Recipe for Turkish Delight

Bones of a horse
Interstitial time
Synovial fluid
Roses

It’s horrible

for Marty, Mel and Jo

Today

I’ve just finished the final ‘Tidy up Time’ for today. Not to my usual standard. I normally try and put everything back in some kind of order; put all the pieces of the various games and puzzles back in the right boxes; clear the sofas of paper airplanes, drawings, wooden spoons, crumbs etc. But tonight was more the equivalent of a trolley dash and dump in the corner of the living room.

I’ve had a great day with Sam. Today we floated to Bristol in the red and blue stripey hot air balloon; drove in the blue and silver car; played golf, football and tennis. We built and zoomed rockets and decorated Christmas trees, had a tea party and went to see the oak trees down the road. I watched Sam 'rollerblade' across the bathroom after his bath.

Bookended as ever with music, he pulled some fantastic guitar poses with his tennis racket this morning to ‘Pump It Up’ by Elvis Costello. And tonight was demanding to hear ‘Surf Safari’ by the Beach Boys. Not bad for a quiet day where we barely left the house.

Sam’s imagination and creativity seem to be coming on in leaps and bounds and I am trying to encourage it as much as possible but it’s hard to keep up with him sometimes. Last night he insisted that he had to sleep with the ‘surfboard’ he was playing with in the bath aka Granddad’s nail brush. A friend of mine very wisely said to me after I had Sam to “choose your battles”, so I decided not to fight this one. I did go and remove it once he was asleep though…

The lurgy which I’ve been ignoring all day has finally hit me and it feels like someone is treading glass into my throat. I still managed to do singing and ballet dancing to Christmas carols, read three stories and sing Sam’s bedtime song twice but I am now officially done. Now is the hour to load up on manuka honey, hot lemon and ginger with a nip of calvados, and head for bed.

I am very, very happy.

Oulipo!

Ouvroir de littérature potentielle, or the workshop of potential literature was founded in 1960, and is a loose gathering of (mainly) french speaking writers. They are interested in creating works using constrained writing techniques.

I've tried two Oulipo-style writing exercises and both have pushed my writing in new directions. One produced a new character and the other a new perspective on an old obsession.

For more information go here:

http://www.oulipo.net/

http://www.nous.org.uk/oulipo.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oulipo

Black Box Recorder

Black box recorder,
I can’t carry you around with me anymore-
you are too heavy.
The weight of you is dragging me down.
It is time to put you in a safe place
where I can access you from time to time,
when I need to.

I phone up the self storage company
and I pay for a small unit.
I order a cab to take us there.
I have a padlock and a key which I take out of my pocket.
I fill out the paperwork and sign my name,
Then I am shown where to go.
I open the door,
It is a silver cell: safe, dry, not too warm or cold.
Your lights blink...

Black box recorder,
Don’t worry, I’ll be back-
you will continue to record my successes and struggles.
You are treasure and wisdom as well.

Then I say goodbye,
I shut the door and click the lock,
I put the key in my purse,
I leave.
I am cleared for takeoff-
The future is light.

This is a poem I wrote a year ago. It marked a big change in my life at a time when I was having bereavement counselling and learning to leave the past behind. It also marked a point where my writing changed. I can't say exactly why but maybe it just became more honest. I would happily pull this to pieces now and re-write it but I am putting it here in its original finished form for posterity. A lot has happened since I wrote this and I have much to be thankful for. At the time my tutor said it was as if I had walked away from disaster unscathed. I think it is more accurate to say I survived, gained some valuable insights and then moved on.

Anything is possible.

Fabric

Burrowing under the duvet with a teddy tucked under one arm, your cold feet on my legs.

First cup of coffee.

Your surprised smile as “Rock Around the Clock” hits the car stereo half way round Tolworth Roundabout.

Feeling torn as I leave you at nursery,

Feeling relieved to know I can leave you there and you will be fine.

A quiet hour to dye my hair green and get organised. Blessed indeed.

A woman at the door selling organic compost, who remembered my mum, was surprised to see me, shocked to hear of her death three years ago. Still remembered ,Mum, still remembered.

A crazed half hour of trying to print out poems and get out of the door: lots of swearing.

Hellos and How are yous from friends after an intensive one to one playful weekend with my beloved 2 year old son ends.

