Month: September 2022

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Island Blog – Playing with Autumn

Yesterday, in the strong sunshine, I decided to clean my windows. Actually it was they who decided because I realised the whole world could have ended and I, within my four stone walls and filthy windows, remained oblivious. I scurried to the high shelf of eco cleaning thingummies, grabbed the window one and set to. This task is almost at the top of my Most Boring Job list so it is always essential to strike without too much thought when such an impulse impulses me. I worked on the big picture window, relieved to note that the world was and is still in situ. Moving on to the conservatory, another 8 big windows, I sprayed and scrubbed and wiped with eco cloths in an eco dance of considerable arm rotation accompanied to a timpani of snorts and puffs complete with staccato swearwords. Now it is done. Well, the downstairs is done. Upstairs can wait now that I am assured all is still standing out there.

Then comes this morning, blown in early by a massive hooligan punching well above his grade. This is Autumn! I yelled through the back door as I wheeched out the unwilling dog, as if Autumn gave a monkeys when she drenched me with a blast of heavy rain. This heavy rain thing went on all morning. My wheelies danced off down the track and the bird feeders swung pendulums, throwing birds, nuts and seed into the wild and volatile air. I lit the fire, made breakfast and then, as the dawn light dawned, looked up at my windows. I could see less than yesterday, much less. Each pane was a swirl of greasy mist. I confess I swore at the ineffectiveness of Eco products wishing and wishing that I still lived in the fluffy world of decliningplanet ignorance, when products I will no longer buy, nor name allowed minimum arm action, less cloths and marvellous results. I spent the day inside this harrumph, distracting myself with an audio book, my sewing project, locating a gather of buckets for the leaks and performing a merry sweeping out of water from the flood in my garage to the fullvolumeup strains of Del Amitri. Then I put my specs on. I should have done that yesterday. The Eco product I used to clean my windows is not for windows. Not even at a pinch, for windows. Not even “I’ve nothing else, this will do’ for windows. Never for windows. I look at my faithful windows who, in the main, keep out all blattering hooligans, and I feel, I honestly do, an apology rushing into my mouth and not just for the windows but for all the Eco products that sit on my high shelf. I said so. I will need to deal, re-deal with the swirling mist of my own making, at some point but not today. Today I laugh at me and my spec-lack mentality and it thinks me of the olding years. The way I refuse to concede to any sort of perceived decline, the way I forge on against hooligans and the reading of small print in my ‘show’ to myself that I am NOT DONE YET. It chuckles my children, this mindful flailing against what seems to be receding and I honestly believe they admire it. I am not alone in this and that chortles me, uplifts me, tells me there are so very many who are happy to make fools of themselves in the autumn of our lives when hooligans blatter, when leaks appear, when spec-lack alters the truth of something. In short, it makes life fun in a way we never knew before. We had observed it for sure but now it is ours to own and to play with.

I’m playing.

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Island Blog – Nothing Else Matters

Well hallo! I have, as you may realise, been awol for a time on two very different holidays, both set in place with purpose in mind. I had become reclusive, my confidence shot and with a strong need to hide at home. I understood the feelings, owned them as an integral part of grieving. I gave myself two years which felt like a big chunk of life at the outset, an empty swathe of minutes, hours, days and uncomfortable months during which I determined to heal. Gradually I progressed from distractive actions, sweeping the floor being my only achievement for one long and empty day, into the dance I now live as a completely new woman. Now I can sweep all the floors before breakfast or not at all if the very thought sets my eyes a-rolling. I have choices now and I like choices whereas they scared me not so long ago.

So, off I pop, over on the ferry and onto the bus for Glasgow airport. Prior to boarding said bus I met a smiley woman in the waiting zone (used to be called a bus shelter) who proffered a cheery ‘Ola’. Ola, I smiled back. Espagnol? Si, she said and then walloped into at least 3 paragraphs of Spanish chat. I indicated that I spoke almost no Spanish as she spoke almost no English. Nonetheless we managed a lively exchange of words, employing much theatre. I discovered she was moving home to Madrid and she discovered I was heading for Mallorca to visit one of my sons. She asked, in Spanish, how many ‘Ninos’ I had. I proudly announced that I had ‘cinquecento’. Her eyes grew wide along with her smile and she punched the air. I was obviously quite remarkable, not least because ‘cinquecento’ means 500. As we boarded the bus, she indicated that I had left my suitcase, mobile phone and purse on the pavement. I had done the same outside the island booking office and on the ferry which might have wobbled me had I not an innate sense of fun plus an excellent and random support team to keep me connected to my luggage. I realise these helpful folk were watching me and probably clocking that I was, at best, bonkers, at worst mildly dangerous. I made a note to keep a close eye on both myself and my luggage thereafter.

