wakeupandsmellthecoffee

I'm Not Dead -- Not Yet

2011-02-16T19:06:00.002Z

No, I've sort of lost the urge to blog. I've been busy with work, with my new house, with my children, with my new man.

The house has proved to need a bit more work doing than it appeared at first. And getting someone to do the work is difficult too. And I still have many things to buy for it. I still have lots of boxes to unpack and I just don't feel like doing it. Part of the reason is the boxes are in my bedroom, which is glacial thanks to a malfunctioning radiator.

The children and I are getting along a lot better. Our trip to Florida at Christmas helped a lot. They know I love them. I know they love me. We are coping.

My new man! He is someone I met at work in December. I was still in contact with the old boyfriend from 28 years ago, but we'd had quite a few ups and downs and I was starting to think I should look elsewhere. I had thought about men at work but the ones I was interested in were taken. And I was a bit reluctant to appear like I was desperate. Then this man walked into my life. He flirted with me outrageously for an hour or so one afternoon. I texted a friend that night asking about him. I wasn't sure if this flirting was indeed flirting or something he did with all women. A bit of both it turned out. While I was in America at Christmas he texted me to ask if I'd like to go out when we got back. And when I got back the texting onslaught started. He is younger than me. By about 12 years. He says it's not an issue, and it certainly doesn't feel that way when we're together. I've never had a relationship like this. I keep casting my mind back to various relationships and their beginnings. Of course, there's that giddy can't-get-enough feeling. But this is something different. I've never had such an adventurous and open sexual relationship for one thing. Also, in the past I was much concerned with what a man did for a living and what sort of cache he had. My new man has no such cache. He is by his own admission bad with money. He lives in a filthy flat, has no car, works at a low-paying job (but so do I). What he has is a fantastic sense of humour and a way of making me feel like I am the most gorgeous, desirable woman on earth. And I feel the same way about him. Is he Mr. Right? I have no idea. But he is Mr. Right Now. Every time I see him, I want to see him more. Our obligations to our mutual children (he has a 9-year-old son to whom he is devoted) have acted to slow things down a bit. Just as well. I fall head over heels too often and too quickly. At 51, I feel mortal, like I don't have much time left before I'm a toothless hag. But I also feel it's time I enjoyed myself. I panic. I get paranoid. But I get over it. And then I see my man and everything's great. Old Boyfriend wasn't happy when I told him I was moving on (after he forgot my birthday when I did all but sign the birthday card for him). But that was never a realistic relationship. This one is.

The ex continues to prove why he's an ex every chance he gets. Now I tell the children when he pulls one of his shenanigans. Like text me to fuck off. Like email me to threaten me about one of the children. As each day passes, I thank God I am away from him and that I have the life I have.

I'm happy and that is a very strange feeling for me. But I'm getting used to it.

And Now For a Little Foolishness

2010-10-01T23:03:00.002+01:00

Wish I'd read your comments earlier before I plunged straight into another relationship. Well, almost but not quite a relationship. And with someone I've written about here before: my Photographer Boyfriend from 28 years ago.

You see, I received an email from a mutual friend on Sept. 2 saying PB would love to hear from me. We have been asking about each other for years -- 28 years to be exact. So I emailed him. And he emailed back. And I emailed back, etc. And we skyped, sometimes for hours at a time. Oh, I had the most marvelous 26 days. We giddily, foolishly told each other how much we loved each other then and still do. And we opened up to each other in ways we never did all those years ago.

Oh yes, I fell into that marvellous abyss called love. And so did he. And then my old insecurities about him resurfaced when he wouldn't commit to us meeting up at the end of October. He has legitimate reasons. But I thought somehow they would magically disappear. And I was uncomfortable with how he was or wasn't letting his daughter know about me. Never mind that I haven't told my children about him. So I sent him an email spelling out all my insecurities, which triggered all of his. And then I panicked that he wanted out of my life just as he was coming back into it.

To cut a long story short, we have decided to step back a bit. Well, he decided and I have no choice but to go along with it. Otherwise, I risk being branded a bunny boiler. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that he is right about so many things. And so are those of you who left comments on my previous post. Why plunge straightaway into another relationship? The relationships I should be working on are with my children. They just aren't interested in a relationship with me right now.

PB worries that I am using him as an escape from my dreary reality. And I must admit that might be true to some extent. But my reality is about to change for the better, I hope. I am about to complete the purchase of a new home and should be moving within a week and a half, with any luck. I have been living in a bedroom for the past year and I am sick of it. My divorce is final. Nearly all the money has been split. It is time to move on.

Will PB be a part of my future? I am praying that he is. It amazes me how much I remember of our 18-month, on-and-off relationship. And how much he remembers as well. We have gone over the ugly bits -- him cheating on me, my reaction, which was to bring 3 men back to his apartment to sleep with me in his bed, our final break-up, and our last meeting in 1988. He thought I was indifferent to him, that I had no feelings for him. No, I had too many feelings. I considered reconnecting with him in 1990-91, when I was single again. But he wasn't single yet. I considered emailing him 10 years ago when I first googled him. But I didn't. I wrote about him here two years ago. And then I did email him. He never replied and I assumed he was not interested in hearing from an old girlfriend. He says he never received the email and I believe him.

So for 26 days it was very hot and heavy. So wonderfully absorbing. But we were neglecting the practical sides of our lives. He has a book project to complete by the end of the year. He has taxes to file. He has other assignments. I have to move and all that entails. I have to allow myself to adjust to my new status, and to work out how my relationship with my children will change. And where they will live and when.

So we will stay in touch, but not as ardently or frequently. It doesn't mean it's over. Just that we have to put other things first right now before we tackle the very real problems of geography and children and money to see if this will work. I hope it does. I am so thankful to have him back in my life. He has changed, of course. Physically but also emotionally. He has grown up, and so have I. But I also have to remain realistic. For now.

I'm Almost Out of Breath

2010-08-29T22:26:00.002+01:00

Ah, so much has been going on in Wakeup's world, it's hard to keep up.

First of all, I made an offer on a house that has been accepted. Now I go into buying-house-fast mode. Secondly, although I love my new job as a support worker for autistic adults to bits, it doesn't pay well and there's no security. I could go for a permanent position that pays better but that means shifts, nights, and weekends. I'm not ready for that at this point in time. I have a job interview on Wednesday for a fund raising position.

And I've been thinking about the next relationship I want to be in. Because I'm not sure how soon I want to be in a relationship. I realise one reason I love my job so much is that I am treated well by my co-workers and the clients. I don't get that at home at all. I am the mother who ruined my children's lives. I am the woman who spurned such a loyal and faithful husband. I am shit at home. But not at work. At work I am the person who gets a client who supposedly doesn't like to be touched to put his arms around her and to play games with her. At work I have men (fellow workers) telling me I have a stunning figure and look nothing like my age. At home I have a daughter who uses guilt and extortion to get me to buy things I can ill afford for her. A daughter who is resentful if I buy myself something at all. A daughter who thinks I don't even deserve a new bed after 15 years of sleeping on old ones (actually longer). A son who curses me out behind my back because I made him come home to eat the meal I prepared. At home I have a soon-to-be ex-husband who to my face seems ever so reasonable but sticks the knife in the moment my back is turned.

So the next relationship I'm in will have to be something really fantastic. Something that puts a spring in my step. With someone who respects me. Who doesn't treat me like an idiot or a harlot.

But in the meantime I am waiting to move. And then I will exhale. And exhale. And exhale. For I've been holding my breath for a very long time.

I Need To Wake Up and Make Up My Mind

2010-08-10T22:26:00.002+01:00

I've been invited to apply for a permanent post where I work. Should I do it? It involves shifts and sleepovers. It means a 75p/hour pay rise, though with some perks. It also means I'd work with some individuals I quite like in a house I quite like. But I would lose my independence. As it is, I can determine my hours, though not where I work. So I could have a boring 9-4:30 job or a very interesting, fulfilling one with hours all over the place.

I feel paralyzed by indecision. I've been frantically househunting because I want to get out of here pronto. And I've found three properties I really like. But I keep finding fault with each of them. I am so afraid of making the wrong decision. I took a friend with me on Sunday to look at six houses but soon regretted it. I know she was trying to be my advocate, but I felt like she took over. So I'm going solo or with the kids.

And I wonder if I should report FEX for supplying underage teens with alcohol. He bought an alcopop for Daughter's friends tonight. I am strongly opposed to this teen-age drinking though I'm a total hypocrite. Just because I did it doesn't make it right. And Daughter lied to me about it and tried to make out that it was her dad lying. My relationship with her is very rocky.

