Do you know why civil engineers are so called? Well the Romans invented the profession and they had two types of construction engineer 1) military and 2) civil. Although we are fascinated by the history and archaeology of Roman Britain, it's actually the tale and remains of a foreign army of occupation. St Alban's is one of my favourite places though, and I love walking through the grounds of the amphitheatre and up to the awesomely beautiful cathedral, the quiet contemplation and peace in the tomb of St Alban is definitely mystical. Went there with H, C and friends on my birthday and cherish the photos of such a happy day.
Wonder if in fifteen hundred year's time the people of Afghanistan will treasure NATO's legacy.
My father was a civil engineer and it is a huge sadness for me that he only saw H,C and R as infants - he died when they were so very young. He never even knew my brother would go on to have two gorgeous boys. The irony is he adored his grandchildren and was much more openly affectionate with them than he ever was with my brother and I, he was always rather formal with us as if he was papa from a by-gone age.
At the moment have got the most enormous craving to go back to my roots. I grew up in a mining village on the border between Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire and as a child, in a circle of five miles around, there were at least fifteen coal mines and an iron foundry. They've all gone now, grassed over or converted into retail parks - that's an oxymoron if ever there was one. I remember once in an English lesson looking out the classroom window at the aptly named slag-heap and watching transfixed as a bulldozer over turned and rolled all the way down the side. The area was quite bleak and hard and it still is unusual for people to move away or 'escape' as my mother would put it. Our village dated back to the Domesday Book but most of the ancient buildings were gone and the style of architecture was predominantly Victorian industrial red-brick. My brother left home for university when I was ten and so I guess most of my childhood was spent as an only child.
I used to regularly go up to see my mother with my children, and they used to love to go off to Lincoln and the east coast or over the border into Derbyshire and the Peak District - Matlock was one of their favourite places. My mother loved to see her grandchildren and also, like my father, she was much more openly warm with them and would always side with them if I had a gripe about something. H was for several years a very angry young man and that manifested itself in monstrous, challenging behaviour and my mother was one of the few people he would listen and respond positively to. And if ever I would complain about R she would simply turn to me and say 'you were a nightmare - she's just growing up'. C never seemed to present any problems or concerns as a child - made up for it now though!
My mother died two weeks after C went to Sandhurst and thankfully he was allowed special leave to attend her funeral. H and C took the readings during the solemn service and R was so plucky and read the Eulogy. Everyone gasped at her grave side as at the exact moment her coffin was lowered into the ground, a huge rainbow lit up the previously grey sky.
Still as my Aunt said to me it's not the same anymore.
Please God all safe and well.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Friday, 30 October 2009
Day 27 Week 4
Karma. Reciprocity. What goes around comes around. Whatever thoughts, words or deeds you transmit will come back to haunt you. But does that really hold true? Being Christian I have a strong sense that you should strive to do unto others as you'd have them do unto you (not to say the halo hasn't slipped a few times), but is it really true that life will balance the great scales of existence? Would like to think so, but am not sure - if people really did learn from their errors then surely they wouldn't be so continually repeated.
Saw that the MoD was slated yesterday because of the Nimrod crash in Kandahar in September 2006, killing all fourteen people on board. The Independent reported "One of the worst disasters in recent British military history was the result of "incompetence, complacency and cynicism" by senior military figures which broke the covenant the country has with its soldiers, a devastating official report has concluded. " Backed up by the comments of a former senior RAF officer who reported to the inquiry into the accident that "There was no doubt that the culture of the time had switched. In the days of the RAF chief engineer in the 1990s, you had to be on top of airworthiness. By 2004 you had to be on top of your budget if you wanted to get ahead."
The 'Soldier's Covenant' is a term bandied about quiet a bit at the moment. Essentially it means that if we, as a nation, ask someone to do their duty and fight on our behalf and be prepared to pay the ultimate price - then we, in return, have an equitable responsibility to care and protect them (and their families) to the best of our ability. Quid pro quo. Karma. Not sure if that sits square with the results of the above investigation.
Hope all loved ones are safe and not jeopardised by a culture of corner-cutting-costing.
