The snare has been broken


, , , ,

“We have escaped like a bird from the fowler’s snare; the snare has been broken, and we have escaped”. Psalm 124v7


Escape… it’s what this blog has been about. I started it at a point of deep frustration, trapped by circumstances with no possible exit. I was thrashing about emotionally, looking for ways to cope, ways to accept the boundaries that having a son with a brain tumour put on us. We had to ‘stay put’ in our too-large family home in order to be near him. A shadow lay over the future and planning seemed impossible. In addition my husband’s working hours left us little time together: I was lonely and at a loose end.

Having never had a career I’ve been trying to re-invent myself for the past few years, desperate to find a new lease of life like so many of my friends seem to have done since their kids become independent. But under the unusual circumstances, with our grown children still needing us emotionally and financially while we are all simultaneously grieving over all that has been lost and wading through the associated depression… well, it’s been difficult to find the energy and direction required. I guess many people have similar issues for various reasons of their own – it’s the stuff of life. We are all trapped by situations, emotions, financial constraints, responsibilities. Escaping down memory lane or into a beautiful garden, going away on holiday for a while or taking in a movie – all these things can help a bit, as I’ve discovered and blogged about at length.

The writing itself has been a wonderful therapeutic outlet – though I still don’t really understand the impetus to share one’s deepest feelings with an unknown audience via the internet! I have had a love/hate relationship with it, which I guess is why I’ve stopped blogging over the past months, since completing the crazy Haiti journey posts. Writer’s block so quickly takes hold – all that feeling stupid and “who cares anyway?” and “what’s the point?

Shaving my head and going to Haiti… hmmm, that was a strange way of ‘escaping’ and no mistake! Perhaps the extreme circumstances of our lives actually led to it – a project to be involved in, an all-consuming venture that took my hair and heart: it certainly gave us something bigger to think about! Anyway, through the recovery and growth of my grey hair and into this new year another plan was forming, again born out of desperation and the longing to escape…

As a result here I am on a warm summer day, sitting outside the beautiful classical building of New Walk museum in the centre of Leicester, making use of their Costa coffee and Cloud Wifi, with a perfect view of the Georgian house opposite where we now live during the week. Ha – unbelievable as it seemed – we have escaped!

It’s only a rented flat paid for by having lodgers in our family home, but from here the breadwinner can easily walk to work and being right in the heart of the city we can enjoy it’s restaurants and entertainments in the evenings. What a gift! On top of that the flat is beautiful and we love it – a haven of peace most of the time and a place of rest.

Thinking outside the box, doing something crazy again – despite the risk, the cost, the extra work – has led to a new lease of life. 11 miles away, Sam remains well and we can see him at weekends – when I can also enjoy my garden without the noise of the nursery children next door. If he needs us or wants a change of scenery the train ride is very easy, 30 minutes door to door. There are still things to go home for – broadband, TV, a washing machine – home comforts and a longstanding community: the big old house of 13+ years is still our home for now. But meanwhile – this is my outside office extension 😉

Here in the sunshine I have found some peace – and so at last I am drawn back to this page in an attempt to tie up the loose ends of the past 8 months of silence and make some sense of it all.

Look: I’m actually writing again!



A life-changing choice

Headshave for Haiti

This time next week – local time, not UK time, though I haven’t worked that difference out yet – we will be on the plane from in Miami to Port au Prince. As it gets closer the weight of what we are doing seems to grow. It is more a sense of responsibility than fear now – though Martin has been dreaming that all the white people in the team get killed and eaten! His anxiety is coming out in the night, whereas I am feeling a physical weight as if my “pet elephant” is sitting on my stomach and I have to keep stopping to take deep breaths and tell myself not to panic!

It’s so important to remind myself I am one little woman and I cannot ‘save the world’, nor am I being asked to. The enormity of the task can easily overwhelm one’s sense of reality…

View original post 1,047 more words

The elephant in the room

Mental gymnastics as the date for our trip to Haiti draws nearer. It seems that just as with a pregnancy the baby is in many ways already here!

Headshave for Haiti

It’s got to that point in our preparation for this trip to Haiti that I am heartily sick of thinking about it, working out what I still need to do, walking out the daily journey until we fly on 13th November. At least today is 1st November and we are in the actual month now – but part of me wants it to hurry up and get here and another part wants it to not be happening!

