In An Unguarded Moment

Our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children’s future. And we are all mortal.

— John Fitzgerald Kennedy

It occurred to me this morning that I hadn't written a gratitude post in literally months. It hasn't been deliberate; there is quite a bit in my life that I am grateful for. By the same token, there are quite large chunks of craptacularity which I would like to throw into a vortex (or at a certain misogynistic Herald Sun columnist - same thing really) and which I find it hard to feel grateful for at all.

I realise that this is rapidly sounding like an ingratitude post but it isn't. I just need to state, for the record, that things aren't necessarily rosy.

Which is why it's all the more important to be grateful for the everyday bits of bliss.

It's the unguarded moments, the 'sneak up on you and hug you' good things that happen which we need to learn to appreciate more.

Today is an incredibly hard day for my family. The aforementioned craptacularity is in full swing, and it is't going to de-craptacularise any time soon. Which gives me ten - a hundred - times the reasons to appreciate what is great about my life. For a start, I am still kicking, which was dubious at a few stages last year. So yay for that. But this post isn't about the big showstopping, Oscar-worthy reasons to count your blessings.

It's about being grateful for someone you love coming into the room and dancing around, being silly and making faces at you whilst you're being incredibly serious and professional on the phone, using that voice you NEVER use in real life. You know the one; your 'yup, yup, I can totally see where you're coming from' voice.

It's hard to maintain that when someone is crossing their eyes at you and sticking out their tongue.

Have some gratitude for that chance to laugh when there is terror and pain ahead.

Be grateful for some silliness with a friend. Chances are, they might be having a bit of a rough day too - so pull them out of it. It may be at the expense of someone else, but if said someone else is a fairly unpleasant individual and also has very bad grooming standards, then I have no issues with using them as a comedic prop.

Sneak the snorts in. Find the common link. Summon up some sunshine for each other. Enjoy the perfect little moments which come out of nowhere and feel like a butterfly kiss.

Don't try too hard to create a perfect moment mind you. They don't exist if you manufacture them. A perfect moment is a moment that just happens. If you are smart, you will realise that every moment of every day in which you are not actively miserable or in horrendous emotional or physical pain is perfect.

Why?

Because despite the fact that you may be a bit glum, or things aren't going right at work, or you've had a bit of an argy-bargy with the boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/dad/whatever floats your boat, think on this:

In this moment, this perfect, perfect moment...

You are alive. You are here. You have the chance of happiness just around the corner.

From heartbeat to heartbeat.

So make the most of every one of them.

And realise, in gratitude, despite the black clouds which are just over the horizon - that if you are as lucky as I am - there is always someone who is willing to hold that metaphorical umbrella for you.

Even if it's just by dancing into the room with their eyes crossed.

Snort.

Daddy Cool

"The monsters are gone.”

”Really?” Doubtful.

”I killed the monsters. That’s what fathers do.”

— Fiona Wallace

It's hard to believe that another year has gone since I first wrote about the Kennebec last Father's Day. Introducing his sartorial splendour and effortless use of the phrase 'bloody hell' to the reading public was a joy and also made him extremely uncomfortable, so I got double the funsies out of that blog post.

But a lot can happen in a year. And I have to say, on several levels 2013 has brought with it not only joy but some fairly high standards of craptacularity.

Through it all though is that constant beacon of steadiness which is my Dad. The Kenster. One day I am sure I will actually show him some respect and call him something nice, but not just yet.

Respectability is for old men, not my Popsicle.

Look at that photo. That is (fairly obviously) my mother and father on their wedding day. I would like to say that my dad looks as dashing as my mother looks beautiful, but basically he just looks naughty. It's quite possible that he was also feeling extremely hungover or even inebriated, but as that's not my story to tell I won't tell it - oh wait, I just did.

My parents are both an inspiration to me. They are good people. They are honest. They are kind. They love their children unconditionally, and strangely they also seem to like us. They adore (to the point of Scary Grand-Parent Status) the Hugh-bot.

And the thing I love about both of them - and I suppose especially about my dad, and it's something I talked about in a professional column on Friday - is this;

They always encouraged me and said 'Yes, you are good enough. Yes, you can be anything you want.'

Ken never tried to steer me away from boys' toys and towards girly guff. He always let me find my own path - and if that path led to lying beside him under the bonnet of the Datsun 220Y, then so be it. Or for that matter climbing up above the hot water service, or under the house, or learning to strip co-axial cable - if I was interested, then he was interested in teaching me about it.