C has the most adorable girlfriend. She's bright, and kind, and funny, and gentle (also very intelligent - beauty and brains) and everythng a boy could wish for. It's a pleasure to see them together, laughing and enjoying each other's company, I really hope and pray she manages to cope with the stress and worry of the status quo at such a young age. Prior to this he had been embroilled in a fairly disasterous relationship, and the pain in watching as a parent was actually harder than being in a toxic relationship yourself. I'd walk into the house and there'd just be silence and then I'd find the two of them in the sitting room, girl contorted by misery and recrimination and C looking at me like a rabbit in the headlights, with 'I don't know what to do to make it better Mum' written across his face. There was never any joy - just mistrust, demands and allegation - it was as if they were locked in a battle for mutual destruction. Twisted psychological blackmail. Anyway hopefully C's ex will find happiness too - sometimes it's just the case that you bring out the worst in each other.
Anyway I'm a fine one to talk about relationships - as my dear friend said to me 'if you walked into a room stuffed with nice men you'd manage to find the plonker tucked away at the back, feel sorry for him and end up with another completely unsuitable guy'. Alas true.
Popped into church and said a few prayers. No news from H - Lusty obviously at sea. R home and yet more internet fashion purchased.
Maybe some day my prince will come.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
Saw that the MoD was slated yesterday because of the Nimrod crash in Kandahar in September 2006, killing all fourteen people on board. The Independent reported "One of the worst disasters in recent British military history was the result of "incompetence, complacency and cynicism" by senior military figures which broke the covenant the country has with its soldiers, a devastating official report has concluded. " Backed up by the comments of a former senior RAF officer who reported to the inquiry into the accident that "There was no doubt that the culture of the time had switched. In the days of the RAF chief engineer in the 1990s, you had to be on top of airworthiness. By 2004 you had to be on top of your budget if you wanted to get ahead."
The 'Soldier's Covenant' is a term bandied about quiet a bit at the moment. Essentially it means that if we, as a nation, ask someone to do their duty and fight on our behalf and be prepared to pay the ultimate price - then we, in return, have an equitable responsibility to care and protect them (and their families) to the best of our ability. Quid pro quo. Karma. Not sure if that sits square with the results of the above investigation.
Hope all loved ones are safe and not jeopardised by a culture of corner-cutting-costing.
C has the most adorable girlfriend. She's bright, and kind, and funny, and gentle (also very intelligent - beauty and brains) and everythng a boy could wish for. It's a pleasure to see them together, laughing and enjoying each other's company, I really hope and pray she manages to cope with the stress and worry of the status quo at such a young age. Prior to this he had been embroilled in a fairly disasterous relationship, and the pain in watching as a parent was actually harder than being in a toxic relationship yourself. I'd walk into the house and there'd just be silence and then I'd find the two of them in the sitting room, girl contorted by misery and recrimination and C looking at me like a rabbit in the headlights, with 'I don't know what to do to make it better Mum' written across his face. There was never any joy - just mistrust, demands and allegation - it was as if they were locked in a battle for mutual destruction. Twisted psychological blackmail. Anyway hopefully C's ex will find happiness too - sometimes it's just the case that you bring out the worst in each other.
Anyway I'm a fine one to talk about relationships - as my dear friend said to me 'if you walked into a room stuffed with nice men you'd manage to find the plonker tucked away at the back, feel sorry for him and end up with another completely unsuitable guy'. Alas true.
Popped into church and said a few prayers. No news from H - Lusty obviously at sea. R home and yet more internet fashion purchased.
Maybe some day my prince will come.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Day 26 Week 4
Definitey feel yukey - blame the lady in the supermarket who replaced the guy at the checkout. She plonked herself down, let out a huge obviously virally infected gasp, and said 'I feel really ill - all hot and achey and sick'. I just looked at her in utter bewilderment and thought 'you stupid woman, why are you here spreading your disease', and sure enough five days later here I am feeling hot, achey and sick.
The phone rang and it was R. "Mum how do you, like, work out percentages?". Somewhat stunned by this opening gambit, even from R, I replied "in what sense darling?". The conversation went as follows
R : "If you've got, like, a hundred and thirty three and that's, like, a hundred percent, then what's a hundred and twenty three?"
Me : "Do you mean what proportion in a percentage, is a hundred and twenty three of the whole?"
R : "Mum (exasperated pause), please don't, like, always complicate things"
Me : "Sorry darling (brain scrambling as most intellectually challenging activity at the moment is reading daily horoscope), just wasn't sure what you meant exactly. Remember you always find one percent by moving the decimal point two places to the left" (trying to sound jovial - about percentages for God's sake. It's wonderful that I'm being asked anything positive so don't want to blow it by simply being me)
R : "Mum, I'm like, in a hurry, can you just tell me what to do?"