Inadequacy has to be par for the course when the problems we face are so big – there’s no shame in that. Dealing with those feelings is something else, though. I want to be FREE of negativity but struggle as I might, lo and behold, I cannot liberate myself! Welcome to the world of the captive, waiting for someone else to come along with a key.

So I sneak around my mental prison…

View original post 664 more words

Why are you shaving your head, Mummy?


, , , , , , ,

It’s 2nd October – one of those grey, damp autumn mornings that depress the soul. I can hear the school children arriving in cars, the sound of tyres through puddles, young voices calling to each other in the street. I retreat back to bed with my large mug of tea. I do know I am very fortunate to be able to do this – a brief thought for my friends who are over-stretched teachers, my husband who is has been seeing patients in his clinic since 7.30am. Can I use the excuse that I am not feeling very well again? I have ironing and shopping to do: it’s just a ‘not really’ kind of day.

Perhaps because of the longterm lack of 9-5 structure in my life I have always created my own goals and projects to give purpose and meaning to the passage of time – I would rather say I am ‘self-employed’ than a mere ‘housewife’, as most women juggling life at home certainly are, they’re just unpaid! Anyway, on this rather miserable Wednesday morning the countdown is on once again… in 3 days time I will be having all my hair shaved off.

Why? I have lots of very good reasons I can give you, of course: raising money for a good cause, not wanting to go to a poverty stricken country flaunting my crazy red hair and standing out more than I already will as a white woman, trying to put myself in the place of those who have nothing. Have a look at Headshave for Haiti for all that and ways you can respond to it – because giving up my hair is, of course, the most personal of responses. But WHY do I always have to be so extreme?

Goodbye to all that

Goodbye to all that

My daughter admitted to me last weekend that when a young friend asked her why her mummy is shaving her head she replied, “Because she likes to be the centre of attention”! Owch! It was one of those bitter ‘introvert child lashing out at embarrassing extrovert parent’ moments and she at least confessed and apologised – but it gave me pause for thought. Not for long of course… if having bright red hair all this time hasn’t been me shouting “LOOK AT ME!” what is it?! “Look at me, I’m different, I’m me, I’m crazy, I want to express myself and I don’t care what you think!” I like looking like this! Rebecca had probably hit the nail on the head, as usual: my answer was that, as I clearly am the centre of attention, I just have to use what I’ve got: “Look at me now: I’m BALD!” 😉

And I really will be in 4 days time. It’s like being pregnant for the first time when you can’t imagine actually having the baby in your arms. All the preparation is focussed on getting to and through the labour but then… at the moment of birth a completely new phase begins. It will be too late to regret it then! In fact, just as with pregnancy, it already is too late – a process is underway. I am not giving back the money that’s been given for Haiti – already quite a lot of money! – so of course I have to go ahead with my part of the deal.

Never a dull moment, eh? Perhaps I am doing this to avoid boredom, to give me something to focus on when we are still no nearer ‘escaping’. Going to Haiti this November is a long-standing dream of my husbands – I didn’t want to go there. Why would anyone want to go somewhere your life could be in danger from disease or violence? But I am doing it for him, and because the conviction has finally hit me that something should be done and because we can and probably we should. Perhaps everyone in the rich west should be exposed to utter poverty at least once in our comfortable lives – especially when there is an argument that says our society has been built on the backs of their forefathers’ labour in the slave plantations. We have a safe enough set-up in place – a team of people and connections on the island who will look after us. We can have inoculations that do little more than hurt our arms for a few days (though the rabies jab does cost £155 each!). It’s time to take the risk or die never having had the adventure.

I am giving my hair because I can’t run a marathon or climb a mountain – I can’t even make cakes! It is really all I have to give – and if my daughter is right, I may as well take advantage of my position and take as many people with me as possible! As I see it everyone should have the opportunity to invest in this along with us: I’ve even written an article for the local paper and put posters all over town… the whole hog, all or nothing 😉 Sponsor me!

