April 22, 2019

On a still bright morning

cerebral palsy, Happiness Matters 4 Comments

On a still bright morning

On a still bright morning after a weekend of sunlight and warmth, roused early as my better half leaves for his first day back at work after the Easter holiday, I put on a load of laundry and spend time dawdling outdoors on the front step, in the full glare of welcome sunlight. As I watch people slamming into cars and driving away, or arriving home with armfuls of shopping, I reflect, how little time any of us spends outside these days.

Certainly, we travel, but usually that is to or from the shops or work, in a car or a bus. Rarely do any of us actually spend time outdoors. And I do wonder what that means for us. We have, after all, evolved to live outside, and I know that when I catch sunlight, my mood and my energy improve. As I carry recycling outside to the collection point, I linger and marvel at my good fortune on a day like today…

While negotiating our high front step and smiling into the low sun, I twist my knee rather painfully, which takes me by surprise. Then, noticing what I’m doing wrong and making the effort for small changes – so that I sit down carefully with my feet and legs set out straight in front of me instead of twisted to the side – is important because when we have to manage a disability, we are already working at the outside limits of what most bodies can tolerate.

I’m lucky that I have the time to notice what I’m doing wrong, and how I can improve things so that my right knee, which still carries more than its fair share of my weight, will have a chance to recover. Our bodies, like our minds, recover more quickly when allowed to keep moving, so that is what I hope to do, and still aim for.

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

April 5, 2019

Easter Holidays

Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 2 Comments

Easter Holidays


It’s the Easter holidays, and I’m taking a rest for a couple of weeks, to be with family and enjoy time off with them. No dramatic trips planned to far-flung destinations, but perhaps a few days “here and there” as hubby likes to say.

For whatever reason, I seem to have had a cold or a sniffle for several months, which I can only attribute to being chronically tired. So I shall take my chance to rest fully, and only visit my blog and social media occasionally.

I used to resist holiday times, thinking, “Darn it, now I’ll have to work twice as hard,” but that is to miss major opportunities to have fun and relax. I have been that woman who has been given a gift, only to look past it and think, “If only I could have that one over there, instead. The one I can’t reach, the one I’m always running to catch up to…”

No more. From now on, I thank goodness for all the gifts that comes my way, noticing how much easier it is to decide, and then allow life to provide.

I was on a train journey, and thought, “I would really love a drink”. Immediately, along came the drinks trolley from which I was served a large cup of hot water. Then, when I had finished it, I thought, “I would really like a dustbin for my empty cup,” and along came another server with a large bag for collecting rubbish. Arriving back at the train station after a long day, I was thought, “I would really love a lift home,” and a friend was there, waiting to collect another friend, and she offered me a lift home!

I really enjoy watching how this process plays out. It seems to work best when I make my request, and then let it go out and come back to me.

This Easter I would like us all to have a peaceful time filled with blessings, joy and laughter.

Thanks for reading and for all your generous support.

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

April 3, 2019

I got my mojo back

Happiness Matters, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 2 Comments

I got my mojo back

I got my mojo back after reading another page of A Course in Miracles.

Which reminds me – again – that the mind never sleeps and that there is no such thing as an idle thought. Since the mind is always working, and since it cannot stop working, it might be a good idea to use mind energy more productively, to help myself. Now, there’s a novel idea.

For sure, we can and often do use our thoughts, our brain-power, destructively. But it turns out to be surprisingly easy, and diverting, to use it for lighter purposes – to be relaxed, happy, to have fun and be immersed – however briefly – in the joy of something new and pleasing.

It turns out there is always something more enjoyable I can turn my sights to: a colourful sky, a nice piece of fruit, a fluffy guinea-pig squeaking for attention, a piece of music that makes me fizz with excitement… And, perhaps when I can’t raise a smile, I should maybe just accept that I’m exhausted and would love to sleep for a while. How many times have we berated ourselves and felt bad because we are simply tired? I wonder about that.

I discover it is remarkably easy to be happy. But I’ve got used, as I suspect many of us have, to supposing that I ‘have’ to get upset when I read awful things in the news. In fact, it is possible to sympathise deeply and genuinely without joining in the suffering by feeling bad. A liberating discovery.

