Messages From the Universe

Things On The Blog have been pretty quiet lately, mostly because Things In Real Life have been anything but quiet. IB and I find ourselves with three elderly parents between us who are increasingly reliant on our help with day to day living. As they become less able-bodied and begin to struggle with cognitive issues we've taken on more and more caring duties. It's been one of those situations that has rather snowballed in recent months, in that what was initially just a small amount of extra work has begun to seem all-encompassing. I work days and IB works evenings so his Mum - who now lives with us and is physically very frail - always has someone at home with her if she needs anything. My parents only live a 20 minute drive away, but they are also increasingly reliant on my help so I have had to drastically cut my work schedule so that I have enough time to assist them. Our social life has pretty much shrunk to zero, and we don't even get to spend that much time with each other. 

The last few weeks have been especially stressful, with lots of medical issues and appointments for all three parents, a blizzard of paperwork and officialdom to deal with, the death of several household appliances (why do they all break at once?) and all the kind of SNAFUs usually thrown up when Mercury is in retrograde. I find myself fantasising wistfully about going on retreat - or even just running away for the afternoon to sit in blissful peace in the woods. 

Yesterday as I walked to work after parking the car I was feeling incredibly stressed and overwhelmed by everything, wondering if I am actually strong enough to cope with it all. Part of the pavement was coned off due to some kind of groundworks in progress, so I stepped out into the road to go around the obstruction. As I did, I spotted something on the ground. It looked like a shell, and I wondered how on earth it had got there - and how something as fragile as a shell has survived lying in the middle of the road. I nearly stepped over it, but curiosity got the better of me and I picked it up, expecting to find it was actually just a pebble that looked like a shell. Yet as my fingers closed around it, I realised it really was a shell. 

Now I should mention at this point that this isn't the first time I've found a strange object in my path. I call it pavement divination - when I find these oddities I think of them as messages from the Universe and pay attention to what they may be telling me. A while ago I was working on self-care and heart magic and I found a tiny 'Ace of Hearts' charm in my path while walking to work. I took that as a sign of encouragement that I was on the right track. And of course, there was that whole dead frog thing many years ago. 

I turned the shell over in my hand, and saw that it was filled with cement. I think it had come from  the hard core that had either been excavated during the groundworks, or was waiting to backfill the hole. It seems incredible to me that something as fragile as a shell - even one filled with cement - could have survived being dug up, knocked about, and thrown down onto the road in a town centre. And yet here it was, nestled in the palm of my hand. It had sustained some chips and scratches, but it had weathered it all. 

I smiled, closing my fingers around this small miracle, this battered but resilient treasure. If this small shell can endure the tough times and come out intact then so can I. 

And then the Universe sent another message. As I straightened up, a car horn sounded behind me, reminding me I was still standing in the road. I turned to wave an apology at the driver, only to see it was one of my closest friends driving past and waving in greeting. This is a friend who has always been there for me, someone who I know has my back and who I love dearly. Of all the cars that could have driven by at that moment... It seemed like the Universe wanted to remind me that not only am I resilient enough to get through this challenging period, but that I am lucky enough to have wonderful, loving, supportive people in my life.

My miracle shell is now on my altar, and I will keep it as a token to help me remember in the tough times that I am stronger than I think - and that I am not alone.      

Legacies

 

"I am a divine mosaic of everyone who has ever touched my heart." - Tumblr user drowhsy

When I was growing up, my Nanna and Granddad lived in the house next door to us. Nanna was a great cook, and every week she produced a selection of cakes for both households - including her famous fruitcake. To Nanna's eternal chagrin, it always sunk in the middle. She tried tweaking the recipe - adjusting the proportions of ingredients, experimenting with oven temperatures and trying 'hacks' such as tossing the dried fruit in flour before stirring it into the cake mix. Nothing worked - the fruitcakes continued to sink in the middle no matter what she did. But perversely, it was precisely this characteristic that made her fruitcake so beloved by everyone who tried it - the sunken middle made the cake scrumptiously moist and more-ish.  Isn't it strange that it's often the perceived imperfections which make a person or a thing so unique and beloved?      

Since I've been doing a lot more baking recently, I decided I'd like to make one of Nanna's fruitcakes myself and asked Mum for the recipe. She has lent me two books full of handwritten recipes, one which she began keeping when she married my Dad in 1960, and one that belonged to my Grandmother. I am so enjoying leafing through the pages re-discovering favourite recipes from my childhood. I particularly love the pages with lots of splashes and smudges - clearly the most popular, frequently made dishes. I pass my fingers over the familiar handwriting, imagining the family gatherings, dinner parties, birthdays and anniversaries - and the accumulated hours of peeling, chopping, stirring, mixing and baking that went into creating them. I think of the love for us all that was that was poured into each dish. What powerful magic!

Family recipes are just one of the many small but precious legacies that we receive from our loved ones - and that we ourselves can think about passing on to those who will follow on after us. Food, songs, stories, arts, crafts, lore, skills, culture, knowledge. What precious legacies have you inherited?  And what treasures do you have to pass on?

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 82: International Hugging Day

National Hugging Day was first celebrated in Michigan, USA on January 21st 1986. Since then it's become an international annual event which is also known as National Hug Day, Hug Day, International Hug Day, or International Hugging Day. The idea is simply to cheer people up by encouraging us to hug our friends and families more often. In most years, the main consideration is ensuring hugs are consensual. That's still relevant, but 2021 brings the additional challenge of how to give and receive hugs when we are supposed to be observing social distancing? 

It's OK to hug the people you live with - as long as none of you are currently isolating - but when it comes to people outside your immediate household, some creativity is required. For example, the graphic above is from Action for Elders, a charity which works to improve quality of life for older people. They say about National Hugging Day, 

"With the Government urging social distancing to prevent the spread of Covid-19, many are missing those heart-warming embraces - so much so that people have tried to make homemade 'hugging stations' where a protective plastic barrier separated them from their family and friends.

