

Oh, I will ask for LOTS this Christmas,

I will even wish for snow.

Tho I’m just not gonna be waiting,

underneath the mistletoe…

❄️

‘Cause I just want to be here tonight,

Wrapped in my blankie, oh so tight.

What more can I do…?

Baby, all I want for Christmas is jew-els…

❄️

Oh-whoa, all the lights are shining so brightly everywhere….

And the sound of children’s laughter fills the air…

❄️

And everyone is singing,

I hear those sleigh bells ringing.

Santa, won’t you bring me the fee I really need?

Won’t you please bring my bounty to me…?

❄️

Oh, I do want a lot for Christmas,

This is what I’m asking for…

I just wanna see my beauty,

As I stand in front of the, mir-ror.

❄️

Oh, I just want me to excel,

more than you could ever know…

I made my wish, Chrimble tree….

Baby, all I want for Christmas is ME…

🎄🌟⛄️❄️ 🎄🌟⛄️❄️ 🎄🌟⛄️❄️

A Wedding and a Patchwork Quilt

On this day of days, my heart is full…
A few days ago I shared the most beautiful day, as my gorgeous Goddaughter Jasmine, married the love of her life – Sam.
It was emotional…
I’ve known her mother – Pinda, since we were tiny… We grew up, yards apart, coming from very different backgrounds, yet lived and played together on the same street.
So, time went on and we grew up…
And even though we both left that street, years later I was a bridesmaid at Pinda’s wedding to her man, Mark…
When I saw Mark and Pinda together back then, I knew, even before they told me, that they would marry. After more than 30 years, they are still together…
And then they had 3 babies, James, Jasmine and Tristan…
Whilst I waited for her second child – Jasmine, to be born, I sewed a patchwork quilt to keep the baby warm and safe. It was crafted out of scraps of favourite old clothes and newly discovered swatches of fabric in blue, red and white, all stitched together into a new entity.
Jasmine came into this world early and tiny, and over the years I’ve watched her grow into herself, becoming such a wise, warm and creative woman. Jasmine is also caring, funny, adored and so much more…
Years back, on the evening of her Prom, I waved her off, and cried at how beautiful and grown-up she looked… So I stood NO chance on her wedding day – the tears flowed freely the minute I saw her, leaning on the arm of her proud father, as he escorted her down the aisle.
She met her man Sam at the Altar. He’s a family man and works as a Gardener, tending beautiful, historical properties. It’s always been easy to see and feel how much he loves Jasmine. And just as with their parents, I knew, long before they told the world, that they would marry…
The ceremony and celebration was so them – all them. It was emotional, informal and so, so loving. It was full of laughter and many happy tears.

The celebrant, a friend of Sam’s grandparents, came out of retirement specially, to officiate.

The beautiful flowers the bride carried and which decorated the venue, were created by Sam’s mother – a Florist by trade.
During the ceremony I was called on to give a reading, and so the tears dried for a few minutes as I spoke, standing next to this darling girl and her husband to be, at the altar.
And then they were married and it was time to celebrate…
The sun shone…
Family / friends mingled and chattered…
We posed for photos…
Raised toasts…
Ate delicious food…
Cried and cheered at speeches…
Sampled slices of the 3 yummy wedding cakes made and decorated by the bride’s mother…
Talked and hugged…
Danced and laughed…
Shared old memories and made new ones, too…
There were people there I see all the time, as well as those I had known for so long, but hadn’t seen in years…
And I met many people new to me.
We were all part of an extended tribe – family, old friends and new, all who are, in some sense family, including my own man (also named) Mark and my (other, equally) lifelong friend Sue, all come together in celebration.
So it was that we were all stitched together, just like the patchwork quilt I made for Jasmine, all those years ago – now created in new colours and patterns, joined together as a new entity, all around the newly married Mr and Mrs Gillett-O’Hagan.
Together we were the many shades of love and joy, created from their union.
Along with my love and warmest wishes, I’ll share the reading they choose and I gave at the ceremony:

Hand in Hand
No partnership can be as close
As that which two who care
Will form the day they wow to love
To honour and to share.

