Work; how to have healthy relationships.

Here is a massive hint;

If someone phones you at work and asks to speak to the union rep, and you don't know where they are, and you offer to help, and the caller says, I really need to speak to a union rep, and I don't want to discuss my situation as it's a health matter - it may not be in you best interests to

a) speak to your colleague within earshot of the phone, and say - what a bitch that caller is.
b) then discuss word for word everything you have discussed with the caller with your colleague.
c) do nothing about the enquiry.
d) when you get back on the phone and you speak to the caller again who asks for your name, and your managers name, and then pretend to transfer the caller, but then not really.

Well, if that's what you would do - then at least try and work somewhere where they have no dignity at work policy, or an HR department who would go ballistic to hear one of the staff is not clever enough to say bad things without putting the caller on hold first.

Thanks to Elizabeth, J and J and M, who are at the forefront of my mind, as I pretend they are sitting next to me, as I have to gather up my shaky self, and then speak to the union regarding the matter I neede to discuss in the first place, preferably without - what a bitch you are stuff in between.

How to heal up a broken heart

Last October, there was the sensation of reaching the bottom of the barrel on more than one occasion. That oh oh time, when you go - ok think I'm going to get hurt, and it's going to hurt so so bad.

December - dumped by text. Hurt more by another's cowardice than their intentions. There was a brief flurry of discussions after that - that mainly confirmed - this person no more knew their intentions than they could calculate the ability to make their actions match their words.

Just before New Year, my Dad threw his holiday surprise routine at me. Let's go to Spain, for New Year.

I could survive Christmas - Christmas I was with my family. But New Year - yes, leaving the country was needed.

Holidays with Dad were always a bit of a white knuckle ride - he would combine ingenious last minute deals with some times some quite obscure travelling arrangements.

I knew if we got to Spain on New Year's eve - well that would give enough time to keep breathing until I could sift my hurt through the filter of Spanish air. Dad and I spent much of our three days away talking about our natural affinity with Spain, with it's air, climate, and look of the land. Like we had returned to our ancestral home.

On New Year's eve - we went down to the beach. We walked around the really posh restaurant that we would discuss in awe - and recall how we weren't going to have dinner there because none of our holiday clothes were good enough. I knew back home there would be people and parties, and shouting and cheering. We didn't have that - we had the sea.

A thick black sea swept up back and forth over the sand. We walked up and down the beach, listening to the hush, hush of the sea at night. It was the best way to greet the next year. So, we spent the remainder of the holiday just doing that - watching the sea.

I told my dad how my homeopathic medicine had been chosen to reflect my love of the sea and the beach. He told me my mum had been the same - she had loved the beach, it made her feel better.

The first day we sat - it was hot. We sat and looked out at the waves, and enjoyed the sun. In between our sea watching bouts - we went to cafe's and drank coffee, and talked.

We didn't know this would be our last holiday - we didn't know these would be our last chats.
That my lasting memory would be of watching my dad sitting at a bench, with sun hat on, wearing t-shirt and shorts, looking over the shore.

Holidays had always meant lot's of plans. Dad always took his music, his mini stereo, an electric bike, and an intinery that meant we would go and see things. This time - he hadn't brought much beyond his clothes.

I remember how surprised I was that he was eager to go to cafe's and just banter away. The cafe we sat in on New Year's day was full of happy crazy music and drunk people dancing outside - a couple who owned the cafe were swaying with each other as they clasped hands and waists together.

The next day it was colder, and wet. We decided at the end of a rather nippy wave watching session, that we would go for dinner. The cafe we chose was deserted. I'd spent time in the morning chosing a good place to go - this cafe had displays of sea food that were mind boggling. The cafe was deserted - so we sat inside and ate sardines and meat and salad.

I talked to dad about the areas about pixie care, and running a pixie club that make me question the far bigger issues of how we look after our children - what is right, what is wrong. Dad looked at me, and said, wow, look at you, you could be on TV. A dad who told me everything I needed to know - when you aren't being heard, when you want to say something important - I believe in your ability to say it.

All the watching of the sea - had helped wash away the sadness of the year. A near promise of a future and a family had drowned, and I was filled with awful dreams of a house whose walls ran with wet inside that I could not stop.