It's clear that many of us are craving those stress-reducing squeezes. So in celebration of National Hugging Day, we've rounded up some safe, feel-good hug alternatives you can do on your own. 

If you or anyone is struggling with loneliness please contact us today.*"

The graphic suggests comforting yourself with hug substitutes such as making yourself a hot drink, taking a soak in a warm bath, using a weighted blanket, trying guided meditations or yoga, brightening your living space with holiday decorations, or snuggling with a pet.

See below for other ideas...

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 82

International Hugging Day

Here are some other ideas for how to give someone a 'hug' without actually coming into physical contact.

• Phone, Skype or Zoom family and friends. Tell them it's International Hugging Day and you're sending them a socially distanced hug!
• Write a letter - even just a postcard can give someone you love a real boost when it pops through the letterbox as a lovely surprise.
• If restrictions in your area allow you to visit but not enter a loved one's home, exchange 'air hugs' at a distance when you next see them. It's not the same as a physical hug, but emotionally it still warms hearts.
• Send a small 'just because' gift with a little note. If you Google 'virtual hugs gifts' you will find a huge range of ideas (if possible, try to purchase it from a small independent retailer or craftsperson via a platform like Etsy - that way you will be giving two hugs - one to the gift recipient and one to the person you purchase from!).

When giving hugs - even virtual ones - you also receive, when you see the smiling face or hear the happiness in a loved one's voice. 

Sending you all a big virtual hug! 

* Contact details for Action for Elders:

website: www.actionforelders.org.uk 

email: info@actionforelders.org.uk 

tel: 030 330 30132

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 52: Family Traditions

 

In the days between Yule and Christmas, I'm thinking about all the personal or family Traditions I associate with this time of year. As I've mentioned before now, it was my family's Tradition that we put the Christmas tree and decorations up during the weekend prior to Christmas. We were also scrupulously careful to make sure they all came down and were neatly packed away on Twelfth Night - it's supposed to be unlucky to leave them up after that.

When T and I were married, we had a Tradition of enjoying a special feast on Christmas Eve - smoked salmon, caviar, oysters, avocado and king prawn salad, crusty bread and an indulgent dessert, accompanied by a bottle of champagne. It was the only time of year we ate such a luxurious spread, but we did it without fail every Christmas Eve. I'm not quite sure where the Tradition came from, except that it was something we did on our first Christmas Eve together, enjoyed and decided to keep doing every year! 

I should say here that I don't think something has to have originated way back in the mists of time to be considered a Tradition. After all even the most ancient of Traditions was a new idea once. The only thing necessary for something to become a Tradition is repetition. Then again, it is really something special when a Tradition becomes so established that it is passed along to others, or down the generations within a family. 

One inter-generational Tradition that was passed to me was that of 'First Footing' on New Years Eve. My maternal grandmother was of Scottish ancestry and this Hogmanay custom was very important to her. As a tall, dark-haired man, my Dad was called upon to step outside the door just before midnight on New Year's Eve. Then as soon as the clock had struck twelve, he'd knock on the door and be admitted back into the house, carrying with him a piece of coal and a glass of whisky, symbolically bringing luck and plenty into the house.

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 52:

Winter Traditions

What winter family Traditions have you inherited? Do you still follow them? Have you passed them along?

How do you feel about the Winter Traditions that you hold? How does continuing them make you feel? Are there any you would like to drop? What stops you from doing so? If they no longer serve you, think about leaving them behind. Consider starting new Traditions that better reflect you and your life. Which Traditions continue to hold meaning for you? How will you carry them forward? With whom will you share them?

What winter Traditions have you initiated? How did they start? How have they developed? Who have you shared them with?

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 40: The Ghosts of Happy Winters Past

 

As we move more deeply into Winter, do you find seasonal smells, flavours, sights and sounds trigger memories of Winters past? It's fascinating to me how strongly our senses can spark recollections, sometimes with an almost shocking immediacy. This is most often the case when the memory trigger is something you don't encounter frequently. As there are certain sights, sounds, aromas etc that you only tend to experience during Winter, coming into contact with them can bring back strong seasonal memories. You can use these sense memories positively to recall happy times in the past. They're also used in industries such as retail and hospitality to try to engender 'holiday spirit' - that's why we get bombarded with Christmas music at this time of year!

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 40

The Ghosts of Happy Winters Past

One of the first posts I wrote on the subject of Winter Blessings and Beauties was about Winter Senses. If you made a list of Winter Senses, you may find it interesting to use it as a prompt to help recall happy Winter memories. You may have fully-fledged, detailed memories of social occasions or particular locations, but tiny, vivid vignettes can be just as interesting and enjoyable to recall. For example there's a particular song that whenever I hear it, I'm taken back to a dazzlingly bright and very cold and frosty morning when I was driving to work. It must have been playing on the radio, because whenever I hear it I vividly remember the beauty of the frozen landscape, brilliantly illuminated by the light of the rising sun, and the way I felt both slightly resentful at having to be up and out so early in the morning and exhilarated by the cold air and bright sun.

Try writing down some of the good memories that come up for you in response to Winter prompts such as the smell of woodsmoke... the taste of a mince pie... the melody of your favourite carol...

If you have vivid memories of a special time you shared with family, friends or loved ones, try writing it out as a unique gift for them. You could handwrite it inside a special card, or type it up on the computer and print it out on fancy paper.   

Secrets of the Road Less Travelled (pilot teaser)

I'm interrupting the usual flow of posts to introduce this trailer for a TV series my immensely talented brother has been working on. It's all about less well-known, but fascinating places in the UK. It's called Secrets of the Road Less Travelled and I think it's a great idea. My favourite in this trailer is 'The Lost Village of Dode' - just the name alone intrigues me. But when you see it... let's just say it doesn't disappoint!