Anyway, my hair will grow back – but not bright red. I’ve planned it 40 days before we go to Haiti so that so that it will grow back sufficiently to prevent me being a bald spectacle! People say I can dye it again afterwards, but perhaps after visiting the poorest country in the west I won’t feel like having bright red hair again – head-shaving itself is a sign of mourning in African culture. On the big countdown to my dreaded 60th birthday it’s probably time I started wearing a hair colour appropriate for my age anyway. Perhaps I have just been looking for an excuse and am glad it is not Sam’s death. Perhaps there is even an element of self-harm in it, my depressive anger coming out… People say I’m brave, but I don’t feel it: we’ll see how brave I am on Saturday night.

Deep down this is really about identity. I have been Redhead for some years… anyone can be ‘grey old head’. I am going to find out who I am, hiding under this mop. I am not going to be able to distract from the wrinkles and blemishes and although my friends say I will look great, I know I will not look as great as I have done and no, you can’t compare me to the young and beautiful Jesse J. I am facing the effects of ageing without props – and I am very aware that in Haiti very many people don’t even make it to 56 years old.

Who am I really? And will I be able to walk in both humility and freedom in the historic land of slaves? Because both are necessary if we are to carry any sort of message of life.

September again


, , ,

I remember September. Sitting in Saturday morning stillness it’s as if the new day is knocking on my window, calling for a playmate. What a day! Blustery clouds and bright, bright sunshine throwing intense shadows – that slight chill in the air that leaves condensation marks when the bedroom curtains are drawn back and tells us we have left summer behind: there’s no doubt August has been elbowed aside.


It’s funny, this is always the month I don’t want to see, but I fall in love with her again when she arrives. It’s the lovely clothes she wears, I think – the way she hides October behind her until the last minute. How can the herald of death and endings be a new beginning? Yet it always is.

Certainly, after the promise of Spring and the glory of July days, August is just too full-blown for my liking – she can’t hold herself in, she droops in the heat and swoons under the onslaught of showers, she stops walking and just stands there still and sweating like a menopausal woman. She quickly transforms to old age, like the ghost of Christmas present turning grey before he disappears. The march of time can never be stopped, no matter how much we long or mourn for it.

It is sad to see the lazy days pass, the opportunities for holiday weekends and leisurely evenings in the garden, but maybe it is time for a bit of order and focus again. The flowers have finished, desiccated leaves begin to drift down and last night it was getting dark at 8pm – perhaps I should just put my summer dresses away for another year, store away the memories and photographs, set my face for what comes next. Put on your work clothes, the school traffic is back – get on with it.

I certainly know what comes next for us this year: I have made a great big hook and hung myself on it! That’s partly because it’s always good to have something to focus on and work towards – to give life structure and meaning. Is it the Autumn term, the run-up to Christmas? Is it the countdown to 2014? What new initiatives or evening classes will carry us forward? How do any of us make the most of the time we have been given? Sometimes I look at people and wonder what they think is going to happen… are they just going to carry on going to the shops and taking the grandchildren to the park until one day they just… die? No – this is about making the most of the time we have left.

September is another month to make decisions – to choose life: every day sacred. Looking back – ah, I love looking back, analysing and appreciating – the summer has been busy and full, but today, here and now, another empty space opens up in the silence. How to make the best of it? How to live life to the full? I have what I might call ‘work’ to do, my project is now all prepared and ready to advertise – but perhaps today I should simply go out and play with September, to celebrate what is passing… and what is yet to come.

Here’s the link to my project if you want to know: I’ll be having my head shaved 4 weeks today and counting! Well… at least I am doing something to make my life count… are you?!

Stepping sideways


, , , , , ,

As I tried to express in my last post, I haven’t felt so full of words lately. Well….perhaps that’s not strictly true – I am still as full of the churning emotions, images and longings that want to find an outlet and still wanting to write: it’s not writer’s block. It’s just that the words have surprised me by not coming out in the same way. It’s obviously good – nay, essential – to go with the creative flow. But it’s also very frustrating when you think you’ve found your métier and know what you’re doing and then you don’t again. Happens to me all the time! As they say, ‘Constant change is here to stay’ – I’d better ‘get with the programme!’