So, back to these houses. One is actually a two-floor three-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with views of the beach and the golf course. I love it, but the outside needs some attention. The two others I like are Edwardian semis: spacious rooms. One has been decorated very nicely. And it's a bit beyond my price range. I am torn between going for the cheaper option (the apartment) and paying to have the exterior refurbed or buying something I don't need to do anything to. The apartment comes with a garage. The two semis don't. The apartment doesn't have a garden (yard) though it has the potential for one. The two semis have small, manageable gardens (yards). My kids want a house with a party room. The apartment has just enough space but nothing spare. The semis have a bit of leeway. My kids will be out the door in four years' time and I don't know how much time they will spend with me before then. I have to think about taxes (lower for the apartment), upkeep, utility bills, resellability, and how I would feel being there all by myself. I keep asking for advice but don't know if that's the right thing to do either. Everyone has an opinion and sometimes it's colored by what they want, not what I need.

The kids have found lots of excuses for not coming with me to look at these houses. I know I should be more understanding of them. This must be so hard for them. But it is so hurtful to me. FEX says he doesn't know if he's going to keep the house on the market or not. He keeps going in the back garden and taking out some shrub. I now think he is trying to show me and the garden who's boss. I imagine this is how it will be for the rest of his or my life: him trying to prove to me what a bad decision I made to leave him. I still feel no regrets though I am very sad about my relationship with my kids.

I must focus on other things: job and house. Make a decision, wakeup!

The End Is Nigh

2010-08-01T21:47:00.004+01:00

We had our day in court. And we reached a settlement. I was not leaving till we had an agreement. On gray, rainy day in a non-descript 60s courthouse, we came to the agreement that I get 55% of the assets and 40% of his pension. It's not an overly generous settlement. I could have fought for more money. And I would still be here next year. FEX is buying me out. He has a mortgage in place and is ready to transfer the money any day now. I came down £30,000 and 5% of the pension share. But it's only money and it's worth my freedom.

That night FEX and I sat and watched TV in the same room and had a reasonably civil conversation. FEX said if I wanted he would look after my money. Then today I did some weeding in the garden that soon will no longer be mine. FEX came out and demolished a poor, innocent forsythia. At first I thought he was showing me and the garden who's the boss. Then as I saw him hacking away I realised he was working out his anger, despair, or whatever emotion he might be feeling. Tonight, the phone rang and I answered it. Someone sounding suspiciously like Lurch said, "FEX please." It was one of FEX's two friends, the one who's been through a bitter divorce, the one whose ex-wife had him thrown in jail, the one who's been advising FEX to be so aggressive. I could hear FEX re-enacting our day in court, only making himself and his lawyer out to be the heroes. And of course that's not what happened at all. What happened was two barristers doing a lot of math and going back and forth with offers and counter offers. We were there from 9 a.m. till 2:30. It was a long, exhausting day.

I had hoped the settlement would put an end to this bitching about me on the phone. But obviously it hasn't. So, FEX, no you may not manage my money. I don't want your filthy hands on it.

I went to a party last night and spoke to a friend I hadn't seen for a while. He and his wife, both lovely people, are separated (again) and divorcing. I can't take sides because I can see both sides so clearly. And I know firsthand the hurt they each are feeling. I advised my friend to try not to demonise his wife, that it will accomplish nothing. I suggested he find a counsellor to talk to about any negative feelings he might have. This couple separated last year when the wife moved in with another man. The guilt was too much, and she came back to try to make a go of it. But she couldn't do it. And I know how she feels. She is the sort of person who is always taking care of other people's needs. Her husband had a near-fatal brain tumour many years ago. It left him unable to work so she had to go back to work. And still manage the home because it also meant her husband has no short-term memory. I can understand her position. And I can understand his too. But so far neither one has gone around trashing the other. No nasty emails. No trying to get friends on their side. Unlike FEX.

People can be civilised and go through divorce. I've tried. I'm still trying.

So what about the kids? I think they're in a bit of shock. I think they didn't believe this would actually happen, that their father is basically kicking me out. Not that I'm fighting it. Not that I want to stay. I can't believe FEX wants to stay here. It will be so empty when I've gone. I wonder if he's thought about that.

Oh well. That's his problem. I have so many things to think about and do. I'd better get busy and start doing them.

So Close and Yet...

2010-07-24T22:01:00.003+01:00

Well, my new job is getting under way. I'm just shadowing at the moment, but I am seeing close up how varied the autism spectrum is. I have seen people at either ends of the spectrum. from extremely unable to very able yet still in need of support. It fascinates me. I have so much respect for the people who do this work. On the face of it it doesn't seem demanding, but it can be extremely challenging. And you never know how your day is going to go. I'm very tired. It's not demanding -- at least not now, but there is so much to take in.

And FEX has made a financial settlement offer. On the face of it it looks ok. But I worry because he has made me close out two accounts in my name and he says he's deposited the money in our joint savings account (making sure he can get his hands on it). But I can't see where the money from one account has gone. I am so close. Next Friday is the court hearing date for the financial dispute resolution. I've told my solicitor that come hell or high water I'm walking out of there with a settlement. She said she sincerely hopes I do. And perhaps FEX will buy out my share of the house. I can only hope.

My new job is not very well paid. I could try to get a permanent post, which pays better, but the hours are crap. So I am trying to find another part-time job, I'm cleaning a couple of houses a week (which pays far better than looking after autistic adults), and I'd like to do a few shifts a week in the support worker job. And I still need to get my massage therapist certification, and then could charge £20/hour for massages. I had a job interview on Tuesday. Of course I didn't get the job. But I made it to the final three. So close and yet...

So Here's What I've Been Doing

2010-07-16T22:49:00.003+01:00

Does anybody who isn't Chinese read my blog anymore? Not that I have anything against the Chinese people but some comments in English are welcome as well.

Anyway, I have no room to complain as I have been an errant blogger. But much has been happening in my world. I started working. Yes, Wakeup has a job, actually two jobs and possibly a third on the way. I am a peripatetic support worker for people with autism. This is completely different to anything I've ever done, and yet it's not. I have been a carer for the past 18 years for FEX and my children. Now I get paid for it, and I get to work with autistic people. Yes, so far I enjoy it. Autism is an extremely complex disability. No two autistic people are alike, I've discovered. One may have highly developed verbal skills but has no concept of time and won't feed him or herself. Another may have no language skills and no toilet skills. All autistic people have a high level of anxiety. My heart goes out to them. Imagine trying to cope with daily living when you, through no fault of your own, have no coping skills and never will. Imagine being the parents of such a child. Imagine the hopes and dreams you had for your child and realising they will never happen. You can never relax because you never know what's going to happen, or you do know what's going to happen.

An interesting job, but not a highly paid one. That's why I'm also cleaning houses, which is far better paid. And I have an interview for a third job next week. Put them all together, though, and they add up to a decent wage. Not much free time, but who needs that? I am having a hard time adjusting to not being here for the family that don't want me here anyway. Well, I think my son does. And my daughter does on occasion. Who knows what FEX wants. Who cares?

The pension actuary's report came out today. I need to look at it in more detail but I'm leaning toward not going for a share of FEX's pension but a payout. That way I can invest it how I want, not how FEX wants. He has been a good money manager, but if I'm to have my independence, I must pull away completely. Also, who knows what could happen in the next 15 years. I could die. I could remarry. He could die. Life is full of uncertainty. FEX has been on the phone a lot with the kitchen door shut. I don't care who he's calling, but my dad has been trying to call me for several days because my stepmother has been in the hospital. And all he gets is a busy signal. I imagine FEX is on the phone with Julie16 and perhaps his two friends, five acquaintances, sister, and mother to update them on how wonderful he is and how horrible I am. My dad said he won't ever emerge from this negative state unless something really catastrophic happens to him. I don't wish that on him, but I do pray he one day stops this negativity and moves on. He's in danger, otherwise, of allowing our divorce to determine his reaction to everything and everyone in his life. And that's not a healthy way to be.

But I have no control over that. And meanwhile, I have so much to learn about autism.

The Nightmare Continues

2010-07-04T21:34:00.002+01:00

Just when I thought Daughter and I had gotten through the worst of times, we take 100 giant steps backward. On Friday Daughter had a party. I went to a friend's house. She texted to say the bathroom door had been broken. When I got home, she showed me the damage. It was only the lock. OK, I shrugged. That can be fixed. Then she asked if a boy could stay over because he had no way home. OK, I said. Then it turned into three boys. Then I went in my room and discovered someone had been in there and gone through my drawers and papers. Then I went in the bathroom and discovered someone had thrown away my contact lens case.

Then I lost my cool and Daughter and I said a few choice words to each other. She said it was my fault for using "her" bathroom and moving into the bedroom across from her bathroom. She said it was embarrassing because all her friends knew. I said if I could move out, I would. I decided to take back the shoes I'd bought her the day before. She went outside with her friends to cool down. The next morning they all left early. She sent a text to her dad saying she didn't want to be in the same house as me anymore, which he showed me. Oh, FEX was quite upset too for they'd gone into his study. Beer bottles were everywhere. There was more damage than just the broken lock. FEX and I decided to take away her laptop and phone.

