Tattoos

I realised tonight that I've had a tattoo for nearly twenty years. I had a small Celtic knot put on my shoulder in 1991 and it was so unusual for a woman to have a tattoo that people would come up to me in the University Bar and ask if they could see it. A few years later I had a flying heart put on my upper arm but tattoos become so popular now that I've said that given the choice I would prefer not to have any at all. Until tonight.

Inspired by an amazing tattoo we saw with pin cushions, buttons and stitch style writing, some of my Itchin' for Stitchin' girls and I were considering some stitching themed body art. I thought I could cover my Celtic knot with a picture ball of wool but I haven't decided what the "thread" would say. Any ideas?

The Literary Gift Company

May I just draw your attention to this rather wonderful website? I don't think there's a single thing on here that I don't want to buy for me or someone I love.

http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/index.aspny.com/index.asp

The badge at the top of the page would be perfect for all those times on public transport or in waiting rooms that people presume you're reading because you're bored and lonely and would much rather be talking to them about immigration.

The earrings are delicate and elegant and I'd buy them now if I didn't know for a fact that I'd lose them in a couple of days.

The Dorothy Parker poster may still find its way to my study wall as she's one of my heroines.

And the bag inspires me to see if I can make something out of an old book or two (my apologies right now to The Girl for the mess I'm likely to make).
I'm also sorry about the weird positioning of the pictures on this post but I've spent blinkin' ages trying to sort it out and I've had enough; I'm hungry and I'm going to make myself some lunch.

Moving On

In a previous life I was a counsellor and therapist before the urge to tell people to pull themselves together got too strong and I became a teacher and actively encouraged to boss people around. When I first learned about Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and her model for the stages of grief I was amazed by the common sense I saw in it and how pertinent it was to my life. I've seen it mentioned as having anything from four to seven stages and it applies, not just to the grieving process following a bereavement but, to any ending. I've realised this week that I'm in a really good place emotionally and was thinking about how the model applies to the ending of my marriage. I've reproduced it here, with notes- in italics- by me.



1. SHOCK & DENIAL-You will probably react to learning of the loss with numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.

January 2009
This was the stage where Husband moved to the spare room but I went on as normal, cooking, cleaning, going to work. Nothing changed. I told people we'd split up but did nothing else differently.


2. PAIN & GUILT-As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it or escape from it with alcohol or drugs.
You may have guilty feelings or remorse over things you did or didn't do with your loved one. Life feels chaotic and scary during this phase.

March 2009
This went on for a long time. I was working in a town someway from home and I spent a lot of my commute crying. When I told my sister-in-law that I found it difficult not to cry on buses because I had time to think about what had happened she suggested I stop getting the bus...


3. ANGER & BARGAINING-Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. Please try to control this, as permanent damage to your relationships may result. This is a time for the release of bottled up emotion.
You may rail against fate, questioning "Why me?" You may also try to bargain in vain with the powers that be for a way out of your despair ("I will never drink again if you just bring him back")

March 2009
My anger was aimed at his family (over real issues is has to be said) and those of his friends who dropped me, but rarely at him, though phone calls (once I'd kicked him out) always started calmly and then went through anger, crying, begging, crying and back to calm again.

I also tried to find practical ways of sorting things out, in retrospect it was obviously bargaining.

"If I lose weight will you come back?" "If I pay for you to go into rehab and get over your addictions, will you come back?"


4. "DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be "talked out of it" by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving.
During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.

This was last summer. I even had a (very brief) fling with someone and attempted Internet dating until I realised I wasn't ready and it wasn't fair on others. I found it difficult to tell friends how much I was suffering as they could all see how much better off I was without him but I still managed to talk about him ad nauseum.


5. THE UPWARD TURN-As you start to adjust to life without your dear one, your life becomes a little calmer and more organized. Your physical symptoms lessen, and your "depression" begins to lift slightly.

Mid-September 2009
Work picked up after the summer break and The Stitchettes started meeting, my life started to open up and I started to get on with things and see my own value.


6. RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH-As you become more functional, your mind starts working again, and you will find yourself seeking realistic solutions to problems posed by life without your loved one. You will start to work on practical and financial problems and reconstructing yourself and your life without him or her.

