witteringwendybird

[witteringwendybird]

In the search of Zen.

The past few weeks have been a kind of journey for me. A sabbatical devoted entirely to myself. A chance to question what I really want from my life and to decide what I no longer need. It’s actually been a lot easier than I thought it would be. By selfishly, only having myself to please, I’ve not had to consider the opinions of anyone else and it’s incredibly refreshing. It’s like a time-out from life and all of it’s responsibilities. 

I chose not just to make it a mental change. I started a new exercise regime and overhauled my diet completely. I wanted the whole body and mind experience. I wanted to feel stronger inside and out. I chose body weight exercises rather than a gym class and so far it’s a real buzz. The endorphins kick off in the early morning workout and keep me going all day. I can see the muscle change already and it’s making me feel good. I chose a mostly low fat, high protein diet which helps fuel me through the dreaded muscle burn and non-processed, so it’s easier for my body to cope with the change. I missed ice cream so that’s one I treat myself with now and again. Its a tiny, but delicious reward that I refuse to surrender.

The concept behind Zen is to experience fully the moment which you are in. To be able to put aside the stresses of the past and the future and to immerse yourself completely in the present. A little like a cat laying in the sunshine on a beautiful summer day , stretching out it’s body to soak up the warmth. I find myself purring along. My stress management training taught me about deep breathing and relaxation techniques  and also the practice of mindfulness, so I knew how to achieve a meditative state, I just wasn’t sure I could apply it to the outside world. When I’m driving , for example, can I remain calm in a traffic jam through roadworks at rush hour ? Could I fully appreciate the present moment without swearing at the driver in front? Well, reader, I did. I surprised even myself. I looked at the chaos around me and knew nothing could change it , so I wound down my window, felt the air on my face and started to sing along with the radio. I didn’t care about the drivers next to me, or behind me, or what I was going to have for supper that evening, I just sat and sang me little heart out until we moved on. 

The meditation side of Zen for me is something I do in a quiet space, preferably outdoors, as a way to become truly focused on the present moment. I have no mantra, no mat, no special clothing. I use that moment like prayer. Not to ask for something, but to be grateful, to give thanks for peace and clarity. It allows me to concentrate on the sensations I feel, and hear and touch. I can tell you now, that the sublime taste of strawberry ice cream on your tongue whilst your eyes are closed is something beyond comprehension. Try it, you’ll be so glad you did!

These peak experiences are most certainly that. The simple pleasures of a juicy, sweet pear after a punishing work out, the cool running water of a shower easing your tired muscles and the delight of fresh , clean laundry when you tumble into your bed at night become so magnificent that you wonder how you could ever want more. 

That’s my Zen. Satisfaction and contentment that relies solely on my own pleasurable contemplation of the present.

[witteringwendybird]

A break in the clouds.

Sometimes you just need a bit of blue sky to come out from behind the grey cloud that’s hanging over you. You need to feel that sunshine on your face and in your bones. You need to be able to step outside without a coat and wiggle your toes in the grass. It’s been a tough old winter and it leaves you feeling a bit drained. The mind gets caught up in a fog and you just can’t see clearly what’s next. There’s no path left to follow. 

That’s when the sun comes out and the clouds disappear and you finally decide to move on. You may stumble , but you will keep going, because it is much more scary to stay put than it is to take a chance. What if the clouds came back ?

One thing leads to another and before you know it you are fairly galloping towards the finish post and people cheer you on. You just have to take that first step. Put things in motion. It is bloody scary. You wonder if you’re just making an even worse mistake than the last time, if this decision will lead you in completely the wrong direction , but you have to try anyway because the alternative is too awful to contemplate. 

I never was much of one for clouds. So best foot forward eh?  Time to go chase those sunbeams xx

[witteringwendybird]

watching from the window

Rain falls outside the window on to already sodden ground, just defrosting from yesterday's snowfall. Mud replaces slush underfoot and the passersby tread carefully. They are wrapped head to toe in clothes designed for arctic conditions and huddle inside their hoods as they make their way home. Heavy bags of groceries balance their step, emergency supplies should the storm decide to return. Wheelie bins lay randomly overturned by the gales and form obstacles they can't climb over so must find a way around. I am ensconced on my sofa, warm by the creaking radiator, laptop nestled nicely. Vertical blinds prevent them from seeing me and as they walk from one side of my view to another, each distracts me from the glowing screen.

