1. Mommy blogs
For some reason, the likes of Dooce (arguably not really a mommy blog but frequently billed as one) still hit the headlines long after they stopped being new.
I don't know why the popularity of mommy blogs should surprise anyone. Parents can't help but talk about kids a lot and they like knowing that other people are getting it right and wrong all the time just like they are. Future parents like to indulge in a little fantasy parenting. Future decided non-parents enjoy the vicarious parenting without taking the kid home. Kids are interesting, weird and funny. Fact.
2. Food blogs
Maybe it's the Greek background, but food is surely the best, best, best reason to write a blog. It's the only thing we all, definitely, have in common apart from breathing (boring), excreting (*wretch*) and reproducing (see mommy blogs and also Violet Blue - perhaps NSFW).
I've just discovered Vox's California Pearl, see.
Yeah, I can't be bothered to complete this list. I just wanted to talk some more, I think. And mention California Pearl and her lovely photos.
The positivity has taken a bit of a dip, thanks to completely failing to deal with one aspect of the future plotting. In terms of honouring work commitments, however, I've improved (and now I'm very glad that I recognised my ability to create a rod for my own back and didn't publish a 1-10 style list of aims).
A lovely evening meal last night has unfortunately unsettled my stomach so I'm curled up on the sofa looking a bit green and wincing. It wasn't the cooking, more likely the amount I put away! It was so nice to just go round to a dear friend's house and be fed and talk and laugh and reminisce. I'm not the first or last person to point out the beauty of simple things, but really I think there's no harm in pointing it out again.
Sometimes I feel like every blog post should be an open letter, or a call to arms, or a cleverly themed exploration of a universal feeling or perhaps an indignant, interested or irritated response to the news. But sod it, I don't have to be inspired all the time and right now I'm mostly inspired to double up in pain.
I've been, instead, reading around other blogs this morning, and watching for the waves of similarity and difference. A strong picture emerges of a very specific type of blogger (and this particularly seems to apply to successful, readable female bloggers) who is vulnerable-yet-incisive, revealing illogicality and quirkiness whilst calling the world on its bullshit. Yet often these are the most accomplished emotional vampires. If they were communicating in person they'd be demanding understanding, patience and time from everyone but since they're writing online their lifeblood is the commentary and recognition.
I sometimes wonder if I'm one of them (without the incisive posts, of course). I do love the conversation that springs from comments, but a year of professional blogging cured me of the need to seek approval from the blog-reading public. I am not super-human, but I can mostly ignore negativity now. It's become easier since my personal blogs have small readerships I do not trouble to expand and the professional blogs I now write are on less contentious topics than geekery.
Am I indulging, then, in emotional vampirism? I think perhaps I'm moving in the opposite direction. I expect (and sometimes, sadly, deliver) less and less from people around me apart from my immediate family and closest friends because as I grow in confidence I seek the approval of fewer people generally. That doesn't mean I've become cold and indifferent - far from it. I just expect less credit for basic acts of human kindness and try to achieve less selfishness. I use the fact that I don't like it when I fail to spur me to be a better person (I fail, I don't like it, I keep trying).
Yesterday, Ashley and I were talking about depression, and the responses to depression. I opined (in my non-researched way) that there seemed to be two loose groups of post-depressives: those who, since they've come back from the brink, have nothing but sympathy and patience for this hideous condition and those who, because they've come back from the brink, bypass empathy in favour of holding themselves up as an example of beating it.
There's a fine line. You can indulge a depressive too much and fail to give people positive examples if you fall into the first category. In the second you can lose some of your humanity. I've heard friends of mine who I know have skated close to the edge of suicide complain vociferously when their train is held up by a desperate death bid. Because, of course, the suffering of their unpleasant journey home is so much worse than the horror that person must have suffered before jumping in front of a train. I used to think that way too - "couldn't they go and kill themselves quietly somewhere?!" - until I experienced some hurt and losses that gave me an insight into how bad things could get. I don't need to have clutched the razorblades to understand what drives people in that direction.
One of the things Ashley and I have in common is a youth spent visiting someone close in a range of mental health wards. I never feel I am compassionate or kind or selfless enough, but I recognise that the goodness I do display is down, largely, to having had experiences and awareness of things beyond the little, closed world in my head.