When Life Gets In The Way

I love Beltane, it's one of my favourite festivals. For one thing it's such a beautiful time of year here in the UK. For another, I like the way Beltane and Samhain balance and complement each other, doorways into Summer and Winter respectively. In years past, I would make a special effort to rise before sunrise on Beltane morning, going out into the pre-dawn darkness to experience the gradual lightening of the sky, the first tentative birdsong swelling into a glorious dawn chorus, the magical dew-soaked, mist-wreathed, blossom-scented break of day. As the sun rose I'd wash my face in the Beltane dew then cut some sprays of hawthorn (may) flowers and tie them to my front door with a red ribbon as a token of welcome to summer. And then, cold and dew-drenched and exhilarated I'd tiptoe back into the house and creep back into bed for a couple of hours more sleep before the alarm went off.

Later in the day I would do a ritual to celebrate Beltane. Sometimes alone - a simple blessing, or meditation or trip to the bluebell woods - and sometimes marking the occasion with fellow Pagans, dancing the maypole or leaping the bonfire or simply making merry.

This year, I did not get up early to greet the dawn and bring in the may. Nor did I meditate or dance or celebrate in any way. I noted the date and gave brief, regretful thought to the days when it wasn't totally impractical for me to get up before dawn to wander in wet grass listening to birdsong and picking flowers. A long, tiring week of work meant I just didn't have the energy to get up in the middle of the night. I needed all the sleep I could cram in. A local Pagan group invited me to their Beltane celebration, but I couldn't go as I was working. The Monday after Beltane was a Bank Holiday and we discussed the possibility of combining a working party (on a friend's garden) with a celebratory bonfire and combined garden/Beltane blessing but in the end it rained and my friend was ill, so those plans were abandoned too. And that was my 2016 Beltane.

I imagine it is that way for many of us. Life gets in the way, as we say. And paradoxically, that is not necessarily a bad thing. After all at Beltane, as the natural world is springing into the full fecund glory of summer what are we celebrating if not life? Yes, it would be lovely to celebrate with flowers and singing and rainbow-ribbon bedecked maypoles, but if that just isn't possible I don't think we should be beating ourselves up. 

Celebrating the Wheel of the Year is important work, in the sense that it connects us to the changing world around us and keeps us in relation with the Earth and the web of life around us. And yet that can be done in a million tiny ways, as well as observing the eight big festivals of the Pagan Year. I celebrate this time of year by rejoicing at the returning swallows, sniffing the faery-scent of bluebells, wearing my favourite summer dress for the first time of the year, loving the sight of mayflowers in the hedgerow and apple-blossom in the orchard, eating fresh locally-grown asparagus... Mindfulness is the key. Any of these things becomes special, sacred, celebratory when it is done mindfully. Even work, household chores, family obligations can be re-framed this way. We work because we need the money to feed, house, clothe ourselves. In so doing we are exercising self-care, honouring our own lives and those of our dependants. Household chores keep our living spaces clean, pleasant, sustainable, marking our place in the world and how we choose to live in it. Family obligations - be they childcare, elder care or simply cooking the evening meal for those who share our lives - are the glue of community that holds us in relationship with our ancestors and descendants, small yet immensely important acts of love and care for our loved ones. Sacred work indeed. 

Nor do I believe that our deities would judge us for missing out on celebrating festivals when we are overwhelmed by our other commitments. They know even better than us of our frailties and struggles. A tiny murmured prayer before falling into exhausted sleep is as valid as a big, elaborate ritual when that is all that your time and energy levels will allow. What matters is that you are giving to the best of your ability at the time. As long as we treat our deities with respect and love, I do not believe we incur their wrath or disappointment. 

Perhaps next year, my circumstances will allow me to mark Beltane with a ritual. Perhaps not. But even if I am over-committed and exhausted next year too, I will still note the date and the turning of the Wheel. I will still watch the swallows and feel joy, observe the beauty of the bluebells and mayflowers and apple-blossom, enjoy the sensation of sun on my bare arms, and rejoice in the return of summer. When 'life gets in the way', don't use that fact to beat yourself up. Celebrate instead that you have a life, that you are here and now in this beautiful world experiencing it and all its unpredictable and messy entanglements. Experience life mindfully and it becomes a celebration of itself.

2015: Struggle and Serendipity, Pomskizillious and Gromphiberous

Oh dear. I really wanted to blog more regularly in 2015. Things went OK until June when life sort of... took over. 2015 was a good year for me, more or less. The downside of it was a lack of time and money. Up until the middle of the year, I wasn't by any means feeling wealthy but I had just about enough and was even paying instalments towards a late-summer holiday. And then I was suddenly struggling. In a short period of time I lost two clients who no longer needed my services due to changes in their circumstances, and at the same time got hit by a couple of unexpected bills. All of a sudden I was no longer floating along serenely, I was struggling to keep my head above water, sinking lower and lower each month. Luckily, the story has a happy ending. My lovely sister (with whom I was going on holiday) lent me the money I still owed on the trip until such time as I could pay her back. And I managed to find a new job, working a couple of days a week in a jewellery shop (which I love). It was still a difficult few months as I was working three jobs over a six day week without much to show for it except exhaustion and a gradual easing of my debts. At the same time, IB was having employment dramas of his own and we were seeing very little of each other. I am happy to say though, that I am now solvent again, both job situations have settled and I have managed to re-jig my working week so that I get two whole days off. The storm has abated and we are back on an even keel - for now, anyway!

But those were the difficult times. In between them 2015 gave me many beautiful experiences and memories, lots of good times with the people dearest to my heart and also new and wonderful friendships. Which is really what I wanted to come here and write about...

