Can I rise to the challenge?

I have been thrown a challenge. A new one.

The challenge is to resume writing. A number of things have got in the way of my fingers trotting creatively all over my keyboard during the last couple of years or so. That’s not to say I haven’t actually written anything. I have. Of course I have. Thousands of pages of website copy for a start. And hundreds of letters for business. But my friend is correct, I have not utilised the English language in a written creative way and just for fun for quite some time. And being the competitive soul that I am I feel I have to respond.

So here goes … let’s see if I can rise to the challenge …

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All I want for Christmas is …

“What do you want for Christmas?”  My husband asks me this and I ask him the same at some point each December.  And every year we have to rack our brains to come up with something we’d want / like as a gift.

We do our Christmas shopping for family and friends, sometimes with a clearly defined list, sometimes not; occasionally well in advance of the event, mostly horribly late.  And whilst trailing round the shops, and fighting through the crowds, we check out all the possible festive gifts for one another, and buy none of them.

Neither of us gets revved up over a gift boxed set of random products or a new winter sweater; but equally neither of us can come up with something that we really, really want for Christmas.  Now, this has nothing to do with a lack of imagination; more to do with the fact that there’s very little we need.  And always having one essential eye on the family bank balance generally makes those things we’d quite like to have fall into the “non-essential” category, and they tend to stay there un-purchased.

Also, being a family of makers and doers, arts and crafts have always featured strongly in our November and December leisure time; the results of which have been the most amazingly weird and wonderful Christmas gifts over the years.  Personally, I like to receive a handmade gift; it warms my heart to think of someone lovingly slaving away just to put a smile on my face.

However, when this year’s request came for my gift ideas, I decided to seriously go for it just for comic value:

1.  A January holiday, jetting off to somewhere warm, just the two of us

2.  A camera; one which zooms in and out properly and takes video footage

3.  A posh expensive dress and a pair of high heeled pointy shoes (even though they’ll make me too tall)

4.  A new car; a slinky fast sporty number to replace my battered old box on wheels

I could have gone on, plenty, really I could, but that would have been overkill.  I also know that a couple of those requests can be accommodated without too much pain.

And my husband’s response to my question, “What do you want for Christmas?”  He said the same thing he’s said for the last 30 or so years,

“I’ll have you stark naked please with a ribbon on for Christmas!”

Well, this wish has never actually been granted to him, what with small children, teenagers, grandparents and all the other manic stuff of Christmas mornings.  And no, you really shouldn’t feel sorry for the man of the house, as the only difference between his Christmas morning dream and any other ordinary morning will be the bloody bow.

However, after 30 years of him first asking for me naked with a ribbon on for Christmas, and me never quite managing to get it all wrapped up beautifully and presented properly for first thing Christmas Day, I’ve decided that this year, my lovely midlife husband will get his wish.  We have no small children to attend to these days; there’ll be no pressure to perform (Oh God).

I will, of course, make sure he also has a gift or two tucked under the tree for later, even though we both know that the best things in life really are for free.  My only worry is, what will he ask for next year?

I'm thinking of something along the lines of the above

But suspect it'll be something like this. Oh dear!

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Another one bites the dust

News reached me this week that the small village pub which my friends and I have frequented on a regular basis for many years has called time for the last time.  This will be a huge blow for the local community as well as lovers of the fortnightly pub quiz.

Thirteen rural pubs are shutting down in Britain each week, a rate 20 times higher than three years ago, and beer sales are lower than at any point since the Depression of the 1930s.  Experts say that while national bar chains such as Wetherspoons are thriving, community and village pubs are being forced into administration and “popping down to the local” could become a thing of the past.

The British Beer and Pub Association (BBPA) estimates that around 4,000 village pubs have disappeared since 1980 – the result of increasingly tough drink-driving laws, cheap supermarket beer, rising costs and alcohol duty, and the smoking ban.

But Harrogate bar owner Jay Smith has decided that enough is enough.  He says that it is the small village pubs which are closing at an alarming rate rather than the town bars.

Jay struck on the idea that if communities took the pub on themselves and ran it on a voluntary basis, it could ensure the future of the village local. He thought it would also be a very good way of getting communities back into the pub. They would only have the pressure of paying the mortgage or rent as everything else would be provided by the community; any profits would go back into the pub or the local community.

He decided to take his idea to a television production team, and thought no more about it until they contacted him and asked if he wanted to be involved in putting a programme together, and he agreed to present it.

Jay has spent the last year filming Save Our Boozer, to be screened on the TV channel Blighty over four consecutive nights from tonight, Tuesday 8^th December.  In the series, he visits five closed or failing pubs and enlists local residents to run them.

