Birds

I love the morning light here in Petworth. I have a ring side seat every day, sitting as I do in our turret overlooking the main square. The clock on the town hall is my time-keeper, the gold leaf hands passing over the wedgewood blue face, slowly illuminated by the rising sun.

Living in a tall house, we have the advantage of a bird’s eye view. We share our space with jackdaws and pigeons, sparrows and house martins. It is a bird’s world up here. I watch them swooping and nesting, feeding and fledging. I feel priviledged to share their space.

I love birds - they’re full of character and I delight in their presence. When a few summers back we erected a bird feeder on our roof terrace, our first guest was a green woodpecker.  I haven’t seen him since, but I was touched that Woody had welcomed us - that being my husband’s nickname of old.

I had to move the feeder twice due to the clumsy attempts of the local pigeons to gorge themselves. I couldn’t work out why my little conifers beneath were flattened until I spied a fat pigeon squatting patiently below the feeder awaiting his turn.

But this was nothing compared to my husband’s pigeon experience. Chris’s office is in the building opposite our house and looks directly onto our roof terrace. One windy day he looked up from his accounting to see a pigeon land in a most ungainly fashion on the weather vane that tops off our roof. 

As the pigeon scrabbled for a foothold, the wind caught the weather vane and sent it spinning round. The pigeon started to flap his wings, trying to maintain his balance. The faster he flapped, the faster the arm went round, sending him in ever increasing circles,  until he tumbled off and rolled down the roof, disappearing from sight.

Anyone who knows Chris can imagine his retelling of this story, complete with actions and sound effects. I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants!

Black Clouds

Talking of black clouds, I suffered from depression once. Now you know the expression “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy”? Well that’s how I feel about depression.

Mine sort of crept up on me due to a combination of circumstances including the break up of my marriage, the terminal illness of a very dear friend and the discovery that my mum had breast cancer. You could say that life had got too much for me.

I consider myself fairly resilient. I test myself every now and again, have done since I was a child: Imagine a situation (ranging from the loss of a favourite toy, via parents divorcing to the death of a loved one). Could I survive it? Yes.

But sometimes it doesn’t seem that way. Depression is familiar to many of us these days. You’ll know what I’m talking about then. 

Mine manifested in the beginning with uncontrollable tears (no surprise there then!); an inability to deal with the smallest situation; a fear of going to sleep; loss of appetite; terrible black thoughts; a desperate feeling of isolation.

I managed to work through all but the worst few weeks - my bloody mindedness and pride driving me on when my whole being was crying out to stop. It’s amazing how blind we can be to the blaring messages our body sends us.

I finally admitted defeat after a tortuous management meeting where I sat still and big eyed trying to give the appearance of normality and failing miserably (excuse the pun). Having informed personnel of my mental breakdown (try that one for scary), I made my way to the bus stop. As I stood waiting, it was as if my skin had been flayed off. Every noise, every movement was like a relentless barrage on my senses. I had no defence.

I was forced at last to ask for help - from my husband, from my son, from everyone. I was helpless. In my darkest moments I wallowed in a black pit, too deep and slippery to ever climb out of.

But I did. With the help of those around me and a brilliant man - Dr James Hawkins - I did. One step at a time, that’s all. Just one step at a time. Sounds easy, huh? To begin with I had to consciously move forward, every few minutes reminding myself of how to act, what to think. But as time went on it became less often and there were times when I forgot about where I’d been. (oh blessed relief)

I don’t believe I would have come through this experience having learnt so much if it hadn’t been for Dr Hawkins. My GP suggested he refer me to him when the anti depressants I’d been prescribed were making me more crazy, not less.

At our first meeting he asked me what I wanted to get out of our time together. “I want to feel at peace”, was my reply. 

How many of you have had therapy? Then you know just how much courage it takes. It is by far the scariest thing I’ve ever done...I’d recommend it to everyone! It’s not a comfortable place to be - in front of yourself, looking at who you really are. But by God did I sort out a lot of stuff.