Mistaken for being in my twenties by a fellow student – she could not believe I am 39.

Two drafts of poems I am happy to read aloud. The promised land.

Each day a shimmer and a change in the fabric. Weft and warp.

Trees

"When you hug a tree, a tree never refuses. You can rely on a tree. It is dependable. Every time you want to see it, every time you need its shade, it is there for you."

from "A Pebble for Your Pocket" by Thich Nhat Hanh

Trigger:-
Mousetrap
Scrabble
Day unravelled
Dot Dot Dot

Fuse burning
Dynamite
Explosion
Under water
Tidal wave of
Emotion
Rage
Crashing through the kitchen
All Hope washed away

Not a game of
Risk
Not a game of
Life

Awareness regained
Dragged to the surface all
Puffy and waterlogged
Two hugs, one kiss of life
Be here, now
Keep going.

"Catch a wave you'll be sitting on top of the world"

I am having a massive surge of creativity, new ideas and new understanding at the moment which is like being caught on a wave and taken on a journey.

I wish I had more time to explore all this and do it justice. I feel like I am either letting the wave take me, or flailing around in the water, or desperately trying to keep up but only able to doggy-paddle frantically.

I am making more choices about how I use my time and more decisions about which direction to go in.

I need to be more disciplined. I know of old that I am inclined to try and keep up until I burn out; get distracted by what someone else is doing or dither until the moment has passed me by.

As the end of October approaches it is time to think hard about which steps to take on the path and at what point I need to stand still and let some of it pass me by.

Tortoise not hare.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RtBZSIrmgiU

Frank O'Hara: Why I Am Not a Painter

Last thursday was National Poetry Day. Anyone who has happened upon this blog will have read some of my poetry and I continue to write poetry on a daily basis. I am also studying a poetry module "Poetry Now" at uni.

I sat in the cafe of a local garden centre last week doing some homework, reading Derek Walcott and Seamus Heaney poems. I flicked though the vast anthology which is the core text for this module and a poem by Frank O'Hara called "Why I Am Not a Painter", which you can read here, caught my eye. It resonated strongly with me - it explains what I cannot. Why I am not a painter.

I have always painted and stopped and started again. It was my earliest wish to be a fine artist. I did a lot of painting in the couple of years before my marriage broke up, and for nearly a year after. When I fell pregnant with Sam I stopped. I have daubed and dabbled a bit since but not had much time. But I have always found time to write. And the more I write the more I write. I am more poet than painter but a bit painter too and that seems, finally, to sit very well with me.

Out of sight

It stretches in all directions and
I am in the middle again
But digging deep

The crossroads has buried treasure
And this time I am staying here
To find it, finally.

Then I will know which path to take
Home.

Transition

From Apple to hemlock via sycamore
Letting go
Letting go

Holiest fruit, classical poison, helicopter seed
Letting go
Letting go

Through the labyrinth, I catch the breeze and fall
Letting go
Letting go

And with love, I hold on to me

Discombobulated to Re-combobulated

I’ve been fighting a cold for a week now, which is silly. I should have given in and gone back to bed last Friday, or yesterday, or today, while Sam was at nursery, but instead I have carried on. It’s not something to be proud of – and is a habit I have been consciously changing. Trying to find that balance between knowing I am ok to keep going (and most of the time I don’t have a choice as a a single parent) and taking the opportunity to rest and sleep and take care of myself before my body gives me a big ‘You didn’t listen’ signal.
As I’ve said previously it’s been a good, very busy, summer, and I am now trying to tick off my To Do list before I go back to the intense experience of university. I’m not complaining- it’s mostly good stuff: clearing the patch of garden I am going to grow vegetables in next year; writing; planning activities for Sam and doing research for the work which will at some point turn into a book when it and I are ready.
As I planted bulbs in the garden yesterday afternoon I realised that the garden looks messy. Windblown and overgrown, flowers are drying and going brown on the stem. Leaves strewn across the grass along with windfallen apples and pears. And the ever-growing heaps of bindweed, brambles, ivy and other garden detritus which are piling up as I continue with my mission to clear the space at the end of the garden. My mum would have said: “It’s gone over.” It is bloated and worn out and brittle and dry and tired. The pots are still full of petunias and trailing lobelia and everything is still green and bright but it’s coming to an end and ready for change.
A bit like me then! I feel messy and out of shape and ready to break free and have a change of space. So, from today I am going to detox and get ready for university. It’s all going to be different again this year.