Me : "Then you divide a hundred and twenty three by one point three three and that will give you the answer"
R : "Oh yeh, love you, bye".
Gone. No explanation as to why percentages were being considered and heaven forbid I should ask. It wasn't always like this. Even though we've always loved each other, can't put hand on heart and say that over the last three years each has necessarily liked the other party. R was the sweetest, cuddliest, gentlest little girl and then she hit puberty. Gone were shared nights under the duvet on the sofa watching Pride and Prejudice, and instead there'd be screaming and tantrums and loathing. It was as if my gorgeous little flower was possessed by demons overnight. Thumb sucking and smiling were replaced with growling and snapping, and you know you irritate someone when they say 'stop looking at me', when all you've done is smile at them because you're pleased to see them. People at work were always very supportive and would ask 'how're things at home?', and I would either reply 'OK - not too bad' or 'she's up for adoption again'. Still, love her to bits.
Posted chocolate out to Afghanistan yesterday. The postmaster told me you must never say which country is the destination of the parcels marked with the BFPO number, for fear of interference from terrorists. Find it all so sad really.
Hopefully all will have a good, safe day.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
The phone rang and it was R. "Mum how do you, like, work out percentages?". Somewhat stunned by this opening gambit, even from R, I replied "in what sense darling?". The conversation went as follows
R : "If you've got, like, a hundred and thirty three and that's, like, a hundred percent, then what's a hundred and twenty three?"
Me : "Do you mean what proportion in a percentage, is a hundred and twenty three of the whole?"
R : "Mum (exasperated pause), please don't, like, always complicate things"
Me : "Sorry darling (brain scrambling as most intellectually challenging activity at the moment is reading daily horoscope), just wasn't sure what you meant exactly. Remember you always find one percent by moving the decimal point two places to the left" (trying to sound jovial - about percentages for God's sake. It's wonderful that I'm being asked anything positive so don't want to blow it by simply being me)
R : "Mum, I'm like, in a hurry, can you just tell me what to do?"
Me : "Then you divide a hundred and twenty three by one point three three and that will give you the answer"
R : "Oh yeh, love you, bye".
Gone. No explanation as to why percentages were being considered and heaven forbid I should ask. It wasn't always like this. Even though we've always loved each other, can't put hand on heart and say that over the last three years each has necessarily liked the other party. R was the sweetest, cuddliest, gentlest little girl and then she hit puberty. Gone were shared nights under the duvet on the sofa watching Pride and Prejudice, and instead there'd be screaming and tantrums and loathing. It was as if my gorgeous little flower was possessed by demons overnight. Thumb sucking and smiling were replaced with growling and snapping, and you know you irritate someone when they say 'stop looking at me', when all you've done is smile at them because you're pleased to see them. People at work were always very supportive and would ask 'how're things at home?', and I would either reply 'OK - not too bad' or 'she's up for adoption again'. Still, love her to bits.
Posted chocolate out to Afghanistan yesterday. The postmaster told me you must never say which country is the destination of the parcels marked with the BFPO number, for fear of interference from terrorists. Find it all so sad really.
Hopefully all will have a good, safe day.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Day 25 Week 4
Woken up by my mobile this morning which I had chosen to inexplicably leave downstairs. So frantic almost-dash in my restricted hobble to grab the phone from the chest of drawers in the hall - near lethal stagger worth it though because it was C calling from Afghanistan.
He was very sober and serious. Of course he can't really say anything. Afghanistan getting cold. Been 'out and about'. Living in a house on a compound with his platoon - good to know there's none of that me officer, you the men crap. Wants some galaxy chocolate - said I'd send him some today. Got my card yesterday - posted it on the 3rd so I guess 3 weeks is expected travelling time. Was going to ring his dad after me. They (between them all) get the use of the satellite phone for half an hour each day. Good to speak to H on Saturday. Told me he reads the blog and it's nice to know what's going on at home. It was half-one in the afternoon so found out there's a five hour time difference. Then he was gone. He sounded so old.
Lots of prayers to St Therese
A lovely colleague of mine from work has sent me a book of soldier's cartoons and I've just flicked through it as a kind of way of connecting with the Army. The humour is invariably irreverent and the images constantly ridicule pomposity. A thread which runs through the whole collection though, which begins with the first Gulf war in 1990 and finishes in 2000, is how the government expects more and more from those serving and yet is prepared to provide less and less by way of equipment. Two men sitting in a trench with one of them holding a shell saying "are you sure this is state of the art - it's got 'stuff the Kaiser' down the side".