The postman has already been, knees red from wearing the uniform shorts even in this weather. He brought me news from the taxman that is now filed away until I require it again. The recycling gang were here before the sparrows woke, banging crates and bottles , white paper sacks taking off in the wind. Mine never seems to make it home. They toss the blue boxes back over the fence and it remains until the weather becomes nicer and I venture out to retrieve it.

Neighbours of varying degrees left at set points along the morning. First the early bird, shift workers who had to be in by seven am. Then the school children and their mother's and finally the pensioners, waiting until rush hour is over and they can use their free bus passes after nine o'clock. All wrapped up for an expedition in the ice and snow, though it has gone now and they'll soon be tugging at hats and scarves and gloves and stuffing them into bags and pockets or leaving them somewhere, forgetfully.

The rain continues to fall . A deluge, perhaps. The kind that falls from the sky in one torrential torrent. Tonight the commuters, stuck in traffic,   will complain of floods instead of ice and some  sit on buses smelling slightly damp . I have not missed the commute whilst being ill. It is the one pure joy of being off work that I don't have to make my way there and back again each day. My clock has no reason to tick the time at me, because my day is ungoverned. I do as I please.

A crow perches on the hedge and eyes me beadily through the gap in the blind. I move slowly but he spots me nonetheless. He watches the grove like he's on lookout duty. Turning his head this way and that at every new sound. Then in a flash, he's gone. Post deserted. I guess that makes me the lookout once more.

[witteringwendybird]

It is not in doing what you like, but in liking what you do that is the secret of happiness.” ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

[witteringwendybird]

Tick tock- there’s the clock.

As the old year ticks away to be replaced by the new , I'm left wondering again, what to do next. I look back on the year gone with a sense of accomplishment because I managed to drag my addled retail trained brain back on a different track and achieved , through blood, sweat and tears, my Pharmacy Advisor qualification. My old love affair with healthcare professions was rekindled somewhat. I also had the opportunity, for a short while, to dabble in public health programmes and that  did generate a small spark of excitement that I still may encourage. The trouble is, I get bored too easily.Whilst I am learning new skills and information I feel challenged and alive, but once I've completed the required tasks, I lose interest. I need a role which will keep me motivated; make me want to charge in all guns blazing and really make a difference. I want to see a change that I've helped bring about. Is that asking too much? After all these years of work, to want to find something that feels different, something that I can feel passionate about and really throw myself into? I'm tired of the mundane and humdrum. I want to be inspired and instill that in others as I go. I want to be excited and overwhelmed and exhausted by the effort I put in. It's how I live my personal life, wholeheartedly and with everything I have , so why should my work life be lacking that ? Yet again, I find myself looking for opportunities not based on financial reward but on satisfaction. I want to find a new path that makes me dig my heels in and grit my teeth, not one where I can set a fast track and speed through. Two weeks left til the new year chimes away. I can hear that clock counting down.

[witteringwendybird]

Saying I Love You and Drinking Alone.

  I got  those two lovely phrases in a recent Cards Against Humanity game and somehow they stuck with me. They seemed to nestle rather nicely together. I thought it may make a good story title and then realised they actually worked pretty well as a representation of my life right now.

 So instead of the story, there's a blog post.

           Most of you who read this have followed me for a while so you know that the drinking alone part doesn't mean alcohol. I don't imbibe. I used to, a long time ago, but one day me and the demon drink decided we really didn't do much for each other and called it a day. It is a decision I've never regretted. Now it's usually a mug of coffee I nurse along, taking comfort from it's heat and it's caffeine buzz. It's usually drunk alone though. Nobody else shares a morning brew with me, no other cup nestles by mine on the draining board at night.

           I've said I Love You so many times. To family, to friends, to lovers. The phrase trips easily off my tongue because I really mean it when I say it. It's not a throwaway phrase for me. Not glibly given to strangers . If you are lucky enough to be on the receiving end of my saying it, it's because I actually do love you. It means you mean something to me, that you bring something amazing to my life just by being in it, just by being you.