August to Autumn

It is dark and rainy. Hello Autumn. I felt it when I woke up last Friday- like the end of Mary Poppins, when the wind changes and she leaves again. Season of mists and mellow all that.... season of getting back to work more likely. I can't believe I am going back to uni at the end of this month. I am already stocking the freezer with batches of home-made soup and pasta sauce, and trying to sort out clutter. I am eternally trying to sort out clutter but getting more brutal with it now. I've just sold Sam's playpen on ebay and and got rid of a pushchair and bag of clothes to charity but there is tonnes more to sort out. Paperwork has to be filed and 'actioned' and more re-organising must be done before the end of September.

photo of apples taken at Glastonbury, 'The Isle of Apples', at Lammas time

The garden is starting to look different - I had a scary thought today as I was hacking away at brambles and ivy: "I could do the whole garden, not just the end"...I hate having these thoughts. I have had a quiet word with my over-ambitious self and made it clear that sorting out the end of the garden to grow vegetables is quite enough to be dealing with, apart from everything else - see the Roar! Earth blog for more on this. I also want to plant a bee-friendly front garden. I drive myself mad with all these ideas but it does keep life interesting.

Being able to drive has made such a difference to everything. I've been driving for five months now. When I passed my test I decided to drive as much as possible until I felt really confident and now, after this summer, I am ready to get back to walking and cycling as much as I can. I knew it would have an effect on my fitness levels but I swam four lengths when I took Sam swimming the other day, and my arms were aching. Time to get moving.

I am very thankful for this summer- it's been the best one I've had for years. I've caught up with old friends, made new ones, and Sam and I have been able to go out and have lots of adventures and new experiences. I feel very lucky.

Soon it will be time to batten down the hatches and get my head back into study mode. I am just starting to look forward to it. I was hoping to get cracking on a book this summer but I've been doing too much to put the time in. Instead it's been about poetry. It always has been. I can't remember not writing poetry- I wrote tonnes of song lyrics as well when I was in bands, especially Primordia. I'm enjoying it more than ever and the first year of uni has definitely taught me how to shape and edit my poems. Let's see what happens this year.

Turning, turning, turning...

Love xxx

In 1988

We were supposed to go and see a gig: Christian Death
But we did not
We got drunk and amorous instead
Caught up in an illicit thrill
We were exes now
I lay down on summer rain-drenched grass
On top of your jacket
I wore your old dress shirt
But we did not
It was too dark and rainy
We had a romantic adventure
But the next day I was your ex
And I had to leave
Knowing that your new girlfriend was on her way
And it was over
Not beginning

Balloons, Bristol, Buddies, Blogs and Bliss

It's all about the B's at the moment. Sam and I spent nearly ten days in Bristol, staying with various friends, house-sitting while other friends were on holiday, attending birthday parties and having a completely brilliant time at the Bristol Balloon Fiesta.

So now I have done a proper long drive in my car, with Sam and the aid of Tom Tom. I drove all over Bristol, in and out of the city and its environs, and out into the countryside. For a place I had lived in for several years I felt like I was getting to know it all over again via road, rather than public transport, bike and on foot.

I re-connected the geography of the city which I love so much, re-connected with my great friends there, and re-connected with lots of memories-transforming once painful territory into blessings and bliss.

I have moved on. I am moving on.

Sam had an amazing time, getting to know my friends and their children, expanding his experience and horizons exponentially, changing his views and opinions and deepening his obsession with hot air balloons.

We saw four hot air balloons ascending over the city as we drove back from friends to where we were staying, balloons rising above Bristol after the weekend-long Harbour Festival, which we had completely side-stepped, in favour of my friend's daughter's third birthday party, and the Amnesty International Fete at Goldeney Hall gardens. Sam was awe-struck by those four balloons. "Just wait for the balloon fiesta!" I told him. On Friday morning I got up at 5am, dressed Sam and bundled him into the car with a beaker of juice and some toast and we went on a tour around Bristol for the next hour, waiting for the morning ascent of balloons. Suddenly there they were! Floating above us, drifting up into the sky, glorious and colourful. We drove backwards and forwards until there seemd to be hundreds of balloons of all shapes, sizes and hues disappearing into the distance.

