April Showers Bring May Flowers

I woke on wednesday morning to warmth on my back and face.   the first was soft, furry and purring, the second was.... SUNSHINE !!!   rejoice oh my soul it's spring, pack away the winter woollies, discard the leg warmers, shake out the shorts, plant the pansies.... then i extended a leg from under the duvet, oh my goodness it was cold.

A typical April day followed.   between 6.30 a.m. and 6.30 p.m. we had sunshine, rain, hail, more sunshine, wind and snow.... SNOW !!   the central heating and my cardigan have been dancing the foxtrot, slow-slow-quick-quick-slow, on-on-off-off-on, and the poor cat can't decide if he wants in-in-out-out-in.

My mother used to say i should have been named April as i was "changeable as the weather."    we sanguine's flit from one enthusiasm to another, endowing every new experience with one hundred percent commitment, dedicating our total attention to it.... until the next new interesting thing crosses our path and off we go in an entirely different direction equally dedicated, equally committed.   it must be infuriating for those who have to share the universe with such flighty, butterfly brained beings who know a little about a lot but become good at nothing, full of useless information that we can't resist randomly throwing into conversations.  what's that old saying "Jack of all trades but master of none" ?

As we travel this adventure called life the only constant we can guarantee is that we change.   when i think of the many iterations of the jeni universe it feels as though a succession of personalities decided to take up residence in this body and live vicariously through my consciousness, sharing headspace for a while then moving on when a new inhabitant gazumped the tenancy.     looking back some of these tenants feel like total strangers to me and, to be honest, there are one or two i intensely dislike and am mightily relieved they didn't decide to stay as house guests permanently.

Of course if you exchange the word changeability for adaptability a negative trait becomes a survival mechanism,  an evolutionary advantage.   as Darwin didn't say but should have, apparently it's one of the internet's most widespread misattributions....

           "It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most                                intelligent.  it is the one most adaptable to change."  

That's ok then.... i'll live till i'm a hundred !!!

                       

Mightily Moulting Moggie

A sign... !!!  I've received a sign that it's definitely spring.  

No... not the nodding daffodils, though they are always a most welcome sight at the end of the Deep Dark.   not the surprising number of bees busily buzzing amongst the heather edging my path... is it my imagination or are they early this year, and BIG ?  neither the bright mornings heralded by the  song of the dawn chorus, nor the late dusk prompting almost daily alterations to the timer on my fairy lights.   none of these usual cheerful harbingers are definitive in the jeni universe, for me it all comes down to  H A I R !!!

It would be unfair to lay all responsibility at the feet of Mister Cat but he does like to share his sheddings.... on the sofa, on the bed, on chairs, on my clothes, my quilt, the stairs, floor, everywhere his little body touches actually.    as he moves a cloud of loose hair creates a mobile halo worthy of the most holy saint, floating around him in his very own hirsute miasma.   a long haired cat may look beautiful but trust me, an unpredictable, ex-feral, long haired cat with a propensity for the occasional supping of human blood isn't a candidate for grooming.   

Before suggesting perseverance, or telling me tales of a rescue cat you heard of that loved his tummy vacuumed understand that this beast has a towering personality deficit.   he's a Norwegian Forest Cat and they are genetically closer to their wild brethren than our beloved, placid, British Shorthair.  if you add to that his early months of living wild in the inner city lanes of Newcastle where he was persecuted and tormented by the bully boys of Geordie Land, well.... you end up with a creature that has a thin layer of civility and a deep chasm of animosity.

Having laid the blame for my hairy dilemma firmly at the feet of one who has plenty of vitriol but no voice i feel compelled to confess that i'm not off the hook in the saga of the moult.

This terrifying incident occurred in the middle one of THOSE nights when sleep is a distant dream despite all the cocoa, reading, music, toast, and deep breathing relaxation exercises... isn't that an oxymoron? 