Some of the highlights for me were finally reaching what has often seemed like the very distant shore of 'Acceptance' following years wading through the swamps of 'Denial', 'Bargaining', 'Anger', and (seemingly interminable) 'Grief' caused by my divorce. Yes, to anyone making this journey themselves, you will get there in the end. I promise. 

Then there was my magical trip to Glastonbury in the spring.

In June by pure chance I ended up making a visit to the beautiful Rheidol valley, which just happened to be one of the rivers featuring in the folktale we were due to work with at Dragonrise Witchcamp later in the summer. The weather was perfect, the river was beautiful, but more importantly what I learnt about the river that day ended up being an important part of the work we did at camp. Such wonderful serendipity!

Trip to the Rheidol Valley

Dragonrise itself was fabulous. I should have written a whole report as soon as I got back, but the notes I jotted down to recall the 'flavour' of camp after returning will have to suffice: 

Dragonrise

The sound of children laughing under the oak tree. 

The swell of grief for the rivers. 

Butterflies in the meadow by the stone circle. 

The serenely flowing brown Borle Brook. 

The fey whispering, bubbling in the woods. 

Talking, crying, laughing, dancing with Rheidol; picking wildflowers with Her. 

Making magic potions. 

Singing, singing, singing. 

The dance of the Salmon. 

The Rivers and the Mountain. 

Owls and woodpeckers and swallows and buzzards. 

A river of stars in the night sky. 

A circle of smiling faces in a fairy-lit yurt. 

Extraordinary magic. 

"The sun is shining... I'm so sexy! this is my tree!" (translation of birdsong!)

Holding space, drumming a heartbeat while the magic swirls around us. 

The moon through the trees.

"The journey doesn't end when the river meets the sea"

Brewing Magic Potions at Dragonrise

At the end of September, we took our much anticipated holiday to Gozo. I fell in love with the place. It's kind of wonky and quirky with a definite attitude of 'manana', but that fitted perfectly with my desire for a laid-back, relaxing holiday, which was exactly what we got. There is also a sense of timelessness from the ancient land beneath your feet, a sacred, magical place... I cannot put it into words. Victorian nonsense-poet Edward Lear also gave up, describing it as "pomskizillious and gromphiberous, being as no words can describe its magnificence". The Arabs named it 'Ghawdex' which means 'joy'. And I jotted down a few more notes which tried to capture the essence of the place: 

Gozo

Water reflects ripples on stone walls.

Bougainvillea petals on stone.

Lizard sunning on the wall.

Cooling breeze.

Turquoise pool, sand coloured stone.

Clouds drift over in the blue, blue sky.

Dragonfly darts.

Rustling palm fronds.

Coffee and olives and tomatoes.

Splashing, laughter.

Big yellow butterfly, hovering black bee.

Pomegranates and carob, prickly pear and loquats.

Azure sea, ancient land.

Slanting shadows and the sound of crickets in the fields.

Gozo

Other highlights this year have been lovely birthday celebrations with friends and family, a trip to Kent to stay with my sister, making new friends, a wonderful extended Christmas with the family and the addition of two kittens to the household, now taking the feline headcount to six. I am definitely becoming a mad cat lady!

Today, I'm counting my blessings again. Each year is different, some easier, some harder. On balance my 2015 was one of the good ones, the struggle outweighed by the serendipity. Thank you and farewell 2015, and welcome 2016. I wonder what you will bring?

Quick Update in Photos

As I mentioned in my last post, I was unable to post new photos to the blog for a while. So here are a few that I would have posted, had I been able to. It also serves as a quick round up of what IB and I have been up to.

 

In the spring, during a visit to a nearby farm I unexpectedly found myself helping deliver a calf  as the cow was in difficulty and an extra pair of hands was needed. Luckily all went well and the photo shows both mother and baby both fit and well a short while afterwards.

 

IB and I spent an idyllic afternoon in May wandering in gorgeous bluebell woods. I could hardly bear to leave.

 

 

We have had many lovely times with friends in our local Pagan community - there have been Moots (monthly social gatherings), seasonal rituals, meals out to celebrate birthdays, and workshops - this photo is from a wand-making workshop.

 

 

There have been lots of interesting places to visit - to Brecon with my parents to meet up with my sister and brother-in-law...

 

...to Castell Henllys in Pembrokeshire to see Robin Williamson perform (a magical bardic evening in an Iron Age roundhouse by firelight)...

 

...to the beautiful Aberglasney Gardens to wander in beauty and enjoy a delicious meal on the lakeside terrace...

 

...and another trip to Madrid...

 

...to see the ever-wonderful Rubinoos...

 

...and a Winter Solstice visit to see the Mari Lwyd at the National Botanic Garden of Wales (where we also enjoyed a fabulous exhibition of Jackie Morris' paintings).

 

 

The 'C' Word, Part 4: Burning Bridges

I can't remember exactly when Hilary* and I first became friends. I do remember that a group of us began hanging out together on the school playing field at lunchtime during the summer term when I was about 13 or 14. At some time during that period, Hilary and I paired off and became 'best friends'. We shared an off the wall, goofy sense of humour, had long, intense discussions about everything from the state of the world to boys we liked and generally helped each other negotiate the stormy seas of adolescence.

In many ways we were strikingly different. I always had my nose stuck in a book whilst Hilary was extremely artistic. I was an easy going, shy Cancerian, and Hilary was a forceful, outgoing Arien. I came from a close, loving family, Hilary's family were starchy and Victorian, especially her cold, overbearing father. I'm not sure if the friendship flourished due to or in spite of these differences - certainly we were different enough never to fancy the same boys or compete over anything important.