Daughter did text to apologise, but I must admit I was devastated by the text she sent her dad. Like he needs any more evidence to add to his claim that she hates my fucking guts. I went to a friend's 25th anniversary party last night. Daughter showed up with her new boyfriend, whom she introduced to me. We danced together but later I saw her laughing at my dancing. I saw her hugging her friends' mothers, and it just tore me up. She stayed away all day yesterday and didn't come home till this afternoon.

I know this girl is hurting inside. I know part of her desperately wants a relationship with me, and part of her is very angry. I know she craves a normal family life and so hangs out with her friends who have one. But I can take the blame for only so long. Those friends of hers on Friday were way out of order but apparently I'm not allowed to be angry about it. And of course FEX was so reasonable about it with her. So once again I'm the screaming shrew and he's the reasonable dad. Did I mention that he was at home while all this mayhem was happening?

I told her that's all he needs to prove that she hates me, that he'll be on the phone telling people just that. She said nothing in response.

I wish I could wake up from this nightmare.

Falling Into a Depression

2010-06-30T21:25:00.002+01:00

I feel so depressed. Why today more than any other day? Yesterday, I spent 5 hours cleaning the house to show to last-minute viewers. They came, they saw, they complimented. Today, they said the house is not for them. Oh despair! Will no one rescue me from this purgatory?

That's not the only reason. There are others. I got the terms and conditions of employment for my new job. Fantastic? I'm not sure. It's a locum position, meaning I fill in as and when needed. It's also not brilliantly paid. I got another rejection letter for another job I applied for. I just can't get motivated to get out there and work hard at looking for work.

FEX continues to be himself and I worry about the settlement if and when it happens.

And I have communication problems with other friends, to the point that one or some may be getting the boot. And maybe that's what they want but they aren't brave enough to come out and say it.

I realise I'm not the easiest person to be around right now. My natural insecurity and paranoia are having a bumper year, having been fed generously by FEX. And I'm so worried about money. I started writing down what I spend each day to try to get a handle on my outgoings so I can make up a personal survival budget in preparation for the day when I don't have much money. That is a day I'm actually looking forward to, but I want to be prepared for it.

And I'm scared of being alone. I haven't had sex in nearly a year. That is an all-time record for me. I've never gone that long since I became sexually active at the very young age of 15. I'm not even sure I know how anymore. I miss cuddling. But FEX was never good at that anyway. My kids were but they won't touch me now. I guess I'll be one of those women who sleeps with her cats. Wait! I AM one of those women. I can't really begin to have a single woman's social life because I'm not a single woman yet. And it would be awkward being in the same house as FEX. And I wonder what I'll call myself after the divorce. Will I be Mrs. still or Ms.? Does anyone know?

And I'm bone tired. Too many late nights and early mornings.

Oooh, I'm So Tired

2010-06-26T22:29:00.002+01:00

Sometimes, and this is one of them, I am so tired I can't see straight. I went to sleep last night around 1, woke up at 4:30 when I heard one of the cats meowing to be let in, went downstairs thinking it was about 7, and discovered Son and his friends up playing on the Playstation. I thought they'd gone to bed and got up early. Silly me.

FEX and I have been getting along of late. And then he was on his phone tonight with door shut. That usually means he's on the phone trashing me. I didn't hear anything specific but I also didn't try that hard to hear. Just as I made a conscious decision to stop going through FEX's rubbish and other stuff, so I've decided not to try to hear anything he says anymore. It's counterproductive and ego-destroying. And I need all the ego I can get. I'm still looking for other jobs so I need to keep my confidence up.

One of those jobs is with the BBC. They're moving some of their operations up north and I thought I might as well send a CV. Well, I must have put some of the right keywords on because I got an email saying they liked my CV and would I now take an assessment exam? This consisted of watching a bunch of videos about office-related dilemmas and what I thought would be the most effective and lease effective solutions. Then there was a reading comprehension part. Then the psychological profile, which I worry that I messed up on. So I'll probably never hear from them again,but it was an interesting exercise. I felt pretty tired after it.

Yes, I have the other job, but it's only filling in for people who are ill or on holiday. I need something a bit more steady than that. I'm going to have to stop. I'm so tired I can't even see the keyboard.

A Dog and a Vibrator

2010-06-12T21:16:00.003+01:00

What more does a woman need in life? Oh, a job. Got that. Just need the dog and vibrator.

Oh yes. Wakeup is very nearly an employed woman. I've worked very hard at looking for a job. And the one I got is low-paying with irregular hours. I will be working as a support worker for autistic adults on an ad hoc basis. I think it's disgraceful that gardeners and cleaners get paid more than I will be. But I might be starting a cleaning/gardening business with a friend as well anyway. And it's a start. That's what I keep telling myself. I think it could be a very fulfilling job.

I've gone off in a million different directions since last year, but it might be that things are starting to all come together. And if you believe that there is some greater plan, as I do, then the pieces of the puzzle might be coming together.

I am finishing up my ECDL course. I need to do more work on my Adobe Dreamweaver course. I am finishing up my Swedish massage coursework and need to book a time for my assessment and tests (the real reason I've put it off). With my pending job, I feel I need to tie up the loose ends. And that CV (resume) is just getting more and more fleshed out.

And did I mention that my college boyfriend and I are in touch? I don't wish to reignite our relationship, but it's nice that we can be friends after all these years. And of course, there's the dog and vibrator to look forward to...

Enough of the Drama

2010-06-07T22:58:00.002+01:00

I cleaned two bathrooms today and discovered toiletries I couldn't remember buying the kids. A few months ago it would have been enough to send me into a rage against FEX and I probably would have thrown out said toiletries. Because it's MY job to buy them toiletries. And I thought, "This is how low we've gotten: battling over toiletries." Then the mail didn't arrive. In fact we haven't seemed to have had mail delivered in a few days. What's happened to the mail? Could he had redirected my mail?

I thought about those toiletries a while. And eventually I remembered that I had bought them. Then I phoned the post office. No record of mail from this address being redirected. My paranoia thus defeated or indulged, depending on how you look at it, I felt an overwhelming sadness. For FEX. For the kids. For myself.

Yesterday I revisited copies of emails FEX sent my parents and friends in November with the intention of posting excerpts here. But that would only perpetuate what's going on. It is a very, very sad situation. And it won't have a happy outcome. It will have a satisfactory outcome, but happiness? I'm not sure. You see, we've been through some very dark times in the last year, FEX and I. He's behaved appallingly at times and so have I. I've bored the pants off my friends, or maybe shocked them, with tales of our marital demise. And FEX has done similar with his small set of supporters.

And now I am just so very, very tired of the drama. I just want it to end. I want us both to move on and stop using the kids. I like to think I'm not using them as FEX is. But I am. I just want them to know I love them. I'm sorry I caused them so much pain. I always want them in my life and I hope they always want me. I try to talk to them but they really don't want to talk about it. Maybe in time. So I do the next best thing. I just carry on being me, being their mother. I give them a cheerful good morning. I wish them well in their day. I smile at their grumpiness. That is a small step toward reuniting with them. And if FEX doesn't like it, tough.

I expended so much energy on needless worries that I totally forgot what I learned in my Dreamweaver class. And the young guy didn't flirt with me today. What a pity. However, the washing machine repairman, who has been to my house a fair few times over the years, said I'm one of those people who gets better looking as they get older. I'd have kissed him but he's married.

Scary Stories

2010-06-05T22:26:00.003+01:00

FEX is downstairs on the phone. Talking about me. Again. How do I know? My bedroom is right above the kitchen. I can hear all sorts of conversations.

I think he is unhappy because lately the kids and I have been getting along better. That is not part of the fiction he's created. They are supposed to be loyal to him and hate me.

Anyway, to occupy myself I decided to reread the letter he wrote me in October, the letter that was supposed to convince me to stay.

Here's an excerpt: "If you run with divorce proceedings, the lawyers and courts will not give a toss about your emotions or your feelings or indeed mine."

And another: "Since (my lawyers) consider the house to be big enough for all of us, I will not move out of the family home until it is sold, and I don't want you to move out either."

And yet another: "But once the gloves are off you will be 'on your own.'"

"There will be no ... financial risks if we reconnect as a couple and stay as a family unit."

He goes on about how little of his pension I would be entitled to, how his lawyer advised him to rewrite his will before the divorce was final, how if I stayed with him I wouldn't have to work, etc. All figures were presented in pounds and dollars. Then he wrote about how my financial assets will erode over time without benefit of inheritance from my parents. Huh?

Here's another quote: "But I cannot be held responsible once the courts start."

