meetings, busyness and challenge

Bursts of activity.

Sleeping.

Thinking.

Writing.

Preparing.

Pre meetings.

Meetings.

Organising.

Cajoling.

Being creative, grown up, calm and persuasive (still working on this one).

Recuperating with cake.

Hard sums.

Making sense of potential funder speak.

Tech crises (hint: leave the soggy item of hardware in a tub of rice for an extra day after you think it’s totally irrepairable; otherwise, you may replace it, only to find the blimmin thing working again. Who needs that expense?)

Celebrating good news.

Revising spanish vocabulary.

Filling up a diary.

Day time snoozing.

Returning ill advised shoe purchase.

Hours in the phone shop.

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I’ll get back to you when I’ve figured out what I’m on about…

no reason in particular

There’s nothing special about today.

It’s a wet Friday.

I have a list of things to be doing.

Busy things.

Oh, very important things.

Boring things.

All the things.

Then I read Isobel’s beautiful post. As I reread it, I heard the song playing on the radio.

I had a little wallow, a wee drip and a sniffle. It happens when I least expect it. When I have other plans.

I thought about Herself, and the woman I spoke to last night whose husband was recently diagnosed with PSP. I thought about those more recently bereaved than I, and those dealing with the ongoing chaos and firefighting that accompanies a parent’s decline.

In my middle age, I want to still be able to do something with my late parents. I’d love to hold them, tease them, walk on the beach with them.

Instead, I miss them. I blog about them. I volunteer because of our experiences.

I’m a 47 year old woman, still holding hands with the grown ups.

the day before

We didn’t even make it to the hotel without some minor crises: Ditzy D spilled coffee all over herself before we got on the train, Treasurer nearly lost a leg when the taxi pulled off as she was getting in, and Chairperson was so heavily laden with posters, leaflets and tshirts that we feared she may drop some of the sparkly stuff.

Probably because Chairperson and I had been supremely annoying in the build up to the conference, our offers of help for the afternoon set up were politely declined. This provided an excellent opportunity for window shopping or a pre party bath and snooze. (I’d hoped for the former, but enjoyed the latter.)

We had our charity first birthday party- cake, sparkles and giggling- a happy half hour of silliness before we went downstairs for grown up mingling.

Downstairs, it felt a bit like being at a family wedding- I knew some people but wanted to get to know the others; we have the same issues and concerns and will maybe know each other for years after this.

I met Jamie, featured in this video, who lives with Ehlers- Danlos Syndrome. The film is informative, but I learned much more about him, his world, and the impact of his condition, as we blathered in the bar for a bit.

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Doesn’t the valuable stuff often happen round the edges? Away from the pomp and formality, where we’re relaxed and informal.

Luckily, unlike some weddings, nobody lost the run of themselves and all went to bed at a reasonable hour.

We volunteers are professional after all.

wise words from one so young

Ambling along, me and the two Jakes. Our Jake, the snorey, smelly bundle most often found under foot. Jake Bugg, the teenager providing musical accompaniment for this morning’s walk.

Humming along through the streets, past the bakery (it’s been fancy flats for a few years, but the bricks appear to hold the memory, the merest hint, of many yummy smells) and along the river. Each of us in our own world.

Then, a pause. Play that again. What’s it called?

Common sense from an unexpected source.

Girl, you’ve been forgetting
Just how special you really are
And I try to remind you
Sometimes I can’t find you
But the truth is in your heart

So write a note to yourself

Girl, don’t beat yourself up
Your best is good enough
So pick the pen up

So write a note to yourself,
A note to yourself
And don’t be cruel,
‘Cause things do happen
And you know it’s not your fault
Don’t cover your wounds with the salt

Girl, let me tell you what I see
You’ve got to believe me
You’re a thing of beauty

Girl, put it in an envelope
Put it in the post
It’ll come back to your door

So write a note to yourself,
A note to yourself
And don’t be cruel,
‘Cause things do happen
And you know it’s not your fault
Don’t cover your wounds with the salt

And write a note to yourself
And read the note to yourself