Games People Play...

This year is the 75th birthday of the game of Monopoly. As a nation we have been playing Monopoly for the best part of a century, buying and selling fictional houses, going to jail and getting free passes to travel round and round the same board of property squares. It doesn't seem to go out of fashion and is adaptable to every major city of the world.

There is another game that has been in existence for far longer and is played universally in every language and in every place, the Blame Game.  This game is endlessly adaptable.  It does not need a major city and any number of people can play.  The rules change according to who the 'Blamer' is and there can be any number of 'Blamees', living or dead.  The 'Blamees' do not even need to be human, they can be organisations, corporations, banks, institutions, governments, God, the weather, the economy, the military or even animals.  The rules of the game are fairly fluid though they always involve buying and selling guilt, apportioning blame, finding fault,  planning revenge, tearing up paperwork and generally travelling round the same game board for as long as the 'Blamer' chooses.  Often the 'Blamees' choose to stop playing but this doesn't really matter since there are many more 'Blamees' that can be put into their place.  We never seem to tire of this game, not in the way that we inevitably tire of accumulating money and property in Monopoly, iron bars and guns in Cluedo, or even points and seven letter words in Scrabble.  The Blame Game is endlessly satisfying since the main player, the 'Blamer' takes absolutely no responsibility for the outcome.  It always ends up with it being someone else's fault, though there seems to never be a winner. This is an interesting game in that everyone is a loser, though some are bigger losers than others.

So, now that I've outlined the concept of this ever-popular game, the question I put to myself again and again is, 'Why do I keep playing this? What is the pay-off?' I know the outcome, I am aware of how bad I feel after having spent an afternoon playing this game and I always vow that I will never play again. For sure one of the pay-offs is that it is never my fault.  I get to disavow any responsibility for anything I judge to be negative.  I get to be 'Blameless".

Well, now we get to the game of "I can't help it".  This is a game at which I have reached master level.  I have  played this in so many ways and in so many places.  It's great that this game can have so many characters.  You can choose to be the Overeater, the Smoker, the Couch Potato, the Procrastinator - there are endless characters.  The rules of this game are simple and occasionally overlap the Blame Game.  whatever behaviour you demonstrate that does not contribute to a healthier or better you, you reply, "I can't help it' and you get a Get Out of Jail free card.  The more creative excuses you can invent, the further along the 'I can't help it' board you progress.  Again, the big winner looks a lot like the biggest loser. Again, the pay-off is lack of responsibility.

Amazing how many of these games I could describe.  I have played them all and sometimes, like today, I can sit back and laugh at the ridiculousness of the games that I play.  The biggest game of all is the game called 'Who do you think you're kidding, you are only fooling yourself'.  This is the ultimate game for me.  The game of awareness.  At the moments when I see my games and laugh I can begin to let go of them.  I can begin to see that I can serve myself in more genuine ways by facing up to myself squarely and also admitting that I am better than I thinkl. Being so hard on myself is also a game. 

As I sit here with 2011 looming I am willing to play a new game.  It's one I have never played and I don't know the rules.  It might be scary and I might not know all the rules.  There might not even be rules.  It's a game called 'Don't Worry, Be Happy'.  I have no idea if I'd be any good at this, but I suspect that in this game the winner will actually win.  I get to be responsible and I might even get to enjoy this game.

So, to all those out there who are spending the evening playing games, new and old, I wish a very Happy New Year  with much love..

New day, new mood...

Amazing how moods can shift so quickly. Just when I've convinced myself I am inhabiting a world of meditative and calm energy, I wake up irritated with the world.  It seems like everything today and I do mean everything, is irritating and it feels deliberate.  The universe is in a vast aggravating conspiracy and it's personal.

I am angry today.  Nothing is working.  Every comment is taken as criticism by me and I really don't want to be with or near anyone.  I am even finding it hard to be next to myself at the moment.  All I want to do is destroy and ultimately hurt.  This neither feels good or healthy.

I am also able to stand back and marvel at how quickly my moods change.  Yesterday I was feeling loved and cheered and ready to take on the rest of the winter without any depression or wintry blues and today I am walking around like the 'Towering Inferno'.  How odd we are as human beings. Why is this?  What causes me to go into nuclear meltdown mode?

I have no answers for myself or for others.  I am aware that I am being unpleasant, but it's as if I'm holding hot coals, getting burned and unable to put them down. In a local Thai restaurant today I got so angry at the poor quality of the food I was ready to throw things.  Did I?  No. I was terribly English and when the waitress came to take my full plate away at the end of the meal I simply calmly said the food was bad and no, I didn't enjoy it.  I should have raised hell, but polite society demands we maintain a semblance of courtesy. I spent the rest of the afternoon angry that I hadn't said or done more.

As you can see I am still irritated and still scratchy. It is not helped by my constant sneezing and itching skin.  My allergies seem to have increased this winter just when I thought the freezing temperatures had killed off all allergens.  All in all, I am not a pretty picture today.  I just want to let off steam and have no real avenue to do so right now.  So I remain silent (when I'm not ranting).

This is tough because I am in a relationship and my poor husband is on the receiving end of so many of my mood swings.   He is often able to rise above my feelings but unfortunately we are together at the moment for whole days and he often gets caught up in my irrational anger and we wind up re-enacting 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?'. Not a pretty sight.

I am entirely open to this mood changing.  I am willing and open to waking up tomorrow morning filled with the joys of life and the compassion of the Buddhas.  Is this likely?  Ha! Right now it's about as likely as me waking up tomorrow finding myself lying on a beach in sunny Bali.  But you never know.