I liken therapy to peeling off the layers of an onion. The outside layers are quite easy - toughened, familiar. Then we get to the first of the juice. That makes your eyes water. And as you peel closer to the centre it often gets so unbearable that you have to stop. 

But boy was it worth it. Dr Hawkins gave me the tools to cope with life. Information is king they say, and it’s true. The more knowledge we have the more conscious our choices become, and that has to be a good thing.

I recovered from my depression. My friend died, my mum died, my life was changed forever. But I survived. Just as I said I would.   

Hormones

Hi Folks, my dear friend Cara was berating me last night for not writing my Blog recently. But don’t worry, I have lots of excuses!

Don’t we always? I for one can easily divert my thoughts onto all the things I haven’t done, need to do or have just done. 

Every book I have ever read concerning living more peacefully and living more meaningfully talks about “living in the now”. 

Indeed there is in reality only now, since (as the scientists have proved) there is no such thing as linear time - that’s just a man-made construct. I don’t pretend to understand the mechanics but I like the idea!

But I’ve found, like so many things in life, the theory is easier than the practice. Living in the now is a bit like learning to ride a horse. Skyler, the young horse whisperer who was teaching me out in Montana, explained beautifully to me how to sit in the saddle while my horse was trotting. 

I concentrated hard and listened carefully to what to do...then my horse started to move and it all went out of the window. “Push your weight down in your stirrups and curve your butt into the saddle.” Yeah right. The horse was going up and down and I’m going down and up and the whole thing degenerated into an ungainly jiggle. The story of my life!

Just about sums up my last few weeks. 

We’ve had a lot going on in our business recently.Those of you who know our shops here in Petworth will know we closed our shoe shop last week. It has been a sad excercise. It’s never much fun ending something, and it was a bumpier ride than I’d imagined it to be. I’ve learnt over the 7 years that I’ve been a business owner that making decisions based on sound financial proof is the only way to go. But tell my heart that when I’m dismantling one of our dreams and admitting defeat.

But this is what I mean about living in the now. When we discussed this closure 4 months ago I was all for the streamlining of our shops. Our overheads were too high, our profits were too low - “you do the math” as the Americans say.

Four months down the line we have successfully managed the closure and secured a new tenant for the premises. I got exactly what I asked for - so why do I feel so lousy?!

Excuse number two: Hormones!! (men’s favourite) My husband keeps a closer eye on my Menstrual Cycle than I do. Which is why I found myself on Wednesday panicking quite spectacularly (and internally) about our future.

Now for those of you out there who don’t directly experience PMT I’ll describe my own personal symptoms:

Small dense black rain-cloud hovering permanently over my head.

A head full of demons (mine) who form a cacophonous background of abuse in my head. You know the stuff: “You’re useless. Have you made the right decision? What are you doing with your life? What about the future? What does your hair look like?!” Deafening and prone to cause paralysis.

Then there’s the leaking. Poor Chris is driven demented by my crying at this time of the month. The tears just leak out unbidden, all over the place. I read recently that crying releases the stress hormone Cortisol. Finally, the perfect excuse for a “good greet”.

No consolation when I’m trying to have a serious business conversation and have an overwhelming urge to throw myself on the ground and bawl. 

My old Jenners friends and I used to meet up regularly by the service lift to discuss work problems. Can you see the three of us, all dolled up in heels and big earrings, lipstick in place -  frazzled all to hell? 

On a really bad day when everything was out of control Sonya would say, our minds were going “whoop, whoop, whoop” (accompanied by eye rolling and upward hand gestures). The only answer was to call in a helicopter and be airlifted from the building. Picture it - a stressed out, hormonal fashion buyer flailing around on a rescue stretcher while the whump whump whump of the blades slowly fade away above the Department Store.