Mumbling and stumbling bleary eyed towards the kitchen in the soft glow of a low light a nightmare incarnate loomed out of the shadows.   the size of a half grown wolf it had yellow fangs dripping venom, eyes that glowed kryptonite green emanating a millennia of malice, eight legs the thickness of ancient redwood, its agenda being tasty human for a late supper was beyond any doubt.   the palpitations and sweats that accompany a sleepless night are usually precipitated by the fear of a future as a disabled adult in a land governed by a party that despises the sick and the poor with an ideological zeal.   better a quick end in the jaws of this monster than a long slow descent into poverty, hunger and cold at their hands ?   a vision of my much loved children and granddaughters spurred me to action, drawing my Valerian Steel sword i smote the creature and rent it asunder, sulphurous brimstone filled the air as my armoured and spurred boot dealt the death blow.

Yeah right !!!  panic averted.   giant spider squashed.   until a closer inspection in the full glare of morning  revealed not arachnoid but a clump of my hair, probably discarded from a morning's combing.   foolish felt i !!!

Of course, there are winners in every negative and in this tale it's the birds .   wherever i've lived with Mister Cat the local Rightmove have increased their supply of "des res" nests.   every day a handful of fluff, fur, hair and feathers from the mattress topper get tucked into the ears of a log reindeer left over from Christmas and every evening it will have disappeared, garnered by grateful blue tits and sparrows, sometimes flying off with beaks stuffed full to overflowing weighing them down and creating blind spots in their rear view mirrors.   once when, i lived on Lindisfarne, i found a discarded nest that was 99% Mister Cat 1% twig.   obviously the childhood home of a privileged, Eton bound baby bird of the upper orders.   

So, as i diligently run yet another lint roller over hairy clothes i comfort myself with the knowledge that our feathered friends may never win the war between feline and avian but in the spring, at least, they definitely gain from the battle of the moult.

  

Resurrection Morning

At a time when nation seems to be at war with nation, governments are in conflict with their citizens, creed condemns creed, anger and antagonism are the common languages in the media, in Parliaments and among families, Easter Sunday seems to be a good day to remember that it doesn't have to be like this.

No matter what  you do or don't believe, at the root of all our main religions is the human heart's cry for reconciliation and forgiveness.   it's man who over the centuries has taken what begins as a force for good and peace and twisted it into a dogmatic, didactic, doctrine and it's man who in response has turned his ignorance and anger against those who believe differently.


We can be better than that, you can be better than that, i can be better than that.   peace begins with each one of us putting forgiveness into practise, recognising that difference enhances humanity, understanding that how we live is as important as what we believe or whether we believe.

We are all in need of redemption because our humanity is flawed.  we have inherited the weaknesses and insecurities of our parents and passed them on to our children and they in turn to theirs, "the sins of the fathers" as it used to be phrased. We can't remedy the past, either that of our predecessors or our own, but we can in humility take responsibility for our attitudes, harsh words, misdeeds and attempt to make amends, ask forgiveness, work towards changing our less than noble traits, aspire to be more humane.

That's the core message of Easter, there is always hope,  we can start again, we can  be the change we need in our world, it begins with you, it begins with me.   change happens one person at a time.... a positive pyramid scheme.
Resurrection Morning a good time to be human.

Chinese Whispers

WOW.... what a  roller coaster week for the disabled.   we went to bed to the dulcet tones of  George Osborne's budget cutting the disability funding P.I.P. and woke to a resignation and, FINALLY, the fine residents of Britain realising that persecution is alive and well in their supposedly enlightened land.   OK it's taken a LONG time to sink in that the demonisation  of the disabled is an ongoing project instigated by government, fuelled by the  media, and fed by an unthinking population in a manner that makes the  Salem Witch Trials a spring picnic, but maybe.... just maybe the populace have experienced a falling of scales from eyes and have recognised the injustice of removing mobility cars, rationing incontinence care, restricting bathing and loading indignity upon indignity until tragedy is the inevitable outcome.

What i've found fascinating during this debate is the number of people who have heard of somebody, who was related to someone, who was known to be "working the system", "a dodgy dealer", "ripping off the benefits", but NONE knew the supposed felon's name, where he/she lived,  the details of their illness, or who to ask for the full story.

http://www.theguardian.com/society/2016/feb/27/false-benefit-fraud-allegations

Did you know that over 5 years, 85% of allegations phoned in to the Benefits Fraud Hot Line were false....? EIGHTY FIVE PERCENT !!! don't believe me? click the link above and read it for yourself.   that's a whole lot of suspicious people acting on what they feel rather than what they know.  