Christmas cheer...

For the past week I stayed in my friends' place in Holland, the Humaniversity. Ralph and I went there to celebrate Christmas with some of our oldest and dearest friends in Europe. We were well aware of the Arctic weather conditions and the below freezing temperatures, but the decision to spend the holiday there was a done deal as the tickets were bought several weeks ago. The gods of travel allowed my plane to take off on time and so, we were on our way.

Turned out to have been a great decision. I felt totally welcomed and was greeted in just the way you wish your family would embrace you after a long absence. The welcome was unequivocal. The snow enveloped us all in this magical Narnia landscape and it felt like the countryside encouraged nothing more than soft muffled whispers.

In the Humaniversity community it was different. There was week long coming together group happening and the participants were gently (and not so softly, but always lovingly), being encouraged to come out of themselves and find out who they could be if they were to live life authentically.

It occurred to me, as I sat in on some of the group sessions how much we all, without exception, struggle to live our lives well.  So many of us and I include myself in this, do exactly the opposite of what it is we think we want. Our behaviour sabotages our intentions and then when the results are way off course, we are surprised and disappointed.  Sometimes we get to blame others for our veering off course and sometimes we beat ourselves up. Whatever the reason, as human beings we often make mistakes and when we do we are distressed.

Ralph pointed out to the group how important it is that we make mistakes.  We have to keep travelling unfamiliar paths and getting lost or getting it wrong so we can discover what it is that's right.  Most of the time I see that I'm afraid to take those risks, to make those mis-steps, so that I continue to tread a familiar and comfortable path, but that well-trodden path is not as exciting and stimulating as it could be. How tough it is for us to trust that what is off the road has so much possibility of joy, that to get it wrong is to also get it right.

It was great to be amongst so many friends for such a sustained time.  I felt so warmly received and so blessed this Christmas.  On Christmas Eve we shared a traditional English turkey dinner.  Funny that I had to go to Holland to do that and on the evening of Christmas Day there was a lovely Diner Dansant when we all go to dress up and dance till the early hours.  During the evening one of my friends proposed to his girlfriend.  He got down on one knee and did the whole romantic shebang, with diamond ring and 'will you marry me?' proposal.  Everyone loved it and I have to say that there was barely a dry eye in the place. A perfect moment that I was touched to share.

Now I am home and recovering from excessive socialising and few too many glasses of grappa. I have retreated to my bed and reveled in the fact that I have nothing to do for the next few days.  Yes, I have to fill out my tax forms and do a report for work, but all of that can wait until next week. Right now I want nothing more than warm blankets, hot drinks and lots old movies on TV.  I don't particularly want to relate to anyone for a bit and I know this is a bit rough on my spouse, but he also spent a week int he company of others and now has lots of work to catch up on.

London is dark and dank and misty at the moment.  Winter is in full swing.  I am still awaiting the arrival of the depression that has arrived each winter and so far, no really heavy signs.  i think it's time for me to stop waiting for this and to give up on its arrival. Maybe this year I've broken a pattern.  Maybe this year I've finally been able to make a choice to do it differently.  As I approach the arrival of 2011 I think this will be a good resolution - to do it differently, to make more new mistakes and to approach my life with courage. Who knows what new directions will emerge?

Happy Holidays

Well, the snow has melted and the heavens have agreed that my flight can leave London on time.  Off for a few days to the Humaniversity in Holland.  This means there may be no blog entries for a couple of days or maybe just short updates.

For those of you in celebratory moods I wish you a wonderful Christmas, Kwanzaa, Festivus or whatever and a Happy and Fabulous New Year.

I have every intention of eating, drinking and being very merry!

Pushmi-pullyu...

In the childrens' stories of Doctor Doolittle (you remember, the guy who talked to animals), there is a animal that is a cross between a gazelle and a unicorn called the Pushmi-Pullyu (pronounced push me pull you).  It has a gazelle head at one end and a unicorn's head at the other and both want to go in their own direction creating much chaos and humour.

This push-pull counter force is very much in operation here in my house at the moment.  On Wednesday I am off to Holland to stay with friends for Christmas.  I am really looking forward to this.  My Holland friends are very special to me and have a big place in my heart.  I am delighted to have so much time with Ralph when we are both free of obligations and it promises to be a great few days away.  So why is it that a part of me, a big part, wants to get into bed, pull up the covers and get up only to eat and take an occasional walk in the snow?

I have a dining room table covered in Christmas presents and am busy baking and cooking things to take with.  I can't bring myself to wrap any of the gifts we're bringing and want to devour the baked goods in one gigantic binge.  Push me-pull you indeed!

The weather and the transport networks of London are also in this push-pull energy.  The absolutely freezing temperatures, colder than I've known it here for over 40 years, has caused ice on roads and frozen runways at airports.  Combine this with snow, heavy snow, throughout Europe that has caused airports to close and people are completely unsure as to whether or not to head off for the airport or wait at home for more news..  Will I actually get the chance to go anywhere at all on Wednesday?

Recently a friend of mine posted a quote that said that worrying is another way of praying for things you hope won't happen.  I've been doing a lot of that lately. As a matter of fact I think I am becoming a convert to this worrying religion.  Will my plane leave London?  Will the airport here be open?  Will the Amsterdam airport be open?  Will the trains in Holland be running?  Will all the gifts fit into the suitcases?  How will I get to the airport?  What time should I leave for the airport?  When do I start nagging Ralph? Ignore the last question, I've already started.