On the saturday I spent time at my friends' Paul and Kat's allotment, digging up onions, chatting with and gaining inspiration from Kat, while Paul looked after Sam and their gorgeous daughter Maya. Later we all headed off to Ashton Court for the Balloon Fiesta. The weather was perfect and we saw 66 balloons ascend and then waited for the Night Glow and fireworks. Sam rode on a merry-go-round with Kat and Paul and Maya. It is the latest night he has had so far. It was quite a mission getting through crowds of a quarter of a million people and managing to keep him from running off. He absolutely loved it and I think he thought he would be doing the same the next night!

Now Lammas has passed, the season is moving on again and my summer holiday is fast disappearing. I feel refreshed and ready to put everything in place for the next year at university. But before I do that I am about to embark on a new, big project. I am going to dig over the end of the garden, which has been neglected for years and turn it into a vegetable patch. It doesn't sound like much maybe, but it is a big space which is feet deep in brambles. I have no idea what I am doing but I am going to give it a go. If you would like to know more or follow my progress please see my new blog Roar! Earth

Love Love Love

xxx

And, if you are wondering about the new photo on the title of the page, it is the top of Glastonbury Tor, looking East. Heaven.

Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut & Feet

Below is a piece of writing as part of a creative writing portfolio assignment for my degree. This is a commentary on Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut. It was supposed to be 250 words but is over 300. It was supposed to focus on a particular writing technique of Vonnegut's but in facet this reads more like a piece of critical analysis illustrated with quotes from the anti-surrealist philosopher Georges Bataille's essay "The Big Toe".

This piece of writing can not begin to do justice to Vonnegut's book. It took him 23 years to write it and anyone who has read it will understand that such a densely woven, exquisitely constructed, deeply moving and thought-provoking work cannot possibly be explained or illuminated in this manner.

But... I can talk about feet.

Kurt Vonnegut used the image of feet in Slaughterhouse 5 to signify corporeality amidst the time travel, alien abduction and mundanity of conventional American life. A signal to the reader that there is an inescapable truth being offered: here is humanity; here is the reality of war.
This meta-fictional Pilgrim’s Progress must also have its own barefoot Billy Pilgrim.
The anti-surrealist philosopher Georges Batailles, writing in his 1929 essay “The Big Toe”, described the big toe as “hideously cadaverous”, and said:
“One can imagine that a toe, always more or less damaged and humiliating, is psychologically analogous to the brutal fall of man- in other words, to death.”
Early on in the book the first mention of feet comes at a point when Billy is writing to the press about the Tralfamadorians view of death and the phrase “So it goes”, which he says whenever he hears of someone’s death. Directly after this Vonnegut describes Billy’s feet:
“His bare feet were blue and ivory.”
This concrete image is repeated when Billy is back in World War Two, and captured by the Germans:
“Billy found the afternoon stingingly exciting. There was so much to see – dragon’s teeth, killing machines, corpses with bare feet that were blue and ivory. So it goes.” Immediately the reader is reminded of Billy’s feet being the same as the corpses, and of his being there and of his experiences, and the affect they had on him.
Before his initial capture Billy is close to death and hallucinating:
“He was wearing dry, warm, white sweatsocks, and he was skating on a ballroom floor.”His feet are covered –he is no longer confronted by his own mortality. In Bataille’s view: “Man’s secret horror of his foot is one of the explanations for the tendency to conceal its length and form as much as possible.”

Where does the time go?

I've just looked here and I haven't posted anything since the beginning of June! This is a brief catch up before I start posting again in earnest...in other words, this is a ramble.

Since my last post I have finished uni for the year, handed in all assignments and received most of the marks back- just waiting on one now. I did well- firsts in all but one which was marked at 2:1. I worked hard so I am glad it paid off.

Trying to find a metaphor or analogy to describe my experience of going to back to study is impossible.But it has been some of these: brilliant; bemusing; frustrating; challenging; a juggle; a culture shock; and made me feel very old at first!