Thank you so much for all your support - it's overwhelming.
Feel a bit sick today, don't know why.
Lots of positivity!
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
He was very sober and serious. Of course he can't really say anything. Afghanistan getting cold. Been 'out and about'. Living in a house on a compound with his platoon - good to know there's none of that me officer, you the men crap. Wants some galaxy chocolate - said I'd send him some today. Got my card yesterday - posted it on the 3rd so I guess 3 weeks is expected travelling time. Was going to ring his dad after me. They (between them all) get the use of the satellite phone for half an hour each day. Good to speak to H on Saturday. Told me he reads the blog and it's nice to know what's going on at home. It was half-one in the afternoon so found out there's a five hour time difference. Then he was gone. He sounded so old.
Lots of prayers to St Therese
A lovely colleague of mine from work has sent me a book of soldier's cartoons and I've just flicked through it as a kind of way of connecting with the Army. The humour is invariably irreverent and the images constantly ridicule pomposity. A thread which runs through the whole collection though, which begins with the first Gulf war in 1990 and finishes in 2000, is how the government expects more and more from those serving and yet is prepared to provide less and less by way of equipment. Two men sitting in a trench with one of them holding a shell saying "are you sure this is state of the art - it's got 'stuff the Kaiser' down the side".
Thank you so much for all your support - it's overwhelming.
Feel a bit sick today, don't know why.
Lots of positivity!
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Day 24 Week 4
The less you do the less you want to do. Normally I spend my life in a maelstrom of duties - there are never enough hours in the day and the 'to do' list always grows and never shrinks. But at the moment I'm in a sort of enforced seclusion with the day revolving around injections, pottering about and thinking. Actually think it's far healthier to be over occupied than under occupied - if you need a favour ask a busy person.
Spoke to H last night and he was delighted. So far he had not been able to contact C and vice versa but C had phoned his father when he was standing next to H in Liverpool, and so the two had managed to speak. He said he felt really emotional but when I asked him what they spoke about, and if C had seen any action, he went very mumbly and said he couldn't remember what C had said. My kids always were crap liars.
It's strange to think that I was once married to H, C and R's father. It's so long ago now that I have to work really hard to remember when I was a 'Mrs' instead of a 'Miss'. We actually got on really well (but truth to tell there was never that fire of passion in the relationship) and when it all went belly-up he did say to me 'you'll always be my best friend' - to which I replied 'no I won't - best friends don't do this to each other'. I married in haste and ricochet, and doesn't that always end in disaster? The truth is we should never have legalised the union - the only reason I can't trully deny the whole thing is that I wouldn't want one hair on the kid's head to be in anyway different. We were young, naive, I was an emotional car-crash and actually I'm really happy for him that he's so contented and settled in his current marriage. We invested so much time and energy firstly into being a family and secondly into trying to damage and destroy each other - and now we can joke and exchange conversation over a G & T as if we were mere acquaintances. Blood will always be thicker than water though and in some wierd, obscure way we shall always be linked by the DNA of our children. Karma.
My brother is sorting out the devastion in his home. They took only small valuable pieces including my mother's ring and - perish the thought - her St Christopher. My cousin reckons they'll be dead by the weekend. My dear Aunt and Uncle have sent their first parcel out to C - much confusion over kilograms but the kindly person in the Post Office let it go through. And I'm going to have my bath as the nurse has just left.
Is life settling down? Please God keep everyone safe.
Speak Soon. A soldier's Mum x
Spoke to H last night and he was delighted. So far he had not been able to contact C and vice versa but C had phoned his father when he was standing next to H in Liverpool, and so the two had managed to speak. He said he felt really emotional but when I asked him what they spoke about, and if C had seen any action, he went very mumbly and said he couldn't remember what C had said. My kids always were crap liars.
It's strange to think that I was once married to H, C and R's father. It's so long ago now that I have to work really hard to remember when I was a 'Mrs' instead of a 'Miss'. We actually got on really well (but truth to tell there was never that fire of passion in the relationship) and when it all went belly-up he did say to me 'you'll always be my best friend' - to which I replied 'no I won't - best friends don't do this to each other'. I married in haste and ricochet, and doesn't that always end in disaster? The truth is we should never have legalised the union - the only reason I can't trully deny the whole thing is that I wouldn't want one hair on the kid's head to be in anyway different. We were young, naive, I was an emotional car-crash and actually I'm really happy for him that he's so contented and settled in his current marriage. We invested so much time and energy firstly into being a family and secondly into trying to damage and destroy each other - and now we can joke and exchange conversation over a G & T as if we were mere acquaintances. Blood will always be thicker than water though and in some wierd, obscure way we shall always be linked by the DNA of our children. Karma.