From that day on, their hearts will find
As one year meets another
All trials and problems, cares and woes.
Each bout of stormy weather,
Are visited not just on one
But two who stand together.

And happily, life’s nicest things
Bestowed in ample measure
Will hold a double share of joy,
Find memories and pleasure.

As time goes by, new bonds will grow,
New dreams will all come true,
And looking back, this happy pair
Will see that, each year through,
Their love has brought reality
To all they’ve hoped and planned
For nothing is impossible
When love goes ‘hand in hand’.

~ Author Unknown.

Mother Then. Me Now

MOTHERING SUNDAY 2023:

I came across a photo of my mother from decades ago, and she was the same age as I am now….

It made me pause… It was a surprise…

She’s gone now, but somehow that thing we now have in common, brings us closer together again.

And I could also see our – differences compare us and say that she dressed ‘old’ and wore her hair old. Yet she wore a fashion reflective of the life and times she’d lived through.

By the time of the photo she’d lived through the 2nd world war; worked since the age of 14, moved to England (from Scotland), got married, lost her parents, lost a child, and bought 2 more to adulthood… And of course those few words convey less than an iota of a life long lived.

And I wonder at the choices she had, as it’s my turn now, to face 60…

We are 2 different women, connected by nature and nurture and as I see another decade in my life approach, it’s time to remember with love, her life and to look to my future with love, too.

Life Lessons from a Bad Back in Barmouth…

As I was scrolling through the socials a few days ago, I came across the following meme:

“It’s weird being the same age as old people.”

It made me chuckle and got me thinking about the laughter and pain I experienced over the New Year when I booked a last minute get away.

Myself and my partner, booked the holiday last minute and AT that very minute, I got cold feet and a feeling of… well… impending doom…

Now, I usually get stressed before I embark on a trip, but this was more extreme, somehow… As I deposited our 3 cats at a local cattery, my mood didn’t lighten, any. I felt ill at ease, since it’s not something we usually do with the cats, and I worried that they wouldn’t all get along in close confines.

The cats would in fact – the devilish voice in my head chided – end up dead or psychologically scarred, and it would all be my fault… Sounds crazy, right..? But that’s what ran through my stressed head at the time.

It didn’t help either, that with some difficulty, I had rounded up and wrangled my two into a carrier on my own, which they then almost immediately escaped from; making me late, so that once I’d stopped swearing, I’d had to calm them (and myself) down, pull them out of their respective hidey holes and incarcerate them again, this time into separate carriers, just to be on the safe side. Duly locked up, they both started yowling loudly in protest and didn’t let up for the whole trip, first to collect my partner’s cat, (who sat quietly and stoically throughout his part of the journey), then onto the cattery.

Regardless, I delivered them, said a prayer, and left them behind with a resigned sigh.

Now, the ‘boyf’ and I had read the blurb about the cottage and chosen it together… So, we knew it was small and that we’d have to negotiate some steps to reach it…

We set off late in the afternoon and 3 hours after leaving the middle of England, arrived at the seaside town of Barmouth in North Wales. It was dark and raining heavily. My chauffeur / chap parked the car and we met our genial host – Tim, who beckoned us down a narrow, dark alley… Next, we climbed up several flights of steep steps after him, holding our cases and bags of food aloft; as we stepped aside, over and round the water tumbling down them, providing a passable impression of a silent waterfall set to sweep us off our feet and swish us unceremoniously back to the street below…

Having conquered the stone stairs, we puffed along an alleyway which had doors and gates embedded into it on either side. It seemed as though we were pacing the realms of a magical world, where at any moment we would encounter a Hobbit or House Elf (a la Harry Potter)… And still, there was another flight of stairs… then finally we arrived, out of breath, at our own, magical portal.