He even mentioned the cats being upset. He was a desperate man. But not a smart man. I found the whole letter very threatening and condescending in tone. I took it to my solicitor, who thought the same thing. He lied about his lawyer telling him to change his will. I found the email in which she specifically told him not to do so till the divorce is final.

He mentioned that the whole process could take as long as 2-3 years if the house doesn't sell. Well, it could if he makes it last long. By the way, he does very little to prepare the house for showings. The last time he sat out on the patio reading the paper while I was cleaning frantically from top to bottom.

Here's another quote, not from FEX but from Daughter: "Mum, I can't believe you haven't learnt not to trust dad with what he says."

That last quote is the most meaningful. I must learn to take everything FEX says and does with a grain of salt. It's very scary to be in my position. But staying in this marriage would be even scarier.

I Need A Break, God

2010-06-03T20:29:00.002+01:00

I had a job interview today. How did it go? I have no idea. It was over and done with in 15 minutes. Does that make it good or bad? Were we all efficient at saying what we wanted to say? Or did they make their mind up about me and decide to move on?

I wasn't sure I wanted this job. It doesn't pay that well and it's only cover work for people on holiday or sick. I need a full-time job with a pension. But I told myself it could be a beginning. And at the end of the interview I decided I did want the job. But we shall see.

I have so many irons in the fire. I would just like one of them to get hot. Then I could relax a bit.

I also would like FEX to just lighten up. He treats this whole process as a personal attack. To me it's just a process, an unpleasant one, but not a personal attack. I certainly have not gloated to my mother about keeping our children away from his mother. And I suspect his mother has tried to get him to calm down and see reason. I really am trying so hard not see him as the monster he appears to be. I know there's a lot of anger there. And even more hurt. And, yes, I would say he deserves to feel that way. To a point. And he's gone beyond that point. Using the kids is going beyond that point. He says he never says anything negative about me to the kids, that he sticks up for me. It's not what he says, though (and he's certainly said plenty of negative things about me to others). It's how he acts. Like I'm not there. Like he's a single parent. Like he's the only parent they want or need. And they see that. And he buys them too. Well, he can afford to now. Daughter is quite materialistic at this stage in her life. She thinks only money can bring her happiness. Sadly, she's wrong. I remember being that age and wanting a flash car and nice clothes. I thought that would define me to the world as someone to be reckoned with, a success. But it doesn't. If you are married to your possessions, you better hope you never lose them.

One thing I have learned at my advanced age. It's trite but true: The best things in life are free. Friendship. Integrity. Money is not bad, and I am not looking forward to having less of it. But it's your attitude about money that matters. And FEX has a very strange one.

Oh, What a Nasty Man

2010-05-31T20:39:00.002+01:00

Fex is on the phone with his mother. I can hear most of what he's saying. He is railing against me. He is saying I will not be able to get a credit card. He is saying he could cancel the credit card tomorrow and I'd be stuffed. He is saying if the kids live with him, as he seems to think they will, I won't be able to get benefits. He is talking about a figure of £2,500 a month and that I won't be able to take the kids to see my parents on that. And I won't be able to get plane tickets without a credit card. He is saying how he warned me in his infamous letter how difficult life would be for me financially. He is saying I've lived the life of "bloody Riley." He is making a joke about me being a "golddigger." He says "MY kids are really loyal to me." He says all the parents of the kids' friends are aware of what's going on and are on his side. He is saying how much he admires Julie16 How late in life, apparently, Julie16 is pursuing a degree.

I should not have to hear this. I should not have to live this life. I went away one night with friends on Saturday to celebrate the 50th birthday of one. I had such a good time. I cried when we were leaving because I didn't want to come back to this nightmare. And I knew he would find a way to twist it round that he's the only parent in their lives.

Does he not realise that he wouldn't have any kids if it weren't me? No other women were queuing up to sleep with him, believe me.

I have been trying to find an amicable solution to this. But it's so difficult. He makes no attempt at discretion. I think he wants me to hear these hurtful conversations. But I do have the text from my daughter.

He's going on about buying me out now. And he plans to phone the Home Office and get me shipped out. And I've apparently been "very, very nasty." And my lawyer apparently wasn't on the ball about looking at his contract of employment because it wasn't even dated.

Angio What?

2010-05-26T19:46:00.001+01:00

I decided to put my educator hat on and alert you all to what is a somewhat rare but nonetheless alarming condition: Angiokeratoma of Fordyce. This is what I have in my nether regions. Apparently, it's seen far more often in men on their scrotum. If I were you, I wouldn't Google images of it. Not a pretty sight. Believe me.

Here is what it isn't: it isn't a sexually transmitted disease and it isn't cancer. What it is are red, purple or black dots or small growths similar to blood blisters. They don't itch. They don't hurt. I have four -- two the size of pin pricks, two a bit larger. They might go away but probably not. It's unclear, at least to me, what causes them.

Here's what I thought they were: melanoma of the vulva. Yep, you can get skin cancer even where the sun don't shine. Vulval cancer is the fourth most common type of genital cancer. It's ugly; it's awful. Symptoms are an itch that won't go away, pain that won't go away, unusual growths (hence my concern). Apparently, ladies, we are meant to check our vulvas like we check our breasts. Melanoma is but one of the cancers that can afflict this area. Vulval cancer is seen most frequently in women over 70 but it is on the rise in younger women, partly because of HPV. It is slow-growing so the survival rate if caught in time is quite high. Except for the melanoma because that is fast-growing.

I will admit I still have a nagging doubt that these angiokeratomas are a bit more sinister than the doctor led me to believe. But if they are, I should know fairly soon.

Now, isn't that a nice break from reading about my disintegrating marriage and relationship with my children?

The latest on that is Daughter and FEX had another sign language conversation in the kitchen. They think I'm so stupid. I've decided to rise above it. If that's what they want to do, let them. The kids informed me today that they'll be working in their dad's office during the half term. Doing what? I asked. Dunno, they replied. That should be fun! I shall be job-seeking and going on another interview and writing and doing my computer homework.

I won't be researching angiokeratoma of Fordyce. I did that today.

And the Good News Is...

2010-05-24T23:12:00.002+01:00

I don't have cancer. Yes, I've been sitting on that one for a few days. You see, a few weeks ago I discovered some growths in a place where there shouldn't be any. I thought they were sweat pimples. Then I looked at them one day. They are black. And there are at least four of them. I did what all self-respecting hypochondriacs do.I googled them. And discovered they could be a rare form of genital cancer that's usually only seen in women over 70. But there are cases of younger women getting it.

So it was with much trepidation that I went to see my doctor today. I was in tears before I'd even stripped off. This doctor is usually quite remote, but today she hugged me. I must have been quite a sight.

I moved on from the doctor's to my websight design class, which I started today (to go with the other computer class I'm taking). And folks, I nearly cried again because a nice 30-something-year-old flirted with me. He probably didn't know it was flirting. I definitely was flirting with him.

I felt like I'd been rescued from the dead by both the doctor and the younger man. I need this too because Future Ex-Hubby (whom I have reason to believe reads this) has been so vile to me and about me.

I finally said something to Daughter about how FEX keeps telling me how much she hates me. She said hate is a strong word and she only hates one person and it isn't me. She also said I should know by now not to trust anything FEX says. I feel so much better now. They know he lies. They know he lies to me about them. They don't hate me.

All is definitely still not right in my world. But it's getting better. Just need to get a job.

He Is Such A Fucking Liar

2010-05-20T23:20:00.003+01:00

I try so hard to remain positive and to try to think of things from Future Ex-Hubby's perspective.

And then I come home and the kitchen door is shut. That is a sure indicator that he's on the phone railing against me. And so he was with Julie16, his new internet girlfriend (has she seen him, several of my friends have asked). According to the fictional life this liar lives, the kids are very loyal to him. Daughter called him at work asking him to come home the other day because there was trouble at home, according to him. I asked her about this. She said she called him because she wanted a lift to her friend's house and I couldn't take her. Daughter hit son's nose with her ankle accidentally on Sunday. I just found out about it today. According to Future Ex-Hubby, they didn't say anything till today because they were afraid I'd shout at them. I asked Daughter. She said she wanted to tell me but son didn't. I didn't shout, for the record. The one who would have shouted, the one whose reaction Daughter was so keen to see, is Future Ex-Hubby.

We got our Decree Nisi yesterday. In 6 weeks I could apply for the Decree Absolute and be divorced. But I won't till the financial settlement is completed. And since Future Ex-Hubby is lying about that as well, that may take some time.

As I said, I do try. But he makes it bloody difficult with his lies. Should I tell the kids what he says? I'm afraid they'd just stick up for him and be even more down on me.