Let me tell you a funny story.   not second hand, not hearsay but something i experienced personally some months ago. a lady i know well informed me that her daughter's wealthy friend had rewritten her will and was leaving all her estate to the local cat and dog shelter instead of to her long suffering husband after a disagreement. apparently  she preferred canine company over the human and was carrying this preference to the extreme.   there followed a vociferous denunciation of the wife for her thoughtless, outrageous, selfish, misanthropic behaviour from my scandalised friend.   when asked if this information came first hand from the wife herself i was angrily informed that the daughter knew all about it and wouldn't have got it wrong and my suggestion, that the tale could have been mangled in the telling therefore perhaps it would be wise before spreading misinformation  to verify the facts, wasn't well received.  last  week the wealthy friend died and guess what ??? yep... the puss cats will have to manage without their inheritance.  no upcoming upgrade to Gourmet, Tesco cat food remains on the menu as the husband has been named recipient of her largess and is taking his entire family, parents, grandparents, children, cousins, second cousins three times removed to Disneyland USA.  honestly... i kid ye not... this is a true telling of the sorry story... it's too good to fabricate isn't it?

It takes me back to when we moved onto a  middle class estate when i was a young mum still dressed in full hippie garb, driving a beat up fourth hand estate, and living on poverty wages.   a throw away comment making a joke about our lack of gardening skills led to a petition being passed around the street by perturbed neighbours worried about the goats we were getting to keep the grass cropped !!! southern irony didn't play well in 1980's Newcastle.

Chinese whispers make entertaining stories and might be of no consequence to the parties involved, who may never hear how their privacy has been invaded and their character assassinated by careless chatter. but there is a darker side to this propensity to judge on appearance without a full understanding, or knowledge, of the other. think of the stress and fear inflicted on the 85% who woke to a knock on the front door from the Fraud Squad falsely accused by a neighbour who only sees the strong persona presented to a watching world.   they will have lost their only source of income until proven innocent and be interviewed under police caution.   imagine how that could impact on a person's mental and physical health.  so... check your information before speaking, take pains to learn the story behind the outward show, don't encourage unfounded gossip by listening to the gossiper... and ask yourself how you would feel if you had to exhibit all your weaknesses for the world to see before getting a fair hearing !!!

                                           

Gratitude Jar

OH YAY the grey wagtails have returned from their winter wonderlands. a flash of greeny, yellowy, grey caught a ray of sunlight over the beck at the back of our flats and there they were, a handsome couple, bob bob bobbing along.  a feathery augur of spring.   add to that sightings of a hover fly sucking up to the heather, bickering blackbirds, bonking pigeons a buzzing bumble bee and all i need is the bats to believe the Big Cold is over.

Can you believe we are almost a quarter of the way through the year already?  it feels as though my life is dribbling away like a magical charge crackling  from the finger tips of a cosmic magician prior to being hurled into the void.   With winter on the wane it seems a propitious time to review January's New Year's Resolutions.   Did you make any?   did you keep any?   

Confession time.... every year i cheat !!   working on probability theory i make several on the basis that the more i have to work with the higher the chance of sticking with at least one of them.   hey.... i'm honest about my duplicity

Did i keep them ???  nope... not one !!!   B U T in my 30th December blog post, where those rash promises were made in the heat of good intentions, i reminisced about a Happiness Jar my sons had kept years ago.   at the end of each day we decided on one good thing to be thankful for, wrote it on a slip of paper and popped it in the jar.   throughout the year if things got tough, or we needed booted backsides, the jar would be tipped onto the dining table and all those positive memories read and smiled over helping to chase the darkness into the shadows.   since writing about it i've heard of several people who do the same.... see my friend Juliet's classy jar in the photo above.... and it inspired me to start one for 2016


"Why go to the bother of putting pen to paper"? some ask, assuming you can FIND a pen.  "all you have to do is remember the good things".   but we don't, do we? It seems to be intrinsic to human nature that for every cheerful event stored in the memory vault we allow a dozen gloom and doom scenarios take precedence.   for each kindness shown a mountain of slights and oversights throw their malignant shadows across  the vista to poison our attitude.   every successful action is subsumed in the inevitable failures life throws our way. we in the west have so much to be grateful for, yet we tend to see the storm rather than the breaking of the dawn.