Thanks so much for listening.

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

April 1, 2019

If I can’t say no

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 8 Comments

If I can’t say no

I have a hard time saying no. I don’t want to disappoint people, so I make myself unhappy. Right? Wrong!

Reading books I don’t like, for example, that’s a big one. But honestly, how hard can it be? Read the book, post a review – or not – and that’s that. Except that it takes another several hours out of life – my life – reading another book I don’t especially want to. And it’s become another bad habit.

I’m not a book reviewer, though of course I delight in reviewing books I love. I would want to do that in any case, knowing how much I welcome reviews from supportive readers. (I welcome reviews from unsupportive readers too, but that is another story.) And generally, though I welcome reviews, I very rarely solicit them, as I feel that a book out in the public fends for itself, by and large.

But, partly because of my intensive stint of work on Authonomy, I’ve had to relearn how to read books for sheer pleasure, separating editing and critique from what I am reading for enjoyment, as far as I can. A process which has taken a few years – far longer than I expected it to.

So, of course, I should say NO to books that I don’t want to read, without having to list the reasons why not, or justify my choice to myself. Since the reasons are only for me and my conscience…

After all the hard work and the heartache to reach this day, if I can’t say No to what I don’t want, what has been the point of all my previous introspection and soul-searching? Saying No is absolutely key to getting around, finally, to doing what I want to do. Which, since it take effort and time, I deserve to prioritise.

It is not a mistake or a failure to lay aside a job that makes me feel heavy. It is, in fact, the way in which to make a happier, more soothing life, in which I find myself being kinder to myself and other people too. What’s not to like?

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

March 29, 2019

Felicity and Thomas

Flash Fiction & Short Stories 0 Comments

Felicity and Thomas

Today, having no-one else to please, and as the breeze wafted through the house on this warm, autumnal day, redolent of excitements chased away, Felicity watched Thomas, and Thomas saw Felicity, appreciating the closely-known signs that she was content: the smile that almost shone at her mouth, the way her curves relaxed in that dress – which he had not seen before, had he? – the sound her shoes made, complacently skiffing across the hall carpet.

“Shall we go somewhere?” he asked, greatly daring.

“Yes, oh yes, Lets!”

“Where would you like?”

Thomas had no clue that costings, prices might make any difference – one reason, Felicity realised, why she had loved him. His constant patina of worry over his bank balance never translated into meanness or parsimony, but rested as a frown might, on his forehead, only wanting to be soothed away with her smile.

So she smiled, relieved that her judgement of men had been good (in a jaded girl so young) and said, “Oooh, anywhere you fancy, why not?” and resisted adding, “It needn’t be expensive…”
“The Hydro? They are doing a weekend rate, just now.”
“Perfect. Two nights?”
“Yes, otherwise…” What would be the point of one night only?

He phoned the hotel while she packed a few clothes into a large suitcase, three quarters empty, that left room enough for a few hopes, perhaps a book or two, some ideas.

“Let’s go!”

Their weekend was a success. They could float apart, and come together when they chose, for meals, chats, for the in-house cinema. When he fell asleep in the dark, holding her hand, she reflected that nothing much had changed in their twenty years together. A tenderness surfaced, a tolerance that answered, “He may be a nuisance at times, but I’m so glad that he chooses…to stay with me.”

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

March 27, 2019

Thomas looked at himself

Flash Fiction & Short Stories, Women's fiction and chic lit 0 Comments

Thomas looked at himself

Thomas looked at himself in the full-length mirrored wardrobe. This morning, with Felicity up and doing, he had a rare chance to get dressed in daylight, and he checked his outfit with pleasure. Not quite sure about the pink. Maybe it was too much? He hadn’t time to change. Maybe it would be all right.

What? Oh dear. Felicity, as usual was absolutely on point. Deadly accurate, her sharp observations were about as enjoyable as walking barefoot across burning sand. But she was right, he acknowledged. She was always so right.

To shake off that heaviness, he left quickly. His arrival early at work was met with favour, but not the pink shirt, on which his co-worker’s eyes – all right, that was Alicia – lingered mockingly. At least she spared his feelings. For that he was grateful, and smiled with genuine feeling.