I think next year will present me with a different set of challenges as well as the continued juggle with Sam and trying to find time to squeeze everything in. But I do feel like I've settled back in to the swing of academic life. I am hoping I won't have so many personal events e.g getting divorced (!) to deal with at the same time and can just concentrate on studying.

Sam and I had a lovely week away in Devon in June, on the borders of Cornwall near Bude, with my best friend, going to the seaside, visiting the Gnome Reserve (more about that in another post) and generally relaxing and chilling out.

We celebrated the solstice with a BarBQ and pink champagne in the midst of the beautiful and peaceful woody area we were staying in. With a view overlooking a hillside meadow and trees, a zillion stars in the sky and bats flitting about.

Unfortunately whilst staying at our lovely little holiday home, The Triangle House, or more properly "The Hives" I had a big flare up of hayfever, asthma and eczema. It was going to happen sometime and being suddenly surrounded by nature, and with visiting the ponies round the corner a couple of times, it decided to happen then.

Which was a bit of a pain but with the help of some blessed rest, some homeopathic remedies, reiki, eyedrops and a couple of antihistamines, and plenty of sea air, I recovered and my skin is almost back to normal now.
I've currently got a chest infection so have been taking it easy but haven't needed to resort to antibiotics or increase the medication I take for asthma so, with a bit more rest I am getting better.

Enough of the catalogue of illness! The fact is I am healthier(and happier) than I have been for years, and long may it continue.

I have been going to see some art in London and will blog about what I've seen later.

I have also been gardening and am looking forward to doing some more of this as well.

I haven't been writing- maybe I needed a break from it. In the last week I have been getting back to it, doing some research and reading and a lot of thinking.

The solstice has been and gone, a big marker in the year, and for all those who follow the seasons and such, as we head up to Lammas I find I am heading towards another crossroads... Love, Love, Love xxx

Summer View

A triumphant midday sun in throat chakra sky
Over the steady stream
Specks and motes of dust float by
Weeping willow dips a leafy twig.

Above the heads of smoking students
Dances a damsel fly
A joyous din of children spin
In summer uniform nearby.

The epitome of ‘Flaming June'
Gazing at the blazing sun
I can’t resist a write about it
Now the season‘s near mid-run

It's just a thought - and a thought can be changed.

Take all the knowledge

And let it all go

Look for new patterns

Go with the flow

Eye of the Storm

I am in the midst of assignment fever- the last ones for this year, and then I have completed my first year of university. Phew! And...where did that go? So, it will be a bit quiet round here until the beginning of June- unless the muse strikes.

There are a lot of changes happening for me at the moment and I think, once the dust has settled, they will all be good changes. Moving things forward again.

The summer holiday will give me a chance to get on with my own research and writing, about which I have had to be very disciplined and put to one side since starting my degree.

I am excited about the next phase.

The wheel is turning again. And at the moment it is a steering wheel.

Sunday afternoon

In the garden
We span round and round
Until so dizzy
We fell to the ground
Only to get up and point at the moon.

When it disappeared behind the clouds
You up-ended a broom
Swept them all away with a brush upside down
And cheered and pointed again at the moon
Then we went inside for tea.

Here is the year

At the end of this fair day

The first of the merry month of May

The plans are sown

There is work to be done

The greenest time of the year has begun


As the fire burns bright what will you see?

You'd better get busy, blessed bee.

Rainbow Magical Material

Rainbow magical material

We like to sit under you

And watch the sun shine through



You're rainbow magical material

Of red and green and blue

Pink, purple and orange too



Oh rainbow magical material

You really are

Our very favourite thing

To do

The City Reflects; Somerset House

This water

Erupts

Springs like new life

Is forced out of the ground

Amidst the static, stately square

Liquid converses

In a place of focussed thought and peace

Away from the flow of frenetic energy outside

The movement is the counterpoint

Nature breaks through

Bursting bubbles on the surface.

Happy Mothers Day

Motherhood is The Big One. For me anyway. I wanted it to change my life, I knew it would but I had no idea what it would mean in reality. Does any woman? I woke up the morning after having Sam, on a Monday morning, after a weekend of labour culminating in a caesarean, in a different world, in another dimension. The weight of the responsibility just starting to dawn on me, the lightness of the joy still enveloping me.

