Practise, Practise, Practise!

I have it in mind to write for thirty minutes every day. It's part of my Resilience Programme which I am following as a consequence of my recent completion of the EdX. Course, "Resilience The Science of Stress Management", of which I have written in previous posts. I'm doing pretty well, but have lapsed rather, owing to some significent family events. 

Kate's marriage to Darren last Friday was a wonderful occasion. Witnessing these two lovely people make their vows to one another was a privilege, they are so obviously in love. The weather was perfect, the castle magnificent, everything just great. 

Some writers are methodical, embracing timetables, structures and the work ethic. If you write for a living, I heartily recommend this as a practice, but I am done with all this, having been handed the gift of retirement, which I see as an opportunity to do what I damn well please until I can't do it anymore. 

I rely on inspiration, which is a frequent if unobserved visitor to this butterfly mind. 

Inspiration, I find, needs a bit of a helping hand from time to time, and I have been applying my curiosity to the teachings of The Buddha. Just dipping in is mind-blowing. How come I didn't know this? I exclaim, inwardly, and I have thrown myself into a crash course which has left me knowing a little, a very little, and a thirst for knowing more. 

I am not going to insult Buddhists  by attempting to give you a run-down. I am not even at the beginning of understanding the profound insights they attain through years of practice of yoga and meditation, but I am going to work with this sentence:

"What do you practise?" 

I think I am beginning to understand that you become what you practise, particularly if you do it intentionally. Most of the time I don't think much about what I'm doing. I hare through life making it up as I go along, often meaning well,  in an off-hand sort of way ... Sometimes even congratulating myself on my trivial and rather superficial "goodness". 

So, time to get down to it. Somewhere in the middle of 2009, I began to wake up. Here's the thing:

I went out on the streets with Susan last week and soon found myself wanting to hit her. But I didn't. I never would have EVER, I'm much too nice to do that, but for the very first time, I allowed the inner eye to open and I watched myself wanting to hit Susan. "Hey," I whispered, so quietly, I hardly heard myself, "WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?" "I'm thinking this woman is getting on my nerves," I reply, rather shamefaced, because Susan is MUCH nicer than me. "Ha! You're envious. that's why you want to hit her... . " Sad, but true. 

This week I stayed in the Mission Room and spoke to Andrew, and Maxine and Graham and Maxine's friend, Jesus (Oh Yes, for real. More of HIM another day) I listened and I laughed I commiserated and hinted that what's wanted is a revolution, and I waited for Susan to return and I knew. Having caught myself out in envy, and named it, and laughed at it, I no longer felt it. It was like losing a sack of boulders. Susan returned my hug with great affection, thinking it was just the usual City Mission Hug. But it wasn't.

Kate's Marriage to Darren 25th July 2014

Mr and Mrs Darren J...

Eastnor Castle

Ray, me and two cheese souffles.

The Ceremony

Rosie, Me, Jen, Abigail and my sister Janette

Hold On Lightly

Brian has found a full-time job.  I miss his tall gangly presemce and his easy conversation, to say nothing of his transforming work in the house and garden! 

"Sometimes it's good news" I wrote a while back, and this really is.  A young man who just needed a bit of  a break:  I feel really glad that.I was able to help, but as a Type Two on the Enneagram, I would say that wouldn't I? 

Tom's back from his European trip with Colette. He was the origin of my epiphany, "I don't do meetings anymore, I go to the Salvation Army and help serve lunch to the homeless." That must have been three years ago, and it's been an amazing source of wellbeing for ME: a sense of purpose, some continuity, a reason to get out of bed and feel worthwhile ... And I thought the purpose was to help others!

I have to watch the tendency to hold on to Brian, and this is hard. I remember when Ray supported a recovering alcoholic through his work with Emmaus, a long  time ago. Once Richard was dry and well enough to leave and pick up his old life, he vanished completely from ours. Ray was very philosophical about it, "He associates us with the worst time in his life. Why would he want to keep in touch?" 

'Holding on lightly' is for me allowing myself to feel deep gratitude for the men and women who walked alongside me for a while, then blessing them and letting them go, when it's time. 

Family First

My current title, which I reckon I can reasonably hold until Kate and. Darren return from honeymoon in mid-August, is, you may remember, " Mother-Of-The-Bride".

I tell you, we are a ferocious breed, armed to the teeth with soothing comments, anxiety-relieving nostrums, Old Wives Tales and  Sound Advice. Foremost amongst which is, "Don't let me hit the gin before noon." 

Hannah's wedding on 20th June, was a dream. No-one fell imto the Mill Pond, or did themselves a mischief in the Adventure Playground. The Registrar was brilliant, the weather fantastic and Abigail, aged, three, co-operated way beyond expectations. (She being a free spirit and liable to proclain a firm and loud, "No" at the merest hint of, say, walking in the Bridal Procession.) My role, apart from staying sober enough to remain coherent throughout, was to cluck proudly over my chick, assist with the dressing (I tied the bow on the bridal gown) and do the flowers. 

My friend Gail kindly assisted, which was a godsend, and we had a wonderful time. It's rare that we have nearly £300 of flowers to play with, so we made the most of it. 

Somewhere mid-afternoon, I realised I'd cut all the ivory roses down ro four inches in length, having mislaid the part of my brain that knew half a dozen had to be saved for Hannah's bouquet. I remembered in good time and knew this was no occasion for panic. The MOB spirit had to pull this rabbit out of the hat and pronto. 

The local florist did not have a bouquet holder that would have made use of the shortened roses, which anyway were needed for No 3 Bridesmaid, but she did have six fully opened, beautiful ivory roses. Just six, just enough. Crisis over. There IS a God.

Now I'm gearing up for the Final Appearance. The Last Act - in the truly dramatic setting of Eastnor Castle. Which, as I discovered at the Wedding Fair I attended last summer is a REAL castle with all the correct attributes like moat, gate-house, a park  and turrets. Darren and Kate are tying the knot amongst very impressive portraits of someone else's ancestors, which, because they're in oils, is good enough for me. 

I am hosting a very important dinner on the evening of the Big Day, a 'Just Us' supper. Ray, myself and our three daughters. I have asked them what their favourite meals were when they were growing up ... Betty Crocker's Southern Fried Chicken with Bacon Wrapped Bananas and Tuna Plait, or Deep Dish Pizza came the fore. Though Kate, wary of suddenly growing out of her wedding gown, has asked only for a salad.

Lucy Hedgehog Cake for dessert, naturally.

It's not about the food, of course. It's a celebration of the beginning of a new era, a recognitiin that our family has grown and changed for ever. Our three lovely daughters have brought three fine sons into our lives, and it's AMAZING. The 'Last Supper' will have a sacremental quality to it too, a thanksgiving that we have somehow raised our children to be confident, caring young women, capable of taking on the world whilst at the same time making a safe haven for their own children in their turn. 

Footnote:

I went on a writers course last weekend. The importance of telling our stories and leaving them for our descendents was brought up.

"I communicate with my descendants every week," I ventured. "It's called 'Babysitting." 

(I thought that would make you smile! :) )