He dealt with my hysterical tears when I went back to school every term from our little country town and he had to drop me off after driving me down to Hobart. I would hang my head in the driver's side window begging not to go in, and poor Kennebec (not the best at emotions) would have this sodden 13 year old digging her fingernails into the car door as he drove away.

The best part was the grown-up dinners he bribed me with the night before. Good work Dad.

We make demon Badminton doubles partners. I can't say the same about playing golf together, because the few times it's been attempted, I have wanted to wrap a club around his head because he's brilliant and I am useless, and I am certain the feeling is reciprocated - but that's OK.

I just ask him about his game every week and leave it at that. And wish I had his ability and grumble quietly to myself.

My father has integrity. He has strength. He works hard - still - and he has done since he was 16. He often gets overlooked because he just sits quietly in the back ground, beavering away - and sometimes I think others forget how much he does for them without their even noticing.

He is, above everything else in the world, two things. And I am eminently grateful for both of them.

He is a good man.

And he is my father.

Happy Father's Day, Kenny.  I love you.

I'd call you Dad, but then you wouldn't know who I was talking about.

Look, Up In The Sky! It's A...

““How Superheroes Make Money: - Spider-Man knits sweaters. - Superman screw the lids on pickle jars. - Iron Man, as you would suspect, just irons.” ”

— Jim Benton, Okay, So Maybe I Do Have Superpowers

Yesterday I was incredibly humbled (and pretty chuffed) to be named Team Fox Australia and Shake It Up's Hero of the Week. There are two reasons I mention this; one, I am supremely egotistical (actually, it's so you go to the website and donate lots of money) - and two - it made me think a lot last night. Admittedly my thinking was slightly blurry as I was having a bit of a bad evening, and therefore muscle relaxants were involved... but still. I won't be the first to write with some mind altering substances under my belt.

So last night's thinking.

I am a complete geek. And a big kid. I recognise this. I embrace it. I happily admit to liking Lego, Dr Who, Matchbox cars, have heinous taste in music and movies, love any techno gadgetry I can find... and oh yes.

I have a thing for superheroes. And Asterix, but that's possibly a different discussion.  Perhaps one could even count Dr Who as a superhero, but again, big, big discussion and it makes me think of David Tennant and I get off topic.

Sigh. Where was I? Oh yes, superheroes.

I have never understood, I admit, how Diana Prince just had to undo her hair and turn around really fast to become Wonder Woman. Maybe the dudes were distracted by her golden lasso? Smirk. It's like Clark Kent - a pair of black rimmed glasses is a truly craptacular way to hide your secret identity. Yes, people are a bit on the thicky side sometimes, but seriously...

Batman on the other hand - how the hell would you know who was under that rubber blankie? Kudos to you Bruce Wayne on actually wearing something which could be considered under the definition of an actual 'disguise'.

What is fantastic - and fascinating - to me about superheroes in general though is not just their super powers. It's the whole 'put the public good before myself' mentality. It's something we all aspire to and the reason we love the Justice League et al is because these men and women go out and do what we can only dream of. Who wouldn't want an invisible jet to fly around and fight crime in? I'd certainly like to be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound - usually when there's really bad traffic admittedly - and as for the Bat Cave... oh yes. Yes, yes, yes.

Superheroes are the side of ourselves which most people only think about showing, before rolling over and hitting snooze. It's much easier to do imaginary good when you're warm and comfy under the doona than it is to get up and cracking and actively volunteer to help people out.

I am as guilty of this as the next person (unless the next person happened to be Batman. And I wouldn't know it was him, BECAUSE HE WEARS A PROPER DISGUISE). But I am attempting to change this. Yes, it is mostly through self-interest, but so what? I have Parkinson's. I want a cure. So I am getting off my butt and doing as much as I can to help raise money to find out what the hell is wrong with my brain.

And the reason this is a gratitude post?

Because so many of the people I care about support me not only with moral fortitude, but they are actively trying to raise awareness and cash too. How can I not be grateful to these everyday superheroes?

Without sounding preachy, if you care about a cause, don't just talk about it.

Get up, get dressed, put those underpants on the outside of your tights and get ready to be faster than a locomotive. Because everyone has superhero potential.

You just need to learn to fly.

Or own a Tardis. Oh David Tennant...