Meanwhile the push me-pull you action means that it's 5pm and I'm sitting around in my dressing gown.  Admittedly I've baked six dozen chocolate chip cookies today and eaten only half, but the desire to make myself presentable to the world has vanished.  I cannot get my head clear at all.  I can't think of what sort of clothes I might need for a few days staying with friends who live on the edge of the North Sea.  Even saying that makes me feel cold. I have nothing packed or even planned.

The indecisiveness I feel is another of those seasonal symptoms.  Everything, but everything feels like just too much trouble. Every decision feels earth-shattering, every action feels like it weighs too much.  I just want things easy and if I really stop and think about it, it is, but I keep forgetting to do that.  The push me-pull you forces are all in my imagination and the worrying - well, that's just something I am so used to and so good at that I do it without any hesitation. 

Many years ago I remember saying to my mother-in-law, a sweet little English woman of about 89, that there was no need for her to worry about us, about her grandchildren, her sisters, her friends and anything and anyone else that could be worried about.  She looked at me as if I was mad and quietly smiled and said, "Somebody has to do it!".

So lucky me, I live with the other half of the push me-pull you creature, the just calm down and stop nagging, it will all work out fine husband. It helps a lot.

Hot toddies, hot chocolate, warm rooms...

As I sit in my living room watching the snow fall in huge white flakes outside in my magical garden I can only reflect on how lucky I feel today.  As the world turns white and airports are shut, roads are impassable and shops bemoan the lack of pre-Christmas customers, I am feeling so fortunate to be sitting in this warm, cozy space surrounded by things to do, treats to eat and such a sense of safety.

In past years I have dreaded the arrival of winter.  It has always heralded sadness and depression that engulfed me in a cloud of doom.  This year I am looking at the world through differently tinted spectacles.  I dug out my wonderful warm sheepskin boots,my big sheepskin jacket, thermal gloves and hats and I even went for a walk as the snow blizzarded down around me.  It only made me laugh at how much we actually are at the mercy of the weather.  There really is no arguing with nature when it decides to override all the Christmas preparations and shopping plans. Today was one of those days when the legacy of living with parents for whom hunger was a reality paid off. It means that in my house there is always enough food for at least a few weeks so the idea of running out of things doesn't occur to me and there is none of the panic buying that the newspapers report.  I am not in danger of getting caught in a London blizzard that strands my car in sudden snowdrifts and I am not worried about carrying emergency chocolates, hot drinks, torches or flares in case of breakdowns.  I will just not get in my car.  I live around the corner from functioning bus stops and food stores.

The streets are wonderfully quiet today.  The snow has cushioned and softened all sound and even seems to have performed a minor miracle in softening peoples' hurry-up attitudes.  Walking down the street as the snow crunches underfoot everyone smiles and looks each other in the eyes and somehow all of us remember when we were younger and delighted with the snowfall.  I saw one snowman and one snow duck (!), kids carrying sleds to the park and dozens of cars skidding along the road.

Winter days like today are rare.  Even as the sun sets the garden is lit by the whiteness of the snow.  The world is completely magical and so what if the buses aren't running, the cars are stuck at the bottom of the hill and the shops are all shut early.  There is hot chocolate and cake, hot soup bubbling on the stove and a lovely cocoon to live in. I never felt so happy to be exactly where I am as I am in this moment.

Mr. Holland's Opus

In 1995 I saw a film with one of my least favourite actors, Richard Dreyfus.  Even though I still cringe when that particular actor comes on the screen I try and catch the re-run of this one movie, 'Mr. Holland's Opus' whenever I see it advertised.  It was a film that stuck with me for a long time and still has the power to make me cry.

The film is about a musician who is desperately trying to write his one fantastic life work.  He works at it and it seems just out of reach.  He then marries and very quickly has a child so he gives up his dream of writing music and takes a job as a schoolteacher. the film then goes through his life outlining the events that conspire to prevent him from living his dream of writing his 'opus'.  At the end of the film he finally realises that his 'opus' is not the illusive piece of music he never completed, but the lives he touched through his teaching and through the rest of his life.

The premise of this film touched me very deeply. I feel like I have lived most of my life by accident.  I never had a vision of a masterpiece waiting to be painted, or a book waiting to be written and I wonder, as I get into the later years of my life, what do I leave behind.  Whose lives have I touched, what have I genuinely created?

After over sixty years of life I really do sit back on some days and think that I have achieved nothing and there are other days, and maybe those are the days in which the sun shines, when I believe that I have touched many lives in many small ways.  The trouble for me is that I would have liked to be a Mozart, a Rembrandt, a Gandhi or at a pinch, the Dalai Lama!  Instead I am me, low-key and unsure.  I wonder if Rembrandt felt like this during his lifetime?

I never dismiss the fact that I have given birth to and raised wonderful children.  They are reasonably well-adjusted human beings and they both bring a depth of understanding and empathy into the lives of those around them.  In some small way this is down to me (and their dad) and the parenting I have done.  It's also down to dumb luck and does make me believe the words of one of my teachers who always assured me that if you come from a loving space inside yourself, ytou can't get it too far wrong.  Certainly I had no idea what I was doing when I had my children.  I never read books on being a mum, nor did I consult experts.  I just sort of muddled through with my own life and some of it rubbed off.

I would have liked to produce a masterpiece though I reckon I am a bit too lazy to ever do that.  I could never have built cathedrals or become a Michelin-starred chef - too much sustained hard work involved.  As I get older I become even more lazy.  I would like instant results and instant recognition.

