fun

FUN - my word for 2015. Thats all I have to say. Happy new year x

pennies from heaven

Recently I've had the frightening experience of waiting for results from biopsies taken at the end of November. All is benign and I am deeply grateful for my good health. During my hospital appointment on christmas eve the nurse said to me, 'good health is the best christmas present ever' and every cell in my body said YES! Nothing else really matters, I had all I'd hoped and prayed for.

During the days waiting for an appointment at the clinic and then waiting for results I felt very alone and my heart sank every time I remembered what was going on. Many a deep breath was taken to centre myself and continue activities. Throughout this period I notice pennies everywhere, when putting out my bin bags there was one on the pavement, while walking I'd spot them twinkling on the street, there was even one in the doorway of a classroom I was teaching in. Mostly, I left them where they were, but two are sitting on my shelf as a reminder. There were so many I began to wonder what it could mean, how could I interpret this?

My findings gave me hope and something to hold onto:

Finding pennies is often a message from spirit to think positively, you're creating with your thoughts and beliefs, so stay positive!

Pennies can be seen as a call to release your fear and uncertainty into the light, and to focus on your hearts desire and what you would like to see in your life.

When you see a penny, it can be a loving reminder that you are at one with your loved ones and guides... You are connected, protected and all is well.

All is well.

jam tarts

As I age I am aware that alongside the current me are my younger selves, the eight year old, the sixteen year old, the twenty eight year old. I often catch her younger eyes peering out of my face, and welcome the hopeful girl, the girl with the sensitive and compassionate heart. The younger me could run barefoot and whippet fast on the grass of the school field, winning all races. When she springs into action now she is confused that this body doesn't move with such ease.

With good fortune, I am at the midpoint of my life, my awareness continues to develop and deepen. I stand on this road looking back at my past and turning my head towards the future, how will I view 'here' in the coming years? Working with children of all ages I am reminded of my own childhood, the things that were mysterious and unknowable that I couldn't share with an adult, one of these things was BREASTS. As a girl of eight I knew they were my destiny, but how?

It was a summer day and I was standing in the front bedroom wearing a flowery sleeveless dress of some 1970's synthetic material. Studying my reflection in the full length mirror I focused upon my chest, maybe running my hands over it, knowing 'it' would change. Having prepared for this moment I popped two empty silver jam tart cases up my dress to create neat little mounds, not pleased, not happy with the results. Puzzled, I wondered were breasts like camels humps? Did they hang? I didn't have a scooby do! Time solved this particular mystery, it didn't take many more years as I was one of those unfortunate primary school girls who develop early, too early.

Sadly, my childhood was unsafe, with adults who were out of control with addiction, depression and their own deep wounds that made them unavailable. The girl and young woman within me is still hurting, still heartbroken, but also cheeky and bright and hopeful. The girl who pushed jam tart cases up her dress, the girl who took her fathers bottles from their hiding places around the house and lined them up along the garden path, the innocent girl who spoke the truth and suffered for it, she is here.

alnwick

Last week I visited Alnwick Garden in Northumberland with a friend I've known since my teenage years in the late 1980's. We don't see each other often but easily slip back into our companionship, laughing, shrieking and talking the serious stuff as we explored the garden. The sky was cloudless with a blue that appeared infinite, the kind of blue I dream about in the depths of winter. It was a breathtakingly beautiful day. 

I spotted the fox atop some garden folly, the fox is a totem animal for me, this one looks defeated and unsure of itself...

tan lines

My feet have sandal tan lines that are fading, I notice them while in the bath.

There's something about the end of summer that gently revels a sadness in me. It’s hard to explain as I have a fondness for seasons. Autumn in her richness and transformation, of blue skies and red leaves, the surprise of jewel like berries in the hedgerow and hot summer like days. Winter brings such wonderful colour, hazes and chill air, breath becoming seeable. It takes us to our bare bones and this is reflected in the skeleton trees, their individual branches silhouetted, showing themselves. 

So why melancholy, a feeling of having missed out, of being passed by?

There is hope in spring and summer as we turn towards the light, a fullness and freshness in nature. Summer flowing into autumn foretells of a turning inward, of reflection and tallying, discarding the old map and rewriting anew, setting goals and intention. Is this what dulls me?

Could it be the back to school feeling that anyone who has experienced bullying recalls, in our cells as bodies register changing light levels. Years may have passed but that eleven year old is still here, still anxious.

Does any of this matter? The feelings are here and need to be felt. One thing I’ve learned is that we must allow our feelings, this is how we work through. Its all about layers. 

As this world turns I question myself, am I moving forward? I’ve been feeling stuck, that my efforts haven’t got me so far, that I’m up against the same old same old. I’m finding it a challenge to keep up my mantra that all will be well, to trust, to allow. I’m tired.

view

Us E11 folk have been spoiled recently with the Leytonstone Arts Trail and the Leytonstone Festival. During the festival tickets were offered for the St John Tower Tour and I snapped up the chance to see inside this local landmark and view the London skyline from 75 feet up. 

On a scorching hot day we climbed the narrow stairway in hard hats and were rewarded with wonderful views of the city 8 miles away and the hills of Essex, Kent and Surrey. It was a green view, full of trees and we were treated to a flock of geese flying in V formation to the Walthamstow Marshes a few miles beyond. 