Sure Of You

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

— C.S. Lewis

Today, I was reliably informed earlier this morning - and under the circumstances, suitably, by a very close friend - is International Friendship Day. OK, it may have originally been a Hallmark Holiday (seriously) but now it is a 'really really' day about all that is good about our mateys.

How do you describe your friends? How do you put your finger on what makes a good friendship? More importantly, how do you say 'I am grateful' to those who stand by you through thick and very, very thin?

To me, friendship doesn't have to be about talking to someone every day. Sometimes the best of friends don't talk for weeks or months - maybe even years. It's not about material things or keeping a record of who has done what for whom over the years. It's not about the longevity of a relationship; with some people you know in a heartbeat that there's going to be some serious silliness ahead and that's that.

The best friends are the ones who give you a hard time when you talk rubbish. Who don't roll their eyes (too badly) when the 3 a.m. text comes through saying 'I need to talk to you now'.   Who catch your eye at a social gathering when things are a bit tricky biscuit and make you bite down on the inside of your lip so that you don't snort with inappropriate laughter.

They are the ones who catch you when you fall. And fall hard.

They listen to your hiccupping attempts at talking through monster tears. You may have even been sick near or on them. They hold you tight - as tight as they can - and threaten vile recriminations and concrete-shoed death threats against those who have hurt you. They nourish your heart and your soul, and give you everything of them that they can. Sometimes more than they can afford, both emotionally and in some cases even financially, just because they love you. They will be truthful and sometimes tell you things you don't want to hear, and you may not like them very much at times, but there is beauty in honesty.

This is what friends are. 

If you are like me, and therefore a bear of very little brain, they are the Piglet - and in some very special cases, the Tigger - to your Pooh.

So today, on a day that the entire world has decided is all about friends, tell your mates, your cobbers, your besties, your collective fidus Achates, your soul mates, your confidantes, the group of idiots who know all your deep dark twisty turns...

Tell them you're grateful for them.

Give them a very, very big hug.

And some chocolate. Because no doubt you owe them about 25 tonnes of the stuff.

And possibly a dry-cleaning bill or two.

Oh Happy Day

“Joy is to fun what the deep sea is to a puddle. It’s a feeling inside that can hardly be contained.”

— Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full Of Sky

I was sitting last night, feeling mildly - actually, really, really stuffed after a very big work week - and having a thoughtful glass of wine, as one does - and I realised something tremendous.

I was happy.

Not content, not 'yep, life's good' - but really happy.

But it wasn't because of my own life (not that I am complaining about that).

It was because so many great things seem to be happening in the lives of those I care about - and for many of them, it comes after a period of darkness, or yuck, or in some cases true tragedy.

And the more I sat there and thought about the things that were happening in their lives, the more it made me smile, until I felt like giving a big 'yippee', which would have made my fellow building dwellers think I had gone even more mad and scared the local wildlife out of their feathers, but so be it.

It was, as Ren and Stimpy would have said, a Happy Happy Joy Joy moment. And we need to be massively grateful for them, because life is generally pretty dreary and joy is in short supply.

I realise this may sound too twee for words, but seriously - we get so wrapped up in whether we ourselves are happy or unhappy that at times, we tend not to celebrate our friends and families' exciting moments in a way that does them justice. I am not talking about hiring a blimp or skywriting 'CONGRATULATIONS ON TURNING 38 AND THREE QUARTERS' across Sydney, mind you - I am just saying when there's something big going down, let them know how fantastic you think it is. Take time out from your own blather and bullshit for just a moment and say 'Squee!' Or, in the immortal words of Babe the Pig, 'la, la, la!'

Well, maybe not 'Squee' if you're not a total dork like me, but you get my drift.

Joy is love of life. It is a soul enriching feeling. It makes your heart sing, and your feet want to do a little dance.

And the best thing about feeling joyous because someone else is happy?

It's unselfish. It's not about you, or your ego, or how good you are - it's simply about being thankful that all is good in the world of those who deserve it most - the people who hold you up when you are close to falling.

And that's something that deserves a whole lot of gratitude.

SQUEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Many A Slip Twixt Cup And Lip

““writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all” ”

— Charles Bukowski, The Last Night of the Earth Poems

Those who read this blog (thank you, all three of you. You know who you are, and I love you very much) may have noticed a fall off in the number of posts recently. There's a very simple reason for this. 

I have been ill.  Wretchedly, horribly ill.