         All those books I've read, all the films I've seen , all the sad broken hearted love songs I’ve warbled along to, never showed me what love really was. Fictional representations of whatever they believe it to be surround us all the time. People find love in all different ways. Some is fast and fleeting, burning fiercely, some slow and easy,simmering gently away, and through all the wonderful stories couples tell of the way they first knew that their  other half was meant for them, I take hope.

         I think it should be easy.  When two people meet and make each other smile, or laugh, or feel better about themselves, that's the kind of love that I hope for. The kind where you can't wait to see their face, or stare into their eyes, and watch them light up because you're there and they are there and really you don't notice anyone else is in the room. I want to feel that special. I want to be their world in return. To be there to comfort them , and hold them and support them . To argue and fight about what we believe in but to be able to reach a mutual compromise based on our respect of each other's values.That doesn't seem so hard.

         It's not always like that though is it ? Sometimes it's cruel and bitter and one sided, where one gives more than the other, where one person has to sacrifice something and the other takes. Divorce, division and disappointment.That's the toxic side.  The one they show in sad films and country and western songs and all those books where people end up drinking in bars.

          I'll drink my coffee alone forever before settling for that.

[witteringwendybird]

nightmare games

I had the kind of nightmare last night that leaves you gasping for breath. The one where you wake up struggling against your sheets, your body is soaked in sweat and your heart pounds so fast in your chest you think it will explode. I hate them. I find it difficult enough to sleep through a normal night let alone one of those where daytime anxieties turn into monsters in the dark. Afterwards, I lay and wonder how my own mind can turn against me so violently, or why it chooses to attack when I am most vunerable. I understand the science behind night terror, I know that it's simply a sorting process of memories, anxieties and desires. That sometimes this jumbled mess produces scenarios I'd rather avoid but face nevertheless in my subconscious. I feel duped though, ambushed some how. I can't protect myself from what it throws up. The lucid dream technique works only when you know it's a dream. When you've had a similar one before and you know where it will lead so you intervene to change it. What if you don't know that's where it's heading? What if the people or the situations in your nightmare are so similar to reality that you really believe it's happening? I've seen the films that deal with dream states, I've read the books, I've even studied the areas of the brain that throw these things up, but they don't help me when I'm in the middle of it. I can't pinpoint something a little bit odd and say aha , it's all just a dream after all. A while ago I had pneumonia and had to take a strong painkiller that gave me the most vivid dreams I've ever encountered. I was physically afraid to fall asleep because I knew what would come. Scenes from those particular nightmares flash up sometimes now and I wonder how I ever coped withou going completely insane. I have an overactive imagination as it is. I make up a hundred converstaions a day, I invent characters and storylines and plots to get them from a to b. I've heard real life tales that would make your toes curl and maybe all these filter through and get mixed in to present a hybrid monster of devestating proportions. I'm obsessed with detail in my daily life and notice the smallest things that make up a moment. The colours, the smells and sounds. Perhaps this paints a picture in my mind more real than it is. All those tiny details add to the authenticity of a dream, they fit where they should, an augmentation to reality. It 's those tiny things that trick me. That's when I can't tell that it's false, that it's my own mind planting and then retouching those horrid scenes. I always wake before the end. I do, at least , allow myself that get out ,an escape clause, a safe word, whatever it may be. When I know I won't survive what's coming next I provide myself with a get out free card. I still wake , panting, sometimes screaming, but I do wake and though often in a state of near terror, I do then realse it was only a dream and it won't hurt me. It still takes time to calm down, figure it out, try and forget what happened . Sleep doesn't return easily for a while and then it's a very cautious journey back. It leaves me sleepy the day after, almost drugged, my thoughts still elsewhere. Pictures pop into my mind and I push them away again, not wanting to revisit them. Those days can be tough to get through and because I'm overtired the night that looms ahead is also fraught with fear. One day, I'll get over it. Until then, I guess I'll just have to sleep with a nightlight on.

