Conversations about Spiders and Stomas

I am a sucker for a bit of charm, people buttering me up and talking me into something I am not really suited to.

Their words of praise and affirmation are a welcoming balm for my soul, especially when I am looking for a new project to take on and bring meaning to my life.

Sometimes the people who ask me to do things really should know better, I thought they at least understood my capabilities and where my real talents lie.

Others just have a sense I am a “good egg”, because I sometimes lead the prayers in church, so obviously I would be perfect for a role they find quite easy, but through age or other commitments need to give up at this time.

Perhaps all of this sounds vague and airy fairy but the general gist is that I took on a role a couple of years ago that I have come to realise doesn’t suit me at all. And sadly, this is not the first time I have been in this position.

Over the years I have got better at saying NO to things, I can make a list on the fingers of one hand the number of the times I have done so and have fingers to spare!

But it seems evenly balanced with the times I’ve said YES and then embarrassingly and with much grovelling, regret and remorse, had to find an exit strategy.

Maybe it’s just that my mental health at this time is delicate, breaking my arm and being told by the doctor it was a “fragility fracture” and “age related” really knocked my confidence.

Then this “THING” that I want out of, presented its own challenges with some very sharp and snarky bank correspondence that wore me down.

I have come to realise, for my own sanity I have to say, or even SHOUT, a BIG LOUD NO!

Enough is enough!

Never ask me to do anything admin related; it is just not my natural forte. A beautifully presented spreadsheet with files aligned and audited to perfection doesn’t bring me real JOY whatsoever, if it did, I would be on top of my own paperwork.

Once again, I need a reboot, or boot up the backside. I need to remind myself what does indeed bring me joy and satisfaction.

Thankfully I’ve had a couple of conversations in the past two weeks that have stirred my brain cells and re-awakened something.

The first conversation was with a small child as I walked into town. He was outside in his front garden and showed me with some glee the spot where his daddy had reversed the van onto the lawn and left a mark. Then, because I had stopped to listen, he told me about a giant spider he had discovered under the shed. Instead of being the adult who smiled and went on her way, I stopped for a chat about it and I admired his Spiderman T shirt, before waving goodbye.

found on Facebook

I know we tell kids not to talk to strangers, but his mum was there the whole time, smiling that I had taken the time to indulge him.

We all need connections in our lives whether we are 3 or 103, we need people willing to take our own interests seriously. Perhaps it says more about my own level of thinking but I love relating to children, their fascination for the small things is infectious. I walked away with a giant grin on my face.

My second conversation happened yesterday when I spoke to a young woman who may need an operation to create a stoma. Suddenly I was waxing lyrical about having this miraculous “thing” on my tummy that saved my life. I told her I was happy to meet her in the future to talk more even show her what it looks like – not for the faint hearted that one, but if it helps her feel reassured it will be worth it.

I was actually bubbling up but in a good way.

I’ve spent a lot of times over the past month being overwhelmed with tears, I have cried on EVERYONE's shoulders from the chiropractor to my Pilates teacher, in the middle of a creative writing workshop and in the lovely local re-fill shop. No holds barred it just spills out of me at the most inopportune moment.

I have been a MESS, in CAPITAL LETTERS.

I have lost my sparkle.

Conversations about spiders and stomas have reminded me where the lost glitter is buried. It is in the places no one else thinks to look.

I know I keep going on about writing my memoir well this week I finished my first FULL DRAFT.

I know it still needs some refining and inevitable editing; I could probably procrastinate forever trying to get it right, things are always evolving and as I delve into old blogs posts I remember other stories I could add.

But my cunning plan is to add extra words to it when I take this show on the road.

Oh, I have such grand plans, bubbling up and bubbling over. I enjoy public speaking, listening to my own voice telling my story. Performing and being the star of my own show.

Strangely that’s not everyone’s cup of tea, some would rather hide behind paperwork in a darkened room.

All I can say is if you are a paperwork person and you live nearby, come and see me, I might just have a task I am trying to off load 😉

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