The rescue helicopter didn’t arrive this week and I had to manage through the morass that was my brain unaided. As we say in Scotland: “Ma heid’s mince”. Which literally translated means “my head’s full of minced beef”. Quite.

I make a promise to myself that I’ll keep up my Blog - no more excuses - being honest about what’s going on in my minced head and in the hope that some of you out there know what I’m talking about.

Laura x  

Teenagers

Teenagers - you can't live with them, you can't live with them.


We've had Chris's eldest son with us from Australia for the last month. It's the first time he's been back in seven months and I'd forgotten just what forces of nature teenagers are.


I'd forgotten also how set in my ways and used to my own space I'd become when, within half an hour of Jack arriving from Heathrow, a swarm of youths had descended on our once peaceful home.


I have now returned him safely to Heathrow and am once again mistress of all I survey - bliss. But spending a month in a house littered with teenage detritus (you know - electronic cables, empty glasses, stray friends, strangely bleeping machinery, random items of clothing) made me more tolerant. Far more tolerant than I would be if we were talking years of course, a month's enough! 


My own son is now twenty three - a fact that bemuses me as much as it does those who have never met him & remark on my youthful appearance. Well I can tell you, I'd look a lot more youthful if I'd never had a teenager!


One of my favourite authors, Steven Covey's, 7 secrets of success is: "Seek first to understand". It's an eminently sensible aim in any situation. But with parents and teenagers it often feels as though "there are no files" as my dear sister would say. Really, for both sides it frequently feels like we're speaking Chinese.


Which reminds me - too funny - my dear friend Dorothy is mother to 4 sons ranging from late twenties to pre teen. (She is also one of the most glamorous and gorgeous women I've ever known.) Her older boys used to say to her when she started to berate them over something, "Mum there's no point talking to us because all we hear is 'ning, ning, ning, ning'". See what I mean?


When my son was first a teenager, and we were living in our rather cramped flat in Scotland, I can remember one night lying in bed and thinking: "Being the mother of a teenager is like being forced to live with an ex lover". It's that exquisitely agonising pitch of emotions that seems to be sustained beyond all conceivable endurance...all the time!


Of course we all know how fearless they are about going for our weak spots. I admire the way our children can stab us right through the heart by using all of our demons against us with no qualms whatsoever. I think it shows a good survival instinct.


Did you know: It's not a teenager's fault that they're rude. Turns out that every time they lose it and disown you or seem oblivious to your wisdom, they're not just being obtuse. The part of the brain responsible for empathy is still developing. 


Yeah, so what's our excuse?!


And don't forget, it's a teenager's job to reject their parents - they're programmed to do it. So next time they tell you to p**s off remember that they're only growing into adulthood!


It turns out that even our teenager's inability to get out of bed isn't a deliberate ploy to raise our blood pressure. No, it appears that a teenager's body clock runs slower than an adult's - so 8am feels like 6am to them. Now it all makes sense. Oh how I wish I'd known all this when I was a young mum. 


But I'll tell you what's changed since Jack was last living with us. I did what Steven Covey suggested and I sought first to understand. I admit that it's taken me 23 years and a lot of mistakes to get here, but better late than never.


Or maybe I just took the time to remember: To be a teenager - to not have done enough yet in life to feel guilt; to not have the weight of experience to carry around; to have your entire future ahead of you; to feel immortal.


It seems to me that teenagers, if they're having a good time, are doing just what they're supposed to be doing - living in their own world, involved in their own passions. Surely this is the one time in most of our lives that we can? And all the while that they're driving us parents demented, their brains are growing and developing, preparing them for adulthood. Neat, huh?




Last week a fabulously mesmerising friend of ours had three of us in fits describing her boarding school escapades. These ranged from breaking into Chapel and drinking the Communion wine to exploding out of a cupboard onto an unsuspecting teacher and emptying a fire extinguisher over her. I know it's shocking but I have to confess to being envious of her exploits. Okay so I worked hard and have a degree to show for it, but oh how I wish at 45 that I'd been a little bit more of a teenager.


