Month: August 2017

Living with teenage son No. 250

Him: ‘Mum look, I’ve created a Study Nook! I’m so going to get on top of my assignments.’ Me [Looking at my now un-useable spare room, complete with blocked access to my linen cupboard, and removal of my only bedside lamp plus the living room coffee table]: ‘That’s great Honey…’ ONE WEEK LATER Me [Having taken back my bedside light, and moved the coffee table so I can get sheets & towels out]: ‘How’s the study going?’ Him: ‘Well I can’t work now that my habitat’s been destroyed.’  

1 more sleep till we leap

I’m so excited I can barely work, nor compose blog posts. But a dear reader just sent me a link to Elephant Journal, and this extract says it way better than I can right now: “We’ve all heard the quote, “Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.” True love for me is the opposite of this saying. We know that we love someone when we can live with them and we can live without them. There’s something about love that overcomes distance and space…” “When we love, we feel an astounding sense of safety. We allow this person to challenge us, to help us give birth to the best version of ourselves. And this evokes a happiness that we can’t easily measure…  Love is a series of leaps of faith. We jump, knowing that not doing so will leave us with pain and regret. And with every leap, we trust that we will not fall.”   Safe travels H, and see you at the airport xxx  

Long distance relationships Part 1: stretching the thread

Have you ever gone out with someone from across the state? Or what about in a different country altogether? My love and I are spending 6 weeks apart. That’s 42 sleeps. Which includes one of us travelling 17,000 kms away, to France and the UK. It doesn’t seem like much really, in the overall timetable of a Life… Except it also feels like FOREVER. Perhaps you live with someone already? Then imagine not seeing, smelling, touching, hearing nor tasting them for 6 weeks. Not good huh? Similar to missing your children too I guess; I always miss my tall, smelly, hairy, smartypants son like crazy, even though I know I have to ‘be cool’, letting him spread his wings and fly. But I don’t want to be like that with a special new lover. I want to dive in then wallow, spending days in heavy-lidded bliss. Spending hours talking, revealing, learning, wondering, sharing. To proclaim difference, and delight in the similar. To explore cafes, cuisines, cuddles and values. To get shamelessly high on endorphins, oxytocin, …

Blog tales for the Over 50s with positive ageing, dating & relationships

Jetlag’s gone. So I’m back. With a Soft Linger in Puppet Lane…

Maybe it’s having another birthday pass without hearing from him? Or travelling in France, where he spent so many years? Or simply because I was in the UK seeing Mum? Whatever the reasons, last week I drove home from work in a nearby town, and a vivid memory bubble burst across my steering wheel. Because as well as blogging, I’m a performer. I do street theatre, festivals, corporate gigs, and community events like parades, fundraisers, and cabarets. It’s a great [varied] job, I’m pretty good at it, and have been doing it in various incarnations for almost 25 years: My memory bubble was from 2005: Dad had flown from his home in Canada to visit for 3 weeks, and I was performing in a cabaret fundraiser at local queer pub The Winsome. The venue was packed, and noisy. Lots of flamboyant folk were being flamboyant, while the MC was being very funny. I asked for a simple introduction, and settled myself quietly on the floor with my large black garbage bag. The crowd wasn’t taking …

“Don’t blame it on the Sunshine/Don’t blame it on the Moonlight/Don’t blame it on the Good Times/Blame it on the Jetlag”

*sigh The Jacksons say it best Home 5 days, and still feel not quite here. Sleep is crap, creativity is pretty crap, and my ‘warm flushes’ seem to be getting hotter… I’ve had half a dozen ideas for blog posts, but can’t seem to find the motivation or discipline to get them down and out *sigh Even the teenager has not been inspiring, funny, or sweet, so I can’t default to using him *deep sigh Normal transmission will be resumed shortly (I hope)  

Blog tales for the Over 50s with positive ageing, dating & relationships

Walking with son ’17’ when suddenly…

… he drapes his arm across my shoulder. He’s never done that before. I put my arm round his waist, but it feels awkward, so I let it drop. We move apart a little, and walk on. We sit in silence on the rocks watching a dolphin pod swim in lazy circles while the sky fades orange, pink, baby blue, dark blue. As we walk back towards the car, he does it again. This time, my arm round his waist feels comfortable. We walk and talk, arm in arm, 17 & 51, as night falls.   Best. Homecoming. Ever.  

Blog tales for the Over 50s with positive ageing, dating & relationships

My bed. My cat. My pillow. My son. Yes, that’s the correct order.

  I’m home in Australia after 3 weeks travelling. I left my cousin’s place in London at 5am Sunday after minimal sleep, and used taxi, train, plane, 3 travelators, plane, bus, & 2 cars to get here. It was by far the smoothest return journey I’ve ever had, and I know not why. Everything just flowed, for the entire 28hr door-to-door ordeal. We even landed 30 mins early from Singapore, which meant I could catch the earlier airport shuttle bus rather than sit around for 3 more hours (which would have felt like a slow torture at that stage). I was deliriously happy to see my Australian sun setting: But not as happy as my cat when he saw me! He even woke me in the night purring and snuggling, but I didn’t mind. I felt the same. I missed him so much But not as much as my BED. And pillow. I can’t begin to tell you how much I  missed my bed and pillow… Son ’17’ is coming over this afternoon after school; I …