This started around Christmas 2009. I started to talk about him less and have more interests in my life. I'd still tell people what had happened at the drop of a hat but now I often related stories from my marriage as funny anecdotes until I realised that no-one else was laughing and I was telling tales of emotional and mental abuse.

I had a set-back when I had to spend some time in contact with Husband over some fall-out from his extra-marital activities and was so dismayed at how badly I coped with contacting him that I decided to be proactive and get myself some help. I found a therapist who had a working style that suited me and started seeing him once a week. Talking in any detail about my marriage must have lasted about three weeks before we moved on and Husband became largely irrelevant. Which brings us to...


7. ACCEPTANCE & HOPE-During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness. Given the pain and turmoil you have experienced, you can never return to the carefree, untroubled YOU that existed before this tragedy. But you will find a way forward.
You will start to look forward and actually plan things for the future. Eventually, you will be able to think about your lost loved one without pain; sadness, yes, but the wrenching pain will be gone. You will once again anticipate some good times to come, and yes, even find joy again in the experience of living.

Joy? Did you see me with The Stitchettes on Tuesday? I was pretending to have antlers and laughed so much I snorted? Did you see me last night at MrsB's? She made an absolutely filthy comment and I nearly fell off my seat? Did you see me when I sold my Stitching? I was almost dancing in the street. Will you be there next month when I see my family including a brother I've not seen in eighteen months (he lives in Spain), a sister I've not seen in three years (California) and sisters and nephews and nieces I haven't seen for a year? My life is so much better now. It's not perfect; I worry over money a lot; my health isn't what it should be and, Oh God, what I'd give for a bit of bedroom shenanigans but day-to-day living is fun and fulfilling and I have friends and family who love me.

I still think he treated me appallingly. You shouldn't marry someone you don't love, someone the wrong gender, and then punish them for your unhappiness. You shouldn't make promises you have no intention of keeping. You shouldn't start relationships with new people (yes, plural...) until you've ended your old one. You shouldn't lie, cheat and abuse. But, and it's a massive but, I will not let his actions, his cruelty, define me. Despite what he told me I know myself to be strong, brave, kind, energetic, intelligent and attractive. I am not lazy, stupid, boring and unfanciable, but I suspect I know someone who thinks he is...

I couldn't have done this on my own and, though almost everyone in my life was a support in some ways, I need to mention some people in particular: MrsB who can't cope with me crying but can always make me laugh so it doesn't matter, HullBestFriend for listening to my endless analysing, BermudaGirl for taking me in and taking me away, BellyDancer for showing me that I was worth enough to travel miles a three-hour round trip to visit on a school night, OriginalBestFriend for total unconditional acceptance, The Stitchettes for opening my life to new possibilities, listening to my analysis of my therapy (poor sods) and keeping me from violence on one of the worst nights of my life, and Boy for showing me I was sensual, sexual and desirable. Thank God for them all.


The details of The Seven Stages of Grief come from http://www.recover-from-grief.com/7-stages-of-grief.html which isn't a bad website if you can overlook the comic sans.

Camp Coffee

I am a coffee aficionado. Hemingway first popularised that word outside Spain; it originally meant one who was a passionate follower of the bullfight. For me the passion is coffee. I love buying beans, talking about blends, grinding to a perfect softness; I love my Bialetti stove-top moka with it's blackened base that speaks of many scalding, devilishly strong cups of espresso. I love the bitter black silk on my tongue and the kick of the caffeine. I affect an air of sophistication in cafes as I sip from a tiny cup.

So how do I explain my love for Camp?

Yesterday I made fudge in my friend's kitchen (see below) and couldn't find the vanilla extract. Instead I found a bottle of Camp and made coffee fudge. Looking at the bottle brought back so many memories that I couldn't resist putting some in a glass of milk. Oh my Lord! It was delicious. And, if I thought the sight of the bottle had evoked nostalgia, the taste sent me straight back to my Mammy's pantry. No wonder I grew up to love espresso with sugar; Camp is strong and sweet and bitter -heaven in a bottle.

With my espresso I stake a claim to European cafe culture but with Camp I am tapping into the British Empire and the request from the Gordon Highlanders to Scottish Food magnet Robert Peterson to provide them with a coffee drink they could brew quickly whilst on campaign. The design of the label has been, quite rightly, changed so that the Sikh and Scottish soldier are now equals but I am sad that consequently some of the subtle undertones have been lost.

