Author: bone&silver

Long haul air flights: an utter privilege which sucks

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It started so well. Good house/petsitters; efficient packing (roll don’t fold); timely train transport to the airport. The cute gay boy at the check-in counter asks me if I’m staying in Paris? No I’m not. Since 1980, my favourite Aunt ‘M’ (who lives in Sydney) has owned a 300-yr old barn in the French countryside. For years, we have all travelled to and from The Barn (Australians are so good with names aren’t they?) in the Dordogne region; Dad first took me there when I was 15, and I took my son there a couple of years ago when he was 15 (we sat there for 2 months, reading/eating/playing badminton LINK HERE & HERE TO OLD STORIES). Now we’re all gathering again, for my cousin’s 50th celebration weekend July 14-16. She lives in Sydney too, but has been telling us about this party plan for 3 years, supremely organized being that she is; thus approximately 85 people are turning up- mostly from Australia! A HUGE EXCITING EVENT. But first, I have to get there. It …

‘We can’t let you keep the hamster. It’s too dangerous.’

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And with that, Lulu my best friend was taken away forever. Prised from my soft 6-year old hands, holding tightly to her special travel cage. I got one last glimpse of her ginger coat and black eyes before the security door slammed shut, and the full force of my tears and rage flooded me. Mum protested. ‘This is ridiculous! A hamster can’t have Rabies; she’s never even left the house, except for today.’ Met by an official silence, I wailed harder and louder, realizing it was the only power I had. Fellow ferry passengers tutted or shook their heads, while I screamed at the men in uniforms that I hated them AND their stupid country. So that was the beginning of my long-held, ongoing animosity towards England, small men in authority, and rules that can’t be bent or broken. I also think it was the birth of my Separation Anxiety. I said the first of many goodbyes to my beloved Dad that day, in ferry terminals, railway stations, and especially airports, as Mum and he …

6 nights in a row, but who’s counting? Well me, obviously.

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I love my space so much. On the fortnights that my son ’17’ is with his Dad, step-mum, and 2 little brothers, I LOVE having my home to myself. Sometimes I don’t wash up for 3 days, piling the dishes without shame on the counter top. I’ll write or read all day if I’m not working, and quite happily just have crackers & humous for dinner . Or else I’ll clear the chairs and rug out of the way, and have a wild 5Rhythms dance session in the kitchen/living room, to the amusement of the cat. I particularly love my bed space. Not only do I sleep like a starfish, but a diagonal one at that. In summer, I love to dangle one heel off the mattress edge, sticking it out sideways into the cooler air. Sometimes I toss and turn, especially now that I’m a bit ‘warm-flushy’ as I move through menopause, and will throw off the covers then re-burrow myself at erratic intervals. And more than anything, I hate being woken up. By an …

Blissed lissed. Or blist list.

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Gratitude means feeling like the luckiest woman in the world, and humbly saying thank you for: Airport greetings Slow-cooked dinner as soon as we walk in the door Warm, clean, safe home to sleep in Noisy, cheery tropical bird dawn chorus Tangerine sorbet skies behind palm trees out of the bedroom window Talking; listening; looking; holding. Resting. Remembering why we’re doing this. Beach walks Farmer’s Market fresh organic food, and bumping into friends A Swing Dance lesson on the sand Painting a teenager’s bedroom walls white as a surprise for when he comes back from his Dad’s Tasty snacks and peppermint tea Talking; listening; looking; holding. Resting. Remembering why. Quiet times: you do your thing, I’ll do mine Cat cuddles. Cat meows. Cat cuteness. And my favourite? Siestas in the soft winter sun    

Comparison between 1st long distance romance visit prep, & 3rd [Don’t read this one, ‘H’ my love]

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1st: Car cleaned inside and out 3rd: It’s fine. 1st: Lawns mowed, & edges snipped by professionals 3rd: It’s fine. I’ll do it if I have time 1st: All floors vacuumed and mopped (I only mop once every 3 months to be honest) 3rd: Hope I have time to vacuum 1st: Bathroom shower scrubbed with serious anti-mould stuff 3rd: It’s fine 1st: $170 worth of specialty groceries/organic juices/mineral water bottled at glacier source by albino virgins in single-use-only cotton gloves 3rd: So what’s wrong with tap water anyway? 1st: Gourmet meals planned & prepared, including several desserts 3rd: Shit, I hope I’ve got time to chuck a pot of soup on… maybe ‘H’ can cook… 1st: Haircut/facial/toenails painted 3rd: Aren’t I just loved for my quirky mind & honest, funny blog posts? I won’t go on; I know you get the idea. But it’s only 3 more sleeps now!

relationships, online dating, raising a teenager, over 50, positive ageing

bread & butter Vs death: the neuroscience of Arguing

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#1. You [with soft tone]: ‘Sorry I’m late for the movie, I thought you said it started at 7 not 6. And the traffic was terrible.’ Me: ‘ I feel pretty annoyed you’re so late, but I guess we can see the 8pm session, or just go home? Maybe we need to check in re the exact movie time on the actual day, so this doesn’t happen again?’ You: ‘I’m so sorry darlin, I felt really bad when I realised I was letting you down. Let’s see the 8pm, and I’ll buy the popcorn. Hug me for a moment first though.’ This is a ‘bread & butter’ misunderstanding and reaction (i.e. just an everyday disagreement). The exchange is clear: You made a genuine mistake, and have owned it, apologised, and given the injured party the power to decide what happens next. Both of you decided to reassure the other that they were still important and cared about, despite the mix-up. Plus long hugs are calming. #2. You [in brusque tone]: ‘Sorry I’m late for the …

This time a week ago I was feeling like shit, thanks

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And so was ‘H’. I’m sure you’ve read all about our argument in Episode 9 HERE, or the making up relief in the Update HERE. I just want to say a quick thank you to the variety of readers who commented, and offered advice or support. It truly helped me feel better. I’m sleeping more soundly because of you fellow bloggers in particular: Piglet in Portugal, who consoled me that she’d also had a ‘dummy spit’, but that mine was worse. DFMGhost, who told me to talk it out, and was flagging herself the same advice for the future too. gigglingfattie, who also advocated talking, with best wishes that it sort out. L. Rorschach over at BackInStilettosAgain reassured me that she feels exactly the same when she argues with a significant lover! Widdershins  (who met her wife online 13 years ago when they were living in Canada and Australia) told me to only give what I’m prepared to lose… And finally, Debbie over at ForgivingConnects reminded me to honour myself first, and speak my truth. It all helped. My real …

Update on Episode 9: the sign still applies (phew)

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[EPISODE 9 HERE. Worth reading first]. Arguments suck! We all know that. Yet still they explode from seemingly nowhere. One minute everything is cute, cosy, safe and understanding; the next, it feels like the floor has dropped out of your world, and either one or both of you is willing to fight, flight or freeze your way to a land of Disconnection and possibly Sulks. It happens so fast, and furiously. Even for snails. Snails? What the hell do I mean? Well, my Love H is a Snail: slow, steady, sensitive to loud sounds and being startled, quick to retract into the shell, cautious to emerge. I’m more like a Crab: fast, sideways, big claw, unpredictable, fond of dark caves, difficult to prise out. Hard shell, sweet-bellied soft. But no matter your style, no matter your inner totem creature, you gotta T-A-L-K. Whether it’s immediately, or after 24 hours, someone’s gotta make the first move… *sound of crickets for a day and a night* Then H texted. But I’d already written a heartfelt email, I …