Fiction: The Politics of Visibility

Sandra Fiction, Love Letters

February 2016 Blog Challenge: Blog 3 of 29

Today’s blog is another piece of fiction, based on an imagined incident, expanded and patterned for my book trilogy. I’ve jumped from yesterday’s excerpt, which was written for book 1 and followed it through with a section for my 3rd book. They stand side by side here, as I’m working through a theme, which I will then weave throughout the whole series of books, once I sew all the words together, just like a giant patch work quilt… 

spotlight

The Politics of Visibility

Suddenly Ariel looked up at the clock and realised that she was late, again. It was time to leave for the Book Club. She had to get there, in good time and unflustered; for finally, after months of not coming to any meetings, Laurence had signed up again.

After over half a century on this planet, she felt she really should have mastered time management by now. But, as usual, it was a rush to get there on time. She had of course, meant to glam up and look gorgeous, but time, as always had failed her. She dashed out of the house, still with her glasses and scruffy old black jeans on, and pushed her car through the relentlessly heavy tea time traffic.

In the car, to mask her frustration with the slow traffic, she mused about “time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near” – a line from John Donne’s poem ‘To His Coy Mistress’ which had just floated into her head. The lines were written many dusty centuries ago and designed to entice a woman in to the young poet’s bed. At times like these, Ariel would so have loved to use her own wings or indeed a wingèd chariot – just to get to where she wanted to go, and that included getting from A to B (which always seemed so hard these days), or even indeed in to someone else’s bed. This transient train of thought lifted her mood and she smiled through the rest of journey.

Laurence was already there when she arrived barely on time, though she didn’t recognise him at first. He was wearing glasses and scruffy old black jeans, just as she was… Then he saw her and said her name in greeting. “Well, he remembers me then…” she mused.

They crowded into the noisy pub, bought their drinks and then she selected the only free table in the place large enough to encompass them all. She sat down first and noted how first he went to the opposite end of the long table and then changed his mind and sat 2 seats away from her. With all the noise and laughter and kerfuffle, she couldn’t hear the conversation he was engaging in with 2 of their earnest companions, both mature married ladies, new to the group and full of questions. She noted though that he was engaging with them and gently answering them, even though she could not hear his uttered words.

Sitting at that table, with this crowd of people, she suddenly withdrew into her head and started to analyse her seeming separateness from them all. Still taking part in conversation, still seen, but seeing all too. Now eschewing an obvious timidity – after a life time of cloaking herself, there was, at this time in her life, no more teenage awkwardness or shy guile. Or rather, she pretended that there wasn’t…

She glanced at him, subtly and sideways… And she was reminded of a line from a song – “and when you talk, I just watch your mouth…”

She observed his body language, and the quiet quick glances he shot back at her. “It’s all in your imagination” she thought, but still, she decided that she would enjoy this deceptive sensation. She watched greedily and stealthily as he brushed his lips with his fingers. In all the body language books she had studied, this was a sign that he wanted to kiss / was feeling attraction… There were alternative interpretations of this simple movement of course, but she decided that she would just enjoy the premise, that she could live in this space of imagination, for this fleeting moment in time.

Now, after so many years of voluntary invisibility, may be it was time to step back into the spotlight and really be seen…

As a frequent flier, she had had to learn and encompass how to be out of sight and out of mind nearly all her life. Although this secret skill seemed to keep her safe and made the ‘dim folk’ blind to her, still she always knew that she was solidly and squarely there – whether they saw her or not…

And moving beyond her sallies into the sky; invisibility had long been employed to keep her shielded and safe in all sorts of situations. At school she hid from the bullies, and as she moved through life in so many situations, she had stood back and observed the life going on around her – desperate to be in the happy thick of it, but instead not feeling part of it. So she stood on the edge and covered herself in a protective bleak blankness instead.

There were times in life when she had decided to stand out and stand in the spot light, but somehow she always seemed to fall off the stage, falling ignominiously and painfully to the dirty floor, only to pick herself up and slope back into the darkness, every single time.

So then she had hid, off and on again, throughout all her life. Sometimes putting her head above the parapet and sometimes burying herself underneath it. But in the close dark, still she smiled sometimes and she still hurt. Yet the long fury she had just flown through, was now nearly all spent.

It felt, in some senses like she’d kept her head down for so long, flown through the darkness and then landed in the middle of nowhere.

But still there was the voice which said that riding in the black had had its inherent, evil, power tripping thrills… They were short lived though. She had relished the revenge, briefly. But it was a bitter, transient sweetness and could not sustain or contain her any more.

But now, back to this table, this man, this feeling…

The conversations around the table ebbed and flowed. She took part, she shared; agreed, discussed and disagreed. She waived her hands along to the tempo of her words and made a pantomime of joining in and being funny and engaging, as she knew that he was watching her.

By stealth, every now and again, she took in his face, altered like hers, by his glasses, and underneath the dark heavy frames, was the gently handsome, shy face she remembered. Suddenly he looked directly at her then smiled and quickly turned back to his eager, erstwhile companions, continuing to engage with them. She lingered on that smile… It was lob sided, and self-conscious, so of course, secretly and incredibly sexy… Did he know that about himself?

She knew so little about him. He’d been divorced. Surely he was now attached / in a relationship. How could she find out? Couldn’t she just ask him, or find a reason to meet, one to one?

No.