Frustrated by my cameras zoom function, (which I keep forgetting has shuddered to a halt) I had the idea of using a pair of binoculars that were passed to me to magnify the view. With wobbly hands I held the binoculars to the camera lens and snapped away. The binoculars were a little out of focus so the images are blurred, but I like the effect and circular framing and will develop this technique in the future.

 St John the Baptist

 BT Tower

 Canary Wharf

 The Shard

Arcelormittal Orbit

scotland

Scotland highlights. Photographs by my sister Clare.

Our first days wander along the 5 miles of beach from Burghead to Findhorn, worm casts, clear sea, tracing the waters edge with bare feet.

Finding washed up Jellyfish on our return journey and throwing them back into the sea.

Scoffing my first knickerbocker glory since childhood in the Bog Cotton cafe, Cannich. 

Stopping in our tracks on hearing an odd sound in the sky while walking around Loch Affric. Turns out it was a Snipe, a feather in its tail creating this strange noise. 

Shrieking as a young Golden Retriever bounded over a rock and stuck its head in my rucksack, lured by a cheese sandwich. 

Wailing seals off the beach at Lossiemouth.

The breathtaking prettiness of Rosemarkie.

Seeing Moray Firth dolphins for the first time at Chanonry Point. Their fins and tails popping up in the water, the sound of their blowhole out breaths.

A strip of pink sky and wonder at the 11pm light on the drive back from Findhorn where I danced to the drums of Kakatsitsi.

Understanding gloaming for the first time, midsummer nights of twilight and dusk.

 Burghead on our arrival

 Loch Affric

 Rosemarkie

 Towards Fortrose

Burghead at 11pm

burghead

My grandfather, John Logan was born and raised in Burghead, Morayshire and my sister and I are renting a fisherman's cottage there for a week from tomorrow. It sounds impossibly romantic, but the online pictures of the cottage show swirling 70's carpets and dodgy decor - just how I like it! Not knowing my grandparents has bought the seeker and feeler out in me, piecing together stories with an intuitive mix of research and guesswork. What will I learn about John? What will I feel in the coming week? As much as I like questioning I enjoy the unknowing too, being comfortable with uncertainty.  

eyelids

Today, while waiting on platform 1 at Wakefield Westgate station I shut my eyes and turned my face to the sun. For the first time this year I had a moment to sit and feel the suns rays on my skin and it was marvellous in its newness and familiarity. A wood pigeon cooing nearby brought memories of summers past and bright orange light streamed through the skin of my eyelids. 

I wondered at this particular shade of orange, wanting to capture it somehow and decided to find its match by searching my photographs. This is the closest I could get...

 Tulip, Chatsworth House, Derbyshire, 2011

Camera Obscura, Edinburgh, Scotland, 2013

Balloon, Flekkerøy, Norway, 2013

Rose in Mum's garden, Loughton, Essex, 2013

big CD things

Conversation with a 17 year old last week. 

Him: 'I was looking through my dad's... um, big CD things' (making a circle in the air with both forefingers)

Me: 'Records?' 

Him: 'Yep'

within and without

After over two decades of renting rooms in shared housing, with a few blissful years in between when able to rent a flat or house to myself I have my first home - a flat in East London. I am so blessed in this and alongside the physical sorting and space making has come an emotional outpouring which has required as much unpacking, careful ordering and analysis as the creation of my physical space.

I've scrubbed, cleaned, prepped and repainted the walls of the flat, filling cracks, sanding down, making good. The walls are now a beautiful shimmering white, some took four coats of paint to reach this state and it was an effort at times. Now these blank surfaces await my new projections, a holding space for whatever comes next, a base from which to grown further. I already feel more 'adult' in this space, not living under others rules.

During this process I discovered boxes that had been packed 13 years ago by the 30 year old me. Her hopes and dreams were contained in these cardboard boxes and tears flowed as I said hello to her and witnessed the dearly held plans and desires that hadn't worked out, and I looked at this life I have now and wondered how I got here. 

And so, it goes on. Sort, recycle, sift, pass on what I no longer need, bin useless things - alongside I've binned emotional stuff too, working through regret, mistakes and also conjuring hope and a vision for my future. The experience has taken me as low as I can go, but you know what? I'm ok, more than ok. To allow myself to sink was necessary, to grieve properly, consciously, painfully, has cleared my chest and heart, and from this clearer space a new vision has emerged and that is wonderful.

So thank you flat, thank you cardboard boxes for the lessons, thank you younger self and the wise older self who is floating around for me, I'll meet her one day. There are many blessings in a broken heart, and the only way is through.

I'm finally beginning to understand this saying that has stayed in my head from somewhere, someplace. I've begun to 'do'.

'To know and not to do is not yet to know'
Wang Yangming

and now he's dead

In early January I traveled to Aylesbury by train, visiting my sister for her birthday. As the train stopped in Amersham a conversation began behind me.

Grandmother: 'My dad used to live in Amersham'

Little boy: 'Your dad was really old'

Grandmother: 'He wasn't really, he was 65. He was a heavy smoker, he had lung cancer'

Little boy: 'And now he's dead'

The lady went on to tell of her sister and friend who also died at 65. The boy had been told off for picking his nose and I felt him prod the back of my left arm through the gap between my seat and the window. Inside I winced hoping he wasn't wiping a bogy on my jacket.