So it was back in March that I started a poetry blog with my on-line friend, Ray. He nagged me to do some ‘proper writing’ and I thought a lot of his stuff deserved a wider audience. And now… I have to admit it – I find that’s how I prefer to write. Instead of cathartic prose pouring onto the page, stories to be told, details to be carefully described, THIS happens:

Why poetry?

There are many styles of writing

These days I prefer mine concentrated,

Thick with metaphor, sometimes sickly sweet:

Forced rhymes poured into a mould

Are turned out to wobble with emotion

And glisten with colourful adjectives.

As a child I didn’t like blancmange

But these days they’ve upgraded it to crème brulée

Or pannacotta with fruit coulis on the side


I’d like to think my word creations can ignore the competition

See off celebrity chefs with their distinct distilled ideas

No more for me the shading in of background facts,

Longwinded detailed description of the story-teller’s art,

All fat’s been cut away to leave them lean

No space for odd extraneous thoughts

My rambling tangents so beloved before

The therapy of pouring out the soul

To exorcise, express, elucidate…


The kernel of the thing, the heart,

Those perfect words particularly picked

Employing discipline of mind required to choose

And wield the scalpel to remove what takes away

To prune back hard and liberate the flow

Include some private references only I can understand

Alliterate and radiate (and smile)


And stay alert – the country needs lerts

attention to detail

attention to detail

There you have it! I don’t even know if it makes any sense or is any good – but it is proving strangely satisfying 😉 If you want, come follow my Ray and Redhead blog – there’s more getting posted over there than here now and I can’t just keep re-blogging my poems here- it feels like cheating!

Then there’s this other thing… The funny thing about longing to escape is you don’t know which route will open up. I’ve tried memory lane and escapism and raging and travel; then there’s acceptance/resignation/depression (all mixed up together). But recently another outlet has shown itself and as Sam son remains well I seem to have the head- and heart-space to engage with it.

I suppose you’d call it altruism or philanthropy – recognising that the needs out there in the world are greater than my internal ones. Yes, of course I have known this and it has been one of the things that has held us in – along with gratitude for the many blessings we do enjoy. But now it seems to be time to take some positive action and give away… whatever I have got to give. It seems I can escape from the internal struggles by looking and moving outwards – at least for a time, at least for now.

So we have a new project for the autumn – a crazy project. And if you want to know about it, guess what? There’s another blog! Come on over to Headshave for Haiti and find out all about it. I’ll see you there… 🙂

Poetry please


, , , , , ,

I’ve tried the ‘no holds barred’ approach
Let flow the words in melodrama, nonsense verse,
And emptied my prosaic soul until
The barrel-scraping set the reader’s teeth on edge.
It’s good to make an end, resign and let things die;
Without the silent gaps between
Those senseless serried syllables cease to say
What I intended them to mean when I let fly
So silence reigns: to everything its time
If winter really does give way to spring
The ending is as valid as the start
To make the space for treasures of the heart
To mix some wisdom with my wordy art
A painter’s palette probing pain with gentle brush,
But having weary patience now
And waiting longer for the blood to dry
The quiet has so much to teach;
When kairos knocks I’ll take the risks she offers once again
As long as there is more where that came from…
What form will choice words take this time?
How to describe the circle of an inner world?
The sounds you taste have been selected like ripe fruits,
And delicately, oh so vulnerably unfurled.
This poetry is prayer and darkness brought to light,
Creative therapy for fools and idiots
A place where life’s experience and all our yearning for some meaning
Are wrestling in the river in the strong embrace of God
Sky light
Today’s output is borrowed from my poetry blog, Ray and Redhead – from the more thoughts on the process page

Holy moley (we didn’t sign up for this)

In the past week I have been using my pseudonym Redhead to churn out poems based on my life experiences with both my parents and my children – hopefully therapeutic but definitely vulnerable. What’s new?!

Ray & Redhead

My son has a hole in his head

My girl has a hole in her heart

We’re a wholey holey holyfamily


We have gaps that can’t be filled

Large breaches in our boundary wall;

Way past the point of self-protection

Our vulnerability simply waits like a sitting duck,

In the open space between all that’s been and what the fuck?!


It’s only natural to reproduce,

Ensure the continuity of genes through generations

By passing on a way of life.

All parents want their children’s happiness:

They really should be warned!