Harry / Hobbit type passageway

Our host unlocked the door and bustled us inside. And whilst we knew we were staying in a compact cottage, the actual Doll’s House scale of it rendered us temporarily speechless, until our host left. “I’ve stayed in bigger caravans,” chortled Mark. “Me too,” I giggled, “single birth ones, at that…”

We spent SECONDS exploring our surroundings… Downstairs presented a two-seater sofa opposite a TV; combined with a kitchenette, which had a hob and combi microwave, along with the smallest fridge I’ve ever encountered. It certainly couldn’t contain all the food we’d bought along, so I distributed it on every available surface instead – the tiny table, behind the sink and so on, since there was no room for storage.

Beyond the kitchen was a shower and toilet. Both were compact, but completely functional, as was the tiny sink which was attached to the top of the toilet pedestal. The flush was operated by pulling up on a button in the centre of it and then the tap ran, allowing you to wash your hands as the water was recycled to the cistern below.

I then climbed the ladder to peer at the upper level, which had a bed built in at one end, occupying the space between the walls, with a soft mattress, sagging in the middle, curving gently outwards like the Mona Lisa’s slight smile. To get into bed, you had to clamber on all fours to reach the pillows, peel back the duvet, unfurl your body and throw the duvet back over it.

Our staircase / ladder

But basically, the cottage had everything we needed. It was also quirky, cosy and warm, so we happily settled in.

We laughed a lot throughout the next few days, as we frequently bumped into and belly danced around each other, whilst negotiating Doll’s House living, all the while re-arranging (throwing out of the way) the plethora of cushions and pillows which seemed to take up most of the sofa and bed space, except when they were constantly and comically falling on our heads.

Outside our cosy cottage we walked along the local coastline and took trips out to see waterfalls and a castle, after which at the end of each day, we’d climb the ladder and caterpillar up the length of the soft bed, to fall asleep; frequently awoken by the lashing rain beating down on the roof over our heads, inevitably joining forces with the torrent of water streaming its’ way down the stone steps to the street.

Thanks to the soft mattress, I’d get up in the morning nursing an aching back and shoulders, which I’d ease, gratefully under the efficiently hot shower. Then I’d climb back up the ladder to perch on the end of the bed and pull on the clothes which had been snatched out of my suitcase, since I’d quickly given up on tussling with the tiny mounted rail that masqueraded as a wardrobe…

Torrent Walk – aptly named after all the rain

On our last night, I packed up what I could in readiness for our morning check-out.

The next morning my bed achy back was complaining more than usual. As I was getting dressed, the aching suddenly exploded into wildly painful spasms. I fell to my knees and howled with shock as every single movement I made, no matter how small, created wave after wave of fresh agony. I yelled so loudly in fact, that any innocent neighbours or passers-by could only have assumed that I was giving birth… Regardless, no ambulance was called, so my fella, with quiet equanimity, came to the rescue, helped me get dressed, finished all the packing, then carried our collection of cases and bags, over several trips, to the car, which was parked some distance away.

In the meantime, I’d swallowed a handful of industrial strength pain killers, along with a muscle relaxant, which, by some dint of fate (well… it had happened once before, 8 years or so, ago…), I just happened to have in my small, but magically bottomless handbag, (an accessory successfully) designed to contain the means to survive just about anything that life could possibly throw at me… And that could include a bout of Lumbago, (the like of which I was currently experiencing), where the muscles at the base of my spine will spasm, something which happens every so often, but not usually of such magnitude as on this occasion.

I talked to myself throughout, telling me to stay calm, breath deep and be OK with it…

My fella, having completed his sherpa duties, helped me get my shoes and coat on. We closed the tiny cottage door behind us and stepped out into the alley. I then winced and gasped my way slowly down the flights of stone steps; walked along the street supported by my man, and yelped my way into the passenger seat of the car.

Once seated I was OK, having to shift around from time to time in order to stay comfortable. By the time we’d made it to our stopping point – Powis Castle, the drugs had kicked in, the spasms had stopped and the pain was subsiding.