I lost my Mum at about the time I fell pregnant and so her life and death and my pregnancy and Sam’s birth were and are irrevocably tied.

Ultimately the ‘weight’ has set me free. It is both the hardest and easiest job on earth. I hope that one of the things I achieve as a mum is for Sam to know who he is and to have confidence in himself. To love himself. I believe the best way to do this is to teach by example and so I have had to face up to some home truths and to take better care of myself. I have started to place more value on myself and the things I do.

The idea of weight and lightness came into focus when I read Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being recently for uni : “The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life’s most intense fulfilment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.”

Sam is my responsibility- I don’t think of him as a burden. But this resonated with me. Being a single mum is about taking the responsibility on both shoulders.

I miss my Mum now, almost three years later and I talk to her every day. Mums are human and not perfect but there is no one like your mum and you will never know this or how much they know about you, truly, until they are gone. And it is irreplaceable.

One of my oldest and bestest friends wrote “You are the mother” on the card she sent me after Sam was born. It has become my mantra.

So to all mothers I say:

You are The Mother. Rock On.

And for all mothers-to-be:

I salute you.

Talk about a blast from the past!

Just saw this!?

http://www.discogs.com/Primordia-A-Mental-Aid-Project/release/1599928

I don't even have one!

This is the first 'release' by Lucy and Dog, on cassette, made-at-home, all hand-printed and hand-stuck-on labels etc...and made in 1989. BUT -this cassette says Primordia, so possibly a second 'edition'?!

It is so long ago I can't remember.

The band became Primordia after Lucy and Dog. Then we signed to the World Serpent label.

I wonder where this person got it from? I might ask.

Shoes

I have just updated my other blog: http://www.theshoeshow.blogspot.com/ for the first time in about two and a half years. I feel really good about this. The end of The Shoe Show coincided with a very difficult time for me personally and I was sad I couldn't make the second series. Now life has moved on and I am so glad I was able to make that show. It changed my life and is a big part of the reason I am now at university.

The shoe must go on! (Thanks to Amelia for gorgeous shoe photo)

March

The trees shudder,
March roars in like a lion,
I shiver in the garden,
My son bounds joyfully in the wind.

Leaping!

Suddenly my writing seemed to leap forward this week. I have been writing every day and taking the writing exercises, given to us at uni, seriously and it is pushing my writing into new and uncharted territory. VERY exciting! The horizon has opened up and there is now a huge vista brim full of new stuff to work on.
Not a lot of time to work on it at the moment but I am stockpiling notes and ideas.
And as this happens I feel more and more myself. More and more solid, rooted feet and head in the sky.

Sam ran around the garden earlier, shouting: " Sunny morning! Sunny morning! Bounce! Bounce!"

Love xxx

Good Lovin'

I felt strangely untouched by Valentine's day this year. The second one I have experienced as a grown up single person. I can't even remember it last year but this year I have definitely thought about it a bit. Mainly because I haven't felt left out or hoped for an anonymous card or felt bitter or begrudged anyone else their celebration or quest for romance. And it does feel strange not to be touched by it. But I am glad to be on my own just now, without a significant other. I've got me and Sam and no energy to spare for a new love, although of course when the time comes and I am ready, I am trusting that the universe will provide me with someone ..heheh.
I've quite enjoyed watching the frantic card/bouquet/ingredients-for-special-meal/chocolates buying going on in Marks and Spencer etc. I've even had a bit of a reminisce about some of the lovely Valentines days of past years and loves that I have been lucky to have had.
I've been more interested in the history of Valentines day, most of which seems to stem from the Roman pagan festival of Lupercalia, celebrated on the 15th February. Thanks to http://www.witchology.com/contents/february/valentines_static.php which has some great information on this and to the National Geographic Web site as well. Originally a pagan festival of purification and fertility, and where the month of February gets its name. It is held at the very time of year when the earth is stirring, birds are starting to nest and the first buds are seen on the trees. A time of getting ready for what is to come and what is wanted. Abundance and Creativity.

And on Valentines day this year I thought I love my life.

Get Ready
Get Set
Go Go Go!

With love

Here Hair Here (Shooting from the hip)

Right, I looked at myself today and I am deeply pissed off with my hair. I've had enough. Time to GROW GROW GROW!

