Christmas Tree- mendous

I have never been a keen celebrator of the festive period for as long as I can remember.  I think my Christmas aversion took root at an early age having witnessed the anger, ugliness and sheer horror that the stress of the whole package can elicit in people.  

There was the occasion when my beloved, bouncy dog bounced herself repeatedly up to sideboard level to devour a defrosting turkey.  The consequences were ugly. I can laugh now but we as a family are not able to discuss it en mass.  One parent kicked the dog (thank god they eat their own shit else she'd have died from salmonella for sure.  The dog that is, not the parent), pulled a knife on t'other parent, packed a bag and ran away.  Other parent chased whilst I took myself to bed.  Quietly.  We ate a frozen turkey pie that year.  I remained very quiet, right through my birthday (worst time of year to have it) and right through the subsequent 25 or so years.

And yet, despite the slight edge of permanent danger, my family's Christmas celebrations have at least been easy to observe from the sidelines and to tuck away the occasional 'snowball' (our festive treat. Do they even make Advocat anymore?).  Not so when fast forward 15 plus years to Christmases with ex-husband and his dear mama.  There was simply no escape.  From anything.  From the cold - I would wake up watching my breath curl around the fingers of Jack Frost; from the silence (only Radio 4 allowed, oh and the Queen's speech - NOT the time to announce that one is an anti-royalist); from the boredom (only one person may unwrap a gift at a time.  And write it down.  Oh. My. God.  I need a G&T); from the scrutiny - to how one reacted to presents, how one peeled vegetables ("such wastage dear, there are people starving in Africa").

I had two super festive periods with the ex-boyfriend however upon reflection they were mostly about him and his family.  To the extent that my surprise birthday present was his jaunt of preference that he revelled in whilst I gritted my teeth and did my damnedest to enjoy.  Whilst silently sobbing in the toilet.

This year however is a complete change.  Although I dread elements of what Christmas has represented in the past, I ambled today past a row of forlorn looking Christmas trees crying out for a careful owner.  I've been resisting for weeks and yet, this evening, I threw them my fourth nonchalant glance of the day, tweaked a needle and decided to go for it.  I haggled, got the one I desired and struggled home with it perched atop one shoulder.  It now stands proudly, twinkling with Christmas lights and the promise of Christmas Future.

The first home that I have owned deserves this. I deserve this.  This is my space, my life, and I'm going to enjoy it.

Just don't mention defrosting turkeys......

Sanctuary

Sanctuary: protection or a safe place, especially for someone or something being chased or hunted.  Home: someone or something's place of origin, or the place where a person feels they belong.

After a few tumultuous years I have finally found my sanctuary, my home.  And it feels indescribably good.  My overriding aim for 2008 was to buy my own flat.  My own space, no matter how small, that I could finally call my own.  That I could paint bright pink should I so choose (not that I would, you understand), that I could furnish to my own taste (once I have figured out what this is) and to which I can return every day, close the door and know that I have achieved this without the help of any man.

This wintry morning finds me daring to relax and to recover from a persistent cold, sat in bed, cocooned by sumptuously squishy cushions and watching the weekend's frost glisten as it slowly thaws from the patchwork of rooftops beneath me.  The only sound is the occasional chirrup from the blackbird perched on a bare branch of the treetop that brushes my bedroom window.  A tree that will mark the passing of the seasons in my new home - from barren winter, through budding spring, blossoming summer, to crisp and golden autumn and so, again, to winter.  Like that tree, I have finally put down roots and already I can feel the seeds of a new future starting to take sprout and to seek the light and energy to grow.

I have finally allowed calmness to enter my life and am learning that the one thing from which I have been seeking sanctuary is myself.  It has taken two and a half years but I am now at peace with my own company.  I have come to guard it almost jealously on occasion and of course, have to not allow that to become the route to reclusiveness.  But I hope that in finding peace, I have come to not only recognise my faults and idiosyncrasies but to accept them.  As long as they don't harm either myself or other people, they are simply akin to the colour of my eyes or the length of my limbs.  They are a part of me.

And as I start to relax the worries and free my mind from the agonising clutter, I note that I can again hear the wee characters that used to clamour for attention to be developed, to be sewn together to form cohesive plots rather than short, abrupt scenarios.  A dormant creativity is emerging and it is incredibly exciting. I am nervous to put pen to paper after such a long time and to see if I can translate the characters around me into participants in a story of my own weaving, but I think I have found the courage and head space to at least try.  To once again clutch a notebook and pen in my hand at all times and to observe, tickle my mind into creativity and to write.

Such is the power of having a home. A sanctuary of my own making.

This evening produced an 'aha' moment.  

A month ago I was fortunate enough to be treated to a night at the opera by said Peer of the Realm.  A few years ago, 'La Boheme' would be guaranteed to reduce me to a pool of mascara coloured tears.  On this occasion however, there was nothing. Nada.  Zilch.  I was utterly convinced that my heart had died and shriveled beyond any hope, something that since has troubled me deeply.  Had I really become such a hardened, cynical bitch?  Was I ever to be capable of feeling any emotion again?

And yet, this evening, listening to the orchestra of a well-known music college, I found my eyes flooding with tears as my creaky old heart started to find the resin it needed to rejeuvinate those ancient strings.  The passion with which they played, the potential their youth represents

and the mellifluous sound they created left me both stemming tears and restraining pure giggles of joy simultaneously.  