Whenever anyone shows me a modicum of kindness, I just about grovel at their feet in gratitude. That's because it's so bad here. Daughter's friend gave her a Pandora bracelet and three charms today. Just because. I'd planned to give that to her for her birthday. Don't need to bother now.

Maybe Future Ex-Hubby is feeling insecure because he sees that the kids and I get along better. And of course he doesn't want that. Maybe I should spit in his food every night (I still cook his meals). Or rub his shirts in cat litter. That's not really me but he makes me so angry with his lies.

To Walk In Another's Shoes

2010-05-14T21:32:00.002+01:00

Sometimes in order to understand another person's behaviour, it's useful to try to imagine the world from their perspective. This is something I've been trying to do with Future Ex-Hubby. What would I do if I were him? What would I do if I discovered he was becoming emotionally involved with another woman.

Would I email his sister and tell her to tell him to get his act together? Most definitely not. Would I email his parents and say they would be unlikely to see their grandchildren again? No. Would I collect a three-inch-thick file of evidence against him to "save" the marriage? Nah, couldn't be bothered. Would I work on the kids in turning them against him? Possibly.

My reaction would be more direct. I would rant and rave perhaps. I would suggest counselling (which I did this time but really my heart wasn't in it). I would suggest he move to greener pastures. I would be perhaps a bit more ruthless about what I wanted financially from the breakup.

I usually have been the one to initiate a breakup, but I have been cheated on. And not just emotionally. And, yes, it hurt. And, yes, I wanted to hurt that person back, and ultimately I did. But not by destroying his privacy. I did it by moving on and refusing to get back together. No shouting. No power games. No tyranny. No bullying. Of course, it wasn't a marriage or even a particularly long-term relationship so perhaps it doesn't merit a comparison.

I'm trying to understand Future Ex-Hubby's behaviour becausing understanding can lead to an easier relationship. Or not. Not if he won't try to understand me. He views every step in the process as a personal attack. He was hurt, outraged and infuriated by the divorce petition. Well, of course, because it was all from my point of view. Then he calmed down. Til the financial disclosure form. Oh, he didn't like that part of the process at all. But he was scrupulous about it. Then there was the first financial disclosure court hearing. I don't know what he expected. Did he think the judge would side with him? He thought wrong if he did. Next is the Decree Nisi hearing. I expect some bad behaviour from him after that. And then there's the pension actuary's report to come. I expect loads of nastiness to come out of that.

I just don't have that much nastiness inside me. I know I've hurt him but I have not set out deliberately to hurt him. Really, I haven't. I don't want to hurt him, but I realise I have. I just wonder when he will feel fully avenged.

Ya Gotta Accentuate the Positive

2010-05-13T22:39:00.003+01:00

I have been trying to think of positive things about future Ex-Hubby. Why? Well, it would make living with him at least somewhat bearable. And really that's what I've been doing for 18 years.

So here's one: he usually pours me one glass of wine from the bottle or two that he consumes every night. He then presents it to me with a flourish, as a master might to a favourite servant.

Here's another: he says he has been collecting information for my income tax return.

Here's a third: he has thought about if "my" car will need new tires for its MOT.

So he's not all bad, I suppose. Even if he shouted at me tonight because he says I didn't tell him in time about my latest solicitor's bill. Oh yes, I have to seek his permission to pay my solicitor's bills because he still controls the money. ALL the money because he more or less forced me to close the one account in my name. He threatened to get an injunction against me if I didn't sign the letter asking the funds to be transferred into a joint account. Of course, he could have then funneled it into his own account. Girls, never give up your careers. Never allow your partners to be the sole breadwinners. It gives them far too much control.

I retreated to my room after his shouting fit and nearly broke down in tears. So frustrating. We need to drop the price on the house but I'm afraid to approach him about it. Just as I was afraid to tell him about the solicitor's bill. I think he would have shouted at me anyway no matter when I told him. He's given me a hard time in the past about the bills. Anyway, we'll be sitting here a year from now if we don't drop the price. But future Ex-Hubby has his head in the sand about it.

I've been thinking about my parents lately and not in a good way. On Sunday my mother said she planned to get future Ex-Hubby a birthday present. I said I didn't know why she bothered since his family didn't get me anything (nothing new there). She said, "He's never done anything to me."

I will allow what few readers I have a moment to digest that statement. Are those the words of a mother supporting her daughter? Yet both my parents stuck up for the bastard all the 17 years we were married. They were so enamoured of the man I believe they cared more for him than they did for me. That's why he felt free to email them and say such terrible things about me. Because he knew they were never completely on my side. I don't know if my relationship with my father will recover. My mother is just nuts, I decided. Both spoke to him behind my back.

Where is the loyalty? Or the love? I rely heavily on my friends, and thank God I have them for my family have been completely useless in siding with me and supporting me through the terrible ordeal this marital breakup has been.

A Bit of a Break

2010-05-07T21:56:00.002+01:00

Hubby had a good week at long last. And so did I. He started his new job and was out of the house for 10 blissful hours for each of four days. He has his own office, his own parking spot, someone to bring him tea and biscuits, a new Blackberry phone, and dozens to prop up that huge ego of his.

The kids and I returned to almost normal with each other. We ate together. We joked. We talked. Son revealed his very poor Maths exam score. We haven't told his dad yet. Daughter wants to go to a music festival and we discussed the pros and cons of it. And how we would approach her dad with the idea. Gone was the oppressive atmosphere. Till the key turned in the door. Then I retreated to my room, the kids to their rooms. They are pleasant to him and don't sound sorry to see him. But it made me wonder. Could the problems I've been having with them be completely attributable to their dad? Could they feel his tyranny as much as I do? Are they afraid of his disapproval? And they're not afraid of mine?

They must feel so confused. I know I do at times.

With Hubby out of the house, I feel I can breathe. I feel like I can take my house back from his oppressive influence. For the first time in months, I've used the family computer (not for this, of course, but for job-seeking). And I did wonder briefly if we'd be where we are if he'd gotten this job two years ago. But I realise that his spying began a decade ago. I remember him coming home about 10 years ago and going through the Sent Mail file. Why? He said he was looking for something. What he found was an innocent email I'd sent to a former (male) colleague. He asked me about it in a strange way, and I never contacted the colleague again.

I remember other instances. They seemed trivial at the time, but perhaps I stored them up in my subconscious. I certainly started feeling unhappy every year at the same time -- near our anniversary. But I kept telling myself how could I be unhappy? I didn't deserve to be unhappy. Look what he provided for me. Look at the life we had together.

Well, let's look at it. It was a life he provided. I had nothing to do with it, being that I was only a stay-at-home mother. I always thought Hubby had a misogynist streak. I even gave him a book called The Natural Inferiority of Woman, which was a tongue-in-cheek look at the misogyny of men. He was proud of me, it's true. Proud of the way I looked. Proud of the way I could cook and entertain (though he never actually wanted me to entertain anyone other than him). But anytime I raised the subject (weakly, it's true) of going back to work, he would say, "You don't need to work." I didn't have to worry about bills as they were all in his name. Do you get what was going on? I was treated as a Victorian housewife. I don't want to be a Victorian housewife. I want to be myself. And I couldn't be that in this marriage and I couldn't pretend anymore.

And so we're having this very nasty split because he wanted things to remain the same and I didn't.

I Hate Him So (Well, I Had to Say It Sooner or Later)

2010-05-04T23:11:00.003+01:00

I heard Hubby talking about me on the phone again tonight. I always have to think about who he's talking about because the person he describes just doesn't sound like me at all. Tonight, again, he said he doubts the kids will want anything to do with me once the divorce is final. That could be wishful thinking on his part. Then again, the way the kids are to me, maybe not. And apparently Hubby has a fledgeling relationship. The woman in question wants it to be just friends for now. But, he told whoever, what if in the future they get together and what if I come back and demand more of his pension? Because the salary I'll be on once I get a job will be so low I'll probably have to. Or so he said.

This seems to be a recurrent theme with him: me trying to get my hands on all his money. That, however, is not the uppermost concern for me. The uppermost concern, my biggest fear, is that I won't have a relationship with my kids. I wonder if when he took them out last Sunday he said he took this job so he could work from home and they could live with him. The properties he's looking at certainly suggest he plans to have a family living with him. My kids won't even talk to me about what will happen afterwards or where they will live. No one will talk about anything.

I wonder if I shouldn't just ask my daughter outright if she plans to live with her father. I may not like the answer but at least I'll know where I stand. I don't like Hubby making the children collude with him in screwing me. I think it's wrong. I think he's actually fucking them up because I haven't done anything to my kids to make them hate me this much. I haven't run out on them. I haven't abused them. I hate their father, but who wouldn't if they were in my shoes? And I manage to hold my tongue and temper most of the time. When I've lost it, it's because I've been pushed into losing it.

But I bet they don't see it that way.