Jay leads each community through an intense six weeks of training and hard work to revamp their pub – and decide whether they are ready to take it over for good.

Jay has experienced the highs and lows of the industry at first hand. Ten years ago he lost his house, his car and very nearly his business when his first bar failed to break even. But he turned things around. Now, he wants to do the same for the British boozer, one small pub at a time.

Local pubs are the backbone of British society, particularly in rural communities. Once they close it is very unlikely that they will ever re-open because people move on, find new venues and learn to live without their local. Save Our Boozer is hoping to inspire people to support their local boozer and save the species from extinction.

Save our Boozer is on Blighty from Tuesday, December 8 at 8pm.

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Christmas starts on 18th December and not before

The first Christmas card of 2009 fell on to our doormat this morning.  The very kind sender was very considerately wishing our family a “Very Merry Christmas” and a “Happy New Year”.  I’m not being ungrateful, really I’m not, but I’ve filed it.  Until it becomes relevant.

Well, I can hardly put it up on the window sill, now can I?  It’s November 21^st for God’s sake.

I’m still in late summer / early autumn mode if I’m honest.  You know – fluffy socks some days, bare feet on others.  And winter’s not officially with us until December 21^st.

For me, Christmas should begin one week before and last until January 2^nd, maximum.  My friends keep asking, “Are you all sorted for Christmas?” No, actually, I’m not, and I’m not going to be for a while yet.  I’ll get sorted for Christmas, when it’s Christmas.

Bah humbug?  No, definitely not.  Christmas is a wonderful time of year.  But should it take up weeks and weeks beforehand?   No!  I’m really busy with other more important things.

In my view those lovely well-wishing people who send Christmas cards in November clearly do not have enough going on in their lives.  Christmas starts on 18^th December and not before.

Signed:  Busy, grumpy, midlife writer

P.S. Have to say, though, I did come across this whilst writing the post.  I absolutely love it because it’s light-hearted, bright and happy.  Think I’ll send something similar this year (but not until 18th!).

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I Am Woman, Hear Me… Never Mind

I want to be a man.  If only so I can feel good about myself when reading magazines.

I’m a smart, confident woman.  I subscribe to the Atlantic Monthly and Vanity Fair so I can stay abreast of liberal politics and sit in my “garden-level” apartment pretending to be an elitist, East Coast blueblood.  Lately though, I’ve been keeping up with women’s magazines for blog ideas.  And I gotta tell you, reading them makes you feel like dog doo.

First are all those supermodels and actresses with their awesomely toned bodies, shiny hair and perfect skin.  Their photos are surrounded by tips on how we can achieve the look as if none of us have jobs or families to attend to.  Did you know Jennifer Aniston had two rice cakes and a teaspoon of peanut butter for breakfast?  When she wants to splurge, she eats bread.  Wild woman.

Women have been kvetching about the impossible beauty standards set by ladies’ mags for ages.  But to me, the articles are the killers.  In the past month alone, I’ve found out my hair is unsexy (because it’s curly), stress may cause infertility and men’s midlife crises now start at thirty-five.  I read an advice column that screamed, “Help!  My Internet Boyfriend’s a Bisexual Cross Dresser” and another offering, “5 Signs You’re a Bad Co-Worker”.  And I thoroughly enjoyed reading the masterpiece, “Why I Stole My Best Friend’s Guy”.  As if skyrocketing unemployment and endless wars aren’t scary enough.  Now we have to fear our best gals mackin’ on our dudes.

‘Course, in these mags, men are a bunch of selfish, untrustworthy hound dogs who either game-play their way into women’s undies or must be manipulated into relationships.  “Make Him Stay” and “Why Men Cheat” are constant titles, while the slew of articles meant to guide women through human relationships could be summed up by the headline, “Ten Things Women Do to Screw Up Their Relationships (and, basically, their lives…idiots)”.

The best article this week was a stunning piece of investigative journalism entitled, “Did You Know Your Vagina Can Fall Out of Your Body?”  Must be one of those secrets the medical industry keeps from us.  I can only imagine the conversations that’ll now take place across the nation: “You hear about Gwendolyn?  She was running to catch a bus and her vagina just popped right on out!”

Ladies, we’re doomed.  If you believe women’s magazines, we’re all a bunch of horribly unfit, unlikable, deathly ill losers who no one will ever love.  And we can’t trust anyone.  Not men, not our friends and certainly not ourselves.