No, wait, that's not true.  I am actually petrified of real recognition. I want to do what I do and in small ways I want people to know about it.  I want to be acknowledged as an expert in diversity management in organisations, I want to be feted as a good host and great cook and mostly I want to be known as a good person, but quietly.  I just don't want to crow about it.  That feels a bit dangerous.  Tall poppy syndrome, I guess.

When I reach the end of my life, what is it that I am going to wish I had done?  What is it that I have done?  I think I'd better start acknowledging myself now, because the fact that I don't may turn out to be my biggest regret.  I know, deeply know, that I have touched many lives and crept into many hearts.  I'm just not sure how and maybe I need to start looking inside me now so when I get to the point where I no longer remember my own name, maybe I can remember how it feels to be me. Maybe this will be my 'opus'.

Does this make any sense????

Pleasing myself...

Today has been a day of solitary pleasures and a bit of idleness.  I had no work and no pressing engagements for the day.  Ralph went off to work at 8am and won't be back till late evening.  Suddenly I was faced with hours and hours of aloneness.

I decided early on that I had no desire to go out today.  I  felt a bit slow and aimless and was finding the motivation to get a daily dose of daylight pretty hard to muster.  There actually was hardly any daylight today since the cloud cover barely lifted.  The idea of getting all winterised with boots, scarf, gloves, hat, sweater, etc. did not appeal at all so I made a conscious decision to stay home.  Having made that decision I got out of bed early, dressed and put on full make-up. How funny to do this even though I wasn't seeing anyone.  I think it comes from a need to not frighten myself as I pass a mirror.  I like the way I look with all my paint on, it's that simple. I planned a day of sewing, knitting and baking.  In other words, a good day.

At some point this afternoon I realised I was missing contact  with people.  I could have picked up the phone and had a conversation with someone but I felt I had nothing to say and making small talk did not appeal.  I started to wonder what my life would look like if I was completely on my own.  Don't get me wrong, I love being in the relationship I have, I wouldn't have it any other way, but very occasionally I wonder what my life would be like if I only had me to consult about my decisions.

What would my home look like if I didn't have to consult with the uber-designer I live with?  I think it would be far more decorated.  There would be more colour and print and craft.  I believe that I temper my own style according to the style of my partner, but I'm not sure  any more whether that's true.  I know I would not have white bed sheets and white towels.  I would not have white dishes and white coffee mugs.  There would be print and colour, but it's not that important. After so long being tasteful I don't really know another way.

I would not cook much for myself.  Today I ate some rice crackers and smoked salmon, three apples, a handful of baby carrots, one tiny chocolate and a baked sweet potato.  Lots of orange foods I notice as I list them! I did bake two gorgeous fruit and nut cakes, but they're gifts and not for eating here. I would definitely not cook real meals and certainly not every day.  Living with someone means I eat healthier and more consistently.

I think I would fall into depression more readily if I lived alone.  I have, as others may have noticed, a tendency to do this in the winter and  the presence of someone else, and particularly someone else who loves me, keeps me more balanced.  It would be very easy to go off on my own and spend whole days in bed and watching TV. Incredibly tempting.

I sometimes ask myself whether I would return to the States if I was on my own.  It used to be a simple question to answer.  Of course.  Now, I'm not so sure.  The pull of having my children across the ocean is tremendous, but I no longer feel American.  I can't abide the political mess the country is in though I feel equally enraged about the state of UK politics.  My friends are scattered all over the world and I can't think of one place I feel connected to, except for London.  Now that's a bit of a surprise.

Maybe if I was on my own I would have face lifts, tummy tucks, liposuction,  botox and other plastic surgery procedures.  You know what, I wouldn't do that.  I like the way I'm aging.  I've earned all my lines and wrinkles and intend to cultivate many, many more. Whether I was alone or in a relationship I would still want to look like me.

So all this self-indulgent nonsense from having 16 aimless hours on my own.  It's actually a luxury and now that it's almost over, I want more alone time.  There is no pleasing some people, but there's always tomorrow.

Morning musings...

Last night I went to dinner with some old friends and some new ones.  We were all, bar one, Jewish and all not religious.  The discussions of the evening seemed to be about Israel, the politics, the country and our feelings about this puzzling nation.  One of the party lived part of the year in Israel and this is what prompted the discussion.

I remembered the one and only time I had visited Israel.  This was in July 1968.  I wasn't terribly keen to go there, but I wanted to travel for a few months on my own.  I was only nineteen and the only way my parents would even consider letting me go thousands of miles away alone and partially funding my foreign travels was if I started off in Israel staying with some cousins.  Trying to recall the events and my impressions of Israel over forty years ago was a bit of stretch though a few events and places do standout.

I stayed first with my dad's nephews and my aunt in Hadera, a place about 25 miles from Tel Aviv.  I remember that they kept chickens, it was horribly hot and I went to the cinema to see a French guy called Johnny Hallyday in an unknown movie.  My overall impression was that the wholeplace was terribly provincial and looking back, I see that I amust have seemed an insufferable little snob.  I felt, and presumably acted, quite superior to the Israeli teenagers I met and felt American and modern and different.  My cousin's friend wanted to go out with me and I think he wanted to get very serious very fast in order to get to the USA by any means, but I was above all of that. It was also the first and only time in my life I got around by bicycle and this meant that I was more than a little nervous most of the time.  i am a very wobbly cyclist!

I do remember being delighted by the city of Haifa, the old city of Jerusalem and a few other places, but mostly it was hot. Now I look back and think about how much of the trip was wasted on me.  I looked down my nose at so much and refused to enjoy myself.  I was a fairly recalcitrant child and a budding ugly American abroad.  Because  of this and the sense that I never really visited the Israel I would now like to see as an adult means I am considering a trip there in future.