My brother is sorting out the devastion in his home. They took only small valuable pieces including my mother's ring and - perish the thought - her St Christopher. My cousin reckons they'll be dead by the weekend. My dear Aunt and Uncle have sent their first parcel out to C - much confusion over kilograms but the kindly person in the Post Office let it go through. And I'm going to have my bath as the nurse has just left.
Is life settling down? Please God keep everyone safe.
Speak Soon. A soldier's Mum x
Monday, 26 October 2009
Day 23 Week 4
Freud said for everyone to be healthy they need - something to do; something to look forward to and someone to love. He also thought that dreams were a pathway to understanding the human condition, women tended towards hysteria and most subconscious desires related to illicit sex and mothers. I guess on the Freudian Richter scale of life I am teetering on the danger zone.
Saw the most gorgeous singing group on Songs of Praise last night, they're called 'the Soldiers' and they've released an album to raise money for the Poppy appeal and it's a real tear-jerker. The title track - 'Coming Home' - is guaranteed to leave not an eye dry in the house. When you listen to them talking about the network of fellowship that is within the soldier's world it almost starts to make sense.
There is the most enormous sense of camaraderie and brotherhood amongst the ranks and I know it's a cliche but they really do regard the Army as a family. Prior to C going away I had a call from him on a particularly hectic day when he'd been doing all sorts of things, including appearing in Court to speak of the good character of one of his men, and when I asked him if he still enjoyed his chosen career he said 'Ma, it's the best job in the world'. That struck me and I tried to fathom out whether it's better to do a job you hate or can barely tolerate for forty years, or risk dying young but having done something you adore? Oscar Wilde said 'do something you love and you'll never do a day's work in your life'.
H enjoying the delights of Liverpool, last night was spent on the razzle in an Irish bar. Rang and said the trip was fantastic and that he's working really hard because he's coming to the end of his time aboard ship. They have to spend a week working in every department from catering to engine-room therefore familiarising them with every aspect of a mariner's life. Then they have a vivat exam lasting forever where they have to show they've learnt everything - seems like a good idea - in order to be able to run anything efficiently a sound knowledge of grassroots helps. R hopefully back safely at uni - am I really being unreasonable if I ask her to text and say she's arrived OK? Seemingly so.
Just had a call from my brother who is staying at his partner's parent's farm in Germany, and he has to fly home immediately because not only has he been burgled but they've also trashed the house.
Today would have been my mother's birthday and I have a spooky feeling that the jewellery of her's they've just stolen will bring them nothing but trouble.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
Saw the most gorgeous singing group on Songs of Praise last night, they're called 'the Soldiers' and they've released an album to raise money for the Poppy appeal and it's a real tear-jerker. The title track - 'Coming Home' - is guaranteed to leave not an eye dry in the house. When you listen to them talking about the network of fellowship that is within the soldier's world it almost starts to make sense.
There is the most enormous sense of camaraderie and brotherhood amongst the ranks and I know it's a cliche but they really do regard the Army as a family. Prior to C going away I had a call from him on a particularly hectic day when he'd been doing all sorts of things, including appearing in Court to speak of the good character of one of his men, and when I asked him if he still enjoyed his chosen career he said 'Ma, it's the best job in the world'. That struck me and I tried to fathom out whether it's better to do a job you hate or can barely tolerate for forty years, or risk dying young but having done something you adore? Oscar Wilde said 'do something you love and you'll never do a day's work in your life'.
H enjoying the delights of Liverpool, last night was spent on the razzle in an Irish bar. Rang and said the trip was fantastic and that he's working really hard because he's coming to the end of his time aboard ship. They have to spend a week working in every department from catering to engine-room therefore familiarising them with every aspect of a mariner's life. Then they have a vivat exam lasting forever where they have to show they've learnt everything - seems like a good idea - in order to be able to run anything efficiently a sound knowledge of grassroots helps. R hopefully back safely at uni - am I really being unreasonable if I ask her to text and say she's arrived OK? Seemingly so.
Just had a call from my brother who is staying at his partner's parent's farm in Germany, and he has to fly home immediately because not only has he been burgled but they've also trashed the house.