So, in the end, I think that's what the emotional vampirism comes down to. Those people might be travelling and having amazing experiences but in the end they're trapped in their own heads and have the world view of a hermetically sealed pistachio. I'm not pretending I've flung open the door to big picture thinking, but it's wedged open and I'll continue to push.
Stream of consciousness done.
...and hell, maybe a little alliteration thrown in for free. I've been doing that thing where plans for the future (professional, personal, pipe dreams, you name it) start crystallising in your head and you're poised, one foot on the diving board, ready to spring as soon as the momentum starts to build.
Some things will have to wait until after the wedding because time will not allow (and it'll be more practical that way). Some things will have to start now. I will stop looking for gaps in my day when I can plan to do things and just do them. Promises I made have to be kept (like writing more on a couple of blogs I pledged my -free- services to because it does me as much good as them).
I'm not going to list all of the ambitions here because in my experience over time some become priority and some fall by the wayside and I'm not about to use this blog as a rod to beat myself with if I 'fail' to achieve some (and promptly, in typical Alex style, refuse to acknowledge what I have managed).
In the meantime I'm shuffling gently towards some central goals by doing the small peripheral things that would need to be done at some point anyway and make me feel like I'm taking steps even when I'm still avoiding the main event.
It's an exciting time. As is typical with exciting, happy times, I'm looking for all the things that could go wrong. Secretly knowing that nothing will go wrong - that my relationship is rock solid, that I'm doing well at work, etc. - I am weathering minor bouts of anxiety that tend to centre on one of Ash and I dying or being horribly hurt, but for once in my life I am capable of acknowledging and then moving on from such episodes. If for no other reason than, if I die tomorrow, I'd like to think that by making a small effort every day my contribution to the world will add up overall.
Okay, in the grand scheme of things, I've done very little. But every bit more counts, right?
During the course of planning, I've been trying to think of every possible thing that will make our start in this marriage easier, and generally add to our chances of making a really good go at things. I'm not particularly concerned that we won't, but we might as well address the issues that can shake that solid ground you think you stand on.
Children have been discussed ad nauseam (no morning sickness pun intended) from pregnancy timings to baby names to religion to how involved parents should be... childcare, housing, pets... you name it, we've covered it. Finances? Split down the middle, with a joint account that will serve as a bills-and-future-mortgage-paying account with us each retaining the rest of our salaries, etc in our own separate accounts. Since my parents are giving us the deposit for our first house next year, we've discussed what would be an equitable ownership split that reflects the fact that the main cash is coming from my family but also that he will be paying half the mortgage. It turns out on all these difficult issues, we're completely resolved (well, at least until they take an unexpected turn, I guess).
So, of course, I had to bring up the Last Will and Testament. At the moment, all I have to leave anyone is a bit of jewellery, my depressingly empty bank account and a six-year-old Toyota Yaris. Nice, but nothing worth murdering me for. Still, there are other wishes and requests that should go in your will, and one of those is where we will be buried...
Some time ago, we went on a date / footle / stroll through Highgate cemetary. The historical, overgrown, haunting site is the final resting place of the Rosettis, Karl Marx, Douglas Adams and a great many local residents in one of my favourite parts of London. Among all was a headstone, marked with two names but just one set of dates - obviously the other half of this devoted pairing is preparing to be buried by her husband. Against his name was a tiny, elegant Magen David. Against hers, a cross. Beneath their names were the famous words of Ruth:
Entreat me not to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.
On seeing this, I started weeping like a baby. Startled, Ash held me until I could explain.
I was crying because it had suddenly hit home that here was this wonderful man, with whom I fully expected to spend the rest of my life though from whom I'd be permanently parted in death. He would lie in Jewish grounds and I in Christian, separated by who knows what distance.
Of course it shouldn't matter. My body will be so much worm food, and if there is any sort of after death consciousness, presumably physical distance is no barrier to being reunited. But to fight tradition and culture to spend our lives together only to be symbolically parted again after death is like saying that, try as we might to believe it, we weren't right together.