She was still, after all these years, shy and stymied when it came to all of this…

Later, the two ladies Laurence was talking to left and he slid round the table, opposite to her. They started a new conversation, now in a threesome, with an older man of the group, who had to have nearly all responses explained to him several times over. Laurence turned to Ariel and recalled what she did for a living. Yes, he really did remember her… She didn’t know what most of the members of that group did outside of that group, but she knew what he did. She knew why he lived where he lived. She knew where he was from. But despite all her long honed observational skills, her uncertainty masked her conclusions and she still didn’t know if her sudden teenage style crush, was just that, or else based on some kind of mutual reality.

So they talked more and found out that they more things in common with each other. But the old man, the third wheel, did not notice the by play, and kept peppering their exchange with his own repeating questions. Patiently they both pampered to him, included him. And then, the conversation just ran dry. The words simply stopped as the old man steeped in his continued puzzlement. Wordless silences suddenly became self-conscious ones. Ariel and Laurence glanced at each other, then smiled awkwardly. “Oh my God” she thought, “it’s just like you’re a hopeless, tongue tied teenager all over again. Just say something!”

Suddenly he made his excuses and stood up to go. “Next time” he said, waving to everyone at the table and then he exited, out of his own spot light, stage left.

So now she could walk to the car park with him or she could remain anchored by feigned coolness to her chair. Being in this particular moment an over grown / old teenager, she let the fear of projected rejection and humiliation weigh her down in her seat and covered them instead with the guise of happy detachment.

She let him go. She knew how to contact him, but she just wouldn’t / couldn’t. She prayed instead that he would contact her. In fact, through the meddle of social media he ‘waved’ at her the following day, but that was it – he had disappeared back in to his own dark ether again.

As she reflected on this middle aged ‘teenage’ crisis over the next few days, she realised that she was slowly coming into the light again. That the darkness she had long flown through had been a form of death. What she was experiencing now, was not rebirth exactly, but it was a new start in her life.

By becoming visible, she could also see again. She couldn’t be sure that Laurence was part of this new start, but if he was the catalyst, then surely – her fear reasoned, that was enough.

And then another John Donne poem – ‘The Good Morrow’, came into Ariel’s mind:
“And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear”.
This poem was written when the poet was older, more circumspect and had met the love of his life.

Clearly, whatever the outcome – with Laurence, with another man, on her own – still; it really wasn’t time to be either scared, or invisible, any more.

~ Sandra Peachey

PS: Sign up for February’s daily blog posts and a free chapter of my book Peachey Letters, by dropping your details in here…

PPS: This blog post is a fiction and yet I also write about fact.  In fact a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, exploring all the facets of my ‘real’ life in all its’ badness, banality and beauty. This is love seen in every aspect of the life that I live.  In it you will find the dark and the light of love, in a way that will make you think, entertain you and let you know that you are not alone in life, what ever it holds for you… You can buy ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ by Sandra Peachey, from book websites any where in the world, including on Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…

Fiction: The Politics of Invisibility

Sandra Fiction, Love Letters

invisible

February 2016 Blog Challenge: Blog 2 of 29

As a child I was happy to create stories and loved the escapism that they offered.  As an adult, I have now returned to the fiction form and have embarked on writing my first novel (of a trilogy). It is a blend of semi auto-biographical and fantastical elements, which feels to me like arranging a giant patch work quilt of my life: There are some favourite scraps of my own old clothes, which I am adding to, embellishing and turning into a brand new pattern.

Part of my blog challenge this month is to boost the content of this first fiction book.  Each excerpt, which will stand alone on this blog – will eventually be woven into the larger fabric of my book design.

The Politics of Invisibility

On one particularly long, quiet Saturday afternoon in May, Ariel was both simultaneously bored and excited. She had told her mother that she had home work to do, which was true in a sense, though she always suspected that her mother could see right through her half truths.  Instead though Ariel was impatiently waiting alone in her bedroom, for her mentor to arrive; which during this particular period, Mariel had a habit of doing with uncharacteristic regularity, since her lessons were now stepping up in pace.

Ariel had – gracefully if not easily- mastered the basics of her flying craft, so was keen now to experience ever more extraordinary aerial adventures.

Yet when Mariel manifested this time, her manifesto veered from flight craft, to the simultaneous and critical skill of invisibility.  With talk instead of chalk she imbibed the principles of the skill of being out of sight.  Settling herself supinely onto the single bed opposite to Ariel’s, she started to expound: “The practice of invisibility is the complex companion to your flight craft” she explained, intently.  “It has many layers and interweaving aspects that you must consider, every time you decide to take flight.

As flying is, by its’ very virtue, an unearthly practice, it carries some invisibility magic along with it, but this can only disguise you to a certain degree.  As with all magic, invisibility strengthens with clarity, intent and practice, combined with various other more conspicuous, practicalities.

Let’s start with the concept of your centred energy.  Now as you know, in order to fly, this needs to be positive and focussed.  To be simultaneously invisible, your energy also needs to be neutral.”

“Oh…” said Ariel, secretly frustrated that she was now being taught yet more difficult concepts, rather than escaping into the skies. “How can I be both positive and neutral – I don’t understand – doesn’t one cancel the other out?”

“Well no, my dear, that is not so.  Think of it not as taking away, but of adding to what you are doing – it is another layering to the silk of invisibility. It is simply a further complexity, which adds both to your skill and your protection.”

