What goes around…

I’m getting better at this though. I can honestly say that the Marie Kondo approach changed my life and recalibrated my relationship with stuff. I find it easier to let go of cute clothes my children wore, books I loved but won’t read again and things I bought and never used, even when they were expensive.

I recently sent most of my ‘baby stuff’ off to a new home. Do I miss it? Yes, I do. I miss the early snuggly days, the tiny babygros and mini clothes, the buggy that meant I could cart children around more easily…. But what good is that stuff in storage boxes in my attic? No good at all. None, it is a waste of resources. So off it went, and I felt immediately lighter about it.

I recently decided to take a sewing class, partly because I thought it would be a nice new skill and mainly to get me out of the house once a week. A friend of mine is an accomplished sewer and gave me some pointers for which I was very welcome.

What was MOST UNEXPECTED was a message from her that she was replacing her old machine with a newer one, and would I like the old one? Of course I would! What serendipity! I met her for breakfast earlier this week to collect the machine. A two for one deal, a real life catch up for the first time in six months AND something I need at this point in my life. Win win, because she had been wondering what to do with her old machine.

I’ve set myself the tiny goal of doing one small thing with the machine every day. Yesterday it took me a good hour and a half to figure out threading. Today I’m going to attempt some sewing on an old bedsheet. It feels good to be using a machine that’s new to me and that gave someone else such joy.

Somebody That I Used To Know

I ordered this book from the library in The Time Before, when I didn’t own any fabric facemasks and have a preferred brand of hand sanitiser. I knew the basic plot because I’d  listened to the Bad On Paper podcast review of it, and I figured it would be an easy read.

It isn’t a stand out book for me. I enjoyed it, but not the few glaring typos and slightly forced dialogue. It did, however, stir some not too pleasant memories of about ten years ago. Friendships can be complicated for me, and I don’t make friends terribly easily. I really value the few precious friendships I’ve managed to hold onto over the years.

The slightly toxic dynamic of the three main characters rang true for me. I’ve had that sort of intense friendship, the kind of closeness that means you’re texting each other several times daily and staying too late at wine bars sharing things you’ll never tell anyone else. And even if you don’t know it at the time, that friendship won’t last no matter how many glasses of red you’ve consumed with each other or how many expressions of delight at the friendship are slurred over the months and years.

Losing a friendship suddenly and without warning felt like a bereavement to me at the time, but it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about with anyone. I felt embarrassed by being dropped, and unsure of how as an adult I could feel such sorrow about something that seems to happen to virtually everyone. Deep down, I didn’t want to acknowledge that I was going through this upsetting thing and I only broached the topic with other friends years later.

Reading How Could She? made me rethink How Could She in my own life, and I processed a few years worth of memories over a few days. When almost a decade has passed since I could have called her a friend, I have some clarity even if I don’t have closure. The friendship wasn’t without its flaws and irritations. I gave a lot, and I’m not quite sure this was reciprocated. I can’t have been that valuable when I could be dropped so quickly and comprehensively. I can admit that this time of life upset me terribly, probably more than I let myself understand.

I still wonder what happened to her, now that she’s just somebody that I used to know. I’ve thought about writing about this for a long time, and whether it would be good for me. I’m able to admit how embarrassed I am by this episode and that I still mull over questions like How Could She, while being able to understand that some people are friends and are in your life for a time for a reason and that it’s okay for people to be Somebody That You Used To Know.

Tiny Sparks of Joy

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

It’s Brexit day, so knowing that we live in a country that knows how to hold referendums and is pro-EU is how I’m choosing to look on the bright side.

Photo books, political leaflets, ‘cheque enclosed’ – the post box on the side of our house sparked a lot of joy this week.

Getting to the gym, doing a tough class, feeling great afterwards and planning to go as much as possible.

A daughter who is so sure of herself and knows exactly what she wants to wear, regardless of what anyone says.

Catching up with friends and work colleagues, something a more regular set of working hours allows me to do. I could get used to it, but I’m trying not to.

Tiny Sparks of Joy.

Homemade pizza. It gets nicer every week.

Downton Abbey on the big screen with friends.

Dinner and lengthy chats with friends after Downton Abbey.

Feeling organised for the week ahead.

Starting new library books. I just adore our library system.