I'm half-wondering if my father will make My Big Fat Greek Wedding's "apples and oranges; we all different, but in the end, we all fruit" speech at the wedding. It would be funny. I just also want it to be true. No, I know it to be true. So I want it to be reflected in the symbols of our death (and isn't burial just a symbol for the living?).
So I was touched beyond words that Ashley has chosen to forego his right to be buried on Jewish consecrated grounds and will, when we get round to actually sorting out our wills, request to be buried in the local council grounds, as will I.
None of these things are, forgive the pun, set in stone. Should be divorce, we can revert to whatever prior choices we like. But as a gesture of a lifetime commitment, it doesn't get much more long term than pledging the circumstances of your burial to someone else.
There are many benefits to my mother-in-law. She loves me, as I do her, we respect each other and sometimes we have a damn good laugh (especially at others in that delightfully bitchy way us Med types have). One of the more unusual ones that came into its own today was her occupation: she's a wedding dress beader.
For 16 years she's been the sole beader for successful UK bridal designer Suzanne Neville.Today I met Suzanne and chose a wedding dress.
I can't say much about the design because Ash reads my blog and I want it to be a surprise (I will promise pics when the time comes!). Suffice to say I went in loving one design and fell in love with another entirely. Almost everything I had insisted on didn't feature on the final dress! What I will say is that I didn't go for that annoyingly repetitive modern strapless puffball dress that looks like Cinderella sat over a loo roll.
Not only is Suzanne's workmanship and detail incredible (you really could wear the dresses inside out) with corsetry so solid even a 32F like me doesn't need a bra, her team are a really warm bunch. By the time the dress was chosen I was the only one not in tears (because I was so excited!), including the woman fitting me who'd met me 45 minutes before for the first time in her life! They're a goodly bunch.
I won't pretend it will be cheap, but the dress is of a classic design that I might one day alter and dye so that it might live another day as an evening dress.
I don't know about every other girl, but for me the dress feels like what I, uniquely, can bring to the day that will surprise and wow Ashley. While I stood in the mirror falling for this corseted wonderment, it was the fact that Ashley would like it that really made me glow.
And now, pass the bucket... sorry folks. Normal cynical service will be resumed shortly.
There were some other things I wanted to say that went out of my head when D called. I still can't remember them all, but there was one that is even more relevant now, so...
4. It's Not The Person Who Leaves You Tongue-Tied But The One Who Sets Your Tongue Free. It's so easy to be so swept away with awe and admiration that you lose the ability to talk about what you want, need, deserve and expect from a relationship. The perfect man / woman will not be the one who dictates or demonstrates to you how to live, but the one who shows consideration without needing (too much) prompting, and who calls you on your bullshit. And believe me, we all have a veritable manure heap of bullshit to carry around with us.
It's not the person who doesn't appear to have any that is 'perfect', neither the one who refuses to see yours and puts you on a pedestal. The One sees you for what you are and loves you anyway. They'll help you change what you want to change, and accept what you don't. They'll help you love what you didn't think you could and think for more than just yourself. When you've found the person who will let you be stupid, silly, innocent, clever, questioning, bizarre, stroppy, understanding, irrational and intelligent, calling you on your shit in a gentle, respectful and above all helpful way, then do them the honour of being that person for them, and hang on to them for as long as it keeps being like this. Bliss will be yours, no matter what they look like or what your friends think.
That title has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but I just said it to Ash and it so summed up the dynamics of our wonderful, faintly twisted love affair that it had to be documented. So there.
This post should really be entitled: Things I've Learned About Being Young (Because I'm Starting To Be Less So And I Like It That Way). Or something catchier. These are things I couldn't help thinking about today.
1. You Will Grow Out Of This. And then you will feel embarrassed for having liked it until you get to this blissful age where it feels secretly cool to be sad. Finally you stop caring altogether about whether it's cool or not - it was just something you liked at a point in time and what with other things going on back then it either fills you with nostalgic fondness or a vague sense of doom.
2. You're A Sheep. Yeah, you know those people who you think are sheep simply because their hero or heroine is a little more mainstream than yours? You are exactly as ovine as they are. I promise you, your feelings towards the object of your affection are every bit as humiliatingly sycophantic (and every bit as important in helping you define who you are). You are unique not because you follow a particular person, because you won't be the only one following them, but thanks to the combination of influences you will ingest. Later on they will emerge in new and interesting ways and that is when you will truly feel comfortable in your own skin.