[witteringwendybird]

Magic in what she sees

And there is magic in what she sees, eyes drawn to the banal and the humdrum because that's where she finds it. The tales that jump from the tattered cardigan and the too sharp suit with it's strangling tie. Steam drifts up from coffee cups into recognisable shapes then change again with a breath of air. Tongues dart out to pick up crumbs from scarlet lips and wiry beards as fingernails drum impatiently on the varnished table tops. Canned music tinkles in the background and the server hums along, keeping the beat with his dishcloth. A tuneless whistle escapes now and then but is quickly swallowed. In the corner a priest sips on orange juice and hides behind a newspaper, mass amongst the masses denied today, his communion only with the carrot cake sitting temptingly before him. A dull roar of conversation and wishful thinking drowns out sighs of relief and the chink of crockery covers whispers in a shell like ear. Secrets are exchanged in broad daylight , flakes falling as deliciously as Danish pastries , there one moment and gone the next. Melted away in sweet decadence, forbidden treats for those who watch unseen .

[witteringwendybird]

The wind doth blow

There I was, mistress of my own destiny, plotting my course by the stars and sailing along on the crest of a wave, when life throws a freak one my way. I have three choices now , sink , swim, or launch the lifeboat. I've worked too hard to sink and there are way too many sharks out there to attempt to swim , so to the muster station I go. Three bells ring the alarm as I gather my essentials for the trip and hope they last the journey back to shore. It won't be easy and no doubt there'll be tough water along the way but I guess I'll have to learn to ride the rapids. It's ironic that I finally decide to accept the life I have and settle down to it and fate lifts up the anchor in my safe harbour and sets me adrift once more . I can usually find the silver lining in a storm cloud that's somewhere between heartbreak and happiness so I'm guessing life has plans for me in another place. My itchy feet remain restless even when I dream of a future I may never have but yearn for, so it's a step closer along the path for them . Perhaps the wind may carry me there after all.

[witteringwendybird]

Back to life, back to reality.

Having recovered somewhat from an illness that kept me out of work, and the world, I'm now back to it. Once my sick note ran out, so did the sympathy and my poor body was dragged back to purpose before it was fully convalesced. There was no leeway, or soft easing in. It was a case of ooh, you're back, there's the next month's rota, get to it ! I did. Dragging my way through the first 40 hour week and collapsing as soon as I got home again. Then I did it again and am continuing to do so because, let's face it, I really have no choice. I am never going to win the lottery and landlords don't accept rent payments from accounts that are empty. In a way , I'm glad I wasn't eased back in gently. Even as a kid I preferred being thrown in the deep end. You literally sink or swim. I'm managing a strong doggy paddle right now and as long as it keeps me afloat I'm a happy woman, and so is my bank manager. It's tough, getting back into the swing of things again , routines, timings etc after a few weeks of having nowhere to be at all. It's hard having to talk upwards of 8 hours a day when your throat is on fire and your temperature soars up, or your body starts shaking from uncontrollable chills. I have watched that clock tick ever so slowly around and cursed it's inability to fast forward time. Minutes stretch into hours and you pray for a warm shower and a soft bed to ease your aches away. Ha! Man up , is the new go to phrase it seems. C'mon girl, show some balls and get on with it. The women I work with show no mercy, offer no sympathy, because they have all been in the same place and been told the same thing. Do the job or go home. Guess it's true, back to life, back to the reality .

[witteringwendybird]

Under a blue black sky

Under the weather I most certainly am, yet this little illness enforced hiatus from the world is a blessing in disguise. Sat here under a blanket on my sofa, I watch the clouds come and go across the sky. They tumble like waves on the shore, building to a crescendo before dispersing in all directions. The sun has decided to take the afternoon off it seems and people walk by bundled up under coats and scarves, heads down against the wind that whips the grove. My favourite tunes echo round the room and fill my brain with pictures that I try desperately to bring to life in words. That's the silver lining I can find in all of this laziness I must endure. Physically I must rest , but it forces my mind into a frenzy of creativity that I adore . Nights where fever prevents me from sleeping I have plenty to keep me busy and entertained and if I sleep in the day, as I must, it doesn't matter because I have no place else to be. Visitors are afraid to call for fear of catching the lurgy so I have few interruptions and no reason to please anyone but myself. Gallons of hot tea and chicken soup help sustain the body , while my own company nourishes the soul . Under the blackest of skies, that simplest slither fills me with utter joy. 😊

[witteringwendybird]

To My 2017 and all who sail in her.