Gratitude is like a muscle, if you don't use it atrophy will set in, then weakness and a disinclination to exercise at all.  like all good keep fit regimes if it's to be effective, it takes hard work, dedication and single mindedness.

Taking time at the end of the day to look for a patch of brightness means that no matter how difficult life may be we have an imperative to find something infused with hope, no matter how small or insignificant.  some of my offerings since December include pancakes, central heating, cats, family, chocolate, Ebay, friends, sunshine, postmen, movies, grey wagtails. 

After one particular day of great pain in which even getting out of bed seemed a task only achievable to a world class super hero, my soul rebelled and cried to the closed heavens "it's been a crap day, and i hurt like hell, what have i got to be thankful for"? a still, small voice, conscience? subconscious?  common sense?  karma?  God? spoke into my soul....

"are you going to bed hungry?  cold?  naked?   in danger? imprisoned?  persecuted? exiled?  homeless?   No.... and you ask why you should be thankful" ?

Sofa Searching

Home, they say, is where the heart is, or where you hang your hat.  in my case it's where the cat and random decorative clutter gathers to collect dust bunnies by candle light.   apparently seeing a person's home can give insight into their upbringing and personality but if that's so how come my sister is a committed monochrome minimalist and i live in the equivalent of a westernised Aladdin's cave?   can deep mysteries of the psyche be teased out from our choice of decor or are we more influenced by culture, peer acceptance and society than by a subconscious need to expose our innermost secrets through home improvement?   

That most of my teens and early twenties were lived in hippie squats and flats could be deduced by the preponderance of glitter and sparkle on the walls if it weren't for the fact that at 13, long before i'd laid eyes on a summer of love child, i had utilised a sheet of wrapping paper depicting a psychedelic Wurlitzer as a poster on a bedroom wall and hung lace and velvet shawls around a mirror. and this was years before experiencing hallucinogens first hand.  so did that embryonic style act as an attraction to hippiedom or did hippiedom entrench the style that has followed me for the past 4 decades? 

There's no template for making a house a home.... or there shouldn't be.   yet the full page, glossy adverts in magazines or on TV would have you believing otherwise.   DFS,  Furniture Village et al. have products scarily alike, row upon row of cloned soft furnishings, freakishly familiar to the massed armies of Star Wars storm troopers all blending into a homogeneous mass.  world domination by three piece suite !!   mass produced furniture for mass produced homes, lived in by mass produced humans seems to be their aim. 
  

This thread of rumination has been triggered by a futile search to find a replacement for a £30 threadbare, lumpy, charity shop sofa.   the beautiful wave backed wicker that was digested by the removal van when moving here was regurgitated later the same day onto the grass at the front of new home  and left in glorious abandonment.... doorway too small.   even son's heroic efforts were in vain.   off came the door, still stuck was the sofa, gutted was i.   

Various internet searches for "funky furniture" have thrown up some amazing velvet patchwork confections that look stunning but how to know if they are as sweet on the bum and back as they are on the eye? this is where the big box furniture outlets have us at their mercy, we need to try before we buy.

So here's the predicament when one is out of step with the mainstream. do i buy something that fits my nature and is unusual but maybe uncomfortable or do i follow faithfully in the steps of the crowd to be certain of a soft seat?   

Spokzman

Idly dilly dally dabbling on Facebook one rainy afternoon recently i came across a page for a group based in Birmingham (hello all you lovely Brummies) called Spokz People.   They offer emotional support for those with physical disabilities. what caught the eye of this inveterate survey filler was their asking for people to test run a questionnaire used at the close of counselling.    how could i pass that by?   nope... couldn't,  so made contact with them to volunteer my meagre services.   