Today would have been my mother's birthday and I have a spooky feeling that the jewellery of her's they've just stolen will bring them nothing but trouble.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
Sunday, 25 October 2009
Day 22 Week 4
Week four - phew. Am obviously delighted that hopefully no news is good news but am really struggling with it just now.
Saw Channel 4 news last night and was moved by the attendance on the peace march by a serving soldier who has refused to return to Afghanistan and will face at least one court martial for that, and possibly another for addressing a rally so bravely and forcibly against the war. All he actually said was that the troops on the ground do not understand why they are there and doesn't that speak volumes? If we really could follow the cause with clarity then there would be justification.
Then saw a battalion from my son's regiment returning home, and the Colonel spoke to the camera equally as eloquently, but this time about the tour of duty completed and the huge sadness that so many families were not able to enjoy a homecoming. What a mess.
The thing about standing on the edge of a precipice is that there are actually only two directions you can travel - over the edge and into oblivion or stepping away, slowly to safety. Realise I do not want to fall over the edge at all but feel as if I was hijacked and transported to the cliff face against my wishes, so not sure how to reverse from a situation that I have no control over. Was talking to a friend about this the other day and they said acceptance is a useful tool. Acceptance of where we are and acceptance that you can do nothing to influence the situation at all, so railing against it is a) futile, b) exhausting and c) a complete waste of time.
Must work on acceptance.
The thing about being fifty is it sounds so grown up. There is absolutely no tangible difference in the human condition between 11.59 on the day before and midnight at the commencement of the birthday itself. But it has just has a resonance of sobriety to it. Not that I don't thank the Lord that I am fortunate to have lived for half a century and with good health and developments in science may have a good few more years left to come, it's just if the truth be told, between the ears, I'm still a teenager - and it all seems to have got so serious. Don't actually know what I want to be when I grow up.
Also it's true that the years do seem to fly-by more quickly. Apparently a psychologist told me that's because a year is a benchmark for time measurement and as we gather more of them they become, symbolically a smaller unit. So at five years a year is 20% of your life and at 50 it's 2%. And I can't believe we are now well and trully in wintertime.
Waiting for the nurse to arrive and am extremely uncomfortable as foot not behaving itself at all. Am hobbling around with a very sore, swollen, purple extremity. Ho-hum at least am hobbling around at all.
More prayers to St Therese
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
Saw Channel 4 news last night and was moved by the attendance on the peace march by a serving soldier who has refused to return to Afghanistan and will face at least one court martial for that, and possibly another for addressing a rally so bravely and forcibly against the war. All he actually said was that the troops on the ground do not understand why they are there and doesn't that speak volumes? If we really could follow the cause with clarity then there would be justification.
Then saw a battalion from my son's regiment returning home, and the Colonel spoke to the camera equally as eloquently, but this time about the tour of duty completed and the huge sadness that so many families were not able to enjoy a homecoming. What a mess.
The thing about standing on the edge of a precipice is that there are actually only two directions you can travel - over the edge and into oblivion or stepping away, slowly to safety. Realise I do not want to fall over the edge at all but feel as if I was hijacked and transported to the cliff face against my wishes, so not sure how to reverse from a situation that I have no control over. Was talking to a friend about this the other day and they said acceptance is a useful tool. Acceptance of where we are and acceptance that you can do nothing to influence the situation at all, so railing against it is a) futile, b) exhausting and c) a complete waste of time.
Must work on acceptance.
The thing about being fifty is it sounds so grown up. There is absolutely no tangible difference in the human condition between 11.59 on the day before and midnight at the commencement of the birthday itself. But it has just has a resonance of sobriety to it. Not that I don't thank the Lord that I am fortunate to have lived for half a century and with good health and developments in science may have a good few more years left to come, it's just if the truth be told, between the ears, I'm still a teenager - and it all seems to have got so serious. Don't actually know what I want to be when I grow up.
Also it's true that the years do seem to fly-by more quickly. Apparently a psychologist told me that's because a year is a benchmark for time measurement and as we gather more of them they become, symbolically a smaller unit. So at five years a year is 20% of your life and at 50 it's 2%. And I can't believe we are now well and trully in wintertime.
Waiting for the nurse to arrive and am extremely uncomfortable as foot not behaving itself at all. Am hobbling around with a very sore, swollen, purple extremity. Ho-hum at least am hobbling around at all.
More prayers to St Therese
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
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