Blog on!

When you suddenly come to the long overdue conclusion that you have actually  been doing this blogging thing all wrong! Or maybe going about it in the wrong way! Yep, that’s me! 100 % guilty of getting it arse about face as, in totally contrary to what is usual, expected or indeed logical. There is just no rhyme or reason to it, though I suppose there may be some rhyme as I have posted many poems here, and as for reason, well, I am still working on that one. Somehow under the ‘Blog’ heading, I have been placing all and sundry as my posts. Absolutely everything has been lumped together, and unceremoniously put out there for all the world to see, just how truly disorganised I am. Or maybe not all the world (slight exaggeration) but at least a few people here and there.

My Blog (I use the term loosely here), somehow says something about the utter chaos that is my life. I have followed no rules nor have I had any sort of plan on  exactly what I specifically want to achieve. I have merely presented various pieces of writing haphazardly with no due care or attention, and have simply gone full speed ahead and thought ‘damn the torpedoes’. To be totally honest, I just have n’t had a clue, not the foggiest really. I have admired many beautifully crafted Blogs on here but have so  far not managed to really create something truly worthy, at least not in my eyes. I am not talking about the actual ‘writing’ etc that I have put up but the way that I have presented it. Perhaps the eclectic mix of writing is a reflection of the eclectic mix of me.

I have been flitting about from one theme to another, not really knowing what I was aiming for, or maybe knowing a bit but then changing my mind because it just was not working, and not quite what I wanted. Maybe I am overthinking everything! I do have a tendency to do that sometimes, many times. I finally worked out how the ‘categories’ tab works whoopee! Also, a lovely fellow Blogger advised me to reduce the amount of tags I was using, and how to make better use of tagging in order to get more people seeing what I was posting. There are some really great people on here who are always happy to help and guide, which I find truly encouraging. And that’s the thing, I had thought about shutting it all down, and holding my hands up in defeat but I am not yet ready to be beaten by this Blog thing I have entered into. Not just yet! I will keep going. It’s almost a year since I joined, and I have connected with some beautiful souls here in the Blogosphere.

So all I can say is ‘Blog on!’

© Liola Lee 2019

 

 

Advertisements

Shalom Jackie

Shalom Jackie, is a phrase used by Jim when Jackie answers the door to his knocking, in the comedy Friday Night Dinner. If you have never seen it, you are in for a hilarious treat (in my opinion anyway, for what it’s worth). Truly funny! Well it has had me and my daughter (more of her in bit) rolling up.  A really good ‘Brit Com’ (British Comedy).  Talking of comedies, I  am actually living in a real life comedy or maybe soap opera is more appropriate or maybe a melodrama. Yes, I know, we all say that but I mean it!

Let’s see what the weekend has been like so far in my totally dysfunctional household here in The Mews.  People always say that, or not always but quite a lot, in that their families are not quite ‘normal’. By people I mean ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys of all ages, and anyone not mentioned who would like to be included. Well, first of all let me roll back to yesterday. The husband or rather the handsome fisherman who stays with me sometimes went off, you guessed it to play with the cats, I mean fishes or more aptly Catfish. He took his tent, he took his trolley, and his brolly; in fact I watched almost the entire contents of the garage get packed into the van. Long gone are the days when he used to take his rod, and a hand held tackle box and just pop to the local lake for a couple of hours. These days he embarks on a full blown expedition with his merry men in tow, though not really in tow as he meets them at the venue/lake where they all set up their camps and then get down to some beer, I mean fishing. And merry men may be a slight exaggeration as from what I am told some of them or actually one particular person so far was not really merry but a total ‘something’ but I will refrain from using the terminology I was privy to. Anyway, let us  just say that they did not shake hands and make up. Anyway, these are what I call the FF brigade, which stands for fishing friends and facebook friends. Whether they are friends in the real sense I cannot say. After all, it is not for me to say as I am not there. I am of course here, stuck indoors looking after the dogs (one of which is poorly as per previously written post), the cat and the hedgehog. So we have ascertained that the man of the house is away with the fishes.