As Ariel started to protest again, Mariel cut across her breathless disbelief. “You need to be still and listen, my child. Practise what I tell you, as I tell you.  Start with your positive energy and add to that the dimension of neutrality.  The two will feel distinct as you first try them out, but give it time and practice and you will master this new art.”

Ariel acquiesced and paid closer attention.  “Let me tell you why such neutrality is so important”, Mariel continued.  “Our energy ‘signature’ radiates out from us and is its’ own subtle and subconscious form of signal to those around us.  Many, as you know, will not sense it, but there are those who will react to it, in many ways.  The darker folk – the gremlins, devils and evil doers, will use your energy to seek you out and then to bring you down, in every sense.  It makes sense then that your energy is outwardly even, rather than enervated.

Now from the dark to the dim folk.  Most earth bound creatures will not expect to see a sweet sylph like yourself in flight above their urban or bumpkin heads.  We therefore pander to this lack of expectation, and so the next layer to your invisibility is the element of ordinariness.  This is not neutrality, but rather its’ ally of the plain old fashioned boring, every day bland inevitability of most folk’s lives.  Add this into your energy signature and the ‘dim’ folk will go about their leaden lives, completely unaware of you whistling over their hair and passing through their skies.

The most important ingredient to invisibility though, is your decision to choose it and employ it, effortlessly.  As you prepare for flight, clothe yourself consciously with your invisibility.  Know beyond all doubt that you are not seen as you fly.  Decide that you are safe from dark and dim eyes, then practice this layered skill until it becomes a practice no more and simply part and parcel of your flying ritual, just a simple silken cloak, thrown on and flown away.

Now I have to tell you too, that magic and invisible practice do not make us completely disappear from the sight and sense of all of this planet’s creatures; so as well as being blasé about their blindness, you must also know, that there are always those that can see you, what ever you do to protect yourself, but that, my little pupil is probably enough energy talk for now.  We will practise what to do about the seers at a later juncture.

You must now practice this see through skill, in all that you do.  Switch in and out of it.  At school, choose times when you are invisible, employing the recipe that I have told you.  In the class room, choose to hide your self from living eyes.  Hide yourself from the haters and the hardened teachers, then choose to reveal yourself in safety, and in good company.

Never use this secret skill with your family and The Emissarriat – they cannot guard you if they cannot see you, and they are always harder to hide from, at any rate.

You see now that outside the day is darkening slowly towards evening.  Your mother will call you to dinner soon.  Let us relive the skill recipe that I have taught you today and then fly for just a short time, gliding over and round your local dark park, in deliberate invisibility.

Remember all I have told you, regurgitate, layer, then blend all the elements. Breath them in and let them inhabit, and then habit you.”

Ariel closed her eyes and let Mariel’s words wash over her and through her.  Suddenly she was in to the outside air and beating her winds gently and invisibly as she flew over the urban landscape beneath her feet.  She concentrated hard as she swooped and circuited, pulling all the invisibility elements into her flying being.  It was a hard effort of will and she could feel it quickly wearing off into plain sight as she grew increasingly tired.  All too quickly Mariel signalled for them to return, softly and blindly to her bedroom, to be left, all alone, once again.

~ Sandra Peachey

A collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, exploring all the facets of my ‘real’ life in all its’ badness, banality and beauty. This is love seen in every aspect of the life that I live.  In it you will find the dark and the light of love, in a way that will make you think, entertain you and let you know that you are not alone in life, what ever it holds for you… You can buy ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ by Sandra Peachey, from book websites any where in the world, including on Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…

Blog Challenge 2016: A Poem to Martha’s Dancing Heart

Sandra Love Letters, poetry

February 2016 Blog Challenge: Blog 1 of 29

It’s the 1st of February 2016 and the first day of my latest blog challenge.  I like to exercise my writing muscle, so will be posting one blog, every day, for the Valentine Month of February.

There will be an eclectic mix of my coach-ly observations on life, some lifestyle posts (under my new guise as the Peachey Goddess)  and maybe even some fiction.

My first post is a poem to a little lady called Martha.  She is the daughter of a friend and business associate of mine – Michelle Graham and was born with a heart condition that means her heart beats twice as fast as normal.  The condition has been dubbed ‘Martha’s Dancing Heart’. A year on and she is a gorgeous, wriggly treasure.  A few days ago we were playing on the floor together and she was fascinated by my camera, so I took the picture of her you see below.  And the very next day she was the star of the Martha’s Dancing Heart Charity Ball – raising funds for the hospital ward that cared for her and mother so marvellously. 

I wrote the poem to celebrate Martha on the eve of the Ball and the gift of joy that she gives, to her family and so many people beyond…

SAM_1224
Martha and Me having fun on the floor

MARTHA’S DANCING HEART

In the serene stillness of a warm woman’s womb; – beat… beat, beat, a dancing, happy heart.

A dancing heart: softly drumming its’ extraordinary rhythm; From the beginning and within, this was a true Bossa Nova baby.

She danced a new melodic tread, weaving her own musical magic; In her way, of her way, always her way. A seismic Cha Cha girl.

She took her dance from womb to air. She breathed, she laughed; And she seized on life – to Tango, to wriggle and to love, much. Her naming, her noun-ing, her marque, is Martha, meaning Lady; Our own little lady, whirling and waltzing with, partnering our hearts.

Martha is the gift of a girl, the treasure of a lifetime of love; And with her, it’s time to Charleston, with syncopated divine delight.