I have no connection to Israel  as a homeland.  Well, actually I do, but only in that I would not like to see harm come to this nation of Jews.  On some level, they are connected to me, but only historically, rather than religiously.  When I was there in 1968 I remember being  overwhelmed by the fact that everyone was Jewish.  It was as if the world had suddenly become safer for me, but this changed to normalcy when I realised that just being Jewish doesn't preclude unpleasantness, or idiocy, or any other character traits held in common by people.  We were no more the same people than those I meet in London or Holland.  We had religion in common and a history of persecution.  Not exactly the basis of a life long love affair. 

Now I am willing to give this country another go.  I am willing to see Israel as a Middle Eastern nation filled with culture and history.  Tel Aviv has some of the best preserved Bauhaus architecture in the world and the sun shines, there are great museums, markets and pretty good food.  All these things combined with some new Israeli friends and some re-connections with distant family and maybe we have a holiday destination.

It's time for me to drop my ancient prejudices against the Zionist imperative and give the country a chance.  I keep waiting for things to become more peaceful there, less dangerous, but it's no more dangerous than any other big city nowadays.  So who knows, maybe in the Spring it'll be time to visit.

I am not writing anymore today.  My arm aches from a flu shot that I had this morning in a moment of fear. I think I will go to sleep.  Bliss...

Year 2...

So, do I wait until January 1st to make some resolutions for the coming year or do I use the first anniversary of my blogging as an excuse to sit down and outline any lessons I have learned over the past year so that those lessons can inform my actions for the coming year?  Good question.  Better still is the question as to whether or not I have actually learned anything over the past 365 days.  I think the only way I am going to be able to come to any meaningful conclusions is to re-read about 350 pages of text to see what I can discover about myself.

I just went through all of these old blog entries and I've been able to establish a definite pattern.  I am obsessed with food.  No wonder  I have such a battle with my weight, so much of my writing is about what I've eaten, what I'm going to eat, what I've been cooking or what I intend to cook.  In the past year I have eaten my way through mountains of food and what I have learned is that it is possible to have your cake and eat it too.

I see that there is a problem being married to a man who never gains weight.  I bake my speciality items and proudly present them to him, my beloved husband, just as a good little housewife should.  He umms and ahs and makes all the right noises of approval and even deigns to taste my offerings.  And then, well, he forgets it's there.  Forgets completely and maybe four or five days later will come to me and ask for a bit of cake or a portion of that dessert.  Of course, by then I will have scoffed the entire lot.  In my house, as I was growing up, sweets never lasted more than the day of their making.  No one thought about tomorrow or saving the best for last. There had been too much of that in our lives.  I even used to eat my dessert first sometimes, being someone who never liked to delay satisfaction.

The next morning... early Sunday

I didn't finish writing last night and something felt off about what I was writing.  It was all true but not filled with me, if that makes any sense.  This morning (5.30am) I am awake and sorting through old photos and papers and filled with a different self than the self that was on paper yesterday. Less frivolous, more serious.  Listening to the wonderful
Yo Yo Ma playing Ennio Morricone with the dawning light just beginning to creep through my windows I am surrounded by piles of old photos.  Most of them taken more than 25 years ago.  I was young and tanned and unlined.  Most of the photos were taken in Italy during the many summer trips we took to see our dear friends.  There are a number of photos taken in Umbria and Tuscany that record Ralph, our daughter and myself in the summer following the death of our son in 1984.  The photos are often pensive and even sad, but so full of feeling.  I broke down in tears at one point and sat back and took a breath and realised that as healed as we get, as much time that passes after the death of someone we loved, there is still memory and memory in order to remain alive must also encompass the sadness.  How difficult this sometimes is for me.  I would like to carry on remembering my son, my mother, my aunt, my uncle and some dear friends, but I would so like to only have the good memories.  That's not 100% true - the child part of me, the small person inside who misses those people I so loved, would like to never feel sad or hurt, but my adult self knows that all the joyous and the painfully sad feelings make up those wondrous, alive, fulfilling memories. As I look at the photos I remember so clearly I feel like a time traveller. 

And now I come back to what I have learned over the past year.  I have deeply and fully learned that who I am is exactly who I am meant to be.  There is no further potential to be filled, no other path I need to be on. No ideal weight I need to be. It is all and I mean all, inside me.  I bring it out to display at times and then it dazzles like a mirror reflecting the sun, not just me, but also those around me.  And sometimes, most of the time, I keep myself in my heart and it nourishes me in a quieter private way.  I have learned a little bit to listen, not to others (I am not so great at that) but to the self that wants to be heard and deserves so much more air time.  I continue to appreciate and value my loving heart, the heart that yearns for more of everything and wants to grab the world close in a huge warm embrace.

I have learned also this year that I am a bit of sentimental old fool, weepy and maudlin and wallowing in lachrymosity.  I am overweight, I am beautiful and I am spectacularly perfect.
Yesterday a friend quoted something on the lines of

'It will all work out in the end and if it hasn't worked out, you haven't reached the end yet.'

This is a good a place to stop for now. I wish you all the dawn of a peaceful day filled with love.

Chili indoors and out...

Today I am making chili - hot, spicy, rich, meaty chili.  Perfect food for a winter weekend.  I haven't made this for such a long time.  It used to be one of those American staples that I cooked for dinners with friends or large parties.  Somehow, in the quest to be more fashionable and more nouvelle, I forgot all about this great one pot meal. In this weather there is no place for the delicacy of duck breast salads or light fish suppers, so chili has been resurrected from my past cookery repertoire and is bubbling away as I write.