The journey was easy and pleasant and the welcome delightful. A week in the sunshine with family, in and out of the sea, up and down on school runs, garden games and a lot of happy chatter has left me with the warmest of memories. Sun hot on my back, the blue sky, warm sea and skittering children, the taste of salt on my skin, all so uplifting. Home again, complete with luggage, and I had two days to turn around before the next adventure, a 6 night cruise from Oban to Inverness through the Caledonian Canal with another son as captain. Very different frock assemblages required plus socks and a beanie and boots and leggings for the crispy autumn chill which I would obviously feel more sharply after the 32 degree heat of late. It was a wonderful time. http://www.hebridescruises.co.uk provide an exceptional standard of comfort and luxury. The crew are tight knit, full of fun and chuckles whilst working very hard to make sure every detail is attended to. Needless to say I became the clown on board. It is my gift to give, my love of people and my greatest pleasure is to make everyone smile and laugh. We were a happy team, adventuring on shore for guided walks, sharing the hot tub late in the afternoon with a glass of Prosecco, dining on exquisite meals, sharing stories and experiences and little glimpses into our ordinary lives.

And now I am home again, refuelled, renewed, ready for anything, even the irritating things, the sad times, the moments of deflation, the days of rain, the season turning into a taste of winter. Funny how stepping out, getting away and hearing other stories of other and very different lives can change perception, even a whole outlook on life. I know now that I can travel solo and return solo. I know that my home will still be here, my little dog happy and loved, my opportunities for adventure just waiting to be noticed and brought into the light of a new life. I am changed by change, by the experiences, the people, their voices, smiles, eye light and stories. I will remember it all, them all, catching a single moment in my mind, something said, something gifted, perhaps something sad or sore, and I will know that each time I step out and away, no matter where or when, I will return with my luggage, yes, hopefully, but with much more and none of the latter weighs a damn thing, yet it is more precious than anything I ever bought or owned. These encounters are free. These encounters are with people and people are the only ones who can touch a heart. In fact, had I succeeded in leaving my luggage on some random pavement, I would have laughed, probably out loud, because the adventure would still have lifted me high above myself, my worries and frustrations, my grieving boo-hoos, returning me home lighter and brighter and all because of people.

In short, nothing else matters.

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Island Blog – Curious Anticipation

Just back from Mallorca with a tan. Of course, the tan means little as it will fade in days, but, like everything transitory in life, there’s a So What in my mouth. Anything on the outside of me is transitory, the way my wrinkles wrinkle, the clothes I wear, the shoes on my feet, the food I buy, the pictures on my wall and so on and so forth and fifth and sixth. What matters, what I bring home with me on the plane, the bus, the taxi, the train and the ferry is all held warm and precious within, and within is never transitory unless I choose to let it go. It thinks me.

With my son, his wife, their girls, their lifestyle from dawn to bedtime, I learned how they live. I watched the dynamics, the flymanics, the rise and lift of a life I will never live and never did. I am a generation away from such a life. My own knew zip of mobile phones, television, video games, pink duplo princess blocks, Ubers and datelines. It was simpler, yes, such a life, but also intensely frustrating as if we, still catching buses and fumbling for pennies knew somehow that the light would come someday. And it did. As I watched my grandgirls know their way around all of this, effortlessly, I happily sat back to watch. It was a bit like a movie, however I am content to watch it all unfurl. I don’t know the language of this new generation, this new country, but, to be honest, I really don’t mind because it gives me the chance to ask them questions and questions always teach the questioner, if that person is really listening. I never ever thought of myself as a paid up member of a previous generation but here I am as if blown in on the twist of a windshift. Just like that. I smile at the thought because now I have a choice. I can recede into curlers and pacamacs or I can pull out all my stops, thus allowing the starts to, well, start.

