Remembrance Day, 11th November 2008 - words for the day
Elysium Fields
(Remembrance Valley Unwrapped)
Perfumed, purple-spired orchids beneath feet,
A thistle blanket scratching a chest, a chin.
Badgered-hills border a fine grass-textured sea.
You swim through silver birches,
Are swallowed in waves of ultra-violet bluebells, dog's mercury.
At night this moon-stained valley sleeps in ribbons of green.
Each Dawn awakens to find you scattered amongst untidy wrappings
As world-worn eyes gently reveal what lies within.
Can I lighten a crinkled, fret-strained brow,
Offer some well-deserved reprieve
To you who fumble to retrieve twice-lost spectacles,
Now forgotten atop a rain-spotted windowsill?
Stretched before you, a verdant path marks the way
Into an Elysian heaven
Where poppies fall from walls of a private gallery,
Absorbed by the belated softness of whimpering Fathers
Who press cherry-blossom kisses into gloved hands,
Held together in tribute to all who passed before you.
Look closely for the remains of sable-hair brush left behind.
Remember the thorn-ridden walk through Mother's hall of fame.
Hear this whispered plea:
Wait. Return Darwinian-scarred warrior.
Walk in this eternal bliss.
Follow the other laughing brook.
Most beloved friend, truant child,
heart of my heart, how can it be that time already?
Please, please let me usher you home again.
Reluctantly Fabulous, 2008
Sacrifice: the losing or surrender of something for the sake of a greater; to give up or lose something for the sake of an ideal or end.
Hero: a person admired for special courage, nobility or great achievements.
Honour: to regard with deep respect.
Remembrance: an act of recalling to mind.
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Sunday, 2 November 2008
Parental guidance
Families really do make strange dancing partners
As our kids struggle to become adults, we struggle to remain youthful. The closer they get to adulthood, the keener we are on slowing down the clock, refusing to admit we are heading towards our mid-life stages. Together we become an incongruent dancing team, each moving in different directions, each trying to throw down our individual mantle of responsibility (or inevitability). You can relax now - this post is not going to become a long list bemoaning assorted parental failings. It's more about observations.
First I'd like to add a bit of a disclaimer about the making of Reluctantly Fabulous. Let us start with the premise that not everything in this blog is personal. The ramblings scribed here are more of a collective consciousness representing the discovered kinship between assorted people. Maybe we can think of ourselves as a secret society of challenged parents, bemused friends, speckled teenagers and their siblings, a few work colleagues, various people I meet randomly at the gym, in the post office, and even in the check out queue at Waitrose, as well as a spattering of partners in various stages of attachment-- lovers, exes, comrades in arms, etc.
In this house, parental guidance is a loose term applied around here. No doubt I should be more strict, or is it less severe; perhaps we need more structure, or maybe less rigidity? Whatever it is, rest assured that at any given moment, what is needed at that point in time will not be what I am.
That said, as I sit here writing this blog entry, my daughter is looking at me and saying something like: 'Aren't you slumming it down a bit too much for the day. Your t-shirt is too long. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't let me leave the house wearing that."
Suddenly the conveyer belt of time has reversed itself and I find myself standing in front of my Mum as a teenager wearing a short denim skirt, striped tights and combat boots. My hair is not dyed black, I've no make-up on, but I am pulling a leather jacket on over a torn t-shirt.... There she stands with a wrinkled look on her brow, her lips are pursed, she is poised to pass judgement on my attire - ‘Are you really going out looking like that?' (Or some other censoring comment.) That's why I am sliding nearer to the door, preparing to escape.
Fast forward: 2008....
I'm sure we all have some such memory. For me, it is this kind of interaction which brought me to where I am today (LOL - it is indeed all my parents' fault!). Realistically, I never wanted the chasm between my children and me to be as wide as it was between my parents and me. I wanted to be their friend. I wanted to be a cool Mum.
That is why I am somewhat of a reluctant, incidental Mother. As the parent of two teenagers, of course I have to pull the parent card - we all do. And, yes, it often leaves me white-lipped and trembling. My role preference has always been to be the fun Aunt, the playful friend, even the co-conspirator. Even now I have a second niece who is threatening to visit us here in England for a year: she needs a break, wants to get away. And I am willing to give her the opportunity, provided it is done responsibly and she becomes an active, productive participant in our little tribe.
As this new drama is unfolding across broadband lines and continents, my kids want to know why they don't have a cool aunt like me! Humph - somehow they are missing the point. I skip over the obvious comment, however, and instead remind them that they do have a cool uncle - and he lives in NY (how much cooler could you get than the opportunity to spend months within 10 miles of NYC)!
Wrestling the reigns of control from our intentional loose-grip
Admittedly, the cool aunt, reluctant mother role only works to a certain point. Despite the constant speeches about independence, these teenagers (like us) want to be coddled. Teens, like their weary parents, really just want and need to be nurtured. They want to be loved when they are good and bad (don't we all?). Maybe that is why when they feel they are not being nurtured enough they find some fantastically dramatic way of telling us.
No, talking is not as easy at it looks. Communicating any need to any one else implies vulnerability. Who wants to wear their soft spot on their jacket? Why be a soft-shelled crab when you can be a barracuda? That is why discussions become prickly accusations, comments are construed as criticism, conversations change direction like the weather. It is all about protection, smoke and mirrors, or some similar ploy to make us appear tough when all we want to be is wobbly jelly.