Well you know what they say, youth is wasted on the young. Which is why I'm practising being a Forty-Something Teenager: I'm fortunate enough to be in a position where I am finally able to put myself first. I can indulge my passions once more, happy in the sure knowledge that other people's business is none of mine.


As Kalil Gibran so beautifully put it in his gem of a book The Prophet, in the chapter On Children: 


"You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday."
x

Here Comes The Sun

Aah, the delectable George Harrison singing Here Comes The Sun. Isn't this the perfect song to accompany the first of the Spring sunshine?

Let's all sing along!

Meditation

I am transcribing here something I wrote last January which I found and thought I’d include because you might find it interesting. I won’t edit, I’ll just copy. Excuse the swearing in advance!

22.1.2010

“I had an amazing experience while meditating tonight. I was lying on my back and stilling my breathing - breathing out all the stress and stuff and breathing in the Universe.

I can see it, see the energy of the universe, rushing into me, through me. And it feels like I have no boundaries.

I have my eyes closed but it’s not black. I have a vision of sizzling particles, buzzing energy and it forms a mandala around me. First I am looking at it, and as I breathe I merge with it until I am at it’s centre.

Now I am at the centre of the mandala. When I breathe in I have the sensation of reducing in on myself (except I feel no self). And when I breathe out I feel the energy expanding.

There are two things that always happen when I meditate. Almost simultaneously, as I relax into a medititive state, I see a light growing stronger behind my eyes. The light grows stronger the deeper I go until it fills my entire vision. 


At the same time (oh it’s 3 things) my head starts to lift involuntarily - weird. When I used to meditate sitting upright in a chair, I would start with my head falling forward relaxed. And as I meditated it would lift up until my face was tilting upwards.

And as if that wasn’t weird enough, at the same time as I’ve got the glowing bright light and the lifting head, I start to smile! Every time, totally involuntarily - how mad is that?!

I mean I can be doing my thing and not quite settled and there’re a few negative thoughts or problems flitting across my mind, and I start to smile. And I mean a big cheesy grin! It starts slowly - with the head lifting and the lightbulb behind the eyes stuff - and by the time I’ve finished, my head is tilted upwards and I’ve got this great big, open mouthed, beatific smile on my face. Mental!

Now I meditate in the dark lying down before I go to sleep. Which is just as well because anyone happening upon me in this state would get the fright of their life. Either that or they’d think I’d been up to some unmentionable act!

The other thing that always happens is that my body disappears. It’s a bit like a physical version of what I described earlier. Like my mind and self merging with the collective energy but in physical form. My body heats up very rapidly - a strange dry heat - hot enough that I should be sweating but instead it’s a prickly heat like static electricity - dry.

I can feel this buzzing, tingling heat but it doesn’t feel like it’s got any boundaries. I can feel the heat crackling around the surface of my body (I guess where the energy my body’s generating meets the energy around me) but I can’t define it. It feels as if my body has totally disappeared.

My breath becomes very shallow and incredibly slow. Sometimes, when I’m in the state I’m describing fully, I take a sudden breath and realise that I haven’t been breathing at all.

I love meditation. I spent a weekend in the basement of an Edinburgh townhouse when I was 14, learning to meditate, after a British Airways hostess friend of ours reccommended my mum and I try it. 
It was amazing, a revelation to me. The house inside was shabby and hippy. Incense burned and the residents all seemed to wear hessian and hemp (or so it seemed to me). 




Being a bit of a Hippy myself, I was delighted with it all - although way out of my comfort zone at 14. Anyway, that was my initiation into Transcendental Meditation a la Maharishi Mahesh Yogi of The Beatles fame.