I set off with a bullish bravado, one I had to pump up every few minutes as if it was always threatening to deflate. It did take me a couple of days to reset myself, to pull my confidence up like Peter Pan’s shadow until it fit me like a second skin. I was happy to play safe whilst the girls were at school, their parents working, to stay home with the dog, the cats and the terrapin. But the urge is there like a slowburn in me, to rise to rise from who I was as a goodly wife to just me, even if that thought is terrifying; was terrifying. Once I ‘did it’ as my youngest grand girl would say, I had no way out of the didding it thingy. I am so not going to fail myself now, nor them. Apparently I have a future, something I never considered over the last two years. In fact I could see nothing but mist, curlers and bed by 7pm. My visit to Mallorca changed that. Not only did I ‘did it’, I also returned home with an inner smile because having stepped out of the sensible clogs of wifedom, I realise there are high heels out there. I doubt I will ever wear them but the sass they show me lifts my woman heart and I see now that it doesn’t matter how old I am, I can still show my outside with a new confidence and, better, the outside is teaching the inside of me. I may not understand this generation, nor its language, but I can enjoy it, laugh at my mistakes, watch them laugh at me and within that lovely picture frame, I can be present.

And this is so very good. My mental heels are on and I am walking tall with a thank you to my past, a smiling engagement to my present and (for the first time) a curious anticipation for my future.

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Island Blog – Fin Whale and a Change in Thinking

Fin Whale. All 75ft of itself, not that I saw it and even my translation from metres to feets may be dodge. Never trust me on math nor on absolute truth as I am wont to make things more magical than they are according to those who do know math and don’t know magic. Humpback too, big sassy tail holding, holding, almost waving before slipping into oceanic depths. Because my sons have learned cetacean ethics from their dad, they are utterly respectful around anything wild. Stay back, cut the engines, settle, wait and hope. No push, no ‘we only have fifteen minutes’ thinking; either you choose to come and visit, or you don’t; after all, you have your own agenda and yours is all about survival, about food source, procreation, intelligent selection whereas we up here aboard this delicious and luxurious boat complete with skipper, professional chef and guide are as nothing in the above of your life, the minute by minute tensions of such. What do we know? Nothing. So we wait, we invite with respect and no expectations.

This huge whale did come in, was curious, eyed those high above on the superly polished teak deck, slid beside the boat (dwarfing it) and changed the lives of everyone aboard. I have seen this before, way back in the days of Tapselteerie, on Alpha Beta, RIP, when nervous visitors stepped aboard in the morning and almost flew off board on their return, breathless, sun-caught, eyes wide as planets, unable to process an encounter with a whale. Is it that we so infrequently, if ever, have such an opportunity? I guess, yes. But once seen, everything changes because once seen cannot be unseen. It can be forgot, eventually, if refusal to challenge the mundane and ‘so in need of the road less travelled’ opportunity, but I reckon that over the years when the old sea-dog ran whale-watching trips, bringing in students from universities studying geology, marine science, photography, ecology, biology and all the other ‘ologies’, he raised the bar.

Our sons continued his work, respectful ethics at the core, finding wildlife out there and ‘out there’ encompasses hundreds, more, nautical miles in all weathers. Sons go offski into other things but there is one still working the Hebridean seas, continuing the line of respect and strong with it. No matter how much pressure from longing visitors, he will not invade wild space. This son, now a captain for http://www.hebridescruises.co.uk works in the way of the way. I say it like this because it means respect for all ways. It wonders me, a lot, that we cannot seem to respect all ways on the land, those with cultures we don’t understand, skin that isn’t the same colour as our own, beliefs that don’t conform with ‘what we know and believe’. Shame. If we could just be curious and respectful instead of fearful and defensive, we might find a gentle synergy. However, as long as the overland fight continues, I cannot see respect for all ever being taught beyond primary school.

Out there may be just a holiday and a life changing one at that. I have been there many times but never far enough out to see fin or humpback. No matter because a minke whale was more than enough for the seeing and especially when an intelligent skipper cut the engines and told everyone on board not to move, not to speak. Every vibration is felt by the whale. Be open. Mindfully send out your invitation. Wait, watch, breathe. The gift of an encounter, chosen by the wild creature, is a mind blow. Suddenly you feel very small indeed and so very the receiver of a gift, one no parent, no Santa could ever bring into your life for this is a gift like a dart to your heart and that particular dart leaves a wound, one that can only heal by a change of thinking, of direction.

And, no matter how perfect a life (if such exists), a change in thinking and direction is always a good thing.