My man gently pulled me out of the car. I couldn’t stand still and lowering myself into a café chair a few minutes later was painful, but I found that I could walk for short periods and take in the gardens of the castle in all their sparse, wintery glory.

Powys Castle

After our break, we headed home and sprung the cats from jail, AKA the cattery. Despite my misgivings – they were all absolutely fine.

I didn’t take any more drugs until the following morning, when I woke up with a screaming pain in my lower back and muscle spasms when I tried to move. Since then, I’ve taken it easy and alternated resting with gentle movement – all with the plan of getting properly and gently back into the swing of my usual routine as soon as possible.

So I’m looking back on this experience now, wondering what I can learn from it, whilst both my cats, clearly having forgotten THEIR ordeal, lie next to me, both purring away…

Well… for a start, I’m reminded to listen to my intuition and body…, but I’ll muse on this some more, as I believe that what happened goes deeper somehow, on a mind / body level… In the mean time I’ve decided to choose my response to what happened. Fundamentally, that’s to laugh at what occurred, as I negotiate and deal with it.

As it happens, I’m 60 years old in six months’ time and so a nagging voice at the back of my head has told me to throw my hands up and accept that my body is on the trajectory of decline. However, I prefer to laugh at that notion… Aging is inevitable of course and my body will change over time, but you know what..? Being bloody minded, and despite or because of what’s happened, I’ve decided that it’s time to get FITTER – not older… And yes, maybe that’s a ‘new year, new me / start a diet and join a gym for 2 weeks’ sort of an impulse, (until I forget my resolutions and decide to decline into my dotage instead); or maybe it’s a wake-up call that being sixty is not a stop sign, but a flag to live my life to the full.

Bound up with this, I’m blessed with a body that lets me do so much. I’m incredibly grateful for that. I don’t want to squander what DNA and nurture has given me.

Right then, that’s it… the gauntlet has now been thrown down.

And actually, it’s NOT weird being my age at all. I don’t feel old (most of the time…), so I’m not! So… bring it on Sixty – this sister is gonna be meeting you – well and truly – head on!!!

Once my back is recovered, that is… 😉

This is a Welsh Dragon,
it’s NOT a selfie

2022 – What were you?

2022… What were you?
A year of many things…
And right here, right now, these are my memories…
My God-daughter’s wonderful wedding in Africa – one of the very best days of my life.
Safari and sunset on the Zambezi.
Miraculously finding more family, expanding my world exponentially.
Being in Cumbria.
Playing ‘peep oh’ with a 2 year old and laughing beyond measure.
Walking with my man, holding my hand.
Rising above anxiety.
Hugs.
Breaking decades old cycles.
Recording my audiobook.
Feeling low and hiding from the world.
Yet my tears were few.
And still I laughed too…
Going to Glasgow.
Loving.
Being loved unconditionally.
Being kind to myself.
Quality time with old friends.
Making new friends.
Andra’s wedding in Romania – just an amazing experience.
Feeling wounds and wonderment. Wandering in Welsh valleys.
Purring cats.
Being recharged.
The shock of grieving unexpectedly.
Baking Christmas cookies and eating fondue with my oldest friends.
A contented Christmas Day spent with my much loved big brother.
And so many highs and lows… the simple and strange tides of life ebbing and flowing.
A cycle of contrasts, of good and bad; anger and joy, and ultimately of choice.
It’s been a year of many things and I’m choosing that all of them have ultimately been my blessings.
A New Year is nearly here. I welcome it and am open to living each moment of it, richly.
And I wish you your hearts’ desires for the 12 months ahead and that you will choose to truly cherish who you are.
Thank you for sharing this year in the life with me.
Have a blessed 2023 xx

Is it Christmas or Chris-Stress time?