Keeping oneself centered in the midst of life’s challenges is quite a feat, though usually I stay fairly balanced.  But now I find myself asking, “why don’t I look like an oiled-up Eva Mendes in my Calvin Klein skivvies?  Will the sunflower seeds I eat be linked to a healthier heart or leprosy?  And who really cares if stress causes sterility if your vagina’s gonna fall out anyway?”

Ah, but men’s magazines.  What beacons of hope!  What tidings they bring of reassurance and good cheer!

There’s Maxim, an orgiastic handbook of gadgets, cars, sports and half-naked starlets.  Maxim is like a guy’s frat brother urging him to have another beer (it won’t kill you), and offering tips on how to sneak out of the house or get his girl to shave everything “down there”.

Then there’s Esquire.  I enjoy this one because their well-written articles treat readers as if they might have brains.  Tailored suits, expensive watches, fancy cars, high-end scotch and disrobing A-list actresses – Esquire’s world of men rocks.  No matter how chubby, boring or unsuccessful a guy is, reading it will make him believe he’s awesome.  They present cover boys like Matt Damon and Bill Clinton as buddies, and offer comforting words for men’s failings.  Romantic ineptitude, professional failure, erectile dysfunction – no worries, Esquire’s got your back.

Reading the October issue, “The Feel Good Issue”, left me positively glowing.  Even before you open the darn thing, they’re already throwing roses at your feet.  The headlines on the cover offered readers the “Sexiest Woman Alive”, “Encouraging Words from President Clinton” and finished off with a “You Look Great, By the Way”.  Sure beats Shape’s, “Scary Truth about Germs”.

Inside was a “Box of Permanent Joy” which included ‘70s sitcoms and Mahler symphonies.  There was “A Guide to – and Celebration of – the Ablutions, Unguents, and Bathroom Rituals that Make Us Men”.  Wow, even their grooming practices are worth celebrating.

Really, I love being a woman.  Though I love peeking into the world of men, I prefer taking on life as a female.  I only wish my magazines liked me as much as I like myself.

This post is reproduced with the kind permission of Laura Warrell, Tart and Soul.  To enjoy further snippets of Laura’s work click the link below:

http://tartandsoul.com

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Wanted: canal boat with log fire on board = Mission Impossible

As a result of Sunday’s brisk walk alongside the Chesterfield Canal in bright sunshine, I have spent some considerable time surfing the net looking for a canal boat with a real fire on board.

Quite fancied a weekend break wending gracefully along our waterways with very little traffic or interference, save for a few swans and ducks.  The idea of mooring up at random isolated places for a snooze or to make a meal really appealed to this weary midlifer.  And on our chilly November nights afloat we would be very cosy snuggled up in front of a spitting and sparking log fire, sharing a glass or two or three of good red wine.

One would think that it would be easy to organise this simple midlife short break request.  Many of the boat hire companies offer winter breaks afloat with every conceivable comfort; however the bottom line reality is somewhat different.

Most of Friday would be taken up with training and familiarising ourselves with the mechanics of canal cruising.  Training?  Surely it can’t be that difficult.  And you can only moor up in specified places apparently.  Where’s the freedom in that?  Failure to locate a single available canal boat with a solid fuel fire was the final straw of frustration; my starry-eyed midlife plan for a relaxing weekend break was blown completely out of the water.

It finally occurred to me that we could book a very nice hotel, not floating of course but hey ho; we could have a spacious room (not just 7 feet wide), a hot tub, a huge bed and all mod cons for considerably less cost than the narrowboat idea.  Think we’ll do that and leave the canal boat plan for a summer time adventure.  Besides, all those lock gates look like incredibly hard work.  Hardly be a holiday would it?

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Anti-Ageing Argan Oil Face Mask – DIY Beauty Treatment

more about “Anti-Ageing Argan Oil Face Mask“, posted with vodpod

Argan oil is rich in Vitamin E and essential fatty acids, it’s fast absorbing and lightweight. Honey and yogurt are also great (and cheap) ingredients to use in any DIY beauty treatment for hydrating and nourishing the skin.

The plant sterols active in argan oil have anti-inflammatory and anti-bacterial properties which make it safe for all skin types and can naturally treat acne, eczema and other skin conditions.

This is a DIY beauty mask to add hydration to your skin, neutralize free radicals responsible for aging, and minimize the appearance of fine lines by boosting collagen and elastin.  This DIY beauty treatment is brilliant for middle aged women (tried and tested by this midlife writer!).

Ingredients
1 tsp organic honey (draws and retains moisture)
1 tbsp organic yogurt (skin-nourishing natural fats and lactic acids)
1-5 drops argan oil (rich in Vitamin E, anti-age, reduce inflammation)

Directions
Microwave honey for 10 seconds in a microwave. Mix honey, yogurt, and argan oil in a small bowl. Apply to face, leave on 15 mins and remove with a warm towel.