These simply cannot be the manifestations of a defunct organ.  I dare to hope that they are the start of a re-awakening of my ability to seek joy.  To find pleasure in everyday life.  To be an attractive woman.  To get down and dirty.  But, most importantly, to be happy.

The ultimate 'aha' was that the world is full of possibilities. If only we are brave enough to recognise and take them.

Wish me luck.

The Dating Game

It has taken me a good two and a half years to feel comfortable in accepting an invitation for a 'date'.  Over that time I have forced myself to go out with a number of men (one has to keep one's hand in, or so I told myself), but often with hilarious, and on one occasion physically painful, consequences.

Initially it started with the dreaded online world of "you've not met me but I'm kind, caring and, oh, hung like a donkey" (and one occasion the man in question even posed with a buckaroo to labour the point.  Purlease.  Suffice to say I hit 'delete').  Desperate, not for sex, but to prove to myself (and I suspect, the exes) that I was capable of getting out there and being vaguely attractive again, I acknowledged a few online winks and subsequent dates.  Oh my goodness.  Those who had the patience and misfortune to read my previous blog, will know that I tucked what was left of my confidence into my pants (always a G string and matching bra, natch) and had a few rather strange experiences.

The actor who had a very large raw nerve about his family that I unintentionally touched upon, was in such a rush to leave that his (big) head bounced off a glass wall, leaving me to address the puzzled glances of the bouncers with an enigmatic smile (I've not been back since).  A lucky escape.

The seemingly attractive (at last!) and amusing triathlete whom on date one spun a line.  On date two reeled me in and left bleeding for a couple of days and  bruised psychologically for quite a lot longer.   

The work contact whom is charming, erudite, talented, interesting - but, ultimately - doesn't pluck my strings and so is going nowhere.  Although I am thankful that he has helped me to feel attractive again for the first time in years.

There's the Peer of the Realm.  Too high profile to elucidate and I struggle to find the balance between client relations and whatever it is he thinks he is looking for.

And last night? Gosh - a night out with a man whom I:

a. met through normal circumstances - friend of a friend

b. is intelligent

c. is amusing - made me laugh all evening

d. is interested (or so I thought) - actually asked me questions about my life

e. is very cute and I actually find physically attractive

It would appear however that unless I feel a HUGE 'this isn't going anywhere' or a man makes an inappropriate lunge (what am I saying?  Can a lunge ever be appropriate?) I am at a complete loss as to whether or not a chap is interested.

When did this all get so complicated?  Need it be?

Probably not.  So I shall do my best to be happy in myself, not look for affirmation elsewhere and to get on with life.

And, on the very outside chance that he gets in touch again, I may be free. And I may not.

(Yes I know.  Who am I kidding....)

Extermination; Eradication; Elimination

There are certain elements of one's life and personality that is is constructive to eradicate.  Picking one's nose in public (not that I have ever done this I hasten to add), the wearing of flat, comfortable shoes (ditto), and, in my case, the automatic impulse to expel any calories from my body in the event that I feel I have over indulged.

I won't go into details as it can be distressing for author and reader alike, suffice to say, I am physically unable to make myself vomit and so rely on a vaguely effective potion of natural remedies (I am no longer able to ingest laxatives given years of abuse), fruit juice, red wine and anything else that comes to hand. Sadly no longer the beloved cigarettes that I currently crave.

I would give anything at this moment to remove the past few hours - yet I know what underlies this current uncertainty.  Being noticed by the opposite sex.  Feeling attractive for the first time in years - and scared by that.  And so fat that I resemble a small beached whale.

But most importantly, I imagine, is to learn to say - "yes I have drunk too much wine, nibbled too much chocolate etc but I'm still gorgeous".

Softly, softly, catch the monkey. 

It would appear that all the worldly advice I have been offered over the past couple of years is, rather annoyingly, accurate.  That it is only when one is happy in oneself and one's own skin, that one truly becomes an interesting package for others to unwrap.  Or so, in my need to poof up my self-esteem, I have come to believe.

Despite the recent raft of odd dates and the strange bumping into the ex-heart-breaker, I am surprisingly feeling at one with myself.  Those who know me well, appreciate the level to which I struggle with 'me' (especially when a close friend tells me that I look better 'bigger' -OH. MY . GOD.  It's a miracle quite frankly that I only indulged in a packet of 10 naughty sticks).  Yet, interestingly, I am feeling happier with life, myself and almost with work, than ever before.   

Oh sure, I still feel the endless insecurities about the size of my stomach, gas bill, alcohol intake etc, yet I am beginning to feel a freedom away from these rules.  Yet that is very scary - where is one without the boundaries that one has developed?  Without the 11 years plus of relationships that have shaped one's existence?

I hope to let you know.  Three dates with three different chaps (if I can curtail my middle-aged spread) may provide me with a level of insight.  If not, some material at least for a few entries here - hopefully of a suitably, and much needed, saucy nature!

Welcome Back

It's been nearly a year since I've dared to blog.  I've altered the identity of my blog in an effort to escape unwelcome prying eyes.  I will divulge details on subsequent postings, suffice to say I have dabbled in the world of cyber dating - and been physically and mentally roughed up.  I have bought my first flat, finally am happy being alone, have the ridiculously happy problem of working out what to do in my spare time, and, at last, feel ready to be 'out there'.

Wish me luck!