Martha’s presence is precious and so it is time to Salsa and celebrate; To dance the way with her and to pave the way for other sweet hearts too.

It is time to thank, to Samba and to give, for all that we have received; Feeling Martha’s distinct and timely tempo – all her own heart – beating.

With Martha’s heart, it was, is and always will be – time to Boogie. To trust, to thrive and to thank. Time now to Quick Step along:
With Martha’s dancing heart.

~ Sandra Peachey (Auntie Sandie xx)

IMG_1891
Martha & her marvellous Mum – Michelle, at their Charity bash

PS: Martha’s mother pledged a year of fund raising and you can continue her wonderful work by donating on their Just Giving page here…

PPS: Sign up for daily blog posts and a free chapter of my book Peachey Letters, by dropping your details in here…

Love Letter to an Anniversary

Sandra Love Letters

Mum Child

My mother, probably about 10 years old

The Personal Perspective of History

It’s 90 years since my mother was born and as another birthday is marked on the calendar since she left this life, I wondered how to mark the day with out being maudlin and in doing so, understand both herself and myself a little better; so I decided to look at the historical context of the year of her birth – 1926. 

Today is the 90th anniversary of my mother’s birth… Another day, another anniversary, and another occasion to remember someone who has left this life.

I’m not feeling sad, nor maudlin today, yet want to both mark the occasion and expand my knowledge of a day in time and a person lived and loved.

The 2nd of January 1926 – my mother’s birthday, is, as well as a statement of date, the habit of a lifetime remembered, and so I wondered how to celebrate and commemorate this day a little differently today, given that time has polished the number of years since my mother’s entrance into this world, into the nicely rounded number of ninety.

Look at the two numbers making up the representation of 90 and they curve together softly.  It is as if the sometimes jagged edges of an indomitable woman have been smoothed by the waters of time. As a number – it approaches, but falls short of century; and some time soon, no doubt, that century will declare itself, but for now, let me ponder on what was happening in the world which my mother was born into…

She was the first child of her parents, after a hastily arranged registry office marriage bought about by the fact of her conception.  As a result, her catholic mother was excommunicated from the church she had been baptised into, to be re-admitted only many years later.  And so my grandmother, although married as a heathen, actually had a catholic funeral.

My mother grew up as (she felt) an (unloved) only child, and in the year she was born, Great Britain’s Monarch was George V and then as now, there was a Conservative Prime Minister – Stanley Baldwin.

Other notable births in that same year of 1926 included a number of cultural icons for our time and so I have selected those that, for what ever reason, spark a latent response in me:

3 January – George Martin, producer of The Beatles. I simply cannot imagine the world without The Beatles music beating away in the background of my life.
13 January – Michael Bond, author and creator of Paddington Bear. The TV series that I watched in my own childhood made me smile at that funny bear’s marmalade antics.
14 January – Warren Mitchell, actor (died 2015).  I loathed the TV series ‘Till Death Us Do Part’, but can see now how it broke a number of cultural and artistic moulds.
17 January – Moira Shearer, actress and dancer (died 2006). Gorgeous, of her time, dancer and actress.
22 February – Kenneth Williams, actor (died 1988). That unique and tortured talent who permeated so many comic layers and genres.
31 March – John Fowles, writer (died 2005). Writer of the ‘French Lieutenant’s Woman’, a beautiful book both of history and twisting imagination.
21 April – HRH Princess Elizabeth of York, later Elizabeth II, Queen of the United Kingdom and 15 other Commonwealth realms.  Now Great Britain’s current sovereign.
14 May – Eric Morecambe, comedian (died 1984). ‘He’s SO corny’ my mother would say, laughing away.
15 May – Peter Shaffer, the playwright who created a play which developed into the film of ‘Mozart’, a moving and contrasting creation with layers of wanton triviality and dark emotional depth.
21 July – Bill Pertwee, actor (died 2013).  An actor whose roles in Doctor Who and Worzel Gummage wove like tacking stitches through out my childhood.
17 August – George Melly, jazz singer (died 2007). His music constantly percolated through the background of my consciousness, until I was startled by the symphonic silence of his passing.

Whilst my mother cooed and poohed through her first baby year, as always the world turned and so the events of 1926 that strike a chord with me, include:

* John Logie Baird demonstrates a mechanical television system in London.  My mother was a Scot and so it seems apt that her countryman created the device which soaks up so much of my time.
* The apparition of the General Strike begins in support of a major coal strike.  And somehow my mother always carried the spirit of that strike within her, especially given her father’s left leaning later to become ‘independent’ political views.
* American swimmer Gertrude Ederle becomes the first woman to swim the English Channel from France to England.  A female achiever braving this country’s summer seas.
* The Electricity (Supply) Act created the Central Electricity Board to set up the National Grid.  And just this morning I walked past an early electricity station which proclaimed the date of 1926…
* The K2 red telephone box was introduced and how different life is without them… No queueing to speak to distant voices, no smell of pee, no where to hide on the streets – all because we all now carry our multi-tasking phone boxes (AKA mobile phones) with us every where we go.
* The first appearance of the Gill Sans sans-serif typeface, designed by Eric Gill.  The letters of the alphabet took on a new form and somehow, subtly altered our perceptions of the words that they now spelt out…

As Logie Baird’s television was yet to become a household commodity, books filled the hours of my mother’s family and friends.  This year was the zenith time of the authoress Agatha Christie, who published another Hercule Poirot novel ‘The Murder of Roger Ackroyd’ and also sensationally disappeared from her home for 2 weeks, having simply escaped to a hotel Harrogate.