So, there I was, in my dressing gown and big sheepskin boots, at 7am, in the kitchen up to my ears in herbs and spices.  Of course, at that very moment I decided to do my annual spice cupboard clearing.  Oy, do I accumulate cooking ingredients.  I could make curries for thousands, feed multitudes with Chinese spices or bake cakes to feed hungry hoards.  I refuse to be caught short.  What if there's a food emergency?  What if I can't make it the 100 yards up the road to the local shop?  In order to feel secure and protected I want more than milk, eggs and bread.  I want cumin and fenugreek.  I want star anise and zatar. I want South African Malay spice and Polish vegetable stock.  All this and much, much more was in the cupboard.

I found lots of packets of dried fruit, dates, currants, ginger, pineapple, orange, raisins and nuts.  I decided that rather than find tiny jars to store all these small amounts I could bake a big, spiced Christmas style cake.  I mixed all the fruits and nuts together, added a batter into which I put cinnamon, ginger, cloves, honey, brown sugar, vanilla, butter, oil and flour and eggs.  Voila!  A cake emerged from my oven about an hour ago and it's great.  I know this because even though I'm watching my weight I had to test this experimental baking.  What if it was terrible? How could I give it to anyone?  So I had no choice but to cut a slice and then, to make doubly certain that it was good, I had to take a second slice.  The verdict - great cake.  I only wish I'd written down what I did because I'll never be able to repeat this miracle of leftovers.

This is a cautionary tale because when I look back to the start of my blog exactly one year ago tomorrow, I see that I also was watching my weight then, or at least I was at a weight that felt fairly OK.  Then I started baking and cooking.  I didn't put on weight over the winter through eating shop-bought cakes and chocolates. No, I put on pounds, kilos and stones because I was eating my own cooking.  Ridiculous.  I didn't even have the willpower to not cook, never mind not eat.

So this year's lesson might be that I should just not cook, or bake or go near another kitchen. Maybe the lesson is only make things I don't like, but that's going to be difficult, because except for okra (not much call for that), I pretty much just like everything.  Also the idea of not giving myself the creative outlet of cooking just for the sake of an inch or two or four on my waistline, I'll opt for the cooking.

Now the chili is ready and some of it goes in the freezer for another cold winter night and the rest will be served on Sunday to friends. I just might have to have a small taster bowl - no good serving untasted food to friends. You can see my problem here.  Food just screams at me to be eaten.  I am trying to cultivate a love of that hungry, empty feeling whilst being aware of how lucky I am that I can eat when I choose and have more than I will ever use. At this time of year it pays to remember that. Always cultivate gratitude for cupboards full of spices, cakes, chilis and everything else that I have and sometimes take for granted.

Emergency over...

Isn't it amazing how one single episode in the day can start a whole spiral of imagined events in my mind.  Let me expand on this for a bit.

This morning I went to the hairdresser. Nothing unusual in that, I pretty much do this every six weeks.  My hairdresser is in a trendy, upmarket area of London and I always try and make a bit of a fashion effort when I go there. The place is populated by young, trendy Londoners and I don't want to feel like a suburban Jewish old lady, even if I am.  So I got dressed nicely and decided to change my handbag too.  The new handbag was one of those 'organiser' bags.  What this means is that the bag has many, many pockets.  Pockets for train passes, pens, mobile phones, ipods, zips, buttons, buckles and all sorts of bells and whistles. This actually drives me nuts.  The more pockets there are, the more likelihood there is that I will be scrabbling around frantically looking for the pocket that contains my phone, the place where I put my bus pass and the compartment into which I threw all that loose change.  Invariably my phone rings and rings and by the time I've found it, the person has hung up. I am generally better off with a bag that is just a huge sack that I can throw everything into.

I arrived at the hairdresser, was offered my cappuccino and went to have my hair washed. I sat down and made myself comfortable in the reclining massage chair while I had a relaxing head massage and hair wash.  Bliss. I picked up my 'organiser' bag aqnd sat down to have my hair cut.  I love watching my hairdresser work his symmetrical magic as he snips and cuts.  An hour later, all done and looking good, Cynthia.

Standing in the freezing cold waiting for the bus, I bouunced up and down in a fruitless attempt to keep warm.  Once I was on the bus I amused myself by looking into all the windows we passed and tried to imagine the lives of those within. When I was nearly home I thought I would check my phone for any calls I might have missed.  I looked in one pocket, in another, unzipped another section of the damned dis-organiser bag and no phone., I checked the three, four, five other pockets and still no phone. I re-checked the entire bag and finally had to admit to myself that my phone was gone. 

Immediately I felt a wave of dread and anxiety rise inside me.  It almost took me by surprise how papable the feelings were.  One minute I felt absolutely fine, happy with my newly cut hair and planning the shopping I would do on my way home and the next moment there I was, imagining all the repercussions of losing my phone.  I saw myself not having all the phone numbers I rely on, the mobile numbers of family in the States, of business contacts and the hassle of having to call the phone provider and get everything cancelled.  I just  bought this phone a week ago and I was kicking myself for losing it already.  I calmed myself down a bit and started to re-trace my steps.  Was my phone stolen from one of the many unsecured pockets in my bag?  This made me completely panic.  Stolen phone, all my contacts, my identity in the hands of a stranger... but wait, didn't I leave my bag on the floor in the hairdresser?  Didn't I up-end it at one point and maybe not notice that my phone had fallen out?  But yes, of course this was what must have happened.  Phew.