The label is supposed to show Fighting Mac, Major General Hector MacDonald, a crofter's son who rose through the ranks to be a national hero but committed suicide in disgrace following accusations of homosexual activity with servants and native boys. Camp coffee indeed. Clearly homosexuality was "the love that dare not speak its name" and, even in contemporary Britain, gay rights came later to the army than the rest of society but there is little doubt that, had he been part of the establishment, the whole situation would have been hushed-up as it was in other cases.

Jake Arnott, author of The Long Firm trilogy and Johny Come Home (which contains an odious character he named after my brother), has written a book imagining a meeting between MacDonald and Aleister Crowley called The Devil's Paintbrush. As with all his books, but especially The Long Firm, it is highly recommended.



Thanks to www.schemamag.ca/ for the image.

Fudge

There are days when the smell of cooking fudge, in all it's vanilla-ey goodness, just makes the world a better place. I don't know if standing over a saucepan of boiling sugar is good for the complexion, but breathing in the clouds of butterscotch-scented steam is certainly good for the soul.

Making fudge is actually ridiculously easy, though you do need to be careful as boiling sugar is up there with napalm on the dangerous substances list.

I made this yesterday with a friend's eight-year-old, by which I mean she weighed out the ingredients and then I stirred for twenty minutes whilst she went and played a cooking game on the computer. Modern life eh?

If you don't have the time or inclination to make your own, you can buy delicious Fair Trade Fudge here http://www.devoncottagefudge.co.uk/fudgemade.php

• oil, for greasing (I used one of those Frylight sprays and it worked really well)


• 300ml milk (You can use semi-skimmed but if you're buying it specially go for the full fat)


• 350g caster sugar


• 100g unsalted butter (to be honest I always use salted butter and it's never been a problem)


• 1 tsp vanilla extract or Camp coffee

1. Grease an 18cm square cake tin. Luckily my friend does a lot of tray bakes for school and had tin-foil cake tins so I didn't have to worry about ruining her bakeware.

2. Put the milk, sugar and butter in a heavy-based saucepan. Heat slowly, stirring all the time, until the sugar has dissolved and the butter melted.

3. Bring to the boil and boil for 15-20 minutes, stirring all the time.

4. When the mixture reaches the soft-ball stage * (115°C on a sugar thermometer), remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla extract or Camp. Leave to cool for 5 minutes. Use this time to eat some of the fudge mixture on chopped up bananas as a sauce.

5. Beat the mixture with a spoon for a few minutes until it starts to thicken and the gloss disappears.

6. Pour into the prepared tin and leave to set at room temperature (do not put it in the fridge).

7. Once set, cut the fudge into small squares and store in a sealed container eating any pieces that are irregular just to neaten it all up nicely.

* Soft ball- have a bowl of cold water next to the cooker and after about fifteen minutes drop a little of the mixture into it. If you can form it into a soft (and yummy) ball it is ready.

The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

It's a sad fact that most of the children I teach only know traditional tales if Disney have turned them into a film. Now I love a good animated film (unlike my friend MrsB, but frankly she's a nutjob) and have nothing against Disney but I do think our children are missing out. The first few years at school are meant to be fun and so the curriculum is largely based on fairy stories, folk tales and nursery rhymes but time and time again we find that we're starting from scratch as the children are more familiar with the songs of Michael Jackson than Mary Had a Little Lamb.

I can't help thinking they're missing out on more than just fun. Traditionally stories were also teaching aids. Cinderella taught us that we shouldn't be cruel to stepchildren (an important message given the mortality rate during childbirth until the twentieth century), Beauty and The Beast taught us the importance of looking past externals to the true character within and Puss in Boots taught us the importance of fabulous footwear. Of course the best of these have to be Aesop's Fables. I love using them at school as they're short, simple and pithy. I get the children to reproduce them as comic strips, or act them out with puppets, or retell them in their own words and I hope they learn from the message as well as achieving some literacy goals.

It seems to me that it's not just children that could learn from these fables...

I have a friend who is kind, generous and fun to be with but tells lies. It started a long time ago when he would exaggerate a little for comic effect. Fair enough. We all knew it was an exaggeration and had no problem with it, especially as the stories were amusing. Then stories started to be told about what he had said to someone. You know the type of thing,

" And the girl in the shop was too busy talking to her friend so I got the manager and said ' Your staff are treating me appallingly I'd like you to reprimand them', so he sacked the girl and I got a £50 gift voucher"

NO YOU DIDN'T.