For the romantically inclined, Georgette Heyer’s historical romance novel ‘These Old Shades’ was also published, whilst the literati were either celebrating or criticising D. H. Lawrence’s novel ‘The Plumed Serpent’.  And the last but not least of my chosen literary inclinations of that year, was that A. A. Milne published the absolute children’s classic, ‘Winnie-the-Pooh’, creating the boy and the teddy bear who have continued to enrapture so many, myself, of course included.

So I’m looking at these 90 year facts and I’m enjoying my mild, selfish historical introspection.  They are 90 years that shaped me and bind me to themselves in so many ways.

In amongst all this, my mother was born, part of the history of the world, of me and my family, and of my psyche.  They were facts which touched us both in different measure and now I have (re)discovered more about us. From her to me and on to who knows where…

So today is an inspection and introspection of that year 90 years ago – a twist in time to tell me more, to make me more and to acknowledge the inherent inheritances of a year and of a person – made parent – made memory – made history.

And finally, from 90 years to now and I can still say: Happy Birthday Mum.

With love,
Your Sandy Bach x

PS: Did you know that a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, exploring all the facets of my soap opera life in all its’ badness, banality and beauty? This is love seen in every aspect of the life that I live.  In it you will find the dark and the light of love, in a way that will make you think, entertain you and let you know that you are not alone in life, what ever it holds for you… You can buy ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ by Sandra Peachey, from book websites any where in the world, including on Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…

 

 

New Years Eve / Twixmas Musings

Sandra Love Letters

gratitude

“Christmas time, mistletoe and wine…” ~ Cliff Richard
Well Sir Cliff, I must admit… I DO like a bit of Christmas songery and sentamentality…

But how about:
‘Christmas time, misery and whine..’? ~ Sandra Peachey

I’ve been having some great times with friends and family, and as is (my) life, also some very low times this season; when left alone with my thoughts…

I’m a single, childless woman, so there are many times (in life and at Christmas) when I’m on my own, which, like all situations in life – has its’ pros and cons. It gives me many freedoms on one hand and limits my options on the other. I know too that having a partner and family brings its’ own burden and rewards in different measure and either way, that Christmas can be both wonderful and awful what ever your situation in life.

What ever my situation, I have the traits of both thinking and feeling deeply. Analysis can be wonderful or it can be exhausting and at times like this, when there is more space to think and less need to do, I have to be mindful of how I use this gift of space / change of pace in my life.

A favourite daily exercise I mete out to myself and my coaching clients is to list out all the good things in my life and the things – tiny and huge – that I have to be thankful for. With the New Year fast approaching and the ups and downs of the Christmas season, I crank this up to a longer, loving list for the past year.

So I’m starting my 2015 list and I would love to know some of the items that are at the top of yours???

So here is MY list in progress…. A manifesto of celebration…

THANK YOU 2015 FOR:

* Special simple moments shared with friends
* Lots of laughter
* Time with children and seeing the world through their eyes
* Being a little sister
* Giving and receiving support
* Delicious meals, created or bought, and all devoured
* Taking long, cobweb busting walks in this beautiful country I live in
* Cat companionship, with purrs and furry fun
* All those who have loved, inspired, nourished, supported and nurtured me
* Doing what I was born to do – coach… Supporting, enabling, witnessing miracles
* Doing what I was born to do – write…
* Surrendering to the things that could not be changed, instead of being tortured by them… after being tortured by them…
* Being fabulous! I decided long ago that I would improve with age and safe to say, I have wink emoticon, this has come with more confidence and acceptance. It is always balanced out with doubt and fear, yet the positivity and the fabulousness always win through in the end…
* A bounty of hugs
* Catching up with old friends
* Making new friends and connections, with the promise of who knows what to come???
* Conversations – short and long. Exchanges, updates, gossip, triviality and the serious – etc and so on…
* Selling stuff and services that make a difference
* Dancing – when I was really in the groove baby!
* Social media and ego addiction – thank you for all the positive comments, praise, pictures and vastly shared wisdom and connection xx
* Learning to let go with love those who don’t want to share the journey any more, giving me time and space to let in the new…
* Being OK with not being OK. I ‘support’ because it’s my true vocation and also because I want it in MY life. I find life hard, but I find it good too… That is my roller coaster and I don’t think it will ever change, so I always thank God for the good.
* Celebrating friends good news and good times
* Being an author / writer / creative
* Being: Sandra Peachey – Author, Coach and Consultant
* Gorgeous holidays
* Nitty gritty conversations
* Client break throughs
* New income streams
* Good health
* Having a full purse
* Love, love, love!

And I will keep adding to this…

Thank you and farewell to an amazing year xx

With warmest wishes to all my family, friends and connections for a joyous, loving, considered, bountiful year ahead.

Sandra Peachey

 

Letter to Recycling Christmas

Sandra Love Letters

Christmas Recycled
Dearest Christmas

Well it’s Boxing Day and although your named day is over, it’s certainly not the end of your sumptuous season by any means.

I’ve been spending a quiet Christmas with my brother, where I am chief cook and he the chief bottle washer.  We both supply the food and so I will serve up a traditional feast on Christmas Day, and something delicious with left overs on Boxing Day.