As quickly as the feelings of panic rose, they subsided.  I knew that  my phone was under the chair I had reclined in to have my hair washed.  All I had to do was phone the the hairdressers and they would keep it for me until I could pick it up.  I could carry on with my shopping and calmish journey home.  Relax, breathe, breathe some more. More distressing for me was how quickly I was unbalanced over this loss.  I suddenly saw my world collapsing over the loss of a stupid phone.  This is terribly unsettling.  The fact that I could be shaken up in this way was not the mark of a woman in control of her life.  And yet, I saw it all.  I watched the feelings rise and they didn't last that long.  I felt the anxiety take hold and was disturbed by it immediately.  I also was able to stop and think logically in order to work out what might have happened.

I suddenly stopped worrying.  The anxiety dissipated.  My blood pressure dropped back to normal.  As soon as I walked in my door I was on the phone to the hairdresser and as I thought, they found my phone.  Emergency over.  Crisis averted. Breathe deeply.

Maybe next time something silly like this happens I can remember with the benefit of hindsight what happened today.  Maybe next time I'll be able to stay calm in the face of an imagined catastrophe.  Maybe next time I can even stop catastrophising altogether.  I guess the first step is the one I took today - just noticing. Maybe soon there won't be a next time.

The Emperor's new clothes...

Oh the excitement, the anticipation, the thrill and the delight that greeted me today.  Today I decided to go shopping for some new clothes. To real shops,  with clothes at full price!  The trip to the shops was in response to the hysterical laughter by my endlessly amused and amusing husband over my weekend at home loungewear. I thought it was fine.


Back to today... Have you ever had one of those wonderful days when you woke up in a good mood, showered, dressed and actually felt thin?   Boy, what a novelty for me.  I am not by any stretch of the imagination, thin, but today I felt it.  Whether it was because I was standing up straighter, dressing more elegantly, or just kidding myself, it was and still is this afternoon, a nice feeling. Also, it was an unfamiliar feeling and had me busily singing in the car as I drove to the shops.

Christmas spirit is well and truly up and running and I do mean running.  Today was an ordinary freezing cold Monday morning.  Children went to school, most adults went to work, but lots and lots of women went shopping.  I was once again in a male-free shopping zone and in North London the women are famously fierce.  I have rarely seen such feral creatures so intent on capturing those perfect presents.  The queues to pay were long, snake-like lines in each shop and the shop staff in most places still managed to smile (it was only 10.30am).

I was enjoying the free spirit I felt myself to be.  I had no long list of presents I had to buy and no obligations today.  A truly free day.  I went from shop to shop and tried on completely unsuitable clothing.  There is nothing more likely to give one a wake-up call than a full-length mirror in a communal changing room.  Did I say I felt thin?  Wrong.  The sizing system of all the shops I went to conspired to let me know that my feelings of slim loveliness were just that, feelings with little if any basis in reality.  I am not a svelte,sylph-like creature, but a rather older chunky Jewish lady.  And you know what was delightful for me?  I didn't care. It didn't dampen my mood one bit.  I just fetched bigger sizes and tried on more things I didn't buy.  I did buy one top that is so unsuitable I don''t know that I'll ever wear it, but I love myself for having the confidence to buy it. Maybe this ruffled,layered pale peach number I now own will join my comedy wardrobe of weekend wear.  Who cares.

I had such fun today.  I bought make-up.  Chatted to some shop assistants while trying on eye shadows and had a whale of a time. In the end I hardly spent any money.  The thermal vests I thought I might buy were sold out everywhere as the great British public freezes and panics. I am enjoying my ordinary Monday filled with tiny pleasures. No meditation, no striving for enlightenment, just a simple good day.

Softly, quietly enjoying...

For the past few days I've been sick with a sneezy, snotty cold.  Full of self-pity,  I slept for two days and now feel a bit better so this morning, the first sunny one for weeks, I took a walk.  As I was walking the familiar streets of my neighbourhood I noticed that most people were smiling today.  After so many days of bitter cold and snow, there was a palpable sense of relief in the air, as well as a smidget of warmth.

Rather than having cabin fever from spending so much time indoors, at the moment I am absolutely luxuriating in the awareness that I am safe, warm and happy.  I am sitting here in my usual spot on the couch and working hard to try and figure out what is different this year.  Why didn't that much-feared and much anticipated depression arrive this winter?  What have I done differently?  Has there been a planetary shift that's affected my hormones? Has my changed diet made a difference?  Am I coming down with an attack of sanity?  Ralph always used to kid me by saying that he would know when I was showing the first signs of Alzheimers because I would get happy.  Is this what's happening or am I just bored with the sameness of my misery?

Maybe that's it.  The misery and depression I suffer from most winters is always the same.  I always follow the same patterns.  I want to sleep all day.  I eat twice as much as normal.  I forget to do any of the things that make me happy. I feel as if it will never end, never let up and I feel like dying. Maybe after so many seasons of this I am finally saying 'Enough!' Maybe I finally admitted to myself that dying is not a reasonable option and also admitted that being half-dead while still alive is horrible. If this is one of the reasons I feel more uplifted and more balanced this winter, then that's fine.