I am setting the scene here, so bear with me. The house is in a real mess and muddle throughout. It’s dusty, dirty, full of clutter and what’s worse the whole entire house is painted in tired,  not fresh magnolia. Just for the record we rent our place here (note I said place and not home) at the Mews, so called because of the sort of regency style town houses which are not really regency style at all. In truth they sort of look like erect boxes which someone has likened  to the Tardis in Doctor Who, though I suspect that the Tardis had more space. To be honest everything in the house is tired from the bottom floor up, including me, especially today as I only got five hours restless sleep last night. You’ll be getting the idea that I am none too keen on this box of a house, and you would be correct.  I/we moved here just over five and a half years ago. If I say that quickly, it still sounds just as long.  I/we planned on staying for a couple of years, and then moving on somewhere else. As you can surmise that has not happened. Here, we are, still living in a dust dungeon. Oh, and we (my daughter and I think it may be haunted, at least on the top floor as that is where all sorts of  strange things have happened. The ghost story is for another post and another time maybe. Because the house is not ours, and the tenancy agreement states that we have to ask for permission to pretty much do anything, motivation and enthusiasm has been lacking to say the least. That said, on a good point the Landlord has left us alone, and we in turn have not bothered him.

Getting back to this weekend. I hope I have not lost you, and that you are managing to keep up with the ramblings of a reluctant fishing widow (though probably reluctant just now because I have not been able to see my horse much recently because of Dog duty). So let’s now think about my daughter who went off to work yesterday on a late shift. Really proud of her actually. Though last night, I did not have a proud mummy moment, I had a mad mummy moment instead. The story is now starting to unfold. The evening started off well. I had bought lovely fresh ingredients earlier in the day, as I thought to make myself a lovely vegan curry. I started to prep the veg, and poured myself a glass, a large glass actually of Rioja (which came courtesy of the handsome fisherman from earlier)  to imbibe while cooking the meal. Or in plain English to drink while standing in the kitchen happily dicing onions, and pepper before moving onto slicing the courgettes, and peeling the aubergine. Oh yes, this was going to be a delicious curry. I had it all planned out beautifully. I had the onions and spices, and garlic all sizzling in the pot. In went the chopped tomatoes, then the yellow pepper. I cooked these up some more, and then the sauce would be ready to blend until smooth and then the other veg could be added. Oh yes, I was going to to enjoy my Friday night dinner. The dogs were settled and snoring, the lavender oil was burning with it;’s beautiful calm aroma, and classical lullabies playing on the CD player. A tranquil and peaceful evening underway.  What more could I ask for with my Friday night dinner. So we know the curry is underway, and the ambience is really chilled. Pour another wine while waiting for the sauce to simmer. Point of reference here, probably not a great idea to have wine before dinner when you have not eaten anything during the day.

Okay, so what next? Ah yes, I remember, with the sauce slowly simmering away on the stove, I thought now would be a good time to catch up on my social networking. WhatsApp checked; Facebook checked, and now for instagram, that wonderful platform for picture sharing. Quick flick through mine, and then thought have not looked at my daughter’s instagram for a while. Just have a quick look. So, I look, I saw, I did not like and I was not happy. Definitely not happy! There was a picture of my beautiful daughter wearing not very much at all actually. My daughter is lovely but she really does not need to reveal so much, too much but then I am her Mum so maybe that’s why I started to see a  ‘red rag’ coming down (I am a Taurean, and like the Bull I go charging in). All this while drinking another Rioja, and still no dinner.  The next thing is, I message my daughter and we get into a long heated text session over this damn picture of my scantily clad daughter. Initially her and her colleague were laughing as they thought it was funny. However, I was not laughing, and I think my daughter started to realise that. The tone of the messaging was not a pleasant one shall we say. I had my thoughts and she had her opinions and vice versa. The bottom line was that I felt she had just gone a step too far, she did not. I felt it was demeaning and she felt its was empowering. I told her that she was intelligent as well as beautiful, and did not need to be an object. Loads more was said but that is a private matter between mother and daughter. By the end of this lengthy and on going text tennis, the sauce had stuck to the pot, the curry was ruined, and I was not going to enjoy a delicious home cooked meal. I was fed up, cross or in my daughter’s terms hangry, and  had drunk too much wine. I forgot to mention that in the middle of this my daughter sent me a picture of her at work with a caption likening her to her boss that was quite funny but I was still angry and sent her a reply back that said