It's a common malaise. Many people suffer from it. It's endemic to those who profess to put words on a page for a living, it is heartbreaking in its severity and can cause symptoms as wide ranging as glugging wine straight from the bottle, headbashing on desks, throwing laptops across rooms and screaming randomly 'sod THIS for a joke!' and storming out of the room.

I refer of course, to (I don't even want to say the words)...  

Writer's Block. 

Sometimes the muse deserts me. Hell, she doesn't just desert, she goes on a bender in Vegas, wins big at the tables, gets comped a suite at Wynn and next thing I know she's married Prince Harry and I never see her again.  

For those who write, the need to put words on a page, or a screen, or on the back of an envelope is overwhelming. They need to get out of your brain somehow before it turns into the Woolworths parking lot on Christmas Eve. But that doesn't mean they are worth sharing with the world. And for me, the last little while has been a case of frosty wind making moan in my thoughts - every topic which has sprung to mind has ended up in the mental shredder. 

Until last week, when thankfully, discussions with two witty and wise friends brought the neurons back into a semblance of cerebral celebration. 

The relief at feeling words starting to flow again cannot be underestimated. And this is not about thinking 'maybe someone will enjoy reading this' - because quite frankly, I don't actually write for anyone but myself, and I think the day you do start concentrating primarily on what other people think, then the words will dry up for good. Nope, it was 'man, I am really loving just getting this out of my noggin'. 

And that is why this is a gratitude post. 

Gratitude for two people understanding that sometimes words - they don't come easy to me, to quote an old(ish) song; and even more gratitude that with a bit of verbal Drano, the blockage was no more. 

Whether others will be grateful remains to be seen, but as for me... 

Huzzah! 

In an annoyingly loud voice. 

Heh. 

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent

““Winter is nature’s way of saying, ‘Up yours.’” ”

— Robert Byrne

I'm lying here in bed this Friday morn feeling very grumbly. Not only do I have the flu (and yes it is the flu, Mum, not just a bad cold, I'm not playing Hypochondriac Heaven) - but I've just read through the magic of Facestalk that juniper berries are being threatened with some weird disease. So not only am I sick, but there exists the possibility of NO MORE GIN.

EVER.

Time for a strategic retreat under the Doona of Destiny methinks. Unfortunately without a gin in hand, but eight o'clock in the morning would be pushing it.

This has not been a good week. It may be the Winter Solstice, but there will be no naked skylarking to celebrate this fact. It's too bloody cold, even in Golden Queensland. And sniffles and nude frolics don't really go together, so again doona downtime wins out.

What else can I grumble about? My hatred of telecommunications behemoths? Hmmmmm. Possibly not. That would take up more time and space than a dozen blog posts, reduce people to tears and/or yawns and make me so cross that I might get a bit vigilante-ish and end up in the news on Facestalk myself.

So maybe I will just say this.

Yesterday was a bloody awful day for a lot of people out there it seems. This week and in fact 2013 in general seem to not be on the money for many of my loved ones; and I'm buggered if I'm going to be the one saying 'turn that frown upside down' when their crises are real and significant.

For me, I know that my grumbles are (mainly) just that; grumbles. They are the product of feeling physically heinous and frustrated with said condition. This year could be dubbed 'The Year Of The Sick As A Dog' if the Chinese horoscope felt like breaking with tradition, and yes I'm fed up with it.

But I will stand tall - or lie tall, as I can't get out of bed without fainting - and be positive. Ish. When it comes down to the crunch, I am grateful for so many things. Not least of which is the fact that I have people to care for me when I am sick (grammatical pats don't really count Dread P, but I'll take what I can get) and that I have friends and loved ones to rely on when things are tough.

That's a privilege, not a right, and my gratitude for these people is very wide and deep.

So perhaps I shall stop whinging for a little while at least, and count my blessings instead. As a wise friend said just a few moments ago on the ever present Facestalk, Mother and Father to us all:

"When life hands you over-ripe bananas, make strawberry-orange-banana smoothies."

And maybe add a dollop of gin.

While you still can.

Cough.

Alias Grace

““Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim””

— Nora Ephron

I am, I realise, more and more every day, a fortunate woman.

I am living where I wish to live.

I am, if not healthy, on the path to health.

I am able to do the work that I love.