Baaaaaaa.
3. When You're Hurt, You Hurt Just Like A Teenager. Forever. In the middle of this post, the phone rang. One of my best friends, reporting being dumped in a particularly depressing way. We've sobbed together and I'm going over armed with chocolate, vodka and anything else I can think of. But the childlike pain in her voice is the same as it ever was. It doesn't get any easier. But at least after you've been through it once (or more times), you know it goes away. Every time you cry you appreciate every laugh that much more.
I haven't the heart to continue this now. I feel I should be there with her but she dissuaded me as she has to be up at 5am for work. When this happened to me, I didn't want to see anyone. I hadn't even the energy to talk to them. Everyone's different. And yet, in pain, the same.
This post was inspired by an incident that happened to a close friend (one of my bridesmaids) and made me think of some of the childishness and immaturity I've seen over the last few years. This is what I'd say if I were her.
Dear Girls,
You know, it's funny. I never suffered in junior school or senior (high) school from bullying or being treated disdainfully or badly. I was fat, I was clever, I wasn't particularly pretty and I didn't have a vast crew of friends. But the friends I did have were plentiful and wonderful - I still know a lot of them now - and the other girls did not exclude me; we simply had little in common.
So, with that kind of background, it shocks me that girls like you still exist. Girls where you put out the hand of friendship and it's accepted only on selfish terms, when it suits you. Most people, at this point, would probably make grand pronouncements of cutting people out of their lives. I'm Christian, though, and that comes with a sense of duty to try and not take things personally and turn the other cheek.
That's not to say you're not pissing me off; I'm not that good a person, you're pissing me off. It just means that I will keep trying to be a good person, and will remain open to your friendship should you ever attempt to bestow it.
It strikes me that a lot of the girls who behave like this were once excluded and quietly tortured in that way that only children can inflict on other children. Why they'd want to spread that behaviour around is beyond me, but that's often the case with any form of abuse.
Open up, relax, and stop worrying if you're cool or not. In the grand scheme of things, no-one will remember what you were like in your 20s, and thank God, because I've got news for you: we're ALL arseholes in our 20s.
Take care,
Alex
Sometimes it feels like the treadmill's been turned up to 10 and the incline is increasing and NO ONE'S TELLING YOU WHY.
I am bouncing from such utter, utter joy to such irritating niggly detail-strewn stress that I suspect I am becoming somewhat difficult to live with. Yesterday I growled at my mother for asking one too many wedding questions and there was much grovelling this morning. She forgives me far too easily. Far more easily than I ever forgive myself, for anything at all.
The venue and catering sorted, we're now on the hunt for a band. We found a wonderful jazz band who charge reasonable rates and pack an absolutely brilliant young female singer called Liz Cass (visit her website, it's a rubbish design that doesn't really work but you should be listening, not looking). Sadly, we think her repertoire, while beautiful to us and a handful of the guests with taste, probably won't lead to a rollicking party atmosphere. We need people to dance, otherwise it will all be a bit depressing. So we've switched gears to Funkify (I know, but their performances are more vibrant than their name), provided we can afford them. The quote's on its way.
Meanwhile, I have a staggering quote for hair and make up - a maximum of £275 including a consultation / trial run, travel expenses (to London and Oxford from Gloucestershire). I'm sure that's pretty steep, but on the other hand she looks really, really good. The budget is there for it, if necessary, but I'm going to have to do some digging to find an alternative. I only require a simple up-do for hair - I want it neat, sleek and out of the way where it can't go tangly and unkempt - but I'd like some really good makeup and that's what this lady specialises in. Well, we'll see. I'm dreaming of smoky eyes.
You can see where the details and my scribble bedecked diary are getting on my nerves. But I'm dealing with it, because all that pales into insignificance when you turn over in the morning to be wrapped into a warm snuggle and the love of your life whispering that they adore you.
Plus, I'll be in Greece in one month and one day! For two weeks! In Athens! And Kefalonia! And on a (free!!) cruise around islands I've never visited!
Can't say completely unfair and ridiculously privileged fairer than that.