This year my brother requested a fish pie as our Boxing Day treat…  It was my own fault really, because several months ago I made a really scrumptious ‘Nostalgia Pie’ for him…

Well it was a fish pie actually, but rebranded as a Nostalgia Pie because it was something my mother always loved, and now she’s gone I like to celebrate in various ways – including culinary ones.

The pie was a lavish affair – I had found wonderful fish from various sources at different times and stored them in my freezer, waiting for the day they would be gloriously assembled together with a bought cheese sauce, shop bought mashed / chilled potato, and other tasty ingredients from my extensive store cupboard.  Bringing everything together, I filled a large lasagne dish to bursting with unctuous flavours and sizzling pleasure.

My brother thought it was absolutely delicious and decided to eat all but a corner of it, probably a decent 6 portions… His happy gluttony made me smile – it was a great compliment, he deserves it (he does so much for me) and I’m not a great fish fan any way…

Back to Boxing Day and he tells me he has bought a frozen fish mix.  I shudder slightly – it is full of boring, poor quality off-cuts… We have used up most of the available vegetables for the Christmas Day meal.  My brother suggested that I shop for any ingredients that were missing in order for me to fulfil the next culinary masterpiece, but that to me is the antithesis of Boxing Day…

Much as I love gathering and shopping for ingredients, I know I love the challenge of making wonderful meals out of left overs even more… It brings out my creativity, means I make the best of all that is around me and not least that I take really random elements, marrying them together in the most delicious ways.

Sure enough, I realise that there are enough cooked vegetables (from yesterday) to recycle into another gourmet guise…

This time I make cheesy parsley sauce and mash potato from scratch.  The sauce and mash are divinely suffused with left over cream and butter. I chop up roasted vegetables to thicken and flavour the sauce.  I take the left over stuffing and turn it in to a scrummy crunchy topping for the pie.  I trim all the horrid brown bits off the now defrosting fish. I chop and stir and combine and time.

Christmas Pie
My Festive Fish Pie after just 2 servings…

Eh voila! My Festive Fish Pie emerged from the oven after several hours of laconic and loving effort.  It was a delicious and a unique thing of foodie beauty which could only have been created by us, in this seasonal moment.  We had recycled the joy of Christmas Day into something new and elevated; using up our left overs, and all this with the satisfaction that only a store cupboard feast can engender…

When it comes to recycling Christmas joy, my next issue will be how to tackle my presents, a number of which I never actually use…  Often they are recycled as presents to other people, create cash in Car Boot Sales or go as prizes to the raffles of various good causes.

Now that may sound ungrateful, but the thing is, they are still very much appreciated, and they are used to create cash or other forms of good.  Recycling them seems an odd impulse, because in many ways I am very much a Material Girl and I love ‘stuff’, but I just have too much of it.  Ironically too, I feel as I get older, that the joy of stuff is so often short lived and so I recycle the components of it into other delicious or useful entities.

To add layers to the irony I do still buy gifts for other people, but less and less, now preferring to fund ‘experiences’ that they or we can enjoy, to create both time and memories.

I appreciate that such experiential gifts are my choice and so I am happy when people tell me what their choice of gift is, making the giving and receiving of it so much easier…

I’ve been minded this year to recycle gifts and unwanted stuff to turn in to wanted stuff for people who, for whatever (individual or societal) reason need it; thinking of people less fortunate in this country and beyond, so I can share my good fortune in both local and global communities.  There are any number of good causes that we can contribute to and my own measure are ones that connect to me emotionally in some way.

In recent years too I have encountered a gorgeous exercise called ‘Recycle Your Inspiration’, where each member of a group will wrap up a book or (meaningful) object and put it into a ‘pot’, which the other individuals draw out of, in the spirit of a vast, celestial Secret Santa exchange… I’ve experienced this in Book Clubs, Self Development Groups, also at work and in social situations.

So often I have seen a magical serendipitous wonder when a seemingly random ‘Recycled Inspiration’ package is opened up and the object inside is something responded to with recognition and joy.  A thing given by a stranger, in unconventional gift giving circumstances, that somehow taps into the receiver’s psyche.  What so often makes this particular unveiling so much more fascinating is when you get the story of the gift from the giver and therefore understand the significance which they have given it.

So from pies to presents – recycling rules, and I am ending this latest love letter by wondering, how you and I can recycle even more..? Be that food, necessities, gifts, luxuries or??? And wondering too, just what we will receive in return…

Yours – again and again,
Sandra
Recycled Goddess, Coach, Consultant and Writer

PS: I’ve created my first Christmas written work… It’s a FREE capsule – AKA gem of an EBook, gathering together my nostalgia and reflections on a Christmas theme. It’s designed to be evocative, entertaining and to make you think about this time of year – so you can embrace and enjoy your Christmas. To get your copy of a Peachey Christmas, just click the link here…

I Choose Christmas

Sandra Love Letters

Giving gratitude for every aspect of our lives is one of the most simple and powerful tools we can all engage to create and maintain a positive attitude.  Christmas can be joyful or stressful, but giving gratitude for it, makes the most of what ever it is for you.  Here is my Gratitude for Christmas morning 2015:

A Gratitude of Poetic Meditation, Prayer and Reflection for Christmas…

Merry Xmas

I awake on a new horizon,
feeling the dawn of shared energy.
My pagan bones celebrating the solstice cycle,
and the warmth of longer lighter days to come.
My Christian mien celebrates the centuries of collaboration,
the pure spirit of rejoicing the babe born saviour.
I hear the music of the mind,
carried on the chime of carols and Christmas choruses.
My stomach is filled with food,
the sumptuous feasting of fasts long broken.
I have shared and received my tokens of love,
bounded and bonded as I am, by a circle of family and friends.
And on a quiet Christmas morn I contemplate my love and gratitude, turning my face to another day to be long lived and loved.