So it has to be said, I was definitely suffering from Chris-stress this time last week…. Feeling under the weather, tired and overwhelmed by my long Christmas To Do List…

I’m normally smugly ahead of the Christmas game, with consciously learnt habits from many years of honing my festive routine down to a very well-oiled tee.

But somehow Christmas had sneakily crept up on me, only tapping me on the shoulder at the last minute, to stab my brain with shouts of all I had to do in now concentrated calendar time…

I threw myself into the toil of Christmas and celebrated my efforts with tears of self pity and frustration.

Then I stopped.

I breathed deeply.

I thought about my priorities… Which were how I and the people in my life that I love, wanted to feel, to be… Not all the things I (so called) had to do.

And in that frame of heart, with my eye on the emotional prize, I reassessed my To Does. I crossed things off the list – including writing and sending Christmas cards; took some shortcuts; and gave myself permission to do less, all with good grace…

This isn’t a Christmas Compromise. It’s one where by letting go, I have stepped into my power. Not selfishly, but with love – because by taking care of my own heart first, I can give so much more to all those that live within it…

Somehow this letting go gave me a push of energy and I set to and wrote my Christmas cards, made mince pies, iced my Christmas cake, put up decorations and wrapped presents, after all. And I got it all done in a few hours because I let go of perfection and expectation (of others AND myself).

Years ago I remember watching my mother crying with stressed frustration over Christmas Day dinner preparations. I tried to help, but so often she would find it hard to let go. My heart went out to her and eventually the time came when I got to take charge of the Christmas catering for my family.

It’s one of the few meals I make ‘from scratch’. And sometimes I burn the pigs in blankets or boil the sprouts for too long, or it’s not ready till late afternoon, but that’s all unimportant to me. I let it go. I make that meal with love, relaxing into the preparations, taking my time, singing along to corny festive songs on the radio, bringing the myriad of ingredients into a united whole and serving it up, unapologetically with a smile.

But before I get to that day again, I’ve wanted to stop and take stock…

So yesterday, after my corporate work was done, I queued through city traffic to visit the grave of my mother and father – to lay a Christmas wreath at their heads and tell them that I love them. I was the only living person there, though around me, there were baubles, lights and tributes for so many other loved ones too. I blew mum and dad a kiss and left to climb back into my car, to wait my turn at traffic lights and sigh through the slow crawl back home, which took 3 times as long as usual…

And I know that Christmas can be hard for so many, for so many different reasons…

Calls to the Samaritans Telephone Help Line increase exponentially at this time of year. Mental health concerns, loneliness and isolation, family, and relationship issues were so often the common themes of calls to them during December 2021.

So please, put yourself first this Christmas… Be honest with those who surround you about how you feel and if you need help. And help comes in many forms, so please use and share the numbers shown at the beginning of this post if you or anyone you know is struggling at this or any other time of the year.

Sending love and best wishes to you this holiday season. S x

Sunshine & Rain Poetry

As the centre of my own universe, I’ve been observing myself of late and as is often the case in my literary world, am making metaphors and poetry as I feel into my changing moods and feel them reflected in the world around me. So here are 2 poems, written several days apart this week, on similar themes:

There’s death in my garden today;
plants that didn’t survive the leeching sun;
grass turned into thousands of yellow needles, ready to spurn and spike, deflecting me from sprawling.

Yet everything has its season;
the sun brought drought and heat, as the water evaporated from the earth;
only to be rained upon and replenished.

So now there’s flower and fruit in this leafy land;
a stunning abundance of beauty, ripening and full;
it’s a surprising, forgotten reminder, that after days & days of dry, I always experience an oasis.

And I have to capture it on camera;
dazzled by the multitude of colours amongst the dry decay;
whilst seeing the variety of vibrant greens on display in this sensual scene.

I share all this in stereo, sitting on a shaded step;
there’s a cat lying either side of me, their guardian;
so they’re snaking and squirming their joie de vivre, as I smile, inside out.