New year always leaves me feeling restless. I don't know what it is exactly, but it just won't let me be. I get this niggle in my brain that something needs to change and it won't stop. Maybe it's all the resolutions others are making or the promises they hope to keep, perhaps it's just me shaking off the old stuff to make room for what's to come. I don't know, but whatever it is gets louder as the month goes on. My wandering feet start to itch for places and pastures new, but I deliberatley extended my lease from the original February close to August this year so I can't just cut and run. Probably a wiser decision , I realise now, than I thought at the time. It's a way of grounding myself for a little while longer, and chance to try and work out what it is that I really want. I have a pretty good life right now, no reason to change it particularly, except that sometimes it bores me. Like Oliver and Verucca Salt, I just want more. I'm not greedy, I don't mean financially, I mean more fulfilling. I'm trying to find a more satisfying life , one that excites me and fills me with joy. I'm generally a happy soul, the kind that sees a glass half full, and doesn't need the fancy umbrella or sparkler on the top, but I do still want it to taste nice and quench my thirst. That's not too much to ask is it? I want a life that does what it says on the tin. It's my birthday in about five weeks and I'd like to have figured a few things out by then. Contemplated, cogitated and come to some conclusions. That way at least I'll be armed going forward and then can lock my path on google maps so I don't detour too far . It's a small plan, but I guess baby steps soon become bigger once you find your feet. So here's to 2017 and whatever she brings me, I hope she's strong enough to cope with whatever I throw back at her.

[witteringwendybird]

The perils of red nose itis

That awful horrible time of the year when the body, overworked by the run up to Xmas , decides you need to rest , so batters you senseless. Illness hits you like a freight train at full speed and you never quite figure out which direction it came from. I have the flu. Have had it since last Friday and it is refusing to give in. Actually I think it may have decided to get much worse. It stops me from sleeping and so I shuffle through the day in a zombie like state of numbness. Mouth open because I can no longer breathe through my bright red nose , I feel so attractive. Bloodshot eyes peer at the outside world and wish they could focus for more than a moment without watering uncontrollably . I am off work. Have had to call in sick and let down my lovely colleagues who will also probably succumb to this at a later date. Bleurgh !! I need some TLC and a hot water bottle and failing those, a new body which actually works !

[witteringwendybird]

I’ll be your Wilson.

Wallpaper of the week. So this week's wallpaper is Tom Hanks Castaway  Grizzly Adams almost ready to leave the island look plaiting rope on the beach with trusty sidekick Wilson. I picked it because it's inspiration to keep going no matter what. I can't help but look at it and know that although there's a lot of hard work and suffering to go through, it all turns out okay in the end. I know some of you this week have found it tough. I've seen a lot of comments, read about a lot of upset in your lives and it is hard. Really hard, to keep going sometimes when things get rough. You just have to tie that rope and point that sail and hope that the wind and the tide take you where you need to go. If you're lucky, you have a Wilson. Someone who will listen even if they can't do anything else. My dad bought me a life size teddy to keep me company, he's sat on the sofa at present, quietly behaving himself for now. I named him Wilson, of course. He doesn't say much, we're still getting to know one another, but he's there. I used to say Twitter was my Wilson. I'd throw out random comments and see if they bounced back. Sometimes they did. I've noticed this week though, how many others have done it too. I've seen sad posts of people who are going through a tough time. I've tried to be the voice that bounced back. Hopefully it makes a difference, but it won't stop me trying if it doesn't. Everyone at some time needs to reach out and know that someone is there, listening. It could change a life. It could let someone know that you care. I might not receive a reply from my Wilson, I might not get one from the comments I leave on your sad posts, but I will  speak out , if only so you know you've been heard.

[witteringwendybird]

The old pen and paper.