I think Hilary to a certain extent fell in love with my family. My home life was everything hers wasn't - warm, chaotic, full of laughter, affection and silliness. At Hilary's house, meals were eaten in stiff, formal silence, the only sound a ticking clock. At my house, mealtimes were shared with plenty of chatter and laughter. I remember the look of amazement on Hilary's face at the raucous giggles as my Dad read aloud from a book of silly stories one of the first times she ate with us, and we all - Dad included - ended up crying with laughter.

The friendship continued after we left school - Hilary started working as a secretary up in London and I became a children's nanny in Hertfordshire. We continued to share in the ups and downs of growing up, learning to drive and getting our first cars, falling in love for the first time, holding each others hand through the scary bits and broken hearts. At one point, Hilary's Dad threw her out for standing up to him and she moved in with my family for a few weeks, until the drama had passed.

When we were 21 I inherited some money, and for a variety of reasons (including having just had my heart badly broken, and the general sense of bravado and curiosity one has at that age) decided to spend it on travelling around the world. I visited Hong Kong, Malaysia, Australia, New Zealand and the USA and had an amazing and wonderful time. When I returned, it was a big surprise to me to find that everything had changed. Living at home with my parents for the first time felt constricting. My job (by now I was working in an office) seemed old-hat and boring. I split up with my boyfriend who had become unbearably possessive. There was a distance between Hilary and I. In hindsight of course, nothing had changed except for me. Going away for an extended period and broadening my horizons had made me more confident, more certain of who I was and what I wanted.

Over the next couple of years the gulf between Hilary and I widened. She developed anorexia, and seemed to find me incredibly irritating. I started avoiding her, feeling like perhaps I was making her illness worse. I met T, and after a few months moved in with him. Hilary and T disliked each other. She continued to visit my family but soon she and I had virtually no contact with each other.

Fast forward a couple of years, and Hilary and I began to - tentatively at first - resume contact. Hilary's anorexia had reached a crisis point, when she, weighing less than 6 stone had collapsed and had a near-death experience. This had shocked her into seeking help, aided by her mother who was a wonderful source of support to her during this period. By the time we began seeing each other again, Hilary was on the road to recovery. I felt really guilty that I hadn't been with her for this part of her journey, but she didn't seem to bear any grudge. Gradually we slipped back into the old friendship, although she and T grew no more fond of each other. Eventually, she met and married a lovely, easy-going, sweet man, Tom, and they seemed blissfully happy together.

Hilary and Tom moved to West Sussex, and the four of us took it in turns to visit each other for weekends. This worked well, as Hilary and T were never together long enough to seriously fall out. The holiday we took together in France was less successful - being cooped up together in a gite for over a week turned out not to be our best idea. It soon became apparent - via oblique remarks and comments made to my family that made their way back to me - that Hilary blamed T for me not being the same person I had been at school. That is to say, whenever I didn't behave in the way Hilary wanted me to, she interpreted it as T suppressing me in some way. At the time, I found it rather funny that Hilary was unable to imagine I may have grown up and changed over the years. And T cared so little for her opinion that it was more a source of amusement to me than any kind of issue.

Later on, when T and I were living in Australia for 18 months (due to his job) and Hilary visited, it began to irritate me. I found it odd that she still insisted on using nicknames we'd had at school, even though they were hardly used at all by anyone else. And I noticed that almost every sentence she spoke to me began with the words, 'The trouble with you, Wallis (my old nickname) is...', or was undermining to me in some other way. For example we were walking by the waterfront in Sydney when an enormously fat woman clad in shorts and a vest waddled past. Hilary said, 'Next time you're worried about how fat you are, just remember you're not that bad!' It was undoubtedly meant as a compliment, no matter how back-handed, but as I hadn't said anything about worrying about my weight it felt like a slap in the face. By the time her two week visit was up, I was ready to cheer when she got back on the plane to go home.

When we moved to Wales it got worse. I was on the receiving end of comments like 'I don't know why anyone would want to move to Wales! Horrible place!'. Since I moved to Wales in 2000, Hilary only visited twice, for an afternoon on my 40th birthday, and for a weekend when she and my sister stayed with my Mum.

She brightened briefly when T and I divorced, declaring joyfully, 'I have my old Wallis back!', but that didn't last long as she took an immediate, strong dislike to IB when she met him for the first time at a barbecue at my sister's house. IB took the place of T as the focus of her disapproval. None of which mattered too much, as we were seeing very little of each other by then.

But then Hilary and Tom attended my 50th Birthday Party, and this summer being the summer of Closure, things inevitably came to a head...

Hilary and Tom were two of the guests at the Surprise Birthday Party my Mum had organised. I was amazed and happy to see them there, but unfortunately things were awkward from the get-go. Hilary gave me a warm embrace when we arrived, but totally snubbed IB, turning away from him as he tried to say hello (I only found out about that later, as there was a lot going on at the time). Then Hilary handed me my gifts - one of which was a beautifully constructed collage of old photos of me and my loved ones. I was deeply touched that she had spent so much time making my gift, but later noticed that she hadn't included any photos of IB at all. In fact, one of the photos she'd used was a group photo that had included IB - though Hilary had carefully cropped him out of it. She also began talking about how much she'd always liked T, how much she missed him. Hmmm.

The next day - the day of my 'official' party, Hilary and Tom were among the first arrivals. Once again IB was ignored. Now I have to say at this point, that IB didn't really help himself because his reaction to all this (added to the stressful time leading up to the party with all the work he'd put in to get things ready, and helping with my injured shoulder) was to drink a bit too much, which was his way of withdrawing. But as I wasn't bothered by him getting drunk (unlike T, who tended to get verbally aggressive, he is easy going when he gets drunk) it didn't occur to me anyone else would have an issue with it. The night before he hadn't had a drink as he was driving, so it wasn't as if anyone could think he always drank too much.

