8 posts tagged “family”

[N.B. This is totally tongue-in-cheek and based on wry humour and only a little bit of lazy xenophobia]

English Tradition: Complain about going to see the parents
Greek Tradition: Of COURSE we'll be with the parents. But, what's the big deal, we see them every week anyway

English Tradition: Arrive hungover, eat until upright and then pickle oneself horizontal again
Greek Tradition: Arrive hungry, pick at everything while it's cooking, complain you're too full to eat, eat anyway and then fall asleep in front of the telly.

English Tradition: Watch the Queen's speech
Greek Tradition: Complain about the pointlessness of the monarchy

English Tradition: Open presents before Lunch
Greek Tradition: Open presents whenever curiosity gets the better of you, or just don't give them until New Year

English Tradition: Pork, pork and more pork - glazed gammon, pork stuffing, bacon on the turkey
Greek Tradition: Chicken liver stuffing

English Tradition: Avoid an argument by getting drunk so you can pretend you don't remember it
Greek Tradition: Embrace the argument, add bells, whistles and volume, then pack it away neatly for next year

English Tradition: Board games round an open fire
Greek Tradition: Boredom around a heap of foodstuffs

English Tradition: Pretending to hate Christmas so as to appear cool
Greek Tradition: Actually hating Christmas but pretending to enjoy it "for the children". Even when they're in their forties.

Really, there's a reason I identify as Greek most of the time.

Yesterday was clearly one of those days. Still reeling from the shock of my cousin's premature death, Ashley received the news that his cousin's wife has lost her dad. It was expected - he'd shown distinct deterioration even in the short time I'd known him - but no less upsetting for it. He was a very nice man, and I had grown quite fond of him over the few family occasions when I'd seen him. Ash is going to the lavoya this afternoon but it's hard for me to take the time off at short notice, so I'll just attend the shiva this evening.

His wife's quite a loud woman, and he was always very quiet. I distinctly remember one evening that he'd said not one word while his wife bustled about in that brilliantly effective way that stereotypical Jewish wives and mothers do. Then, for some reason, she excused herself, I think to help her daughter in the kitchen. He suddenly sprung to life and spoke for himself for a bit, and then went back to his customary silence when she reappeared. It was like something out of a sitcom - Steptoe pretending to be ill so Harold will run after him - and my mother-in-law and I creased up in stitches over it.

I will try and remember that, I think, instead of the last sad days I've been hearing about. They gave us a lovely vase as an engagement present, and I will always remember him when I see it.

Here I've been worrying about money, work, weddings, transferring bills and services... and half a world away, disaster struck for real. I'm not talking about the kind of big scale disaster that changes a whole community, that is going on around the world all the time and that is so huge we almost can't get our heads around it. I'm talking about a personal tragedy, the kind that changes a family forever.

My dad has several cousins in the States, including a few aunties that are first cousins of his late mother. They have children and their children have families. Today, one of those children, R, called my mother and told her that one of the other children, E (R's first cousin), had died suddenly in the night, of a suspected heart attack. She was 49, and she was found in the morning by her 12-year-old younger son. Her other son is just 23.

E had had heart surgery last year, but was not considered in any way at risk of an episode like this, so far as anyone knew. Her son rang his grandmother, who lives several states away, and croaked out the words to tell her that his mother was dead. I cannot imagine how appallingly painful and frightening that must have been. Both grandparents - parents to the lost girl - are shocked and stunned. E's husband, a lovely man who helped E turn her life around after a wild childhood and is a fantastic father to their two children, is devastated.

I haven't seen the family since 1996, but this has hit me rather harder than I would have expected. Firstly, because I knew them and they're good people. Secondly because E was so young and her family still need her. Thirdly because it's just another example of how we must all try to show love all the time - because we never know when we or the object of that love might be lost.

From a selfish start, to a selfish lesson. Be a better person, complain less, think of others. I will set some time aside tonight to pray for this damaged family, and think of someone else for a change.

Okay, what is up with you today?

I know that in the grand scheme of things, everything is fine. I do not have any chronic or terminal illnesses, my family and friends are mainly safe and well and I have a job, a house, so much food I'm a lardarse and I am as secure as it's possible to be whilst still being alive.

But seriously.

To bring some positivity to matters after this morning's steady trickle of small, petty annoyances, I went to the gym.

It was at this point that I realised that my gym t-shirt had a CHOCOLATE STAIN on it, as I had mistakenly shoved in a tee I made brownies in instead of a clean one.

So, at this point, I'm fat, wobbly, unfit and have a whopping great lard stain on the right breast. Things like that only happen in chicklit, right?

Anyway, I huff and puff my way onto the cross-trainer, and then the bike. I'm attempting interval training and weights, which basically means 2 minutes medium-paced lower-resitance cardio followed by one minute high resistance give-it-all-you've-got blastathon. Repeat until you've lost the plot, that kind of thing.