When you are inducted you’re given a mantra which is unique to you. I can’t imagine it’s totally unique. Can you imagine having to think up millions of unique mantras, all with different sound combinations?! You’d end up with weird pig noises & swear words!! Oh that’s too funny - I’m having a fit of laughing now.

Just picture it - some poor bastard practising his meditation and his mantra is a barking sound or ”fuck”! Mind you, I’ve seen a few people audibly meditating then: “fuck, fuck ,fuck”... usually after falling over or dropping something! Oh I’ve made myself laugh again and lost my train of thought!

As I was saying, I love meditation. I haven’t done it religiously since the age of 14. I was diligent in my youth, right into my student years. It is an incredibly powerful state - healing and energising and empowering and inspiring and enriching.

When I was 19 and living in a student house in Edinburgh, I went back to my room one lunchtime to meditate (very diligent!) Anyway I didn’t meditate for very long. You’re supposed to increase from 20 minutes to however long you like but I generally last about 15 minutes. Any longer and my fidget-arse self gets bored and starts wriggling.

That probably explains why meditating suits me. I can go very quickly into it and pretty much anywhere. When I travelled a lot I used to meditate anywhere - on the Tube, on a park bench, with noise all around. But once I reach a certain state in that kind of environment the background fades out. It’s like an accute awareness and accute relaxation combined.

Sorry, back to my story: I’m a 19 year old student meditating in my sunny wee corner room in my student house one lunchtime. It must have been only 20 minutes but during that time I had a real Peak Experience. Now I understand the state better and the science behind it, I guess it was my first and most intense experience of the state I describe above.

But it was more than that: the light and boundlessness and the ecstatic feeling and the strength of the energy flowing through me were incredibly powerful. I was unable even to be aware that I felt that way. Awareness involves conscious thought and this was something else. I had no physical sense of who I was and no conscious awareness of the state I was in and yet I knew completely what it was and where I was and how it felt:

Boundless

Infinite

Like cosmic white noise

and yet defined

Understood

Remembered. 

It was the weirdest (and I’ve had some!) and most powerful experience I’d ever had (and have ever had) in my life.

When I came back to normality and left the house to meet my friends Scott and Jaime, I tried to explain it to them. But there were no words . The best I could manage through my smiling, breathless garblings, was that I now knew what death was like. The state we call death, that’s what I had experienced. Like a glimpse, a moment, of the state that is ours when we shuffle off this mortal coil.

Jaime was horrified. He’s a Spanish Catholic. (Come to think of it, he might’ve wangled me a Sainthood or something. I could’ve been venerated in a cave and people would pay to drink my bath water. Might’ve missed a trick there.)

But no, Jaime maintained his horror at my macabre “experience” and took me to see “Harold & Maude”. What a film - hilarious! An E Type Jaguar converted into a hearse because Harold’s obsessed with death. If you haven’t seen it - Harold’s about 18 and Maude’s 70ish - too funny.

So I’ve never been able to express what I experienced 23 years ago. Until tonight when it happened, in a different way, again.

It may have sounded morbid and I must’ve sounded nuts, but it changed my life. Well wouldn’t it? I had an experience of pure bliss and oneness with the universe, an experience that I know was real - because some things just are. 

That’s a good experience to have under your belt at the age of 19. My diligence paid off!"

     

My First Sculpture in 21 Years

My lovely hubby excelled himself this birthday and bought me some clay, a modelling board and some tools. So this morning, for the first time in 21 years, I created something in clay.
This is my first (unfinished) wee maquette (like a mini 3 dimensional sketch for a bigger sculpture). It's about 4 inches high.
I was so excited this morning when I woke up and remembered that I was about to get my hands mucky! 


21 years is a long time not to do something that I used to be so passionate about and practiced in. But I'd locked away my creativity, too afraid that if I carried on sculpting I wouldn't get on with 'real life'.  


And that's why I'm putting these photos on my blog - to ensure that I can't carry on as a 'margin artist' for another 21 years!


Thank you. x