I often forget who I am, dramatising my labelled and laboured traumas.
Yet in the Christmas calm I know this:
I have a warm bed.
I drive a car.
I have 4 limbs, sight and sound.
I have my family.
I have my friends.
My larder is full of food.
I work, I write, I coach, I speak.
And pay the bills.
I travel and I gabble.
I sing and I dance.
I have so many blessings I cannot count them.
And today I can celebrate Christmas with feasting and gifting,
and most of all with gratitude…

How could my gratitude know any bounds?
So now I choose to celebrate, even though my brain wants to commiserate.
I choose Christmas.
For me and for you.
And then, on cue I hear church bells – my heart’s answer.

This then is my gratitude for Christmas, for my life and for this day.

With mistletoe wishes and kisses.

Sandra xx

HAPPY CHRISTMAS 2015

Coach and Author of Peachey Letters

Have you downloaded my Free Christmas Ebook yet?
Just click here to get your copy…

 

The Price of Nice

Sandra Christmas, Love Letters , ,

nice 2

Dearest Characteristic

I am writing to you as an aspect of myself, you see I’ve been called ‘nice’ so many times… And it’s a short but complicated word, which for me has a range of connotations: it can of course be a positive trait, or it could just be on the tepid side of being good or kind. It can also be seen as a weakness – being a relentless, soft, mamby-pamby sort of quality to display to the world.

Nice in conversational terms is either a pleasant exchange or else a mannered form of connecting and conversing which is smiling and sickly.

It’s a mid-range sort of a word – denoting something which is neither powerfully wonderful nor scathingly evil.

Hear the words “How nice of you” and take them either as a quaint compliment or a biting indictment. Say the words “that’s nice” though, and the meaning is sardonically the opposite…

So from four short letters (of the alphabet) I have experienced a wide range of niceness and of course, what sticks in my psyche is when that innocuous little word is turned into a weapon.

The thing with being nice is, that it’s hard to be it on your own, so a little while ago I decided to expand the horizons of my world and started reaching out, in a new area of my life, to make some new friends and make a difference. So, as is the way of the world, many people ignored my advances, some reacted quickly then disappeared, and some readily responded.

One person in particular seemed to be at the heart of things and keen to help. I got a lot out of our exchanges and started to tentatively venture into their world. But then, when I offered some assistance, but did not deliver it at the speed required, I apologised and got short and nasty shrift. There then followed a diatribe about my ‘niceness’ and my wanting to be friendly, bundled as observational insults rather than conversational compliments.

So here is another aspect of nice – it is something I will use to glaze over my rampant sensitivity and my fear of attracting aggression and hostility; so when my ‘nice’ gambit fails, I am inevitably devastated.

I use positivity and friendliness to negotiate my way around, because it’s what I want in my world. This is what motivates and sparks me after a life time of being the opposite of nice. You see, strangely, for so much of my life – my deflecting / protecting tactic was to be sharp and snippy, wise cracking my way through life and presenting a hard shell to the world. That protective shell did not serve me well though, so I changed my ways and decided to be more vulnerable and honest and nicer.

And that niceness often gets reflected back to me, but sometimes of course as ignominy – as with my newly found sharp tongued fiend of a friend. But nice does not have to be a substitute for weak, so I responded to the barbs, defending my boundaries swiftly and assertively.

Of course what my nemesis would not know, is that in the past I had a mother who used to insult and stamp on me constantly and then apologise for being that way, but somehow it was always a non-apology because she had a good reason to be horrible ‘since A had happened and B had happened’, but at least then she would go back to loving me. That was her pattern.

There was nothing I could ever do to change that pattern, but an apology would at least mean a temporary truce and an attempt at healing a hurting. And whilst I could not change my mother, I did change myself and the way I responded to the world, seeking to master such destructive emotional patterns.

Back in the present though, my nemesis had their own agenda and not unlike my mother, their reasons for being insulting; those reasons apparently being nothing to do with me, just being lobbed at me. I have to say that it was a very long list of reasons, both psychological and physical, which I interpreted as labels used to justify, decry and hide away from many of life’s issues.

So no apology was forthcoming and the insults were not withdrawn, because that was, as this person explained, just the way they were. And because they were based on the negative observation of one of my traits, they particularly seemed to sting and stay with me.

It is easy to be stung and shamed if you allow yourself to be, but whilst those words wounded me, interestingly I can’t even remember the name of their perpetrator now. They stung because they came from a warped truth and shamed because this was a person who doesn’t do nice socially, but who certainly does do a lot of good for society.

And what is the point of nice if it is merely for show, goes nowhere and makes no difference beyond a superficial pleasantry?

Well I got over the barbs and I made my peace with my emotions. That’s when it helps that I am a Coach. And that is also one of the reasons that I’m a coach too, to mend my ways and to support others in mending and growing their ways too.

Moving on, this person and myself have not ultimately fallen out, we just don’t interact any more, because we have different notions of nice and we’ve established our boundaries.

