This week I have been getting ready for the fete at Merafield View Nursing home next Friday afternoon from 1.30pm, doing some marketing and getting ready for self-employment again. I’ve sorted a business account, spoken to tax credits, investigated changes to our income and we are looking for opportunities for John’s artwork, and he’s going to be trying to do some more illustrative stuff which I actually think suits his style.
He has had so much to overcome during the past few years, it’s quite amazing to me that he is willing to try anything again but the idea of being in this quasi dormant state until death us do part fills neither of us with glee. If the medical professionals could get their fingers out perhaps we would have something of an answer or at least an idea of whether or not stroke number five is a foregone conclusion or just a possibility. I know which one the balance of possibility dictates.
Life, chez nous, is not, contrary to my tone, all doom and gloom. We are basically happy. We have lovely children and we love each other, our cups runneth over.
This afternoon I shall be cheating in the kitchen; I’m going to use a Wright’s Carrot Cake Mix. I haven’t tried it before and bought it out of curiosity, not normally being one for cake mixes. I do sometimes use their bread mixes as they work quickly, even on a wintry afternoon. Obviously full of flour “improvers” and other dubious things to help things along. After that I will return to knitting penguins and jumpers and bells. I will let you all know how I get on, carrot cake is so yummy it might be nice to have a cheat which doen’t involve grating.
Life is to short to have just one knitting project on the go.
In other news and thanks to my ex-sister-in-law I have been spending a lot of time over at attic24, drooling over her crochet work and her life to be brutally frank. If any of you lovely people could actually show me how to crochet I would be immensley grateful.
So after my last little splurge I have been quite quiet and unsettled. Life, I suppose, is all about change and sometimes those changes are not comfortable even if they are inevitable. I have taken the last few weeks to think about the future in a way that I haven’t done for a long time and with a clarity that has been absent for even longer.
We can’t change what has happened but we can change with the way we deal with the future. Instead of accepting the world and what it does to me, I have decided to make my future happen. Some of you will think this very odd as you have been doing this all your lives but it’s new to me.
I have a new website over at Phoenix Trading; the thing that sparked our interest is that they are looking for artists so that would give us something we could do together from home. If you follow the link here and then click through to my “about me” page (at the top in the middle) there’s a link at the bottom to a youtube video about this – do you know anyone arty? There’s lots of info on my site but do check out the cards and gifts as they are beautiful. I’m just waiting for my start-up kit to arrive and I’m unbelievably excited – can you tell. If you know of any events – church fetes, playgroups, coffee mornings etc, etc who you think would like my cards and gifts please leave a comment. Any ideas welcome and I know you wonderful people are full of them.
I am not a patient person; virtue is, therefore, in short supply. I am waiting, now impatiently, for my OU documentation to arrive. I have the bit almost within reach of my teeth and just want to chomp right in. I even have some ideas for my dissertation. So bloody, bloody hurry up.
I watched Fiona Bruce make a tit of herself with the Duke of Edinburgh last night. Not very edifying. Contrary to opinion over at the Guardian, I thought her interview was worse, infinitely worse, than Alan Titchmarsh’s, which I also watched. Given that she rather lamely defended her career, she should have done a better job; or perhaps the beeb should have sent someone with a bit more nous. Both interviews were agenda driven and somewhat prosaic but Titchmarsh, after all, is a gardener and has something of an excuse.
All my Wrens nostalgia seems to be driving me at the moment. It’s ironic that I’m now able to look fondly back; for a long time I was fairly traumatised to the point that when a certain WOMAA (Warrant Officer Master at Arms) of my acquaint appeared on that Channel 4 morning programme where they did a live broadcast from somewhere interesting, I was left with flashbacks. A bit like an old episode of Dr Who with no sofa to hide behind, not even a cushion. To the gentleman in question, I wish you botulism, and I don’t mean Keith Chegwin.
It is lovely to see people moving on with their lives, and also lovely to see that I am apparently remembered fondly. I don’t feel like the scourge I have believed I must have been for gone twenty years and that’s quite refreshing. I’m sure that’s what’s given me this new vim and vigour.
Anyway, whatever it is, I’ll just welcome it. It’s bringing with it a period return to Tannochbrae and an opportunity to extend myself again and that can only be good.
My blog has seen various levels of activity over the last seven years and when I started it back on aol hometown I didn’t think that it would have documented so much trauma. Life then seemed quite idyllic and perhaps I am having some of those same feelings of hope. Or perhaps I just have the freedom and space to think at the moment. It feels like an indulgence.
Of course, with the work I was doing previously, it would have been difficult and inappropriate to comment on the www about the things I was dealing with, something that at least one of my previous employers should have borne in mind but I am not bitter or twisted; well perhaps only a tad, only enough to leave a metaphorical eggy burp.
It really all has been a blessing of sorts. I will not give credit to my changed life to anyone apart from myself. To those who might wish to, I say they cannot claim that they knew it would be for the best. The fact is that they didn’t really know or care; I know that it has saved me and therefore saved our little piece of the universe.
I can’t adequately express the tsunami of change that has hit us and every so often, it seems, hits us again. What I can tell you is that I am glad that we are all still here bobbing, slightly dishevelled, surrounded by the flotsam and jetsam of “normal” life.