And above all else, I am truly blessed in the amazing women that I am lucky enough to not only plot and scheme with on a professional level, but also call my friends. This has been very much brought home to me in the past few months, when times have not been so great, and the solidarity and support which they have shown me has been beyond description.

And the standout sister - for me, and I know for so many others - of these fabulous females, is having a birthday today!

Happy Birthday Janine.

When I thought about writing this post, and saying how grateful I was to JG, I thought "oh, this will be simple - I know how much she means to me, I'll just say it". But as it turns out I'm a little bit flummoxed. How do you express your gratitude to someone whom you have so much respect for without sounding cheesy? How do you say that their guidance, and enthusiasm, and simple passion for what they do manages to lift you up when things are really grim, without it being just words on a page?

I suppose I can only say what I feel, and hope Janine doesn't roll her eyes (not that she would, because she's far nicer than me), and understands the message behind the meanderings.

Janine, I don't think you understand the impact you have on so many, many people. And yes, especially women - of all walks of life. You give out absolutely everything, without expecting anything in return. I'm constantly floored by your energy and fire for making things better. It's extraordinary. You make me laugh like an absolute idiot (I'm so not going there with the stories), and you make business fun. You and your rock star hair!

I am grateful for your friendship. I am grateful for your grace. I am grateful for your strength. I am grateful you are you. You have taught me more about being a strong woman, without lecturing or bossiness, than anyone I have ever met before. The gratitude is ever present, and always will be.

If you are lucky enough to be a part of this extraordinary woman's life, don't undervalue her. And make sure you tell her how fab she is.

Because I guarantee she tells you on a regular basis.

Happy Birthday JG.

I hope it's been a good one.

Fox In Socks

““Being soaked alone is cold. Being soaked with your best friend is an adventure.” ”

— Emily Wing Smith, Back When You Were Easier To Love

So. I am living in Queensland, yes? Yes. And in theory, that means several things. Slower voices. Strange words like 'port' for suitcase. A sudden overwhelming urge to support the Reds in the Super 15s. Banana bending. (Just kidding, large mob of angry Queenslanders coming towards me with pitchforks). Endemic to where I am living, of course, lots and lots of fake tan, fake hair and fake boo- uh... body parts.

And I assumed, glorious, glorious warm weather. Sunshiny days. Mild evenings. A winter of blissful non-frostbitey 'ha-has' to my Southern sisters.

Yes. In theory... yes.

There is no denying that the people watching is amazing around these parts. It's a veritable smorgasbord of 'come as you are, or perhaps as you always wanted to be, but didn't have the guts to be anywhere else'. I feel bewilderingly normal, and thus stand out like a sore thumb, because I have no image. None. I need to develop one, but as everything I have seen so far involves heavy body inking, tandoori tanning, bleaching and/or inserting of silicone, it might take a while and involuntary anaesthesia before it happens.

As for the weather?

Hmmmmmmm.

I arrived back home Sunday night from an unexpected weekend away, and it was, as our lovely pilot cheerfully informed us, eight degrees. Apparently the night before it had been four; the second coldest night in Gold Coast history.

This is not what I signed up for.

My ugg boots were supposed to stay firmly in the back of the wardrobe; I was only to pull my coat out of same wardrobe when going to more southerly climes - I actually gave away the more substantial layers of style that composed the House of Kate. Winter? Winter, to misquote A Game Of Thrones, was not coming.

Last night I actually had to put socks on. This will not do.

I would like Queensland to get its act together please, and turn on the sunlamps. OK, so I may be the palest person on the planet, and my skin tone may somewhat resemble a speckled trout's tummy, but that is beside the point; I like to feel warm whilst I am sitting in my straw hat and thirty plus. You can be sun smart and smugly happy at the same time.

You may well ask, as I have just spent the last zillion paragraphs whinging, where the gratitude is in this post.

It's quite simple really.

It may be a touch frostier than I was expecting up here in the not so sunshiney state, but when it comes down to it, I am massively lucky. Unlike a hell of a lot of Australians, I am sleeping in a lovely warm bed, and if I need to, I can grab as many extra covers as I want to put on said bed. I have, for that matter, a warm coat.

If you want to get down to brass tacks, I have socks.

Things are a bit rough for me health wise at present, and it has made me more than usually aware of a few things. Every time I think about what I don't have, I am constantly reminded of what I do have. It makes me feel humble, and grateful, and very, very thankful despite all of my groaning and moaning about feeling a slight chilliness in the air, and I know how trivial my complaints are compared to what so many people are facing on a day to day basis - simply trying to survive.