In trying to analyse this winter's difference I also have to admit that I am eating in a healthier, more nourishing way.  Last winter I seemed to allow myself an orgy of cakes, sweets, puddings, baked goods and various Christmas treats.  This year I am eating hardly any sugar and far fewer carbohydrates and maybe that's also contributed to my increased energy.  Don't get carried away - when I say increased energy I mean that I only want an afternoon nap every day, not 18 hours of sleep out of every 24.  I haven't yet climbed mountains or even been to the gym, but I do take more walks (especially if there are shops along the route).

And finally, writing.  What a joy and delight it is finding my voice.  I am still struggling to clarify my true voice on a page, but what a wonderful journey it is.  Writing down my thoughts and my history has helped me clarify myself.  I feel much more grounded in who I am am and much more connected with where I came from.  I am finding it really therapeutic to record all my quirks and moods.  To be able to stand back and re-read where I am has meant that what initially seemed so serious has faded and what is important has left a pure impression on me.  I have to admit that after a year of doing this blog almost daily it has become a habit (?), an addiction(?), a daily treat for myself and a special gift.  Who would have imagined a year ago that I would have found this.  I always imagined that when I found the outlet for my emotions it would have been through art and painting, but it's been much more through writing and cooking and remembering. 

For many years I have been concerned with the role of memory in our lives.  What is the point?  Do we spend so much time looking at the past just to beat ourselves up about our unsuccessful present.  Are we all frustrated Freudians looking back in order to justify and understand?  For  me, I have found an answer.  Not the definitive one, that still remains to be discovered, but I have found out that through memory and recollection and exploration I have discovered the person that I am now.  I am an accumulation of those memories, places, people and events that have preceeded me.  I am a wonderful jigsaw puzzle of all those genetic imprints, but I am also like a cake recipe and like a recipe, it may look the same to each person who reads it, but it depends on the person making the cake as to the end result.  I get to be the ultimate alchemist of my life.  I get to distill all these memories and events into my self.  I get to decide how I will be and right at this moment, I have decided that I will be a masterpiece.

Oh No!

Last night was the first night of Chanukah.  For days I've been anticipating the arrival of this annual festival of light.  As I said, a few days ago I fetched the menorah, haphazardly polished it, got the candles out and even had a latke trial run.  So what happened yesterday, the official first night?  We forgot.  Forgot all about it.  I came home from work exhausted, freezing cold, ice and snow on the ground and Ralph home with a bad cold.  I put some dinner together, though I'm not sure if rice crackers and porridge count as dinner, watched some bad reality TV and fell asleep.  At 3 am I awoke with a start and remembered the candles.  At 6am Ralph woke up feeling worse than the day before.  When I told him we had forgotten to light the first night candles he suggested we do it at 6 am, but that thought really didn't appeal to me, so I went back to sleep.

What sort of disorganised life am I living where I can't even remember to do the things I want to do, never mind the things I am obligated to do.  I often allow my life to overwhelm me and don't stop often enough to take stock, think about what I want and muster the energy to do  things.  A bit of me really understands why people used to retire at 60.  For the last year I feel like I have been going through the motions of living my working life.  I get up very early, get my make-up on, this seems to take a little longer every year, and set off for work.  I drive to the train station in the cold and dark, having first de-iced the car windows, and travel to work.  I get off the train in the dark and enter the building where I run my courses only to emerge eight hours later in the dark and reverse my morning journey.  I stand for most of my train journey home and am in two minds as to whether I want to look old and tired enough for someone to offer me a seat or prefer to stand and keep my dignity.  I get back in my car and sit in a traffic jam for the next half hour.  When I get home I try to be creative about dinner, but often, as it did last night, it consists of something weird, easy and immediate.  Food, TV, sleep is the usual evening pattern.

This is not much of a life.  It is not enough.  Sure I can do this and yes, we need the income that work brings, but I think I am a bit fed up with this habitual pattern I seem to have fallen into.  I want to be somewhere else.  I don't even think I physically want to be somewhere else, but  the way that I approach my life needs to be relocated or re-framed in some way.  I want to live in a more satisfying way.  The question for me is how?  I know all the maxims about the more energy you put out, the more you have, but at the moment I feel depleted.  I do have to admit that I am actually quite lazy. There, I've said it.  I am a lazy person.

This admission of laziness is both easy and difficult.  It's easy to say it because it feels absolutely true, but it's difficult because I grew up believing laziness was a terrible sin.  To be lazy meant that you were selfish, that you didn't care about other people, that your life was only about yourself and what you wanted. Is this true?  Yes and no.  I do want to be left unbothered and alone and in this I do feel selfish.  When I feel this way I really don't care too much for others but I can rouse myself from my slothful stupor if needed.

There is a big difference for me between busyness and laziness.  I can be very busy and still recognise the lazy streak in myself.  I am endlessly busy, or I could be if I wasn't so lazy. There is always something to do, somewhere to go or something to shop for.  I just want to get off the merry-go-round of life for a bit.

These snow days in London are a bit of a gift.  When the snow is thick on the ground everything slows down and gets so much quieter. I actually believe that the reason we are so bad here at coping with a little bit of snow - the trains don't run, the airports shut, schools closed - is because we want it that way. Just as winter really hits and everyone wants to hibernate, the British powers that be arrange things in such a way that we can take a few days off to live in pajamas in our warm, cozy houses.  I applaud this national inefficiency.

So, as a result of the weather, Ralph being home sick and my not working until next week, I have decided to embrace my inner laziness.  I am putting my arms round my laziness and hugging it to myself.  I will allow it for as long as I am not bored into action. I will bring compassionate awareness to my slothful self.

Meanwhile, today I will also try and remember to light the second night of candles for Chanukah.  I wish everyone a time of illumination, joy and great potato latkes!