"Spokz People was set up after we discovered that many people with disabilities would prefer and would benefit from therapists who have a disability or specialise in disability. We are breaking the mould by not only providing physically accessible services, but our knowledge and experience of disability means we understand the possible issues relating to disability and are flexible in catering for different needs."
https://www.facebook.com/SpokzPeople/info/?tab=page_info  

In the early hours of the following morning, festering in my pit of many quilts with Adagio For Strings playing softly, i found myself ruminating on the fact that in all my contacts with social care until i spoke with Spokz nobody has ever asked "how do you FEEL about living with disability?"   though many of our fears and frustrations are the same as our able brethren there are some that  are quite different and aren't often recognised or voiced.   It  can leave a soul feeling very isolated. The fact that i have gone to bed every night for the past couple of decades armed with books, CD's, the cat, biscuits and a rudimentary knowledge of relaxation techniques to pass the long, dark, painful hours is testament to that.   in the olden days when the legs still worked i would go walking in the night when slumber was elusive, returning home weary ready to try again.  when i lived on an island in the middle of the North Sea i would sit on a bench in the lee of the church, tip back the head and try to count the stars to the music of waves strumming shingle.  now i can only go a'roamin in my mind and sometimes that mind wanders in darker places than a moonlit graveyard. 

The premature loss of career, or the knowledge that employment will be forever  out of reach is heart wrenching.   i was blessed to have a wonderful team of people who acted as my hands and feet, without them my bizniz would have faltered at conception (you know who you are... i am in your debt and will love you all forever) but to walk ... crawl... away from it all when only early 50's, at the height of success, with a head full of dreams and ideas was one of the hardest things i've ever had to do.  many years later and i still wake weeping after dreaming, in vain, that there's a corner of The Gateshead Metro Centre still home to my little bookshop.  imagine how dispiriting it must be for a young person to know they will never have the privilege of earning a wage or being independent, forever relying on the kindness of family or strangers whilst longing to enter that rite of passage called a career.   

Bullying has become a national epidemic spurred on by the anonymity of social media, nihilistic TV soaps/reality shows and a vitriolic right wing press, but the weakest among us haven't always been considered fair game to be targeted for abuse.   it's not so long ago that the elderly were guided across busy roads or offered help with carrying a heavy load, doors were held open for a wheelchair user and seats given up on buses for the halt and frail. in 2014/2015 disability hate crime increased by 41% and when a friend knows somebody who has an experience like that related below it ceases to be yet another statistic and becomes personal, mutating into an anxiety provoking possibility with the potential to impose a severe case of agoraphobia. 

"The other week I was in Newcastle wheeling along Northumberland Street at a busy lunchtime. Coming in the opposite direction was a man, not paying attention to where he was going as he was on his phone. I couldn't move out the way as I was penned in by people, but I assumed the man would look up from his phone and move to get past. Instead he walked straight into my wheelchair. He then launched a torrent of abuse at me about how "people like me shouldn't go out as we just get in the way" and how the world would be better off without me. After he had finished his verbal attack, he spat on the floor in front of me and stormed off!I am not sure what was more hurtful, the fact that this random stranger saw fit to insult me, and all disabled people, in such an abusive way! Or the fact that of the dozens of people walking past on one of Newcastle's busiest street, not one saw fit to intervene!   I can't help but feel if it were a racial or homophobic attack for example, that would not have been the case! How is it that one form of abuse is more acceptable than an other"

Issues such as these can make the experience of disability more traumatic than the limiting condition itself and once you add the inevitable loneliness into the mix it's surprising there isn't an epidemic of depression and despair amongst my soul sisters and brothers, maybe there is !!  at a pain clinic course there was a decided split in attitude. some were full of bile and ire blaming the universe and all in it for their predicament, threatening to sue at every perceived slight and oversight, unhesitatingly venting their discontent on any willing target.   others wanted to learn how to cope, seeking understanding of the mechanics of pain on the psyche and the body, willing to take responsibility for finding ways of making life livable  within constraints.   the latter were more inclined to find  humour in little things and to grasp positives with both hands and wring them dry for every drop of potential.

This is why people like Spokz, who offer online and phone support, are so very vital, why we need more like them.  it's too easy to become stuck in unhelpful ways of thinking and reacting, to allow the fear and futility dominance.  sometimes we need a guiding hand to help navigate the reefs of negativity, to be reminded that we all have value not because of what we can achieve but because of who we are....