I have to now think of 10 things about me that begin with the letter M. I won’t be specifically tagging anyone but if you want to do this yourself just leave a comment.
Motherhood – back in the days of yore when I was still at secondary school and wanting to be this careerwoman (forensic scientist/journalist with a life a little like Kay Scarpetta I should imagine) thoughts of being a mother were quite alien to me. I had a hard time believing that I would be married until I was at least 40 and the idea of having children at that age or out of wedlock seemed an impossibility in my left wing but conservative (for this read old-fashioned mind) mind. I will freely admit that just three years later, in a very dark place, I used motherhood as an escape, a buffer to the trials of life. Don’t get me wrong, once the decision was made and the deed done it was an instant love affair with my children. I was completely overwhelmed by my own love for them and astounded when this overwheening need to be with them and ensure they grew up into fine young adults was not shared by their father. He has not seen them for 14 1/2 years apparently because he has to pay too much maintenance to be able to come 400 miles. I know that I would walk (to coin a phrase) 500 hundred miles to be with them. Sorry if you are reading this but tell me this is not true.
Marriage – In 1993, back living with my mum and dad with two little children. I thought I would be on my own forever. I was very lonely and very sad but I knew I never wanted to be married like that ever again. I didn’t see how it could be any different. 3 years later I met the Painter. Within a very short time I realised that (durr!) not all men were the same. He is the love of my life; the other half to my whole. Most days he makes me feel like it’s not only okay to be me but it’s essential. I love him for loving me in all my shapes and sizes and am so glad that the children have had a father they could really learn values from.
Morgan – It is, although I don’t and have never driven, the car of my dreams. One day we will tour around France in one, staying at little B&Bs with me wearing a headscarf and the Painter a rakish grin. It won’t be in the colourways of the one above but will be in cream with tan leather interior. I’ll probably wear white a lot and pretend I am a floaty and gamine type of girl instead of the sturdy (and possibly even sturdier) girl I am now. We might even have a red setter in the back (oh, well there is no back and it might be a bit of a squeeze if he sits in the middle – forget the dog).
Muse – Until I started blogging I had been unable to write for about 8 years. I still find the poetry, which came so easily once, difficult to write. It was as if, at the end of my degree in 1997 the poetry became a childish thing to be put aside; that decision having been subconsciously made in my head, I find it very hard to go back to it. It is a struggle. I have no space in my head or my heart for me or my writing. I try to keep blogging. It is a little space in the world that is just me.
Memories – I am a sentimental and nostalgic old fool and find myself away in my past often. My memories are not all good, even of my childhood but there was a halcyon time before 1977 when my life seemed just about perfect. Things happened after that which brought the world and the intrusions of others crashing into my psyche and they have altered my entire life and cast their shadows far and wide.
as I have said before, she often goes unmentioned as she is a very private person. She has been a rock through my adult life and if she should find herself now on sandy foundations then it is time for me to be a rock. (September 1987)
Mullion – A happy place in my life. A very austere beauty built on serpentine rocks.
Mangold wurzels – these root vegetables grown as cattle fodder were what we used to carve for halloween. Children in this country did make jack-a-lanterns but not from pumpkins as they do now but from turnips (swedes to you English types). We made ours from mangold wurzels. They were like very large parsnips but much more gnarled with lots of thick sinewy rootlets coming from the main taproot. They took ages to scoop out (and kept us, no doubt, nice and quiet for ages). Once we had carved faces in them and put string through for the handle we dripped red wax on them to make them look even more sinister. Then we took them with Karin, Mum, Diane, Christopher and huffy and the happy Christmas fairy (sometimes with Jason Bryant) to Easter Beach* for a sausage sizzle.
* If you go here and click the big pink button look for Mawnan Smith then recentre on Bream Cove at max zoom it can be found mid way between Bream Cove and Gatamala Cove.
Margaret – my middle name. The eighties were not a good time to have the name Margaret if you liked Billy Bragg. It made me feel guilty by association. Until that time and now I loved it and even considered going by Peggy or Meg. I feel proud that it is one of my names as it is for my paternal grandmother Margaret Morrison, a very lovely lady.
Mercy – a scarce commodity these days. We find ourselves in a world increasingly intollerant of difference and the ability to extend mercy and kindness to others seems to be becoming lost. I am remindedthat from time to time I need to extend this to myself.