Video and recipe is courtesy of http://glamology.com

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Would I parent in the same way if I was given the chance to do it all over again?

So, would I parent in the same way if I was given the chance to do it all over again?  Hmmm  ..  now let me think.  This follows on from yesterday’s post below, if anyone’s wondering.

Musical instrument classes?  Yes I’d pay for those again.  Why?  Because the sense of achievement and pride the girls gained from mastering an instrument was huge.  It also enabled them to play in church festivals at primary school and in the orchestra at senior school, all of which they enjoyed.  Do either of them play an instrument now?  No, they do not.  So what was the long term point of learning I hear you ask.  They understand the effort involved, and know that they applied themselves and achieved.  They can take that experience and belief in themselves and apply it to other areas of their lives as adults.

Dance classes?  Yes I’d pay for those again.  Why?  Again for their sense of joy and  pleasure in taking part in dance festivals and displays.  Do either of them dance now?  Socially – all the time like most young people.  In classes?  Our younger daughter danced until she was 16, and then did tap dancing classes whilst at university recently but the cost prevented her from continuing.  Now that she’s graduated she says that she will probably take up dancing again.  Elder daughter enjoyed the gymnastics classes the most – suited her athletic approach to life, and she gave up dance at 12 to pursue sport.

Drama classes?  Yes, I’d pay for those again.  Younger daughter did these for a number of years.  She thoroughly enjoyed them.  I’d say that these classes provided an outlet for her creativity on stage, and taught her to channel her enthusiastic energy for life.  She still is a drama queen to be honest.

Badminton classes?  Yes I’d pay for those again.  Elder daughter benefited hugely from taking part in sporting activities both in school and outside of school.  She gained in confidence, and played badminton at county level for two years.  She still plays the game now.

Swimming lessons?   Yes I’d pay for those again.  Both girls are very good swimmers.  We took them both swimming weekly from being babies, feeling that they should be able to swim for their own safety.  They learned quickly, loved it, and joined a local swimming club.

Rainbows and Brownies?   Yes I’d do that again.  They gained so much from the weekly meetings about teamwork, friendship, group activities, creative activities and much more.  I learned a lot too as I used to help out at the weekly meetings.

We used to take the occasional horse-riding lesson or two; both girls played golf with their father, and as a family we used to do many other fun activities, mostly outdoor things like cycling and walking.  None of these would I change or have my family miss out on.

So it looks as if I’d still run myself ragged to meet a hectic weekly schedule if I had my time over again.  There are other things, however, that this midlife mother would change, and this is where the hindsight comes in.

I remember being quite ambitious for my children; I can recall encouraging them in all things.  I wanted them to be good at stuff so that they would feel great about themselves.  And they were good at almost everything they did.  But being good at something does not guarantee that they will continue with it or develop it further.  Our elder daughter did very well at school and could have been anything she wanted to be.  She chose to be a horticulturalist.  She’s an exceptionally good horticulturalist too, loving what she does. And now, with hindsight, I can see that it wouldn’t matter what she had chosen to do, so long as it was something she really wanted to do she would be good at it.

Our younger daughter has just graduated from university and is now undertaking a Masters course.  She’s hoping to lecture at university in the future.  To be absolutely honest I could never have seen that one coming.

In conclusion then maybe I’d tone down my ambition for them if I had my time again.  I’d ease up on myself too and take a much more relaxed approach, because ultimately all a parent can do is give kids the best opportunities available, a range of interests, sports and hobbies to participate in and grow their confidence, and then sit back and watch this space really.  Things never turn out quite how you expect them to, do they?

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A Slice of Life

I came across this short piece of writing in our filing cabinet today.  I had almost forgotten that it was there, tucked away in a folder with several more.  The year of writing is 1996.  I used to write a regular column for our county paper when my children were small, entitled “A Slice of Life”.  Whilst reading my 1996 scribblings, it occurred to me that my life has changed completely over the last 13 years, so I decided to post up the original, and then examine quite simply if I was right or wrong back then.  How have things panned out considering I had strong views on most things, and also bearing in mind that hindsight is always a marvellous thing? Your comments are welcome as always:

A Slice of Life (March 1996)

This week sees the beginning of a period of chaos in our house, more chaos than usual that is.  Our younger daughter is busy rehearsing for a part in a local production of “Annie”.  The bathroom will constantly be ringing to the sound of “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile” and “It’s A Hard-Knock Life”.  The chaos derives partly from the temperamentality of a stage-struck eight year old, who deviates back and forth from being supremely confident to a bag of nerves at least once every day.  The added dates and times scribbled on the already overflowing kitchen calendar also contribute.  Not to mention the extra taxi service required of me and our car by the blue-eyed starlet.