At the end of the party, Hilary threw her arms around my neck and declared how much she loved me. She then whispered, 'It doesn't have to be like this... you're worth so much more... you deserve better.' My immediate reaction was to think she'd drunk too much herself (which she had) and to privately laugh at the remark. But after everyone had left it started to rankle. I felt judged, I felt yet again she was looking down on me, my home, my choices, my relationship and my life. I started to wonder if everyone else at the party had been pitying me (yes, I'd had a few drinks myself by then!), and I ended the evening in tears, comforted by the ever-loving and loyal IB.

After the party, with a few days to put things in perspective, I decided I would write Hilary a letter explaining my feelings and hopefully setting her straight. I wanted to write it when I was calm, so I left it for a while to let my feelings settle. Unfortunately, before I could write it I received a fridge magnet with a sentimental message about friendship enclosed in a card from Hilary, again obliquely criticising IB. My irritation levels rose again and I waited for them to subside before writing my letter. Unsatisfied by my lack of response, Hilary contacted me on Facebook with an angry inbox message: "You know what Wallis, you may be in a great place or you may be in a bad place, but I've known you for a stupid length of time and value your friendship more than you probably know, but when you don't have the decency to spend some time talking to me (and to Tom and M and D) when we travelled specifically to Wales to see you and then choose to not to send a note of thanks for your pressie and then not to even acknowledge that I sent you a small token the other day - well quite frankly it's just rude and I have to question whether I've made a big mistake in being your friend as my values of friendship are clearly not yours now and haven't been since you've been with IB. Over to you. Love you more than you know.  Hilary x x x"

I replied as politely as I could, expressing thanks for the gifts, pointing out that as hostess I hadn't been able to spend much time with any one person during the party - as that is the way of parties - and that I was in the process of writing her a letter.

I hate confrontation of any sort. Which is why it had taken this long - years really - to confront Hilary about her behaviour. For a long time, I had taken the easy way out and either laughed at or ignored the continuous barrage of slights and insults, often couched as 'friendly advice' or 'concerned friendship'. But I knew it was crunch time. I sat down and wrote my letter. Then I re-wrote it, aiming for 'polite yet assertive'. I firstly wrote about how much I had valued her friendship over the years, thanked her for her birthday gifts and all the work she'd put into them, praised her for her loyalty. Then I explained, clearly and gently why her remarks had hurt me, and why her assumptions about the state of my life were so wide of the mark. I wanted the letter to be assertive, but neither placatory nor aggressive; I wanted it to give us the chance to get our friendship back on track. To check how it came across, I ran it by several people who knew the situation and whose opinion I trusted. They all agreed it was a good letter, if anything a little too placatory. As I wanted to avoid conflict I decided it was better to err on the side of caution, so - still feeling apprehensive - I mailed it. It was the first time I had ever challenged Hilary in all our years as friends.

*****

That was about three months ago. I have not heard back from her, except via third parties, to whom she has described the letter as 'a tirade'. I have been blocked on Facebook. I have not tried to contact her further. I won't try to contact her further. The ball is in her court.

I am saddened. But I am also left with a sense of relief. It seems this friendship has run its course. My self esteem has come up a notch. I realise that I am no longer content to tolerate dysfunctional relationships, which is what my relationship with Hilary had become. We have both changed over the years, yet it seems she is only willing to be my friend if I jump through the hoops she approves of, and continue to play the role of 'Wallis', which I have long outgrown.

In many ways this has been the hardest piece of Closure that I had to deal with this summer. Our friendship goes back such a long way, has such deep historical roots, is so entangled with other relationships, that it is hard to extricate myself from it. And yet in doing so I know I am doing the right thing. The relationship is no longer what it was, I cannot continue to be in this relationship unless Hilary is willing to hear what I have to say and accept that I have a right to my own feelings. I am sure that I will continue to be more selective with who I let into my life in future, and what behaviours I am prepared to tolerate.

I am worth more.


* Not her real name.

The 'C' Word, Part 2: Three Weddings, and a Burial

Wedding Number One:
In the summer of 1985 I attended a wedding as the 'plus one' of a platonic male friend. At the reception afterwards, I was pleased to be asked to dance by the Best Man, whose blue eyes had caught my attention. We danced and talked and danced again, and I was happy when he asked for my phone number. To my delight, he rang a few days later and we went on our first date.

Wedding Number Two:
In 1991, reader - I married him!

Yes, I met T at the wedding of our friends Kevin and Ann, and six years later, Kevin was T's Best Man at our own wedding, in the little village church in which my parents had married. By then, Kevin and Ann had a three year old daughter and another on the way. Our friendship with Kevin and Ann was so close that they asked us to be guardians for Rachel, Charlotte and (in time) their younger brother, Michael, in the event that anything untoward should happen to the two of them. Until T and I moved to Wales in 2000 we spent virtually all our spare time together, like a big extended family (Kevin and Ann were originally moving here too, but ultimately decided to stay on Essex).

T and I were married for 17 years, and I thought we were pretty happy until he dropped a bombshell and left in 2008. Since that day, he and I have been in (mostly cordial) irregular contact, yet I had not met - nor wanted to meet, to be honest - his new wife, Sawittree.

So when I received an invitation to Rachel's wedding it brought up mixed feelings. Firstly of course, excitement and happiness at the wonderful news, and pleasure at the thought of sharing my beautiful Goddessdaughter's special day. But also... Sawittree would be there. Younger than me, slimmer than me. On T's arm. That brought up less pleasant emotions. Anxiety, insecurity, apprehension, and a lot of the grief and anger I thought I had processed and left behind by now.

Hmmm.

Luckily I had a few months to prepare myself - firstly by making careful plans to ensure I would be looking my best and hence feeling as confident as possible, and secondly by continuing to work through my feelings about T and Sawittree.