I had cried - but the sea, her lovely waves entered a part of me that could not cry. A part that needed gentler care. Dad and I talked briefly about the loss of the relationship.

I knew somewhere deep inside that this was all I needed to get me ready - to be ready to pick myself up from the I have so been dumped corner and start running again.

Dad gave time. He probably talked to more people than we will ever know. He loved his family. None of us knew that his time was short. That he would die suddenly.

He wanted all of his children to know he was proud of them. That when he did die, that they would pull together. He spoke often of how happy he was that we got on well as adults, that he could come to us all for advice.

You get to meet people sometimes who are giants - who live big. Dad lived big. Today, right now - think of those people and send them a hug. Send two.

A difficult tale.

Wunsaponatyme…there was a grown up lady who lived in a house full of smashed up mirrors.
Now that was really sad, as before she’d lived there, she’d already had enough mirrors smashed, without having to live in a house enduring more smashing. She had plenty needing mended without this onslaught of slivered glass. Some of the mirrors were into such tiny pieces – it was like a shower of splintered ice across the hall carpet. Some would say that was even dangerous.

One day, she told a friend about the mirrors. How can I know who I am if I cannot see my own reflection?

The friend, who was very wise, and deserved a National Award for friendship, amongst many other friends, put her arm around the lady, and wept. She too had noticed the broken mirrors. How would her friend survive? The tears of the two friends were like a large bandage, but they did not stop the mirrors breaking.

Then one day, a wind swept through the hall, and the lady was punched, hard in the solar plexus, pushing a black hole into her. This was worse than the glass. It ended her heart. Almost.

Too long the wind rattled through the hole – and too long the glass remained unswept, until at last, a large hand opened the front door and shouted – leave. Now.

Right down the middle, the lady was crushed, and yet she had to leave. She cried for the wind, for the wind was very stupid to have caused so much damage, when the lady was made of silk and song and child and womb and beautiful patterns, and it parted the marrow from her bones to know the wind would never understand it’s idiotic power, and how to release it’s energy into good.

Leaving a vortex is not easy, even when the vortex is empty and vile.

She was swept up into calm, but not for a long time. Splinters hurt her feet – she walked the crooked dance of one who does not have all the answers yet.

Deep in the woods, another mirror waits. A straight mirror, large and strong, and even a bit fancy, with filigree around the edges, just because the lady liked beautiful patterns. A sturdy mirror. She glances at it, wary of its sturdiness.

The forest is a kind place. Bears sleep under the trees, biding their time, aware that this time the mirror may be quite the right size for the lady, who looks now into its centre, aware of shards of splinters melting in the soles of her feet.

The Relationship Fairy

I don’t know what point I was trying to make yesterday, because it sounded V Grand in my head, and then – oh, well, anyway I hope it makes some sense.

The Relationship Fairy (RF)
‘So, about this hurt heart thing?’ RF
‘Yes?’ Me
‘Well, I’ve had a look, and you’ll be glad to know your heart has not landed splat on the ground. In fact, I put a trampoline there just in case. It cushions the blow.’ RF
‘Oh, Ok.’ Me
‘And the thing is that very soon you’re going to get asked out on a date.’ RF
‘Oh, right, Ok.’ Me
‘Right indeed. Fine. Now you’ll be needing this.’ RF
‘What is that?’ Me
‘Well it’s sellotape – in case part of your heart falls off and lands in your lap during the date. Just slap a bit of that on - you’ll be fine.’ RF
‘Blimey.’ Me.

Version Two – The horse of love.

Once upon a time you went for a very giddy ride on the horse of love. No saddle, no reins, and oh crap, you landed in a great bit pile of thorny thorns. Very very bad. In fact, a right pain in the epidermis, because the horse took you to the thorns several times before, and you said specifically, don’t take me to the thorns you damn steed, and the horse went la lee la lee la, and you went – you are FIRED horse of love.

Behold, in the field of thorns a pile of onions came beside you, and took off their coats, and you went – oh NO, the bit where I now cry my entire body weight. Yes, said the onions – and here is a book to write in and get the story of the thorns out into.

Behold even more – the onions summoned another horse, and the horse said – come on, let’s go, and the onions shouted;

Do not fear! Get back on a horse! We will always be here if you need cathartic food.