I don't wish to sound preachy, but if you are lucky enough to be a 'have' this winter, take a moment to be grateful, and think about the 'have nots' - and actively do something to help.

You may just find the sun will come out if you do.

Twisting By The Pool

““Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.””

— William Goldman, The Princess Bride

It has been, to put it mildly, a very trying week. I am not even going to pretend otherwise. There are times when it is better to lay down one's arms, stop trying to rule the known world and simply admit defeat; to say to the dragon 'come out, come out wherever you are' and let it flame you for a few moments before taking up shield and sword again.

Even princesses in shining armour need a break every so often.

I was talking last week about not sucking it up. And yet again, I may sound as though I am having a bit of a whinge. In a way I suppose I am, because I am talking about being in physical agony. But I am also talking about gratitude, and how I feel about normally having it - well, normally having it pretty damn good.

Planet Pain. It stinks. It is not a nice place to be - at all. I don't like visiting, and I cannot believe that I used to basically live here on a full time basis.

What I also cannot believe is how much I take for granted now in terms of how well I am generally, and how grateful I am for the progress that I have made, and continue to make, in terms of staying healthy and fighting what my body and brain would quite like me to give in to at times.

I am also grateful that I know the reasons behind my pain this week, and that I know there is a 'most of the time I am fine' end in sight. For so many people whom I know who have Parkinson's or Dystonia - or both - they are not so lucky. They hurt all the time.

All. The. Time.

Imagine being 30 years old. Or 35. Or 40. And you wake up in the middle of the night and your back is twisted, and your feet are in cramps so severe that they form circles, and your jaw is trying to make its way through your collarbone just for the hell of it. And it just won't stop. Not just for minutes, or hours; but days. Or weeks. Or months.

Or years.

I have only faced days at a time.

My beautiful Rogers - and in fact so many people I know - face, and have faced, the latter.

Sometimes I underestimate her bravery because of her silly sense of humour and because she is so gorgeous that you forget about the lean-over. And she doesn't talk about the pain.

But then whenever I end up as a pretzel I remember.

And I think all over again about how amazing she is. How amazing all of the wonderful people that I know are.

And how grateful I am for their strength.

I will say this, and it is something it has taken me a long time to learn; if you are in physical pain, don't be afraid to admit it. I am not talking about sitting there and  constantly griping 'I'm hurting', because believe me, people will get sick of it pretty bloody quickly. But - if you don't speak out, then nobody will understand just what is going on, and when you are irritated, or sharp, or simply aren't coping, they will be puzzled, and perhaps angry, because it will be out of the blue. If you are factual and admit to what is going on with your body, then understanding from those who care about you will be there. Not from everyone - but from those who care for and love you, yes.

I am constantly and consistently grateful for those who express empathy to and for me. Not in a 'keep me in an illness box' way, or a pitying way - but in a 'let's get you better, constructive, slay that goddamn pain dragon' way. Particularly the Dread Pirate who has been very good (in a piratey fashion naturally).

It helps me put the armour back on, however heavy it may feel, and get ready to fight the good fight again.

Mistress of the Universe?

You bet your sweet... donkey.

Works for me.

Hymn To Her

““My mother... she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.” ”

— Jodi Picoult

Last Mother's Day I wrote about my grandmother because it was very close to the date that would have been her hundredth birthday. Not out of any lack of love or respect for my Mama - quite the opposite - she would I know agree that without my Gran'ma she would (literally, ha, ha) be half the person she is.

But I definitely owe the P a post. She is going to kill me for putting this photo in, so I may as well go hell for leather and embarrass her totally.

She is my best friend. If you are a grown up (or semi grown up in my case) woman and you are able to say 'my mother is my best friend' consider yourself very, very fortunate indeed. As a teenager - forget it. You are going to scorn everything your mum says, wears and does - and then as an adult probably end up saying, wearing and doing all the same things (in my case yes, sort of and yes). You will scream 'I hate you' and then if you are smart, apologise.

But as an adult - yay. The thought of not talking to P on a daily basis is one that frightens me so badly that I stick my fingers in my ears and go 'la, la, la' until the bad men go away. She is the still, calm voice in the centre of the hurricane that constitutes my brain.

She is my inner eye.