So Hubby's greatest fear is that I'll take him to the cleaners and he will lose his pension. And he treats me in a way that makes me want to do just that. My biggest fear is I will lose my kids. I would gladly trade my pension rights for my kids any day. I'm just astounded at how little Hubby knows me. After 18 years together he thinks my priority is the money. But that's his. Always has been. Mine has always been the family. Suddenly, the workaholic husband is a family man who has to work from home because of his kids. Who treats me like I'm invisible. On Sunday, for example, I said I would call Son to find out when he was coming home. Hubby then told Daughter, in front of me, to text her brother to find out where he was because Hubby was leaving the house. I said I could do that as I'm still one of Son's parents. Why does he do that? To further demean me in the eyes of my children. To make them think he's the only parent they can count on. He's their best friend and they are his. Or so he thinks.

I. Hate. The. Man. So. Very. Much.

The Green Green Grass of Home

2010-04-30T23:31:00.002+01:00

I had a job interview with the NHS today, my first in a very long time. I spent all week preparing for it. I was made for that job. That job was made for me. Or so I told myself. I refused to think I wouldn't get it. I bought a new suit, researched the company, thought of answers to questions they would ask me, thought of questions to ask them.

And I didn't get the job. I interviewed quite well, the would-be boss told me, but there was a stronger candidate with more recent experience who had worked in the NHS. It hit me hard, of course, because I had allowed myself to take ownership of that job. And I thought what more could I have done? Nothing, the woman said. But there must be a way around this 18-year gap in employment. Yes, I put down all my volunteer experience. But how am I to get more recent experience if no one will hire me?

That job was going to be the ticket out of my misery. It was going to allow me a new life. Never mind that it didn't pay that much. I was all set to go out and buy new work clothes (from Tesco and Asda, being the spendthrift that my future ex-husband accuses me of being). I was going to be a working woman again. Maybe I could even afford to move out.

Tonight, while watching TV (by myself of course), I had a few revelations.

One is that I'm a "grass is always greener on the other side" sort of person. Always have been. Job not going great? Get another one and move on. Unhappy relationship? Leave it and move on. Life is always better on the other side. Except it's not. I have done this before with potential jobs, expecting my life to be magically changed by the mere fact of a different set of employers.

Another revelation I had is that I like to make grand gestures to show my love for someone. I move countries and give up my career. I give up a marriage and cause serious ructions in my relationship with my children. And do you think I get the same grand gestures back? Of course not because not everyone is as stupidly naive as I am. Not everyone is as willing to fuck up their lives. Hubby refused to give up his job and move to America for me. So I moved here, and then felt seriously homesick and depressed for at least 10 years.

The third revelation is that I expect the men in my life to fill a void. As I sat there on my own (my kids won't watch TV with me anymore), I realised that this was what I did every night even before the split with Hubby. There has been an emptiness and a gnawing hunger inside me for a deeply fulfilling relationship. I am lonely, but I've been lonely for years. Hubby just couldn't or wouldn't fill that void. He wasn't the first man in my life who couldn't do that though.

So what to do about these revelations? I don't know. I don't know what the next step is after revelation. I will continue to look for a job. And if I'm lucky enough to get another interview I will try that bit harder. I have to shine. I thought I did today, but evidently not enough to overcome 18 years of sitting on the sidelines. I have to work harder and longer. Somehow I will get there. Someday I will get there.

And the grass will be lush and green.

The Bad Mother

2010-04-26T07:24:00.003+01:00

Hubby has a job. I should be jumping up and down for joy. I am not and here is why:

Hubby had three job offers last week (a bit like buses -- you wait ages for one then they all come at once): one on very good money, one with lots of benefits, and one with lots of risks but he likes the people. He took the third. He took the kids out to lunch yesterday to celebrate/explain (depends on who you talk to). Only he didn't tell me he was taking the kids out so I came home to an empty house and defrosted pork joint I'd planned to cook after church. Miffed is not strong enough to describe how I felt. Why? Not because of the empty house or defrosted pork joint. Because he wss sneaky and underhanded about taking the kids out. Because the only family role I am allowed to have anymore is cook/cleaner. It felt like and was probably meant to be a slap in my face. Here he is, Beneficent Dad Who Does Everything For His Kids. I do nothing. I've done nothing for 16 years. I don't wash, iron, and mend their clothes. I don't cook their meals. I don't take them anywhere. I don't help with their homework (actually, I'm not allowed because of my inferior American education). I am a Bad Wife and Mother. And I do not deserve to partake of any enjoyment with my family.

When I discovered where they were (after texting my son and daughter), I decided I wasn't going to cook the defrosted pork joint. I cleaned the house I no longer love. I weeded the garden I no longer love. When they got home, hubby went to the store and bought chicken to cook on the grill I bought him for his birthday one year. Only he lied about it. About 6 p.m. I came in from the garden and decided to make myself a baked potato. I offered to make one for my son as well but he said his dad was going to cook for them. News to me. I came down and asked Hubby (who hadn't offered to include me) and he said it was chicken he'd bought for Daughter's barbecue last week. I said that was in the freezer; he said he'd taken it out earlier and would either cook it for the kids or for his lunch. I said there was no way it would be defrosted in time. I let him know I was unhappy because he'd seen that I'd taken out the pork roast. I looked at the chicken. It was boneless chicken breasts. He'd bought bone-in thighs for Daughter's barbecue, which are still in the freezer. A small lie? Certainly, a stupid one. And why? To undermine me yet again in my children's eyes. I am the Petty Mother who refused to cook when she found out he'd taken the kids out. Need I remind you that we are all still living in the same house?

I am in a no-win situation. If I stand up for myself, as my friends urge me, I look like a Bad Mother. Certainly, Hubby twists it around that way. If I do nothing, Daughter treats me like the doormat I deserve to be. I don't have conversations with my children anymore but I can hear them talking to their dad. In a way I understand. They feel like they don't know me anymore. I am the Evil Mother who broke up their happy home. Except I wasn't happy. And now I really am not happy.

Yesterday, my mother let slip details of a conversation she and Hubby had in October. He apparently told her I spent the $600 she gave us last summer while we were in Florida. Now, again miffed doesn't begin to describe how I felt. My own mother talking about me behind my back to this hateful man. She tried to backtrack and say it was back in October and it didn't matter anymore. This from the woman who still gets mad about incidents that happened when she was 4. She tried to make out that her living situation is as bad or worse than mine. Then went into a long, detailed monologue about how my stepmother had insulted her a few years ago. I told her I wasn't in a fit state to talk to her anymore and hung up.

I know the solution to this situation. I need to get a job. I need to get the hell out of this house. I so wanted a family life, but my family life was shattered long before I got interested in another man. If I had been married to a lovely man, he would still be a lovely man. He wouldn't be a Machiavellian freak who's trying to destroy me every way he can.

I went to a friend's house yesterday and vented. Tears of rage, frustration, and sadness poured down my face. My next court date for the financial settlement is July 30. That seems so far off. We got an offer for the house last week that was £120,00 less than the asking price. Hubby turned it down before I even heard about it. The estate agents rang him first. Typical. Even estate agents know that my opinions have no value.

I hang out in my bedroom a lot with the cats. They still love me. I used to watch TV with Daughter and Son but they have made it clear they don't appreciate my company.

Do I deserve all this? And when will Hubby tire of getting his revenge on me?

I Am Not A Monster

2010-04-22T23:24:00.001+01:00

I'm not a bad person. Really, I'm not. Yes, I have my peccadilloes just like anyone else. But I'm a people pleaser. I like people and I want them to like me. I had a few knocks in life. You don't get to my age without them. There are a few things I believe in passionately. Or did.

One was couples should stay together for the sake of the children. This was almost a religion to me. Stay together and your children will turn out better. Look at me. My parents split when I was 15. It was a horrible, nasty divorce. My mother threatened to kill herself, my dad, me. She was committed to a mental hospital, wrongly diagnosed as schizophrenic, put on anti-schizophrenia medication that turned her into a zombie. I moved in with my dad, and she moved 4,000 miles away when I was 16. My dad immediately started up with the woman who became (and still is) his wife. They didn't treat me too well. I became a wild child, but I graduated from high school, college, and had a career.

Then I moved here, and marriage and the family became my career. That career is shattered now by my own actions (and Hubby's too to be fair). I really, really wish I'd never given up my career. After seeing my mother struggle to get work at the age of 50, I swore I would never allow myself to be financially dependant on a man and risk being in the same boat. And guess what I did? And what a man to be financially dependant on. Oh, he took care of me financially. On his terms of course. See, it's all his money, and he lets me spend some of it on food, etc. Then complains. So I said let's have a budget. He said we didn't need a budget. I could go on and on in this vein. But what good would it do?