Except the littlest onion for he was frightened of being engulfed by real teeth, and he opted out of the whole you can eat me for solace and to help you reyhdrate thing.

ThE EnD

Concussion of the heart

Hearts really should come equipped with crash helmets. Then they wouldn’t get concussed so easily. See, that is what I have right now –concussion of the heart.
It’s kind of a shocking sensation and you wonder how you will cope with the bruises, and the swelling and the way the room seems too far away to focus on.

But, I’ve checked the warrantee and you can’t get a crash helmet, ever. In fact, you have to keep using your heart, even when it’s out of order. It’s the love law, or some crap like that.

In fact – you have to still keep loving, hoping and dreaming – even in the middle of concussion.

Like who decided that?!

I have been told I cannot do respite care on the basis of a doctors opinion I’ve never met. I protested. Now, I have to go to my GP, who apparently knows me very well, and be asked a huge amount of questions, and even have the size of my hips measured and recorded! I’m a woman – I have hips – but they don’t need labelled. Maybe I’ll get anaesthetic.

My heart must be like – ok, is there a reason you have to keep chucking me out of large buildings to see if I bounce? Life is an odd fish – all I know is I really believe I was meant to ask about respite – and maybe it’s to open up another opportunity.

After years of saying – but I am disabled, I really am – it’s an odd thing to be confronted medically with – yes, you are, and we need to see if you actually can do this. I am torn between defending what I can’t do – and defending – actually I’m really, really good at this.

Yes, I am ill, but yes, I am able. This week, I dealt with the police and social work again - and found that I have adapted over time to being able to do it without palpitations and sleeplessness. Playwork is a difficult job at times – because sometimes you have to involve a high level of adult intervention and yet make it look all normal. Luckily, I got a good game of Blood Soup with the littler pixies this week to fortify my creative inner, ‘please can we just play games instead of do real life’ child.

A new life

Well, the problem with losing an old life is that the only thing that can replace it, is a new life. And they don't come all prepackaged in Tesco.

Looking for a new job sort of counts, even just a little bit - and today I phoned about two. I also phoned about a new thing I would like to do. I am currently getting assessed to do respite care. See, here's how it goes ladies - the government will give you money and a baby and a cot, for however many nights a month you want to do it. Ok, it's not quite like that - but it might mean looking after a small child in my own house becomes a possibility.

Why would anyone want to do this? Answer ; because they like children, and don't want to scare boys away by saying - fill me with your little babies.

I would not do that - I'm teasing.

I got back to pixie land after a NASTY virus ate me last week - and they said, oh good to see you and how are you? I was like - who abducted the pixies brains - did my deputy bribe them?

My dare to you - do one thing, just one that you think is a bit mad today - and if you want specific dares - then please, ask me, and I'll give you them.

Thanks v much

This is a BIG BIG thank you blog. But first a wee story.

There were two houses who lived next to each other and the bigger house said - hey, let's support each other and get cosy. So the little house said - yes, that'd be grand. Two years on, the little house said to the big house - so why don't we turn into one house, after all you did suggest it.
There was no reply, and the little house looked and discovered the big house had turned into a big pile of ivy, growing up the walls.
Oh, dear, said the little house, I thought you said you would support me.
I can't, said the ivy, I 'm not a house anymore.
Then the ivy turned back into the house, and then back into the ivy, and back into the house, and blah, blah, blah.
Right, said the little house - are you a house or what?
Or what, said the ivy.
So the little house said - nothing whatsoever, and moved away from the revolving ivy/house.
THE END.

To everyone who has poured in love, tea, prayer, listening, wisdom, patience, more tea, more wisdom, more listening, and more tissues - thank you for your support. Here we go, my little life lesson -we did it two years ago, now it's time for a repeat;

You can do everything right. You can invest in good things. It may still go Tits Up. Not nice tits up - not all cuddly, but more like, argh, ouch, ouch, a bad thing is happening.
Doesn't matter - keep dreaming, keep hoping, keep attempting.

In the mean time - the little house, got it's heart broken. When it says it's fine, it means - I am broken. Broken means - in half, and pretending to be ok. That takes some time to mend properly, and may even taken quite a while.