“better than taking your clothes off for dirty old men and pubescent boys”

of course I was referring to her possible virtual audience on instagram.  We do not always know who we may really be talking to. Not always. The thing is I did not send this reply to my daughter, it went off to a friend. It must have seemed like a really random thing. My daughter would have understood but my poor unsuspecting friend who is also young enough to be my daughter must have been a little puzzled to say the least. Later in the evening I realised what I had done and apologised, and told my friend to ignore the previous message which had not been for her. Like a good friend, she asked if I was okay, and then confirmed that she would ignore said message but not without laughing. So now I had sent out a random message to the wrong person. At this stage I decided to call it quits for the night and just go to bed, hungry, miserable and a bit the worse for wear.  On a good note the dogs were really good all evening!

Needless to say, I did not sleep well, I was restless. I tossed, I turned, I huffed and I puffed. Morning came and I got up with a bit of a headache. So not a great start to the day! I went downstairs and asked my daughter if she would like a cup of tea. She said yes (not sure if she said please) but definitely yes. See, look at me being the grown up. Tea made, coffee for me and then about that picture. Oh no, not that again Mum! This time we chatted, we laughed too but but we were both standing our ground. The discussion went on for a little bit longer but not really getting anywhere. I was told that I had no problem with the Dove advert on the TV where women of various ages, shapes and sizes are the models in their underwear. No of course I did not have a problem with that. It was an excellent advert. My response was that I would not have got so upset if she had been wearing oversized Bridget Jones knickers and a huge bra and wobbling about a bit. There was no comparison but still my daughter stands her ground. She gets her stubborn streak from me. On a serious note I feel that so many young girls feel they need to be seen in a certain way. They look for likes, adoration and a fan base but when does the line get crossed?  Anyway, I had my rant and said I would say no more apart from every now and then when something else came to mind. I’m a mum, that’s part of my job. Many people will see this from one side or the other or maybe both sides. It’s a modern dilemma I think.

Moving on to the weather of the day. It has been blowing a gale here. Big branches have crashed to the ground in the garden. The lime flower tree has been tossing, turning, and twisting. The tree is higher than the houses, stretches out over the road beyond the fence which is pretty busy with traffic, dog walkers, runners and the like. The tree is protected. I love the tree! It is magnificent and park worthy but today I decided it may also be dangerous, and in need of a little management though I am no expert. I contacted the Landlord, and he has said he will have to get approval from the Council before he can get anyone in. I just wanted him to be aware of my concerns. The wind has been fierce all day with no let up. What else could happen? Oh yes, something else had to happen, and happen it did. The fence has also blown down, not completely down but certainly on it’s way down and just being held up by the ivy which has attached itself to the wood. I never realised Ivy was so strong. So this too, I decided to report to the Landlord. After all in for a penny, in for a pound,  Big mistake, as now, said Landlord wants to come round and have a look. What’s so bad about that you may say, but think back to the beginning where I mentioned the dust, the dirt, the clutter and did I mention the dog that he does not actually know about, Oops, we have to come up with a plan now to stall him, deter him or at least delay him while we do a mammoth tidy up before he comes and hide one of  the dogs. Perhaps he’ll evict us. Could we be that lucky! Then we would have to move. We did want to move after all, and the Universe does work in mysterious ways so perhaps something good is on its’ way.