My mother is an amazing woman. She would be the first to scoff at this. She is incredibly unassuming and very modest. She has no idea of the quiet impact she has on all those she comes in contact with. Her employees, her friends, her family. Me. Always me. Even when we have fought. If I am in a strop, I really do try to stop and think 'how would P handle this?' - because invariably it would be with better grace and humour than myself.

She has handled blows that would fell strong men. She has watched her children mess up time and again - and sadly had to watch one of them go through illnesses that I know in her heart she blames herself for, despite there being no reason for it. It's not her fault. As the one going through said illnesses, I say this with certainty. But I hear that little voice inside her saying 'yes it is' and as that same voice ticks inside me I will not attempt to shut it up, but simply say this.

Mumsy, Mama, Big P.

You are my sanity and my succour. You are the first person I turn to - always - even if I am narky with you. You are the snort at the other end of the phone when I need to let off steam. I laugh til I cry with you about stuff which nobody in their right minds would find remotely amusing, or understand, and that is fantastic. The fact that we have had a running joke of one word for well on twenty years is testament to both our combined sense of the ridiculous and what can only be called deep, deep love.

I actually find it hard to put into words the respect that I have for you, both as a mother and as a woman. So let me just say I am grateful for you, I will continue to be grateful for you, and I will try to show it every day.

Happy Mother's Day.

Gratitude and love overflowing.

And 'hello!'

Snort.

The Hole In The Sky

““Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful. Good words are not persuasive; persuasive words are not good.””

— Lao Tzu

It is probably obvious to anyone who reads this blog that I love language. I love writing, I love expressing opinions. I love a good rant about pretty much anything and I don't hold back if I am upset or hurt about something on someone else's behalf. I quite like talking in a ranty way as well, and am never usually lost for words, much to some people's despair.

And yes, I love shoes. And books. And cats.

Wow, I'm a real prospect. A yarpy, nerdy shoe-loving cat lady.

Awesome. I probably should delete that description, but that would make a nonsense of what I am trying to say.

One thing I am truly bad at, despite all the self-expression - and I think this is possibly true for everyone, but especially for those of us who are introverts pretending to be extroverts - is admitting when things are not fabulous. In written words or out loud.

Actually saying 'I am not OK, and I am not happy/coping/well/in a good place' is something that is ridiculously hard for me to do. I see it as a weakness I suppose. Because when you belong to the 'Suck It Up Princess' School Of Life Management, the first lesson you teach yourself is to - well, suck it up. There's no crying in baseball, things will be fine, get over yourself; these are all words I smack myself around the brain with on a daily basis. Because yes, life does go on and things usually will be fine; but sometimes - well, sometimes they aren't, and admitting that this is a possibility means admitting vulnerability, and fear, and even despair.

Most of all, it means admitting you are human.

Much as I would like to believe it at times, I am not a robot. I can't just go on and on with the power of an automaton - saying 'yep, all good!' and secretly screaming inside my head. Do that, and you will not only end up blowing a gasket, but you will lose so many things - opportunities, options, and most importantly, people who care about you - because you haven't been able to tell them how hard things are, and so when you break, they don't know how to deal. How could they? If you constantly hide all the frailties that you hold inside yourself, then all they know of you is a two-dimensional caricature rather than a real person.

You may well ask why this is a gratitude post.

Because I am immensely grateful for a few things. For someone who cared enough to use truthful words with me, and got me to say out loud 'I am struggling' - and yes, Lao Tzu is correct. Sometimes truthful words are not beautiful. But they are real.

I am also grateful for the people and opportunities in my life. Full stop. That, after admitting to not being at my tiptop best - after actually letting some of that vulnerability out of its locked box in my brain and my heart -  I have received back nothing but support and strength and love.

I feel as though I have managed to take off the padlock of said Pandora's box and just breathe.

For anyone out there who is proudly wearing their Suck It Up t-shirt, I just want to say this;

Wear the t-shirt by all means - and do wear it with pride. Because being able to cope under a lot of stress is a strength, and you should be proud of it.

But even the best t-shirts get grubby and need a wash - so every so often, allow yourself a change of metaphysical clothing - and perhaps put on a 'NOT COPING AT ALL' or even just 'Help!' number instead.

Hard - yes.

Essential to being yourself?

Even bigger yes.

And I am grateful that for once, I am letting myself see that - so I'm off to change my top.

'COPING O.K. - BUT HUGS WELCOMED'.

Words I know to be true. And beautiful.

Take that, Lao Tzu.