Advent at Midlife

So this woman wrote my current emotional state. And before anyone tries to tell me that this is not my midlife, I know, but I have subconsciously lived my teens and twenties as though I’ll die at the same age as my dad, who popped off at 52 when I was 14. Which led to a whole lot of fun and games in a short space of time. 

Therefore, this feels kind of like midlife from one perspective. If this is the middle of my life, I will live twelve years longer than him and that’s good going in my book. I’m not living so fast anymore, and I intend to get really old and cranky... 💕

But it’s interesting to note the extra layers of stuff that grief leaves behind for us to sort through. Wednesday was the 18th anniversary of his death, and only this year have I been realising this aspect of how his departure shaped me. And it’s beautiful really, because it just shows how important he was, and is, to me.

I just stumbled across this poem last night and it is totally where I’m at just now. The irony is that as soon as I stopped rushing, I realised how much waiting I had also been doing, and then I realised I was no longer waiting, either. Because waiting and rushing are the same. They both assume that there is more than now, and that now is not enough. Or that I was not enough. Turns out it is, and I am. So that's nice 😉

It’s a lovely place to be, emotionally. I literally burn my best candles every night before bed. And I’m grateful. ✨

Advent at Midlife, by Mary Anne Perrone

I am no longer waiting for a special occasion; I burn the best candles on ordinary days.

I am no longer waiting for the house to be clean; I fill it with people who understand that even dust is Sacred.

I am no longer waiting for everyone to understand me; It’s just not their task

I am no longer waiting for the perfect children; my children have their own names that burn as brightly as any star.

I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop; It already did, and I survived.

I am no longer waiting for the time to be right; the time is always now.

I am no longer waiting for the mate who will complete me; I am grateful to be so warmly, tenderly held.

I am no longer waiting for a quiet moment; my heart can be stilled whenever it is called.

I am no longer waiting for the world to be at peace; I unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.

I am no longer waiting to do something great; being awake to carry my grain of sand is enough.

I am no longer waiting to be recognized; I know that I dance in a holy circle.

I am no longer waiting for Forgiveness. I believe, I Believe.

Photo: Christmas Day 2018 at mum’s

Art in photo: Lucy Turnbull Photography 

In memory of Lord Paddy Ashdown

Politics is indeed a very tribal business, and tonight, my tribe is grieving. Paddy Ashdown was already a hero to me, but when I met him a few months ago I was in already in awe when he gifted me some time and some extremely kind, encouraging, inspiring and hilarious words. He delivered this pep talk with his trademark cutting wit, dry humour and gung ho attitude. So sane, so direct, so clear in his observations, so willing to help. You can see by my face how he had the power to just make a person feel fantastic and moreover, he made us feel brave. He made a point of introducing his amazing wife Jane, for whom we are all feeling so much tonight. He tried in vain to get her to join us in this photo, and his adoration of her was so evident. Paddy was a legend, his quirks are the stuff of folklore within our tribe and the world is richer for his service to it, both as a Marine and in politics. Crying as I write this, but if anyone deserves a really great rest, it’s him. I’ll always remember this last full moon of 2018 as Paddy’s moon, and I’ll whisper a prayer that we can all find some of the stuff that he was made of. He was the best of us.

Your spirit, lover

No you’re not a project

You’re perfect as you are

There’s magic in your mess

And dark between your stars

Your universe can balance

Without its tenterhooks

You’ve left yourself the clues

In the margins of my books

You can read my pages slowly

You wrote them anyway

Though I cut out and rearranged them

Your spirit, lover, stayed.

On grief.

I love this time of year. November is my favourite month. I love Samhain and Remembrance Sunday and the turning of the seasons. I love the dark nights and the crisp mornings and the woodsmoke. Facebook memories tells me that 7 years ago today, Paul and Ally and I went on a pilgrimage to remember dad. Along the way we stopped at the Rod & Line pub in Tideford to see the plaque they put up for him. I think that the fact that I know my birthday (24th Dec), Christmas and the anniversary of his death (the night of 26th Dec) are right around the corner helps me to love November. I know that the hardest time of my year is right in front of me and somehow that makes me extra grateful for November. This wasn’t always the case, grief never leaves you, but it changes. Time can do almost anything, and I think that November reminds me how much is possible and how far we’ve come. Perhaps this pilgrimage 7 years ago helped with this. 

Over the next few weeks, let’s remember that for many people, the prospect of Christmas brings up grief and loneliness and let’s be gentle with each other.

 

Did you dance on the beach today?

Mum (just now, without a hint of self-consciousness): Did you dance on the beach today?

Me: No? What makes you think I may have danced on the beach?

Mum: Well - you were there by the waves and you took a video of them.

Me (laughing): Why does that mean I danced on the beach? Is that how you see me? That I just go to places and start dancing?

Mum (also laughing now): Well, no...I suppose that's what I do.

Me (laughing even harder): Yes.

Mum (a little indignant): Well you were with Julia's heart! 

Me (still laughing): Her family home is there. We walked around the cliffs to Harlyn and back. I did sing a bit, but we didn't dance on the beach. I love how you think that's the logical thing to do in this situation.

Mum: I just do a lot of dancing. 

She's such a legend. ✨😍 

Winter in the Valley✨🍂🍁

The light is as yellow and low as the sun

And I notice the length of shadows

The tribe hunkers in

To snuggle, eat and sing

And anticipate Yuletide to follow

The village is hushed, the tourists have gone

The air smells of woodsmoke at night

Hugs become bumper 

Through layers of jumpers

And the frost turns the moorland to white

The biggest night out of the tribal year 

Samhain, we dance and we laugh

We whoop and scream 

And let off our steam

And gossip in the aftermath 

Then Remembrance for boys who gave up their lives 

Our own chief, we’ll all hug him tight

Remembering when 

His brave absent friends

Sat proud to his left and his right

The seasons turn prompt in this here red valley 

Our Green Man has long since retired

Indian Summer’s

Officially over

When the landlord lights the pub fire

Softness and wool and velvet and sparkle✨

With a party dress worn underneath

The valley has mist

The air starts to nip 

Gathering greenery for my Yule wreath

Reunions, euphoria, stories and smiles 

Been upcountry but ended back here

Take stock with our kin

I’ll get the drinks in

We made it! To another year!

🍂🎃🍄🍁 

Kedgeree

Mother mine

Port Isaac maid

A tribute

To the life you gave 

You gave your love

Your magick life

To raise and guide

This awkward sprite

Made kedgeree 

To keep me strong

And when I sang

You heard my song

Paused your busy

Sat on your knees

To see my latest

Masterpiece

You wisely saw

Inherited smarts

Couldn’t compensate 

For a kind heart

Showed me that

The spirit world

Owed nothing to this

Loudmouthed girl

Create my own

Is what you prayed

Make it happen

Don’t be afraid

Responsibility

Didn’t always come

But you persisted 

Brave, tired mum

To know myself

You showed the need

For integrity

Thought, word and deed

You taught me manners

And not to blame

Be accountable

And hold others the same 

Invisible 

To all but you

My teens felt hard

We made it through

And now a woman

Here I stand

Sculpted by

Your artists’ hand 

Your music, magic

To me you give

A role model

Of a life well lived 

Your ear is there

And always was

Never reproach

Simply love

No matter the word

The deed or thought

You never judged

But always taught

I rebelled against

Your hippie ways

Went to the city

Tried “straight-laced”

But now contrite

My soul and bones 

Have returned to our 

Ancestral home 

Now Ma I find

Your Cornish song

Your way was my way

All along

And I consider

With clearer sight

That maybe mother 

Was always right!