I found my armour in a leather jacket and combat boots. Our sons are hiding behind fringe which is just too long. Our daughters are smoking, staying out much too late and don't call home as much. Our kids are pitching up with bulimia, anorexia, binge-drinking, promiscuity, and a raft of other things.
If you've ever felt like the reigns of your household are up for grabs, ask yourself these questions: Who is the parent in your family? Are you the Mum or Dad, or the child? How often? And with what attitude? Who nurture's who? When you or your kids walk through the door, who offers to make the other one a cup of tea? How long does the 'how was your day' conversation last? Is there even a conversation?
Whether we are the parent or the child (physically and mentally), maybe it is good to be a bit more tolerant of bad behaviour, to embrace our immaturity, to look forward to our mistakes. Maybe these things happen because we need the opportunity to discover ourselves, our children and our humanity.
As our kids struggle to become adults, we struggle to remain youthful. The closer they get to adulthood, the keener we are on slowing down the clock, refusing to admit we are heading towards our mid-life stages. Together we become an incongruent dancing team, each moving in different directions, each trying to throw down our individual mantle of responsibility (or inevitability). You can relax now - this post is not going to become a long list bemoaning assorted parental failings. It's more about observations.
First I'd like to add a bit of a disclaimer about the making of Reluctantly Fabulous. Let us start with the premise that not everything in this blog is personal. The ramblings scribed here are more of a collective consciousness representing the discovered kinship between assorted people. Maybe we can think of ourselves as a secret society of challenged parents, bemused friends, speckled teenagers and their siblings, a few work colleagues, various people I meet randomly at the gym, in the post office, and even in the check out queue at Waitrose, as well as a spattering of partners in various stages of attachment-- lovers, exes, comrades in arms, etc.
In this house, parental guidance is a loose term applied around here. No doubt I should be more strict, or is it less severe; perhaps we need more structure, or maybe less rigidity? Whatever it is, rest assured that at any given moment, what is needed at that point in time will not be what I am.
That said, as I sit here writing this blog entry, my daughter is looking at me and saying something like: 'Aren't you slumming it down a bit too much for the day. Your t-shirt is too long. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't let me leave the house wearing that."
Suddenly the conveyer belt of time has reversed itself and I find myself standing in front of my Mum as a teenager wearing a short denim skirt, striped tights and combat boots. My hair is not dyed black, I've no make-up on, but I am pulling a leather jacket on over a torn t-shirt.... There she stands with a wrinkled look on her brow, her lips are pursed, she is poised to pass judgement on my attire - ‘Are you really going out looking like that?' (Or some other censoring comment.) That's why I am sliding nearer to the door, preparing to escape.
Fast forward: 2008....
I'm sure we all have some such memory. For me, it is this kind of interaction which brought me to where I am today (LOL - it is indeed all my parents' fault!). Realistically, I never wanted the chasm between my children and me to be as wide as it was between my parents and me. I wanted to be their friend. I wanted to be a cool Mum.
That is why I am somewhat of a reluctant, incidental Mother. As the parent of two teenagers, of course I have to pull the parent card - we all do. And, yes, it often leaves me white-lipped and trembling. My role preference has always been to be the fun Aunt, the playful friend, even the co-conspirator. Even now I have a second niece who is threatening to visit us here in England for a year: she needs a break, wants to get away. And I am willing to give her the opportunity, provided it is done responsibly and she becomes an active, productive participant in our little tribe.
As this new drama is unfolding across broadband lines and continents, my kids want to know why they don't have a cool aunt like me! Humph - somehow they are missing the point. I skip over the obvious comment, however, and instead remind them that they do have a cool uncle - and he lives in NY (how much cooler could you get than the opportunity to spend months within 10 miles of NYC)!
Wrestling the reigns of control from our intentional loose-grip
Admittedly, the cool aunt, reluctant mother role only works to a certain point. Despite the constant speeches about independence, these teenagers (like us) want to be coddled. Teens, like their weary parents, really just want and need to be nurtured. They want to be loved when they are good and bad (don't we all?). Maybe that is why when they feel they are not being nurtured enough they find some fantastically dramatic way of telling us.
No, talking is not as easy at it looks. Communicating any need to any one else implies vulnerability. Who wants to wear their soft spot on their jacket? Why be a soft-shelled crab when you can be a barracuda? That is why discussions become prickly accusations, comments are construed as criticism, conversations change direction like the weather. It is all about protection, smoke and mirrors, or some similar ploy to make us appear tough when all we want to be is wobbly jelly.
I found my armour in a leather jacket and combat boots. Our sons are hiding behind fringe which is just too long. Our daughters are smoking, staying out much too late and don't call home as much. Our kids are pitching up with bulimia, anorexia, binge-drinking, promiscuity, and a raft of other things.
If you've ever felt like the reigns of your household are up for grabs, ask yourself these questions: Who is the parent in your family? Are you the Mum or Dad, or the child? How often? And with what attitude? Who nurture's who? When you or your kids walk through the door, who offers to make the other one a cup of tea? How long does the 'how was your day' conversation last? Is there even a conversation?
Whether we are the parent or the child (physically and mentally), maybe it is good to be a bit more tolerant of bad behaviour, to embrace our immaturity, to look forward to our mistakes. Maybe these things happen because we need the opportunity to discover ourselves, our children and our humanity.
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