I’m not complaining exactly, just a little tired is all.  You see, my belief is that by allowing our daughters to take part in theatrical productions; do dance classes; play musical instruments; go to Brownies and so on, they will become confident and well-rounded individuals.  That way they won’t have time to be bored when they’re teenagers.  Then they will be less likely to fall prey to the temptations that society puts before them, which every parent dreads.  That’s the theory anyway.

“You must be mad,” says my mother, as she coolly observes me frantically juggling my business and family commitments.  “You didn’t do all those things when you were a child, and you turned out alright!”

Of course I did, on the whole.  But then I wasn’t offered Ecstasy tablets as a teenager – I hadn’t even heard of it until recently.  The biggest temptation put under my nose was whether to smoke a No 6 behind the bikesheds.  And yes, I did accept, just for the devilment, and yes, shamefully, I do still smoke.  So there you have it in a nutshell.  I was easily led, incapable of asserting myself and applying common sense at 15.

My own children are much more aware of social and political issues than ever I was.  They have strong opinions already on the environment, world poverty and government.  They have access to a broad base of information at school, in the library and from the TV.  They even have their own early evening television news programme.  I feel that a broad experience of social skills is necessary to balance the scales of their development so to speak.

Another thing which worries my mother is the cost of all these activities.  She’s not the only one; I fret about it too.  But then as I point out, we did plan to have our two children, and yes, we did foresee raising a family as being expensive.  Most importantly, we owe it to them to provide a happy and secure framework on which they can build their future.  If this means making sacrifices, then so be it, even when it involves giving the butcher a miss for once.  It’ll have to be egg and chips instead, because younger daughter’s feet are becoming malformed in those size 12 tap shoes.

“Anyway, what’s the point of having a fridge full of food when there’s no time to cook it?” I jokingly ask my concerned parent.

I’m sure she has nightmares about talented, but half-starved grand-daughters, and whole families suffering from burn-out in this madcap world of ours.  She somehow can’t quite see that times have changed since I was a girl, and that we all have to adjust our lives accordingly, and make the best of it we can.

So I continue to ignore my mother’s protestations, and doggedly plough my chosen furrow.  Most of the time I’m convinced we’re on the right path.  It’s usually when I’m turning out on dark winter nights, forsaking the warmth of hearth and home to take or retrieve our socially active daughters, that I have grave doubts about the motivation behind the theory.  It’s all well and good producing self-assured kids who can turn their hands to most things, but when I’m tripping over clarinets and music stands, sewing costumes at midnight, and running a taxi service, I sometimes feel that I’ve bitten off a bit more than I can comfortably chew.

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Midlife shopping experience in South Yorkshire. Fashion conscious? I think not.

It occurs to me that huge chunks of the British population really do not care what they look like.  This opinion was formed whilst shopping in a large South Yorkshire town a good few miles away from my home this afternoon.

The place has a fantastic market; the best for miles around I’d say.  If it’s food you’re after then this market is short of nothing.  I’ve never seen so many meat stalls, fish stalls, fruit and vegetable stalls, cheese stalls and delicatessen stalls anywhere before.  I love the place for fresh food shopping.  I would suggest, however, that you don’t go browsing in the food halls with an empty stomach, because you’ll spend more than you intended, guaranteed.

This busy town also has a great indoor shopping mall, recently extended to house some of the best shops and brands known to the UK.  There are some marvellous designer shops tucked away down side streets as well, with window displays to die for.

Midlife women shopping in South Yorkshire town

But the people walking about.  Dear, oh dear.  They are a sight to behold.  Well, most of them I’d say.  Today I’ve seen young and middle aged women with tatty hair, in baggy dresses with anoraks over; young men and midlife men in ill-fitting jeans and cheap shirts; and numerous teenagers dressed in shell-suit style fabrics with scruffy trainers.  There was a distinct lack of well dressed people out and about.  And every time I go there I think the same thing.

Ill-dressed midlife men hanging out in South Yorkshire town

This town has a busy, somewhat affluent feel to it.  The shops are full to brimming with fashionable and attractive clothes.  So why does the population here appear to own nothing but mismatched clothes from jumble sales or charity shops?  And more to the point, how on earth do the shops survive?  Who the hell is buying their goods?  Because it’s definitely not the local population this midlifer was shopping with today.

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