So, apart from the upset with my daughter, the falling branches, and the broken fence, not to mention the impending visit from the Landlord; the weekend is going well so far

A few notes to self here. Do not drink wine on an empty stomach. Definitely do not drink wine when getting angry. Do not look at daughter’s saucy instagram picture, and then drink wine. Do not contact Landlord if you do not want him to visit. And one other thing, tonight I could not be asked to cook a lovely home made veggie curry, so I bought myself a microwave curry. A chicken Korma to be precise. I ate it, and then came the reaction. I have a Cow’s milk allergy, and of course Korma has milk in it. Important note to self here, do what the Doctor tells you and stay away from. milk and anything with milk in it.  Sometimes I just like to check and see, just in case the allergy disappears but so far, not yet.

In the words of Jackie in Friday Night Dinner I bid you Shalom. ( I am not Jewish but I like the word Shalom as much as I like the Hawaiian word Aloha.

© Liola Lee 2019

 

 

The Fairytale Trap

Never make assumptions because more often than not, they’re wrong! 

The girl with a stare, queueing at the counter with token toddler in tow, tugging relentlessly at her shirt tails as tiny tots tend to do,  is a typical take on thoroughly modern mummyhood. Looking like, and yet not like any young mum taking the chance to escape the terraced cage for a bit, another pregnancy, baby bump bulging through tight, once loose top. Dirty disposables, playgroup melodrama, and conversations cradled in cliches and laundry lists are the order of the day if she’s lucky. More often than not it’s tantrums, Telly Tubbies and tea after tears. Stopover at the coffee shop is a welcome temporary release from the monotony of reluctant motherhood. A skinny latte, and almond croissant when she thinks nobody’s looking and nobody cares. After all a little indulgence helps her get through the routine of yet another lonely day. Is this it?  A grade ‘A’ student with potential to do well someone had once said. Somewhere, sometime, something had happened to change the course of the class room. She had fallen in love with the wrong boy, and as so often happens when young girls lose their hearts had got pregnant because she believed in fairytales and happy ever afters. Hers,  however was not a Cinderella marries a Prince Charming kind of story where the glass slipper fits but more a reality tv show where the ill fitting shoe is now on the other foot and the feet are blistered and sore. Fairytales are not real, they never were and dreams are but a distant destination of a deluded delinquent imagination. Sleep is hit and miss, though more missed than hit these days. Life is filled with small demanding people and big demanding people. Somewhere beneath and between the lines of the never ending story, the girl got lost in a clothes peg world of chores and domesticity. 

Fast forward 30 years and the rest, and the girl now a mature woman of 54, grey unsaloned  hair frames her face where once was mocha and chocolate carefully corkscrewed curls. Her roles are many but still she is lost, still lonely and alone in a crowded coffeeshop where the conversation has become comfortably stale. This is an unknown woman without a face still trapped in the fairytale that she sold herself in 1984. 

“And what will it be today Madam? Your usual skinny latte and almond croissant? said the Barrista.

“No, not today. Today I shall have tea and toast’,

© Liola Lee 2016

I wrote this while treating myself to some time out in a Costas coffee shop. It was an idea I had for a book idea. It’s still an idea…..

 

 

 

 

Let it flow…

Many times,  I sit with my head in my hands, wondering what on earth am I doing with my life? I feel the passing of time as it whooshes by without looking back because let’s face it we cannot go back, not ever, at least not in any real sense. I see my reflection in the mirror when I can bear to look in the mirror that is, and know that I am she who is looking back at me. The girl in me is still there somewhere, I can see her in my eyes if I look closely enough. This me that I see staring back at me in the glass has the same curly hair but that which was once darkest brown/near black is now silvered and metallic. I see a few lines here and there, some that were not there before. Some have been there longer than others. They are my life lines, my story etched into my once smooth, once dewy skin. The mask of youth has been replaced by the mask of maturity and that’s okay.  Wrinkles for that’s what they are,  are the laughter, the joy, the sorrow, the anger, the confusion, the certainty of life. They are the information and data gathered over a life time of living. Sometimes I take those lines and allow them to take shape and form on a blank page, allowing them to flow freely from my fountain pen, then the ink runs dry and the current is interrupted once more.

Time to refill and flow.

© Liola Lee 2019