The URL for this blog is restinpeacedearabby. The title of the blog is wakeupandsmellthecoffee. For those who don't know, Dear Abby and her twin sister Ann Landers were America's premier agony aunts. They dished out advice to people like "Wake up and smell the coffee." And "Ask yourself if you're better off with him or without him." Well, that was at the forefront of my mind when I created this blog. I was deeply depressed. I had started to go through menopause, Hubby worked away all week and was a bastard basically all weekend, I felt like my life was meaningless. I thought of cutting myself just to make myself feel something. Even pain would be better. Then other things happened. We got a dog. He got hip dysplasia. He had surgeries. Hubby lost his job. Kids moved on to secondary school. Hubby and I were going to buy a business. Deal fell apart. We were going to buy second business. Deal fell apart. Dog had to be put down when he became unpredictable and violent.

And one day I woke up and really did smell the coffee. And the answer to the question would I be better with or without him changed. Because I got brave. I didn't listen to his lies anymore. I can't be the passive housewife anymore. It's like I've been a 60s housewife but now we're in the 70s and I'm breaking free. It's Stepford Wives all over again. I am learning so many new things. I am changing. I didn't realise what a passive mouse I'd become over these last 18 years. Passive at home, that is. I quit voicing my opinions on certain subjects with Hubby years ago. He never listened to them anyway. He did listen to me about the children, but now he treats me like a shadow, and encourages them to do the same. Not directly but in a subtle way. I caught him doing it just tonight. He's accused me of wanting to get my hands on the kids' trust funds. I don't know what I have done or said that would ever suggest I wanted to steal from my children.

But maybe that's what he would do if he were in my shoes. And that's why I can't stay in this marriage. We are poles apart in what we value and value in each other. Hubby has been a good provider and money manager. He would say he's done it all for us. But I disagree with that. He's done it for us, but he's also done it for his own ego gratification. He has no hobbies or outside interests. That's why he got so depressed when he lost his job. He says he's a family man, but he didn't actually do much with the family. He got deeply involved in son's running career but as an extension of himself. He showed no interest in daughter's dancing till last October. I took the kids on ski holiday after ski holiday. He wouldn't go because he'd been told not to ski and it would "be a waste of a holiday." A waste to spend time with his children, to watch them develop a skill they so enjoyed. A waste to spend time with his wife and support her in ensuring their children had a fun holiday. One year he took time off while we were gone to build a fence. I think the point I'm making is that this so-called family man actually prefers to do solitary things.

During the breakdown of my first marriage, I listened to Frank Sinatra a lot -- "Regrets. I've had a few..." I still have regrets, different ones. I can't regret the marriage because there were good moments, particularly in the early years with the kids. And I don't regret having my children. I do regret the horrible way this marriage has fallen apart. I would like to have remained friends with Hubby. I have to be civil because of the kids. But I have some strong negative feelings about him. I don't know if they'll ever go away.

Piano and Dancing

2010-04-13T23:26:00.002+01:00

I am eating my breakfast and reading yesterday's paper. In another room Daughter is practicing her piano. Her playing sounds beautiful, and as I listen I reminisce about when she started. She had tried the violin and didn't like it. With her long fingers, I thought she'd do well with the piano. I asked around and found a teacher. A friend offered to sell me her piano. Hubby was dead against it. "Why spend so much on a piano that she'll drop after a month or two?" I persisted. Hubby said, "How are you going to get it here?" I looked in the Yellow Pages under piano removals and found someone.

And so Daughter started her lessons and did well. Now on her third teacher, she practices every day.

When I finish breakfast I walk in to compliment her. She looks up at me. "Can I help you?" she says in a voice that would freeze hell. "I just wanted to say how good you sound." She frowns. "Can you close the door please," she commands.

I walk away, tail between legs. Again. Another attempt at engaging with her. Another slap in the face.

So it has been since last summer. To recap: Last year I reconnected with an old schoolmate. Our correspondence seemed to awaken something in me and I found myself fantasising about a life with this man. I wrote my feelings down in a draft email Draft is the key word here. I never intended to send it. But Hubby found it. Quite how he found it is subject to debate. What isn't was his reaction: swift and brutal. He wrote an email to my sister (not a draft) telling her to tell me to get my act together and that he was cancelling our holiday to America and that I would have to tell the kids and my parents why. He attached the draft email. He printed out a copy of the email to my sister, stamped it "copy" so there would be no mistake, put it in brown envelope with my name on it and left it on my dressing table while I was in the shower. Then he left the house. I did what I was told: I called my parents and told them what was going on and later on I told the kids. Daughter left the house in floods of tears. Son retreated to his bedroom.

Did Hubby and I discuss this? Not really. Let me make something clear: there is a difference between fantasy and reality. This person and I were and are separated by an ocean and 4,000 miles. We did not have sex. We didn't even see each other. In a desperate move to salvage the trip to America, I suggested marriage counselling. I found a counsellor. I made the appointment. We went twice. Hubby managed to charm and impress the counsellor. I said I thought Hubby was a control freak. He said he was just careful. I melted into the couch. I said initially I would cease contact with my friend. And I did. We had planned to meet up but that obviously was cancelled. The trip was back on though.

But after a few days of being treated like a Jezebel by Hubby, I contacted my friend again. Why couldn't we have a friendship? Why couldn't we see each other in America? And so we made plans. And kept in touch. And I got caught by Hubby the day before we were to see each other. Again, just how he found out is subject to debate. For Hubby lies and I don't know what's true and what isn't with him anymore. So my friend and I didn't see each other. We had agreed that it had to be platonic, just friends. Hubby didn't believe this and began a nightmare campaign to rip to shreds every bit of privacy I might have had or wanted.

He also began to work on the kids. And I made a very wrong assumption, which was that my kids would forgive me and still love me. But they took his side. Why and how are subject to debate. I think he showed Daughter some of the evidence he amassed against me (to "save" the marriage, he said.). I think Daughter told Son. He certainly started to have conversations with her in the kitchen with the door closed. I overheard a few. Brochures for holidays to the Caribbean started arriving at the house. Daughter and I have been on a roller coaster ever since. I think sometimes she forgets how angry she is at me and acts almost normal with me. Then something happens to remind her. I say the wrong thing. I do the wrong thing. I spent October and November either in tears or on the brink of tears. Things seemed to ease up in December, then they treated me very badly on Christmas Day. I know it was hard for all of them, and I tried really hard to make it normal. I went up to my room and cried, then squared my shoulders and made Christmas dinner. By New Year's I'd pretty well recovered. Till I discovered my birthday card from my mother had been ripped open and the money inside taken. I had an almighty fit about that.

I think Hubby took it. Why? What would you say to a woman screaming that someone in the house had stolen her birthday money? You would say the postman probably took it. He didn't. He said, "I'm not surprised; you're so untidy." The unopened card had arrived early so I left it downstairs in the kitchen to open on my birthday. On New Year's Day I spoke to my mother and she said to put it in a safe place. Now, with Hubby's history of spying on me, maybe I should have been more careful. But I wasn't. Spying and stealing are two different things. Or so I thought. But I also know that in his diary he had made a note of how much American money I'd given back to him after our trip with a question about what happened to his share of the money my mother had given us when we had visited her. Yes, I held back some money. I held back $100 that I'd held back the year before as well. And I held back what I figured was left over of my share of what my mother gave us.

Daughter thought and thinks I overreacted. It was the postman, she told me later during another argument. Ah yes, that argument. She was to appear in four dance shows at her dance school's annual prizegiving last month. "I want to go to all of them," I had told her. She didn't want me to, then said she didn't care. I took the information sheet up to my room so I could book tickets for everyone. She waited till I went out then ordered tickets for her dad, her brother, and her friends. How did I find out? I found a print-out next to the computer that said "Thank you for ordering tickets." I asked Hubby about it and he said she'd said I could sort myself out.

I don't know if I can express accurately what this made me feel. That girl has been dancing since she was 2 and a half, when I started taking her to ballet lessons. I'd found her one day dancing on the dining room table and watching herself in the mirror and I thought she'd enjoy it. And so she has. I have taken her to lesson after lesson, exam after exam, dance competition after dance competition. I have taken her for ballet shoe fittings. I have done her hair, her makeup. That day that I found the printout I was due to meet her at a beauty salon to pay for her eyebrow wax, then take her to the hairdresser's to get her hair coloured (and pay for that too). I texted her that she could sort herself out. Then I felt guilty about those working women with whom I'd made the appointments. So I turned up at the beauty salon and I paid. I cried the whole way there though. Then I took her to the hairdresser. But first I stopped at the carwash. As the car was being washed, she and I had it out. She even cried a bit, something she rarely does.

Did things improve? A bit. And then not. Just last night I heard her downstairs talking to her father about his two job possibilities (oh yes, Hubby's unemployed streak looks set to end). "Too bad Mum won't get to enjoy it," I heard her say.