A Good Weekend

I got to catch up with friends over the weekend, one of whom I hadn’t seen in a very long time. We met in Roberta’s, a new place for me in a part of town I haven’t been in for ages. I happened to pass the Project Arts Centre. It was amazing to think that just over a year ago the repeal mural was painted over. I still pinch myself a bit at the surrealness of it all. Roberta’s was lovely, good food and a great atmosphere. We weren’t rushed at all and had loads of time to catch up. I’ll definitely be back.

Tiny Sparks of Joy

A few weeks ago the radio I have had for ten years, through several house moves, finally met its end in the form of the tiled kitchen floor which sparks no joy whatsoever and which I cannot wait to see the back of in a few weeks. This replacement sparks a lot of joy. It’s not fancy and I chose it mainly because it had no bells and whistles and looked nice. The sound is lovely and it’s much easier to tune than the old one, which I thanked and sent off to be recycled.

This soap, which was a gift from a friend many months ago and which I finally got around to using this week. It’s a gorgeous scent and I love the thought that went into her buying me something like this.

This set of numbers marks progress for me. It’s probably not particularly notable for most gym goers but I’m finally learning to appreciate what my body can do.

I adore this picture, which was a surprise for me as I had no idea she was taking it. A reminder of the importance of others’ perspectives.

I first read this book when I was in primary school and for years I’ve been meaning to track down a copy. Thanks to my niche Facebook group for people who love reading childhood favourites no matter what age they are, this arrived and has been devoured.

Tiny Sparks of Joy

This view. A place in Dublin I rarely walk around. I forgot how nice a riverside stroll can be.

The aforementioned stroll led to a long overdue lunch with friends and plans for more catchups.

Looking forward to another referendum. We do love a good referendum. Thanks, Irish Constitution.

Finally being in the headspace to be able to listen to analysis of the referendum on the eighth amendment. Still brings all the emotions to the surface. Still can’t quite believe its normal to see advertisements for abortion services at bus stops and in the local health clinic.

Feeling stronger after every gym session.

Tiny Sparks of Joy

Discovering the Mueller She Wrote podcast and having an equally obsessed friend to pass the good news on to.

Throwing some money at something and it being worth every penny. At nine months pregnant I will pay for some of my problems to go away.

Small bursts of energy in between much longer periods of achy exhaustion.

Friends having good news after a very long time.

A mainly decluttered home which means order can be restored to the whole house in less than an hour after a busy Saturday.

My Happiness Depends On Me

One of my very favourite singers is Dolly Parton and one of my very favourite songs of hers is Jolene and one of my very favourite performance of it was when she sang at Glastonbury in 2014. I watched her performance on BBC4, which broadcast the show live, and my husband, who had been a little ambivalent about her before then saw why I’ve been such a fan.

I think it’s one of the saddest songs ever written, and, in a twisted way, one of the most beautiful songs about love for a man I’ve ever heard. Dolly is begging Jolene not to take her man just because she can, and pleads with her that her happiness depends on Jolene’s decision.

I won’t go into the rights and wrongs of leaving one’s happiness in the hands of a decision another woman takes regarding your man, but suffice to say it’s probably not the healthiest message to send to anyone. My happiness depends on me, and whatever I decide to do.

Changing my mindset from expecting those around me to make me happy to realising my own actions and thoughts were what would make me happy – a feeling of being in control instead of hoping other people would deliver happiness to me – has brought me great peace of mind.

I often wonder about Jolene’s happiness. I hope she turned out ok in the end.

I Wish You a Hopeful Christmas

One of my very favourite Christmas songs is on rotation on Christmas FM every year. I adore the lyrics and music of Greg Lake’s I Believe in Father Christmas. It has become more like a poem to me, as it sums up a lot of how I feel about the festive season, in terms of my memories of it as a child, how I experience it now and how I think future years might pan out.

It has been hard to be hopeful this year, for many reasons. This Christmas, I’m hopeful that:

• Modern medicine can deliver in myriad ways.
• Mueller’s investigation continues apace.
• Our plans for the short and medium term come to fruition.
• I get to meet everyone I haven’t seen since last Christmas as friends come ‘home’ for the season.
• Next year will show some changes in the political system, at home and abroad.