And I find it hilarious to think that some people would characterise me as anything but nice – according to their knowing of me, in their version of observation… But hey – we can’t be loved by everyone, nor is it possible to be constantly, incessantly nice to everyone…

For a few years now, I have traversed the menopause and when those hateful hormones have me in their grip, being nice is most definitely a vice. Far from it, for being a sensitive soul and subject to heated mood swings is a rancid combination – I rant and pout and rout and cry. At those times I ain’t naturally nice. Quite frankly I’m foul and I’ve even lost friends because I’ve been the HBFH aka the hormonal bitch from hell. But I grew battle scarred and it was time to change my tactics. So now, after a few battles with the hormones I have changed my game so that I find my way around them, and instead of fighting with them, have decided to dance with them instead.

The dance is a choreography of choice, whereby if someone or something somehow rattles my emotional cage in any way, rather than rant, I pause, then I choose. And I choose nice, even though so often I feel nasty.

So I’m not just about the nice. I continue to have my nasty moments too, believe you me… But when I choose nice, it feels nice. When I decide to be positive and pleasant, I naturally attract back more of the same to myself – which makes sweet sense. Dancing rather than shooting bullets gives me the gorgeous calmness and clarity of choice. It is a very simple case of putting in what you want to get out of life.

I choose to be nice in my dealings with the world, where ever possible. I choose to take the positive route, no matter that I feel that sometimes it just lays me open to misunderstanding, ridicule and a perception that somehow I am weak.

Yet to me niceness is a strength; it is a virtue in a world of vice, and when I exercise niceness to myself – that is the strongest position of all. Yes, for all the arrows and slings that those around us can fling, none wound so much as our own weapons of self destruction, our own nasty and negative self speak.

‘Nice’ then, is a four letter word that I will continue to choose and so it is that I will end my letter to it – with another gorgeous, wondrous four lettered word: love – lots of it.

How nice is that???

Yours, for ever.

Sandra xx

PS: How would you like to read more of these Love Letters to Life ‘off blog’?  I’ve created my first Christmas written work… It’s a FREE capsule book – AKA a gem of an EBook, gathering together my nostalgia and coach-ly reflections on a Christmas theme. It’s designed to be evocative, entertaining and to make you think about this time of year – so you can embrace and enjoy your Christmas. To get your copy of a Peachey Christmas, just click the link here…

 

Get Your Free Christmas EBook Here

Sandra Love Letters

Books ribbon

I’ve created my first Christmas written work… It’s a FREE capsule book – AKA gem of an EBook gathering together my nostalgia and reflections on a Christmas theme. It’s designed to be evocative, entertaining and to make you think about this time of year – so you can embrace and enjoy your Christmas. To get your copy of a Peachey Christmas, just click the link here… Sandra Peachey xXx

My Free Christmas Book for You

Sandra Love Letters

peachey xmas

As a coach and the writer of Peachey Letters, I come across many versions of Christmas… There are people who love it and people who loath it.  It can be a time of joy and it can be a time of stress.  It can induce a feeling of nostalgia or indeed one of loss, depending on your point of view.  And like life, how we feel about Christmas is often a combination of many different issues and ingredients…

If you’ve read my book Peachey Letters or this blog before, then you’ll know that I love to celebrate and learn from all aspects of life.  The same is true of Christmas, so I have written a capsule Christmas book to share my celebrations, reflections and conclusions on this festive time of year.  This year, it is my free Christmas gift to you. 

For most of us December is a busy month, and as a coach my time, alongside all the usual preparations, is so often spent with cherished clients who have booked me in for their Christmas Check-up, where together we plan for the best inside out Christmas, to make the most – internally (emotionally) and externally (practically) out of the end of one year and the start of a new one.  This year too, for everyone I am in touch with, I am sharing the gifts of my writing and learning to entertain you, make you think and to deepen the Christmas experience in my newly finished capsule book.

This latest ebook – A Peachey Christmas is a collection of (previously published) blogs along with new material, gathered into one, gorgeous Christmas capsule…  All you need to do to claim your own free electronic copy is to fill out a few details here and it will wing its’ way back to you (as a .pdf).

This capsule book comes as a electronic book, which you can print off or read on your favourite device to your heart’s content.  Whereas my published book Peachey Letters – comes in paperback and kindle too, so you know it’s an ideal Christmas gift, with all its reflections on life – in all its’ gore and glory.  Just in case you weren’t aware – Peachey Letters has been featured in Psychologies magazine and The Lady, along with numerous other publications and websites; and it has also received reams of positive feedback from across the globe.  And if you don’t have your own copy yet or would like some more copies as gifts, you can get them here on my website, where I can even personalise and sign them for you.

And, as with all good books, you can also order them in bookshops and buy them on Amazon (or any global book site) in both Kindle and in paperback.

So here is my gift and there was my plug, and so it just remains for me to wish you true Christmas Spirit, in all that you do and be.

With warmest mistletoe wishes and kisses,
Sandra
Sandra Peachey
Coach & Author

LifeWork Consultancy & Coaching
Email:  sandra@sandrapeachey.co.uk
Web:  www.sandrapeachey.co.uk

~ Author of Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life and Co-Author of The F-Factor
~ International Book Awards Finalist 2015, Women’s Issues Category
~ Nominated for a Networking Mummies National Recognition Award 2015
~ Shortlisted for Women’s Coach in the APCTC Awards 2014, nominated in 2012 & 2013
~ Winner of a Women Inspiring Women Award 2013