In my metaphorical brain, I see how what’s around me, reflects me;
I’ve emerged from a long drought of exhaustion & illness;
all the time still breathing and doing, but dragging my feet in the dust.

As a Manifestor, my energy rises high and falls low with the momentum of waves;
and in the last few weeks, it has calmly climbed and come home; now pulsing with positivity, my brain with instinctive, creative clarity…

Back in my sacred garden, Buddha looks on from his spot in the shade;
Magnificent in his aura of aged Kintsukuroi;
knowing, accepting, rejoicing.

So… the grapes just outside my door are ripening… I’ve just floated out of a yoga class, and I’ve come over all poetical:

My garden is revelling in the rain;
since being scorched by the sun;
and now sated by a divine monsoon…

Softly growing towards autumn;
soaking up the sky’s offerings;
building them to blossom into burgeoning flower and fruit…

My very own Mediterranean terrain;
here in the middle of seasonal England;
facing south and making life…

And the sun has now disappeared without saying good bye, having returned to her languorous chaise longue beyond the clouds.

Romance in Romania

In my life, I inhabit various spaces and take on various roles which involve wearing different ‘hats’ and mixing with a multitude of people.

This variety is my joy, for as the world I play in evolves, so do I – learning, growing and changing with it.

And I can retreat from that world too, finding solo sanctuary at home – a secretive, happy hermit, mulling over my experiences, joining the dots of my life – reflecting on the past and making plans for the future. And all this, whilst being anchored very much in the here and now.

My mind moves in waves, creating patterns – some abstract and some structured. And I can see these patterns forming into a new story which I would like to share, at the behest of its central character – a lady called Ioana-Andra Sandu.

First of all, she was a name to me and that is how she entered the story.  Known to most in her circle as ‘Andra’, she hails from Romania.  From name, she became colleague and now we have worked together for some 4.5 years.  So Andra is very real and this story isn’t a fairy tale – yet regardless, I’ve decided upon not just one, but oh so many ‘happy ever afters’…

I could tell you many things about Andra and our adventures together… and maybe I will share more, another time…  But this time, we agreed that I would write about her latest life chapter.

Bridezilla

Andra is getting married next week, to her childhood sweetheart, who she met at school.  In the years that followed, they had a daughter together and moved from Romania to England.

They decided to tie the knot in 2019, but like many other things, Covid put paid to that, with their wedding date being re-arranged, not once, but twice

Covid came and lingered… And Andra, like so many, changed her plans and booked a third date into the diary, for a wedding in her birth country, as a final leap of faith.  For although Covid travel restrictions had become a thing of the past, the Russian invasion of Ukraine – as a country bordering Romania, was and is still, a very real fact and threat.

Over time, I’ve met her man, her daughter and other members of her family, including her sister Mihaela, who works at the same office. So, for 3 years now, we’ve all been discussing plans, venues, clothes, shoes, confetti, ceremony and much other wedding ephemera…

With typical generosity of spirit, Andra invited everyone in the office to come to the wedding. She told me “I think you’ll find it interesting,” since her wedding day would follow Romanian tradition, which, I could both observe and take part in. That was true – I was sure I’d find it fascinating, but I also wanted to be there to support her and not least because I believe in the celebration and marking of life’s events – big and small. In the scale of things, a wedding has to be one of the most beautiful and emotive celebrations of all…

Celebrations for me though are not just about the obvious ‘hatches, matches and dispatches’ of the people I know, but can be for an achievement – tiny or huge, a gratitude, the changing of the seasons, mixed in with my religious heritage, which includes Easter and Christmas.

So I was fascinated, when on the 1st of March this year, Andra and her sister Mihaela gave me and all the female inhabitants of the office a Mărțișor gift.

Mărțișor is a celebration of the beginning of spring in Romania and Moldova, with similar traditions in some neighbouring countries.

The word originates from an old Romanian name for March – mart (or martie, in modern Romanian), meaning “little March”.