The times they are a-changin’

Your aspirations, hopes and dreams will shrivel in the light of dawn:

Turns out that those who want it all

Are set up for the biggest fall.


The things I can’t control – they hurt the most.

The mother-instinct, ever-strong, wants to protect and cover,

I’ll kiss you better, make it…

View original post 230 more words

Monday morning


, , , , , , , , ,

He leaves for work at 7.19am today – a bit later than usual. As he walks down the garden path I can see his new trousers are a more faded shade of blue than the jacket. Oh dear, that’s my fault – I should have washed them both together… I do hope he doesn’t notice – that really would be the last straw.

This was the ‘cancelled weekend’: the friends we were supposed to go and see had a gas leak and therefore no hot water, the summer weather turned grey, his work took over from sailing – as usual. I was quite glad of the downtime – peopled out after seeing friends every day for the last ten. I may be a classic extrovert, but talking all the time can be quite exhausting… Anyway, I think my introvert tendencies are coming to the fore these days – “everyone go away and give me some peace and quiet!”

There’s a lot of anger in there though. Why now? I have reached some sort of impasse and the sense of loss is pressing in: God, I was in a bad mood yesterday! Perhaps my brain chemicals are confused as I try to adjust my dose of Prosac to stop the teeth-grinding at night; perhaps it’s just the menopause kicking into the next level. Sam has hit one of his cyclical blocks – that’s really hard – and the shift in friendship connections is leaving me in a state of mourning – isolated and stuck.

I had a very good friend I would share everything with at one stage. We did a lot together over the years, strongly identified with each others ups and downs, helped each other through. But recently things have changed, it’s harder to connect and sympathise now as our lives have gone off at tangents from each other. I have to shout across the distance and he doesn’t reply. Time to let go, I guess: I really can’t think of anything to say so I’m going to have to let the silence in… wait for him to come back if he wants to.

For over 12 years we’ve been investing in a group of young people – a lot of give and not much coming back. How can they cross the 20-year age gap to understand all the events and emotions of life-stages they have not yet lived? We didn’t expect anything. But now it seems that season is over too: our energy and grace has finally evaporated and they have moved blithely on into their future without a backward glance. Good, that’s what we wanted, its what parents do – make themselves redundant: “Be blessed! Go and be fruitful, happy, fulfilled! We wish you all good things”.

But for our own son this seems impossible: this is the point of deepest pain. Yet again Sam has hit the wall, unable to execute the final point of his long prepared-for project, filled with fear of failure and overwhelmed with the pointlessness of it all: “what would I even do with it if it succeeded?” That’s just an excuse, of course, because he simply can’t pick up the phone and do cold-calling all day everyday until he gets some clients for this whizzy new internet marketing course he’s supposed to sell. We always knew he couldn’t, even while he talked the talk and spent our money on a phone line and brochures. But it gave him hope – and now the hopelessness presses in again.

What can he do with his life – such as it is – in the wake of recovering from terminal brain cancer? What could be momentous enough to make it all worthwhile? Don’t give him trite answers and certainly not a menial job – he’s never been willing to work in MacDonalds or data entry just to earn money. What about a university course or some sort of training – just to get him out of this small town? No way… what do parents know anyway? A city life would be even lonelier and there’s no guarantee of finding anyone out there who understands any more than his acquaintances here do. Making money – the way of the world – is not what he’s interested in: there has to be life, desire, enthusiasm, JOY! He utterly refuses to just do something to be able to afford to travel or move. Well, we blame that on his unusual personality and other changes in his right brain… So it’s back to the internet then, the fantasy American girlfriends and getting by on benefits – waiting for a miracle or waiting for death.

So yeah – no wonder I’m sad – and fucking angry. We are as stuck as he is – because he is. We drove round some lovely villages on Saturday: I dared to reach out for my dream of a country cottage. We even found one for rent! So near and yet so far… it’s not right and I know it. We have to wait: mark time.

Country cottage

There are more Monday morning journeys to work in an ill-matching suit, more oppressive grey days in the Midlands while the rest of the country is baking in sunshine – more ups and downs to negotiate. I must grieve all these losses – denial, anger, bargaining, depression – and find acceptance again.

So that’s all very therapeutic, dear readers. Now all I need to do is find the grace for today.