I managed about two thirds of my 'normal' rate, which is in itself about two thirds of what I could manage six months ago when I was 9lbs lighter. So, on the run up to the wedding, when everyone else would be dieting themselves into oblivion, and with two weeks to go before my first dress fitting, I've gained two thirds of a stone, lost half my fitness and misplaced the willpower to not eat an entire bag of Haribo sweets over the course of an afternoon.

I actually felt nauseous after the gym like people who are warned they're going to have a heart attack by 30 feel. Joy.

I then of course had a sugar craving so I satisfied it with fruit salad - at least that feels faintly virtuous. Poor Ash has gum-ache from a sharp bit of cereal that pierced his gum this morning, and is feeling quite bad himself. He recently had some very bad news about someone he used to know and is veering back and forth from feeling normal to feeling down... I'm not sure I'm being a very good support, mostly just offering hugs and the odd (true, and well-meant, but still twee-sounding) platitude. He says I'm helping; I suppose I ought to just believe that.

On the plus side, I've knocked out some of a post for BitchBuzz.

I should do more work now. Byesie bye.

Some days just conspire against you to bring out the worst in everything.

Today's catalogue of joy:

1. I wake up to discover that, in a fit of domesticity, Ashley has put a load of washing on. Including, in the back pocket of his jeans, my debit card. Who knows what that does to magnetic strips?

2. I have the energy of a dead ostrich. I want to start going to the gym reg'lar like and being fitter and healthier and (hell, yeah, I'll say it) thinner but every time I vow to start that process I cop out and crawl home to eat and read and sleep. What is wrong with me? I know that exercise breeds energy, but where do you find the initial energy in the first place?

3. Ash gave me soup he made (see also: Domesticity) to take in for lunch. It leaked. Though thankfully not as badly as it could have.

4. Mum called me in tears over her stressful plight to find the right outfit for my wedding. Too many personal confidence issues of hers here for me to divulge publicly, but I am upset for her whilst also thinking she's being silly.

5. After a frantic but productive end to last week, today is just dull drudgery.

6. I have posts to write for BitchBuzz but am woefully behind and can't KEEP apologising and promising to fix it. I just have to damn fix it.

All is pants. And yet not.

You get it.

The End.

So, the emails are swinging back and forth somewhat like this.

MIL: Are you coming to E's for Rosh Hashanah? Do you want to come to mine the next day? Did you realise Sunday marks three months to the wedding?

Me: Yes, please! Are you sure you want to go to the trouble, though? That reminds me, Sunday is my mother's name day.

MIL: What's a name day?

Me: It's the saint's day associated with your name. Saint Alexander's is the 30th of August, so that's my name day. My mother's name derives from the name for the Holy Cross, so her name day is on Holy Cross Day, the 14th of September.

MIL: Interesting... Oh must tell you, my optician down the road, his wife gave birth to a little girl last week,  they are Asian, anyway, they have named her - begins with T but it also means Princess in Greek.

I have been laughing solidly, tears in my eyes, for the last five minutes straight. I called Ash to tell him and he thought I was upset about something cos I couldn't get my words out in anything other than a strangled squawk.

It's like an all-in-the-family round of Not Always Right. These are the moments when I remember why I adore her.

Wedding planning continues apace, with our vows chosen (we went for the traditional required statements, and that's it. Why make people sick having to listen to you promise to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every second Tuesday for life?) and everything important booked. The dressmaker for the bridesmaids dresses is popping over to the house for a chat on Sunday and that just leaves the flower girls' dresses which I'm not remotely worried about.

Talk about grown up, though. My mother-in-law was chatting to the eldest bridesmaid, Georgia, about the day. She's 7. Going on 45.

MIL:            Are you looking forward to being a bridesmaid?
Georgia:     Of course!
MIL:            What sort of dress would you like?
Georgia:     Whatever Alex wants us to wear.

I liked the kid anyway, she's beautiful, smart and thoughtful which is a winning combination in anyone, but now I like her even more.

Last night we also went to see a diamond setter / ring designer / jeweller who's a friend of the family. MIL has - with tremendous generosity - offered me part of a multi-gemstone ring for me to make part of my wedding ring. Which means if it works I'll have a row of diamonds, eternity ring style, on one side and a plain band on the other, so I can wear it as bling or more muted as I choose. He's studying it now to see if it can be done. Even if I can't, I'll be eternally grateful that she offered - it's not about the diamonds but the sentiment. What a way to show that I'm part of the family; she offered it to me because the ring was left to her by one of Ashley's favourite relatives who adored him.

I also met his wonderfully mad aunt at the weekend, who is just brilliant. She's a headteacher at a private boarding school and her husband is equally lovely. They have ducks! And a gorgeous cat! Plus she's an amazing cook and has a sense of humour about everything. What's not to like? She was going to play the harp at the wedding but can't get the instrument down to Oxford which is such a shame.

Sometimes, despite all the aggravation life and hormones can throw at me, I do know I am one of luckiest people on earth.

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.