My Martisor gift

The talisman I received was a white box containing a broach of a ladybird climbing up a snowdrop.  Alongside it was a small red and white string, knotted with a tassel.  Immediately I wanted to know more and started to do some research…  This was an ancient Romanian custom, where a coloured string was given as a talisman to be worn for the whole month of March, so that the wearer would receive strength and health for the coming year.

In modern times, Romanians buy silky red-white threads (șnur) tied into a bow, with a trinket attached, to give to their (female) family members, friends and colleagues.  And as in olden times, it’s believed that the wearer of the snur will have a prosperous and healthy 12 months.

I took the string out of the box and with a little difficulty, tied it around my wrist.  At the time, with dire news of Ukraine – a country which borders Romania – filling the news, I was feeling helpless. So I decided to wear my snur as a Talisman to show my solidarity, as well as to send positive energy and prayers to a country in crisis.

The conflict in Ukraine also affected my travel plans to the wedding.  Not only because of the potential dangers of conflict on the border, but also because the cost of the flight from the UK to Romania has more than trebled in the last 3 years.  I will therefore be travelling solo.

From Mărțișor to marriage, traditions from two different worlds are coming together at a time when Brexit, conflict and politics could be tearing us apart. Instead, we have consciously chosen to combine the ways of the world, to celebrate.

To celebrate in the British way, last month I was part of a surprise Hen party sprung on Andra and another colleague, also from Romania, getting married a week later.  The surprise from both was genuine and touching – Hen parties aren’t really a thing in in Romania, so it was entirely unexpected. Despite that, they immediately embraced the party spirit and so a dozen of us painted the town red – eating, drinking, laughing and dancing with joy.  It’s a day I’ll always remember with a smile. And to cement those memories, I pasted pictures of our celebrations into a book and got friends and colleagues to write their memories and good wishes into it, as a lasting memento.

A few days later, five of the Hens, including myself, tested positive for Covid – with symptoms from none to many… We’d all done as the UK government had bid and got on with our lives, in public places, out and about, with people a plenty. In fact, we suspect that some of our party had already caught it before that day, from separate sources… Yet regardless, everyone was philosophical about it – it was what it was…

Andra, enjoying a cocktail at her Hen do

But that wasn’t the only celebration.  For Andra’s last day at work, with the help of a trusty side-kick, I snuck into her office the night before and festooned it with Hen paraphernalia… There were posters, banners, confetti, ribbons and naturally… a balloon…

As there were 2 brides with upcoming nuptials, we all made plans to bring in food to celebrate – which, once we laid it all out, was an absolute feast.  With all that bounty on display, no one could wait till lunch time, so at 10.15 am we all gathered together.  The MD, joked that he had picked ‘the right day to come in the office’, so came along for the party, with other team members from around the world, watching online.

Myself, Andra & (ex) colleague Lesley,
celebrating at the office

I presented Andra with a card, collection and the memory book from the office.  She thanked us and we tucked into our combined feast.  The Company directors discretely left the room, then the music came on, people came and went (including the groom) and the day went on.  Regardless, all the work that needed to be done that day, got done, despite or because of, all the added food and fun… Andra enjoyed the day immensely, but like most brides, was having last minute jitters and worrying about her wedding day.

Later, when we were on our own, I gave Andra my wedding gift. I wanted to share the English tradition of ‘something old, new, borrowed and blue, with a sixpence in her shoe’ for a bride’s good fortune. I gave her a pin, with a collection of good luck charms on it, including a blue one. So she had an old tradition, some new charms, borrowed the bag I gave it to her in and also had the sixpence. These I told her, would ensure that all would be well. She said she would take them to Romania and wear them on her ‘big day.’ So we hugged (again) and said our temporary farewells.

A British wedding tradition

Andra should already be in Romania by now.  The wedding is next weekend, so soon my case will be packed too and I’ll be off to experience the next stage of the story. 

I look forward to sharing it with you…

Felicitari te pup cu drag / warm wishes and kisses, Andra xx