I'm not sure why or how it happened, but at some point before the wedding, I realised that actually, I don't care what T or Sawittree think about me or how they see me. I am now happy in my own skin, at peace with who I am, loved by and in love with IB. Perhaps enough time has elapsed, perhaps I have moved on, perhaps I am a different person. But something has shifted, healed and it is time to move on. And how symbolic that this closure manifested via the wedding of the eldest child of the couple whose own wedding was the starting point of my life with T? And what better symbol of 'new beginnings' than a wedding? The significance seemed staggering when I made the connections.  

Wedding Number Three:
Rachel's wedding was to be held in Maldon, Essex, so IB and I travelled up from Wales the night before and stayed with my sister and her husband in Kent. The weather was still searingly hot, and although we left in plenty of time in the morning, traffic snarls at the Dartford Crossing meant that we weren't as early as hoped by the time we'd arrived and parked the car. Walking through to the High Street, we arrived at the church with about 15 minutes to spare. But to my horror, it immediately became clear I had brought us to the wrong place - the church I had assumed the wedding was in is now a Heritage Centre and was buzzing with stalls selling arts, crafts and jam! Rifling through my bag in a panic I realised I had not brought the invitation. I asked one of the stallholders for help and she explained that there were two churches that the wedding could be in, either St Mary's or All Saint's - but they were at opposite ends of the High Street! This was now beginning to resemble a scene from 'Four Weddings and a Funeral', and my chances of arriving looking cool, calm and serene as I had hoped were fast melting away. I had the name 'St Mary's' in my mind for some reason so off we headed as fast as we could through the crowds of Saturday morning shoppers, me tottering in unaccustomed high heels. We finally arrived at the church to find no one outside and the door shut. Tiptoeing up, I opened the creaky old oak door as quietly as I could, expecting all eyes to turn on the latecomers... only to find the church completely empty. The wedding was, of course, at All Saints, at the other end of the High Street. 

At this point something in me stopped worrying and just decided to go with the flow. It was blazingly hot and humid, my feet were killing me and we had clearly missed any chance of arriving in time for the wedding. We sat in the church porch, while I changed into the flat sandals I had mercifully thought to stow in my bag and discussed our options. IB said to me, 'You are always running round after everyone, trying to keep everyone happy. Just let go of that, and accept things the way they are.' Which was true, helpful and a very liberating perspective all at once. We decided to walk - slowly - up to All Saint's Church, wait outside during the service and get some photos of the bride and groom when everyone emerged. I realised that though I may have missed the wedding service itself, all I really cared about was seeing my beautiful Goddessdaughter happy, enjoying her special day. But then as luck would have it, just as I'd changed back into my posh heels we spied some other latecomers at All Saint's Church and crept in behind them. Mercifully it was during a hymn and we slid quietly and gratefully into a vacant pew.

It was a truly lovely wedding with Rachel absolutely radiant in a gorgeous dress she had designed herself, and her new husband beaming and handsome. As we filed out at the end of the service, I spotted T and Sawittree shading themselves under a tree. IB and I walked over to say hello, and I was quite taken aback to be greeted by T as 'Darling', which I certainly wasn't expecting. That said, it made me think I couldn't be looking too bad for an old girl!

I took plenty of photos and then we made our way back to the car. We weren't expected at the wedding breakfast as the venue was small and the family party large, but we would be returning later for the evening reception. In the meantime IB and I went for lunch at what was one of my favourite pubs when I lived in the area, The Anchor at Runsell Green, Danbury. It was a beautiful summer's day and we sat outside the lovely old pub surrounded by flowers, enjoying a cooling breeze while we ate. Afterwards we took a meandering drive through my old memories, and I showed IB the church where Kevin & Ann married, the first house T & I lived in together, my paternal grandparents' house and the village my father had grown up in, the village where I went to school and finally the village where I grew up, Mountnessing. We also made an unscheduled stop at T's parents' house. I had always got on well with them, especially T's stepmother and although we'd spoken on the phone since T and I split, I hadn't seen them. By luck, they were in and we had a lovely though brief catch-up, and I was able to introduce IB to them.

At Mountnessing we had arranged to meet up with my Mum and Dad - who were in Essex visiting friends - at the home of an ex-neighbour. It was a little surreal as this meant we were in the house opposite my maternal grandparents' old house and diagonally opposite the house I'd grown up in (we had lived next door to my grandparents). Things became even more surreal when the people now living in what had once been my grandparents' house, invited us in to have a look round and see how the house looks these days. This was turning out to be more of a trip down memory lane than I had expected!

The house was at once familiar and not: some rooms had only changed a little, yet others - including a new extension - were completely different. It was not unpleasant though, as the family now living there are lovely and the house retains its warm atmosphere. Out in the garden there were also signs of time having moved on - plants and trees had grown or disappeared, new fences had been erected, and the patio and fishpond my grandfather had lovingly constructed is now showing its age and is in need of an overhaul! We also wandered down into the orchard next to the house - well, it used to be an apple orchard but now the apple trees and blackcurrant bushes of my childhood are all gone. But still there is the silver birch tree T and I planted when we buried the ashes of our son, Peter.

The tree now towers over me. Time has passed, and the sharpness of grief has dulled, yet it is still there. Suddenly all these ghosts of the past are too much, I am overwhelmed by it all and tears well irresistibly up. Luckily IB and my Mum are there to comfort me. I am held in loving arms and given time to cry, and breathe, and compose myself. More closure. We walk slowly back to the present together. Time to get ready for the wedding reception.

