What Kanga did next

I used to believe I was an optimist or at the very least a realist, now I find myself sliding into pessimistic territory and I’m wondering what has made me blue recently.

I tap my head like the bear with very little brain, Winnie the Pooh – “think, think, think.”

Eeyore sits beside me as I write this, solemn and quiet but a presence nevertheless. He was a gift I bought for Andrew once – he was always acknowledged as the Eeyore of our family.

I long to have the energy and exuberance of a Tigger but fear I am the timid, overly apologetic Piglet. Or probably the even more overshadowed Kanga who mothers everyone from wrapping a scarf round Poo’s neck to keep him warm to showing kindness to Tigger when he first bounced into the Hundred Acre Wood.

From Winniepedia 

Yes, I think I am most probably Kanga, at least she has some of Owl’s wisdom without the scowl I suppose, but these days I am Kanga with an empty nest. Or spare bedroom or two in my case.

What did Kanga do once Roo grew up and hopped away? Or what would Kanga have done because I suspect Hundred Acre Wood is stuck in its own time warp where Heffalumps, Woozzles and burst balloons are the scariest things to befall the inhabitants.

Or at least it was until A. A. Milne’s stories slipped out of copyright and fell into the public domain.

Unbelievably there is now a nightmarish version where these beloved characters go on a murderous rampage when Christopher Robin grows up – Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey. I think it’s best avoided and certainly not for the faint hearted.

My own scary tale is one of loneliness and redundancy. Being a mother has been the pinnacle of my existence for so long I’m not sure what happens next. The boys have kept me going, giving me a reason to get up each morning, which was crucial after their dad died. Now they are in their mid-twenties carving their own paths without me, at least for the most part.

I have just visited them in the flat they share together and I easily fell back into the routine of cooking, ironing, and cleaning for them. Perhaps I am just a soft touch.

The trouble is I don’t have a career to fall back on, although I now call myself a writer it still feel it’s something just out of reach and I haven’t quite achieved it. Maybe publishing a book will fill the aching void.  That does mean I need to finish writing it and stop writing blog posts for my 27 readers – that’s an average number, but writing has always been a process to untangle my thoughts as well as record them.

Empty nesting is also much harder when you go through it alone without a partner, at least that is my perception as I see all my friends on Facebook going off in couples now their children have flown, enjoying their own space and company. I will admit I am more than a bit jealous that I don’t have that luxury. In reality if Andrew were still around I would probably still be jealous of my friends and I’d be the nagging wife throwing it in his face all the time rather than whinging here!

Yes, I could go on solo adventures but I long to share experiences, to come home and be able to reminisce, “remember when we did this, went there, saw that…”

Most looking back I do is re-reading old blog posts, sometimes I am amazed at my clarity of thought, who is this woman who went through all this trauma and still came out smiling? She so often seems a distant memory.

I need to find her again, take stock and have another re-invention. I’ve been stuck many times before. The record spins and the needle jumps. But five years ago I was still in my big house that I never thought I would sell. Who knows where I will be in five years time? Things do change over time sometimes incrementally, sometimes in the blink of an eye.

Life is made up of different stages. I’ve been a wife and will always be a mother, a widow, a single parent and a cancer survivor but I’m struggling to come up with a new label that is positive and doesn’t include the words menopausal or middle aged. Maybe all I need is a decent title.

When I started this blog I called it In Search of Lost Glitter after a dream I had. Sadly, any glitter I have collected has tarnished in my hands over time.

It’s time to go searching for the sparkle again and sometimes searching can be as simple as letting your  fingers tap away on the keyboard.

Let your fingers do the walking

Just writing this has helped me and I hope reading it helps you a little bit too. xx