I had long, luxuriant locks during pregnancy and then about 3 months after Sam was born my hair started to fall out. Big Time. Tumbleweeds rolling across the carpet type stuff- a bit disturbing! Which resulted in me having a bob and then a crop this summer, when the bob started to look very weird because of the regrowth coming through. Because, thank goodness, it has grown back. Phew! Now, it is time to see if it will grow long again.

Heheh! Little did I know what was coming as I flicked my hair around like a Silvikrin girl ;-)

This postpartum hairloss is a not unknown phenomenum but like everything else in pregnancy doesn't affect everyone and also affects people to varying degrees. I would say it affected my hair significantly but not severely- some women look like they are suffering with alopecia. It's to do with the hormonal balance, which changes vastly whilst you are pregnant and then, more or less, returns to pre-pregnancy status once you have had your baby. Again, this is different for every woman and is also affected by things like breastfeeding.

I have really enjoyed having my hair short and it's been pretty funky but I looked at myself today and thought...Feck, I ain't no middle aged housewife. I might be approaching 40 with a nipper but this is not me. So I am sworn off the hairdresser until it's long enough to tie back. Eek! But I am ready. I want long hair by the time I finish my degree so I am prepared to go through all the various stages of dragged-through-a-hedge-backward-styling that's a-comin' my way.

I suppose at 38 people look at you and think you want to look feminine and elegant and well-groomed. Well, feminine and elegant and well-groomed is fine but not dowdy and boring. And I need some Dis added to my (Dis)gracefully growing older.

The hairdresser I have been going to has done a great job each time and I am under no illusion that I need to experiment any more with my hair. I've done just about everything I can do to it- purple dreadlocks, skinhead, wild-goth-crimping-backcombing, green/pink/purple/blue at the same time etc etc...but I do not need to hear anyone tell me again in a slightly urgent way that "You do want to keep it soft round your face though, don't you?" like I am some raddled old bag....not yet!

Now, Voyager

"The untold want by life and land ne'er granted, Now voyager sail thou forth to seek and find."

This is the bit of Walt Whitman quoted in the film Now, Voyager. I watched it again on Saturday night, finally, after ordering a boxed set of Better Davis films several months ago and not having a chance with starting uni and keeping up with everything else going on. This is one of my favourite films of all time. I just love every minute of it.

I feel like I've been voyaging a bit this week. Last Sunday, half an hour after returning from a friend's wedding in Bristol, I looked out of the window to see over an inch of snow on the ground and woke up to about 10 inches of it covering everything the next morning. What fun! What beauty! I held Sam up to look out of the window at the white landscape below. He was a bit confused at first and then full of "Snow snow snow...wow" not really understanding it but excited at the change nonetheless, and probably a bit egged on by my enthusiasm.

I left Sam with Grandad and ventured out to get supplies and it was so fantastic. The best and lightest and cleanest and brightest powdery snow. Crunch crunch under my big old goth boots (survivors of many a muddy Glastonbury- wellies were in the boot of my car and needed digging out!) and that almost squeaky noise that comes with a proper amount of snow...ah, lovely.Cold and still snowing I made it up to the local shops and back again, laden down with eggs, sausages, black pudding, bread and hot cross buns. Perhaps I thought we needed to put on an extra layer of winter fat all of a sudden. I hadn't intended to buy such stodgy fare, the snow took over, honest 'guv. I listened to the silence and then I put my ipod on for the journey back and blasted Sigur Ros- perfect snow music. The best walk back from the local shops ever. Then out with Sam who could not and would not keep his mittens on but thought the snow was super dooper and was off stomping down the road, checking out the snowman already built. We made our own, which was not conventional but full of personality (and antlers).
The snow hung on for a couple more days, getting icier and slushier but now it is all but gone and it has been tipping rain all day today, so we have been having a rainy 'indoors' day, singing and dancing and playing "Where is Sam?" and finger painting, well, elbow and arm painting really.

I have been enjoying watching old episodes of Cheers this evening and chatting to friends and trying to get my head in gear for uni. Another term starts here. Well, it officially started last week but I wasn't ready for it. I hope I am now...time to get my big boots on and crunch crunch , squeak my way back into it. Now, Voyager...