*****

The evening reception was as lovely as the wedding itself. The venue was superb. A live band played jazz and swing and people danced, young and old together. There was cake, and champagne, and pretty vintage china. The heat of the day abated as the evening drew on. I saw people I haven't seen in years and enjoyed catching up with them and seeing the amazing young adults their children have grown into. My parents and brother were there too. It was a very special occasion and I was so glad to have been a part of it. I was glad to have finally met Sawittree and put that particular anxiety aside. I was glad to reconnect with old friends. I was glad I saw Peter's tree, and both the continuity and changes in places I used to know so well. It felt like everything that was important to me from my years living in Essex had all come together, been revisited, acknowledged, and put properly away. Closure, writ large. Again.

And that was when the fiercely hot spell of weather finally broke. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed. But it all seemed part of the celebrations, Mother Nature's firework display. Deliciously cool rain fell onto warm pavement as we said farewell to the wedding party and made our way back to the car between showers.

I was exhausted. But so glad I'd come.

Hysterical/Historical

This is a little off topic - but I hope you'll forgive me! It's a video written, directed by and starring my multi-talented brother who works full-time as a Henry VIII re-enactor, mostly teaching Tudor history to schoolchildren.

I think the video is hilarious - hope you like it too.

The 'C' Word, Part 1: Back Story and Birthday

Well that got your attention didn't it?

Actually the 'C' word we're looking at here is closure. Or rather Closure. This summer Closure has been writ large in my life, so much so that I wonder if there's some huge astrological maelstrom going on in my birthchart, or perhaps my guardian angels have been putting in overtime. Lots of it.

Most of the time life proceeds in a normal, haphazard fashion - a bit of this, a little of that, a few highs, a few lows. But once in a while, it is as if a hidden riptide suddenly grabs us and carries us in a certain direction. There is no choice but to go with the current, attempt to keep your head above water - if only to get a clear enough view to try and get your bearings - and wonder what the hell is going on? That has been my summer this year. So many turning points, realisations and loose ends getting tied up. One after another, bam, bam, bam, with barely enough time to breathe before the next wave breaks over my head. It hasn't been bad, in fact much of it has been pretty good. But such a strong sweeping along in the grip of - what? Fate? Karma? - can't help but stir up a whole lot of stuff from the depths of the Unconscious, so there have been moments when I've felt overwhelmed. But whew... what a ride.

So where to begin telling this tale? Perhaps some backstory is needed. If you've read this blog for any length of time you will know that I was blindsided by the end of my marriage five years ago (yes, five years! I can't believe it's been that long. If you want to catch up on the gory details, you could look back at posts labelled 'T' or 'divorce'). And the year before that, the cancellation of Avalon Witchcamp and the fallout amongst my spiritual community followed by the stress of organising a Summer Gathering as a replacement event was a source of great stress at the time and on-going repercussions subsequently (gory details for this labelled 'Avalon Spring/Witchcamp' and 'Summer Gathering'). And so in recent years this blog has been as much about putting my life back together and struggling my way through a period of readjustment and starting over as Paganism, Permaculture and Poultrykeeping!

Anyway, when I last posted I had just torn a ligament in my shoulder. It was a huge pain literally and metaphorically, as not only did I have to take time off work I could ill-afford, but also we were in the middle of decorating the spare bedroom and ripping out and re-fitting the bathroom. Being incapacitated was made even more annoying by the fact we had a deadline to meet - the bedroom and bathroom needed to be finished and the house and garden given a serious clean, tidy and facelift by mid-July as I was about to have my 50th birthday and had planned a big party. Injuring my shoulder couldn't have come at a worse time!

In the end, the spare bedroom was finished and the bathroom all but completed in time for the party. We managed to get the rest of the house looking as good as possible, but something had to give and the garden had to be left somewhat wild and unkempt. Personally I quite like an overgrown garden, but I had rather hoped to give it a bit of a spruce up before the big day! Even without getting the garden sorted, we'd still worked flat out for six weeks excepting the week my shoulder was completely unusable. So by the end of the week leading up to the party I was pretty exhausted.

My birthday fell on a Saturday, and Mum and Dad had invited IB and I, plus IB's Mum, Sheila (visiting for the party) over for dinner the night before. I knew my brother, sister and brother-in-law would all be there too and was looking forward to seeing my family and not having to cook! Unfortunately, Sheila's bus was quite badly delayed and we were an hour and a half late in the end.

When we finally got there, we were greeted with hugs and kisses from my family, drinks were pressed into our hands and we were ushered into the garden where I was delighted and surprised to see my cousin George, his wife Alex, my aunt Anne... and then suddenly a laughing, exuberant crowd of familiar faces erupted from around the side of the house. A surprise birthday party for me - and I was late!

Some of my birthday cards

It was a wonderful evening! I was amazed that everyone had gone to so much trouble to surprise me and it was so good to spend time with friends and family I rarely get to see. I was spoiled rotten with hugs, gifts, champagne and an amazing spread of food including a beautiful cake made and decorated by an old schoolfriend.

Birthday cake number 1 by Viv

The official party the next day was an all-day casual 'open house' from midday onwards so that people could drop in when it suited them and stay as long as they liked. It was a beautiful sunny day, absolutely scorching in fact - so most of the guests opted to sit out in the garden, wilderness though it was. Throughout the day friends, neighbours and family arrived with delicious contributions towards the pot-luck style buffet, and I was also given many wonderful gifts, despite having told everyone not to bother with birthday presents!

Birthday cakes number 2 (by Mum) and 3 (by Pinky)

 

Beautiful bouquet of flowers from Fiona and Philip

Gifts of fairy bells from Pinky and a pyrographed plaque of a Jay from my talented friend Lizzi

The party was quite hectic, with people coming and going throughout the day, and as always with these things there wasn't enough time to spend much of it with anyone! But by the time the heat of the day cooled into evening, we sat in a companionable group outside, drinking, re-telling old tales and sharing new ones, teasing, laughing... a memorable end to my birthday festivities.

So that was the beginning of my 'Summer of Closure' - the end of my forties. More soon...