His genuine feelings had long been buried beneath the silt of matrimonial disappointment and routine. He didn’t mind, he preferred not to feel things too deeply. He was traditional, not one given to outbursts of emotion, though there had been times when his feet could have left the floor, he was so happy. Now, he was content not to be targeted. Unhappy at work, he mistook his wife’s froideur for indifference, failing to understand – no matter how often she told him! – that a certain woman needs excitement, drama and a bit of tension to make her feel alive. The line of love had gone saggy, no electricity.

And then, suddenly, a miracle! There she stood before him. Beautiful, alive, her hair washed and freshly cut, her clothes a step up from her usual, bright, fizzing with excitement. What an astonishing transformation, which he watched with pleasure. For a month, exactly when the weather was at its warmest over Summer, she danced before him, dazzling and lovely as he had remembered her.

Then as the Autumn came in, that season of mists, she wilted, and he was sad with her; while she looked at him kindly.

***

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

March 25, 2019

Felicity examined her hands

Flash Fiction & Short Stories, Women's fiction and chic lit 0 Comments

Felicity examined her hands, a displacement activity to shield her from the truth that she needn’t upset her husband, but that she would anyway.

“Darling,” she said, because she thought she had the right to say what she thought, “That shirt doesn’t suit you. It makes you look fat. Why not wear something a little less…?”

“I haven’t time to change,” he apologised, looking stricken. “Sorry, I have to go.” And leave he did, probably sooner than he might have, without a farewell kiss or stroke of the cheek. Pity, but then, Felicity knew he would be in a hurry, and unconsciously liked to taunt her husband, because he evinced confidence where she seethed envy. Not a match made in heaven, but a tinder set to blow, she liked to assume.

Felicity was charming, everyone agreed, affectionate to her husband in public, but cold and dismissive in private. Oh, she worked hard, doing the housework and catering for the family, but often that was simply to fuel her own grudge and so that she might manufacture something to complain about. Pancakes for tea? No problem, darling, but I’ll never forgive you for forcing me to sweat over a hot hob. Smile? Not now, I’m busy.            

Until the day that Felicity met the man of her dreams. Yes, she had dreamed about him. Had known he would show, one day when she least expected him. There he was in his dark suit, impeccably tasteful shoes, marvellous head of hair. He said he loved her, took her out to lunch and afterwards, held her like she’d never – never! Never! – been held before. The sexual restraint she had been used to was so utterly English – like those poor women you read about in Mary Wesley novels – and for a while she felt transmuted, continental, Argentinian, maybe; all long legs, high heels and deep understanding.

Then, in a moment of rare compassion she returned the favour when he needed her, helped him with something, and suddenly he was cold, distant. The magic, he said – no more damsel in distress, fluttering her eyelashes and mewling prettily – had gone. Pity her, he was away like mist on a hot day.

And husband? Well, he noticed the change, ascribed it to the season, the weather, and loved his wife with more consideration than usual. Exhausted from her adventures, she looked differently at his steady thoughtfulness, and thanked heaven.

***

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

March 21, 2019

To throw in the towel

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', cerebral palsy, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Memoir, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 4 Comments

Lately I’ve wanted – despite the joy of being at the Book Fair – to throw in the towel on my writing. To say, “I gave it my best shot, and I’ve had enough.” But what stops me is the realisation that this is one field of endeavour that I can honestly call my own.

True, it owes its genesis to the generosity and encouragement of others, in particular, my husband. But having cultivated this particular creative garden, it has taken root and is well established. So I don’t feel justified in pulling it all out and leaving behind bare earth. And if I did, how would I spend the time that not writing would free up? Would I have the courage to do what I want, or would I expend even more of my efforts in helping others?

I realise my cogitations make me sound very selfish. I’ve just had four days away from home, exploring to my heart’s content. But doing that, I have been able to notice how lopsided my ‘ordinary’ life has become, how joyless; and just how much of my effort has been invested for others. I say, automatically, “I don’t mind,” but actually, I mind very much. And however often I may assume it doesn’t matter, clearly my body has other ideas: I am forced to recon with my giving tendencies when I am sore, exhausted and depressed.