Set out to write a piece today and when I went back to look at my notes that I did in preparation last week they had disappeared - poof! As if by magic, abracadabra, alakazam, not a sign of them anywhere. I am not the most technologically minded of people, quite frankly it scares me, and usually prompts a panicked phone call to one of my daughters who live hundreds of miles away.They do, however, know that their mum, though really quite good at some other things, needs their immediate assistance when that call comes. They ease my way, step by step, through whatever  I.T. disaster has befallen me and fix it long distance. I love them not only for this wonderful skill they have but also for not getting cross whilst explaining it. Anyhow, today, I had to find it myself. I vaguely remember using an old desktop and searching for something that had been sent somewhere it shouldn't. I decided to mount a search party through my programme files and lo and behold the document presented itself on the screen. I am ashamed to say I used the only method I know and dragged and dropped it to a safer place. I care not how I found or restored it, only that I did. Kids in school are flying through this stuff. My youngest , wonderful daughter, is learning some form of coding on her uni course. Wow, I said jokingly, you can learn how to hack. She laughed and reminded me that she's been able to do that for years, she's just being taught how to do it legally! I preferred the typewriter method. I was given an electric one for Christmas one year and nearly wet myself with excitement. It seemed so fabulous after my old manual bash it out one. It even had a tippex ribbon to correct mistakes. OOOH! Of course we've come a long way since then. That machine was retired years ago , may she rest in peace. Funny then, that I chose to write the first draft of a novel in freehand. Using A4 spiral notebooks and whichever pen I could find at the time (sometimes even a pencil), I sat day after day transferring these characters and their stories into a resemblance of a book. My darling daughters refused to edit it from that state and demanded I put it on screen. I did, very slowly with two fingered typing and quite a few curses. Now I always use the laptop. I'm getting used to it , until days like yesterday, when it refused to update and today when it loses things . Then I wish I could have my old papers back and a scribbled pencil scrawl that only I can decipher. Those were the days.

[witteringwendybird]

Speaking out for MND

This week has thrown up somewhat of a challenge as I've had no voice. I woke last Monday completely mute. Not a whisper managed to get by my swollen throat. I have managed so far by gestures, texting and basically squeaking as the week progressed. Thankfully I've a very kind family who have helped me out. My dad , however, has lived with this lack of vocal communication for the last twenty years or so. He has MND and lost his speech along with the use of his legs a while back. Just two of the life changing and devestating symptoms he has so far had to face due to this unrelenting disease. He communicates with us and the world by using an electronic lightwriter that works like a computor keyboard. He types the sentence in and the words are played out in a voice very much resembling that of Stephen Hawking. My northern dad became american overnight. This makes him chuckle. It is a godsend. Without it he is completely lost. He hasn't the capability to use an i pad type programme as his hands are not flexible enough and when the machine is in for repair we rely on an old letter board. Yet still he remains hopeful and cheerful and the vocabulary which comes out is a true testament to the old soldier within. We dread the speech therapist playing it back on servicing ! With pre recorded phrases he popped in, he makes people laugh and cry in equal amounts and all the children in the family can't ever remember when their grandad had a different voice. This is the one they know and recognise. This is the voice of love. Every day people raise funds towards the treatment and equipment ��for MND . Every single day this money makes a difference to those who live with the disease and it makes life a little more bearable for sufferers and their families. So I shouldn't really complain about my loss this week, because he never does,and never will. He has a voice, it's an american one.

[witteringwendybird]

a portal to the future

Today the Wendy house is a portal to the future. The last few weeks have been hard and as always, when faced with the insurmountable, me and my girls find a way to get over it, or round it, or just get through it. We're tough, we are. We don't look it from the outside, but we are.  'Though she be but little, she is fierce' , oh yes, imagine fairy children but with the strength of The Hulk. Things knock us down but we get back up again, and again. The hardest thing to watch is when one of us struggles to get back on her feet. Then we have to drag her up  and hold her there until she finds the strength to stand alone. She will. She has no choice, because it doesn't matter how many times she falls the others will always pull her back up. It comes in circles, sometimes me, sometimes one or the other, then me again. An undulating wave that carries us away in it's wake and the current toys with us, tossing us here and there until it fades away. We sink or swim. Our choice. Sometimes all we need to do is float and that's enough to survive the swell until it's spent. The Wendy house is full of hopes and dreams tinged with tears and laughter. Tears for what will be left behind and joy for what has been and will surely come again. Decisions are discussed and argued and made. Time moves along. I can't see what's ahead, but I know I can change it a little if I choose. Alter it a little here and there until it fits better, move it slightly this way or that until it's in a better position.  If there was a magic red button on my doorway ahead I'd press it now, to get there faster and easier. My own special version of the ruby red slippers to take us home. Today the Wendy house has plans for the future, but it will take a little  bit more time and courage to put them into place.