Author: Mother

How long does it take to feel that an area, building, or community are “home”?  How many seasons, characters, or incidents must one see, before the click of familiarity finally convinces one that this place is how and where one wants to be?

From my questions, it doesn’t take genius to appreciate that I am not in that place as yet.  I wonder if it is possible to lose one’s sense of home and belonging, never to regain it – even if one returns to a space which once encompassed that component?

These notions are particularly weighing upon my thoughts, due to being asked recently (by folk unknown to each other), whether I am happy with my life.  The question, on each occasion, completely flummoxed me as I answered, honestly, “What does happiness have to do with anything?”

In common with every other responsible adult I have encountered, I constantly and consistently fulfil my obligations – hopefully with enthusiasm and a lack of resentment – and snatch fleeting moments of happiness along the way.  It is true that I miss (dreadfully) so much of what is past – including the elusive “taken-for-granted” sensation of familiarity, belonging and loyalty – but this is “the new normal” which must be lived and lived.

A life of happiness is the reward of the chosen few who have made far better long term decisions than I.  I shall continue to revel in my captured moments of bliss, and live well enough; I will not allow the mid-life quest for personal happiness (as utterly enticing as it is) to divert my efforts from simply putting one foot in front of the other, to keep the show on the road.  The world is full of the detritus of lives wrecked by that all-encompassing, irresponsible and fruitless pursuit. 

Being able to face oneself in the mirror is priceless.  Remember that.   

One of my friends is dying.  She is a lovely woman who has shared a great deal of wisdom, through the years we have known each other. 

Recently, Maureen told me that she had read a short article which resonated with her and challenged the way in which she was living.  The article spoke about adjusting to a life-limiting condition or terminal disease.  It said that coping became easier when one accepted – each day – that “this is the new normal”.  We discussed the time spent in looking back on wonderful things – particularly good health – and hoping that, somehow and in some way, we will be able to return to that familiar place.  It doesn’t help. 

Don’t look backward, don’t strive for the past we nostalgically recall through rose-tinted spectacles.  Greet and accept the “here and now” for what it is and what it brings.  This is the “new normal”; it’s different, but it is and will be okay.

Last weekend, I won a “Hampshire Build Your Own Brick Barbeque” on eBay.  The significance of this becomes apparent to anyone who has seen the mountain of less than perfect bricks residing in my front and rear gardens!  I asked the builders to use them in their repair and refurbishment of the garden walls, but their indignant “we are artists and craftsmen” responses quickly convinced me that allies in the cause, they were not.

Thrilled with my £3.21 purchase, I had what my builder, John, refers to (not particularly respectfully) as “one of your visions”.  Given a mountain of bricks and excellent builders on-site to provide guidance – in the remote possibility that I might need it – I decided to build a combination barbeque and pizza oven.  Having an inkling that the feat might be slightly more complicated to do than say, I sent John a text message outlining the notion.  After all, a complete novice shouldn’t always rely upon “beginner’s luck” for success.

At 7.45am on Monday morning, and with an expression that could wilt spinach, John arrived and told me bluntly that a pillar, let alone a pizza oven, was completely beyond my bricklaying ability; I could scarcely argue.  Here, I should explain that John has many “a vision” of his own.  We often spark each other into ever more fantastical (and expensive) brainwaves, but we also sometimes clash.  The pizza oven was NOT what John considered to be one of my most inspired ideas.  That was on Monday morning.  By Thursday afternoon, he was muttering unrepeatable things about crazy women, impossible projects and never, ever, ever designing or building a pizza oven ever, ever again.  I got his point!

Before he departed on Friday, John was heard to admit – very grudgingly and possibly even under his breath – that my pizza oven, albeit not completely finished, was a triumph.  The only slight issue is that my £3.21 eBay bargain has cost approximately £800.  Still, it’s not every day one has a vision about a pizza oven!