I suppose I have to be more honest about what I would like to do. But I’m not used to it, not really. Hubby says, “Go out and have fun…!” which for him might be easy to decide and do. Whereas I sit quietly wondering what that might entail, pondering what fun might be. Going to the cinema? Not very active. Going shopping? Yes, but that’s a consumerist effort. Reading a book? I recon I’ve done enough of that for a while. Watching television? No, I want to get outside. Go for a walk? Yes, somewhere nice, maybe… I would love to go for a walk, at my pace, in a wooded place, where I don’t have to fret that I’m late, or in the way, but can enjoy great lungfuls of cool, fresh air.

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

March 19, 2019

Four times more effort

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', cerebral palsy, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 4 Comments

Four times more effort

The London Book Fair this year was the most enjoyable I’ve experienced. I met some truly delightful people with whom I hope to keep in touch, and came away with lots of new and refreshing ideas.

Chatting as one does at these events with like-minded and generous souls, we take away different thoughts, and ideas that stay with us. Like this one from a new friend, that, apparently, for a person with impairments – like mine, I presume – it takes five times more effort to do anything than for an average bod. In my case, perhaps four times as much effort, or three; but the point was made, and made me think.

If it takes me four times more effort to undertake a physical task, which takes me three times as long, how does that impact on my life? It must mean that I will, probably, get less done in an average day than you would, and that my efforts need to be carefully considered. To put it bluntly, doing jobs I dislike takes me so much effort, that I should not do them. I should spend my time doing what I enjoy.

Well, yes, of course, we all should. Doing what we enjoy is the key to our success. But I suppose my point is that, given the energy and time and thought expended, I should really never do jobs I dislike. And if I have to do them, I must, for the sake of my sanity, find ways to do them that I can enjoy, or at least, appreciate: I do notice that I am slower and more laboured than others, a realisation which is hard, sometimes, to accept.

On the one hand bolstered by having this understood – Wowee! At last someone recognises the sweat that goes into this! – I am rather depressed by having it confirmed: How much effort have I wasted doing jobs I hate? I mean, we all have to do things we don’t like, but in the normal course of events, “other people” – how I hate that phrase – can do them much faster and with less physical and emotional investment than me, so in fairness, they should do them, while I put my efforts into being happy.

Which raises more questions that need answers, like, “Why haven’t I?” and “When will I?” and “What is stopping me?” I seem to have spent an inordinate amount of my effort and time doing things for other people. Of course, again, we all do. But how much is too much?

Thanks for listening.

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr

March 15, 2019

Online services

Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 3 Comments

Online services

I notice increasingly, that the convenience and ease of online services so often touted by the banks and public services, the local authorities and the inland revenue, the DSS, is simply a way to pass on a printing job to the end user. Which obviously makes things quicker and easier for suppliers, but not necessarily for us.

It sounds easy, and, with practice and applications, working online can be. We find a computer, click on a link to a service, create an account with an email address, password, and then we have access. Computer literacy is hard-won, not always obvious. And bingo, we can apply for passports and driving licenses on-line. No need to ever leave the house.

But all that does take thought, planning and a printer, preferably with a built-in scanner. And because of the rules about accounts and records, we often find ourselves printing off advice notes, leaflets, ‘how to’ manuals, tax returns, bank statements. “Make it easier!” my bank tells me every time I log on, “Get your statements delivered to your IN box!” Which means, yes, I have to print them. Save them postage, why not? Good idea…

Except that care is required when acquiring services. It is very easy to fall prey to the optimism of telephone selling, (“Only £25 a month…”) which is very hard to verify at the same time with any ‘online paperwork’. You can sign on with a consent, a mumble down the phone, but while doing that, it is almost impossible to verify the cost of international calls, (fifty pence a minute at full rates…What??) The most banal commitments can spiral out of control with equal ease.

So be warned. When acquiring a new, shiny online service, check the small print first, before agreeing on the phone that it is a good idea. Read and check any paperwork first, and think of some useful questions you need to ask, (Eg: does your phone package include the cost of international calls?”) before any agreements are printed off and your “Welcome, New User!” package arrives by online speedmail.

Please share:

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblrFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedintumblr
1 2 3 4 5 >»
This site uses cookies More info