That's what he wanted to say, but it didn't occur to him until he was half-way home.
Once again we let it slide because we've all told someone we said something when really we didn't think of the witty rejoinder until we were in bed that night, alone.

And then he took it to a new level. Following the breakdown of my marriage I did the normal stalkbooking, and, as is inevitable with these matters, just succeeded in upsetting myself. My husband's new profile picture showed him being hugged by a male friend and looking for all the world like the happiest gay couple you've ever seen. I was distraught, not by my husband's sexuality, which was no shock, but by suspicions that he'd moved on within days of leaving me. One night my friend was round and I showed him the picture. Did I get words of comfort and support, did I get told to stop being so silly, that was X who'd been to my house, who was straight, who had a girlfriend...? No! I got told,

"Oh yeah, I know him, he's gay. He's out, he's on the scene, I know him."

A lie. A stupid lie. A lie that, had I bothered to believe him, would have really hurt me. My friend was so busy showing off that he failed to remember that one of the men in the picture was my husband; the man who had stood in front of an altar and promised to love me forsaking all others. He totally ignored the fact that this was someone I was still in love with.

I looked at my friend and it dawned on me that he was more concerned about telling a story and being the centre of attention than in my pain and something changed. I started to notice other fibs. A holiday we'd been told about last year- complete with details of who he'd met and where they'd gone- didn't actually happen. A night out clubbing in Birmingham was related to HullBestFriend but when I asked about the city he said he'd never been. HBF and I talked about it and realised there were discrepancies in many of his stories and in some cases we'd been told completely different things. And we started to wonder what, if anything, we could believe.

So that's the moral of my story, and of Aesop's, be careful about telling lies because the time may come when people don't believe anything you say. HBF and I are still friends with The Boy Who Cried Wolf but any time spent with him is immediately followed by frantic phone calls where we compare notes and marvel over his flights of fantasy. I'm not sure how he'd feel if he knew but I know that I'd be mortified. I'm not saying I've never told a lie as there are times lying is the less hurtful thing to do but you can trust me.

Honest.

Picture from akvis.com

Things I can't do

I can't tie myself to the bed.


Let me explain. I suffer from numerous allergies; some are life-threatening (the mould that grows on damp tents and marquees anyone?) and some are just annoying (biological washing powder). Sometimes in bed at night the itch becomes intolerable and I wake up and find I've scratched myself raw. I've tried wearing scratch mittens but it's amazing the damage you can do just by rubbing and I've tried anti-histamines but they knock me out and I'm a zombie the next day.

One day I had the brilliant idea of tying my hands to the bedpost. I should explain that I already sleep with my hands up on the pillow and my head cradled on my forearms so it's not an uncomfortable position. I toddled off to our local specialist underwear and "toy" shop, Gwenap, and bought myself a set of neoprene and Velcro cuffs. They're soft and utilitarian and exactly what I needed. I don't think for a moment that the lady believed me when I told her why I wanted them and I smiled wryly to myself as I left the shop and some workmen asked me what I'd bought in traditionally ribald terms.

The next time I started to itch I asked my husband to do the honours and he secured me to the bed. I had a fantastic night's sleep and woke up non-scratched and refreshed. Over many other nights we did the same thing: I'd call him to the bedroom, he'd tie me up, he'd leave, I'd wonder why he didn't take advantage of the situation, I'd wonder what he was doing downstairs, I'd finally fall asleep, I'd sleep through the night. On the health front it was an ideal arrangement as I was managing my allergies without drugs. My self-esteem found it less satisfactory...

Well, the mass of frustration and pain that was my marriage is over now and I share the bed with the cats (and yes, I can see the irony in a post about allergies). The night before last I woke up and realised my skin was itching so I got out the cuffs but, try as I might, I could not manage to secure them and me at the same time. I could get them onto the bedpost and secure one hand, or I could secure both hands but not onto the bedpost. I felt like a reverse Houdini. Finally, I took a Vallergen. This was at 4 am. I finally stopped feeling drugged and spaced-out at about 7pm.

So it seems to me that I need to find someone to tie me to my bed...