I don't know what the end will be to this story. Just last year she sobbed to me that she didn't want her dad coming in her room when he'd been drinking. So I got him to give up drinking during the week. I hate Hubby for his part in this. "It's all your own fault," he would sneer back. Yes, I suppose I am at fault for much of this. And what I think about that would be a whole other post. Some of this is just teen-age girl rebellion, I suppose.

One positive thing is I have apologised to my own mother for the way I treated her when I was 15. Perhaps one day Daughter may do the same.

Working on Getting Work

2010-04-08T11:29:00.002+01:00

Divorce is a nasty business, and it brings out the nasty side of many people. Yesterday, I had an appointment at my local job centre to tell them how I'm getting on with my job search (more on that later). The woman I saw and I are both going through marital breakups, but hers seems far worse than mine. So far, Hubby has shown a vindictive, picky, nasty side. But he hasn't physically harmed me -- yet. This woman's husband in a fit of pique threw her to the floor when they were arguing over money. She has bruises. She said she never in a million years thought he would get violent. Then he called the police on HER. She sneaked a peek at her son's texts and discovered he has been telling lies about her to his dad. Now that, I think, is the hardest part of divorce: your children rejecting and betraying you to your other half. I explained that her son has done this because he's afraid of losing his dad's love. I suggested she look up the five stages of divorce on the internet. I told her I won't even buy a lottery ticket till my divorce is final.

And then I looked at this woman and thought, "You have a job and you don't even know all this. How come I can't get a job?"

And that, for me, is the biggest challenge. Yes, divorce is nasty and negative. But it can also unlock doors that have been shut for years. I am on a journey to employment. I started off very naive. Times have changed since I last updated my resume. I've found professional people to help me do it for free. Job seeking is also different. The internet has made it so much easier. Doesn't mean I'm getting employed though. I started off looking for receptionist and business admin jobs, figuring that I would have to start over in the working world. But I didn't even get an interview in all the 50-plus applications I sent off. The woman who helped me with my resume suggested I start looking in journalism and related fields because that's my background. Well, duh. Why didn't I think of that? Then she referred me to a program being run by the local college for getting longterm unemployed people back to work. I'm taking a computer course as well. It's all a learning curve, and it gets my mind off the more negative aspects of this divorce.

One thing my counsellor suggested I do was develop a relationship with myself. I think that's exactly what's happening here. I'm thinking about my positive qualities and how they can be put to use in the working world. And maybe one day an employer will agree with me.

Doesn't hurt to try.

Lies, Damned Lies

2010-04-04T18:53:00.002+01:00

I'm trying to decide whether to use this blog as a sort of blowing-off-steam, getting-it-off-my-chest space in which I tell all about the demise of my marriage or as a space to talk about getting my new life off the ground. Perhaps a bit of both.

So much has happened in the months since I last blogged. Not much of it positive. I could blog on and on about Hubby and the lies he's told (and probably continues to tell). Small lies. Big lies. Needless lies. And I know them all. How? The man who sneeringly told me I should never write anything down wrote everything down himself. Then threw it in the bin. Passwords for www.match.com. Passwords for his email account. Passwords for his googlemail account he opened to send me a fake email from my paramour. Passwords for the real list of assets (as opposed to the one he showed me). Did he not know that years of doing jigsaw puzzles with my children made me a dab hand at piecing together his rubbish? And then there was his diary. He felt compelled to write everything in it too. When my daughter texted him to tell him she saw me coming out of his study (I don't remember why I was in there -- either to read the diary or to get a copy of a utility bill so I could open a bank account in my own name). When he told our son's cross-country coach that we were splitting up (in October, but he lied about it in December). I got quite obsessed with all the subterfuge for a while. Then, I decided I was better off not knowing. I just assume now that he comes in my room and goes through my stuff (and every now and again I find telltale signs). I just assume that he continues to lie. I believe nothing he tells me. If he says it's dark outside, I go outside just to check it's true. But I don't go through bins. I don't read his diary. I don't go in his study. I don't care anymore.

He's always been a liar, but I used to have nicer words for it. He embellished the truth. He exaggerated. I used to find excuses for his lying. Not anymore.

One of his acquaintances used to read this blog and told him about it. Zoe P, if you still read this, and I hope you don't, I hope you realise there is more than one side to the story of every marital breakdown. I noticed today that I have one less follower. Was it Zoe? Was it Hubby? Was it Hubby's sister?

Here's another lie I heard Hubby tell someone on the phone. According to him, my first marriage broke down when I got caught red-handed by first hubby having a one-night stand. Pure fiction. The one-night stand happened AFTER the marriage ended. First hubby never caught me red-handed at anything. And how do you think Hubby found out that there ever was a one-night stand? He read a diary I kept nearly 20 years ago. He read that diary 11 years ago but kept quiet about it. Till he read a diary I kept for about a week in September before he took it out of my handbag, read it, and made photocopies of it. I wrote private things that I never wanted anyone to read. I was trying to organise my thoughts and feelings, hoping against hope that I would "come to my senses" about staying in my marriage. More fool I for writing them down.

Hubby bragged to his friend that he would destroy me. He emailed my parents to say they would never see their grandchildren again because he had no intention of ever going on holiday to the US again (did he think I wouldn't take the kids to see their grandparents?). My mother had chest pains all night after reading that. He told Daughter he was going to take her and her brother on a Caribbean holiday, then told her "the lawyers" said he couldn't do it till the divorce was final. I don't know who "the lawyers" were, but my lawyer never said a word about it and I doubt his did either.

Sometimes marriages break down and the people involved don't have a clue why until the divorce proceedings start and it gets down and dirty. And that's what has happened in my case. I realise now that my marriage was in trouble before I even started this blog. It was in trouble before it even started. Hubby lied and I chose to believe his lies. I lied too, to myself mostly, because I didn't want to admit to myself that I'd given up so much for such an unsatisfactory relationship. I used to believe that we could tell each other anything, but the truth is we never told each other much of anything at all. For example, Hubby had a MAN problem that I didn't even know about. He went to the dr. and told me later that it was for something else. I think the dr. gave him some blue pills, which I think he took the night before he discovered the infamous draft email. I think that's why he reacted so extremely bad. I think all of his behaviour since then has been a result of his hurt manhood.

I can understand being hurt and being angry. But vowing to "destroy" me? Involving my family and telling them they won't see their grandchildren again? Lying to me and about me? That's just downright cruel. I didn't set out to deliberately hurt him or destroy him. I should feel guilty. But I don't. I did feel enormously bad for the kids, but after Christmas -- when I tried so hard to make it as pleasant as possible and they tried equally hard to hurt me -- I didn't feel so bad about them anymore. After all, I haven't run off with another man. I'm still here living in an extremely difficult situation. I still wash their clothes, cook their meals, give them money, take them places. I'm the same mother I was. I just don't love their father anymore. They don't know how hateful he's been to me. And I won't tell them either.

So here I am at 50, about to be single again and a lot poorer. Unable so far to find employment. I should be scared, so scared I don't want to leave my marriage. But I'm not. Instead, I'm excited by my pending independence. My mother has warned me that some of my friends might dump me along the way. Let them. If they do, they weren't very good friends in the first place and I'm better off not having to carry that baggage around.

Well, Here's All the Gossip

2010-03-31T21:19:00.003+01:00

I was going to create a new blog and start over. And make sure hubby and his two friends and five acquaintances couldn't have access. And then I thought, "Fuck it." This is my blog, now three years old. I've enjoyed writing it. I've met great people through it. Hubby may mock my blog name, but he is ignorant of its origins. And of many other things as well.

So what is happening in my life? What isn't happening in my life? I am getting divorced, selling my house, searching in vain for a job, putting up with two very stroppy, self-absorbed teen-agers, taking a computer course, trying to finish up my massage coursework. Wow, I'm out of breath just writing that. I never pictured my life at the half-century mark as being like this.

And what about Hubby? Still hasn't found a job. Has been absolutely horrible to me at times and feels quite justified in that. I keep trying to put myself in his shoes. Would I treat him the same way if he had fallen for someone else? Nope, don't think so. He is incapable of discussing his feelings with me or in acknowledging that I might feel and think differently to him. And so we come to this chapter in our lives. I've sprouted quite a few grey hairs in the last few months. I can't trust anyone in my house. My personal papers have been gone through. Money my mother sent me for my birthday was stolen by someone in this house. I can't leave my laptop unattended. Do I deserve this? Hubby seems to think so. So does Daughter, for she has shown quite clearly whose side she is on. Hers, of course, but she favours whichever parent can give her something.

Do I cry? Oh yes. Usually in the morning. Then I buck up and get on with another day. I always have something to do. And what makes me happy? My friends, my cats, singing (I now belong to two choirs). Of course, I can't entertain my friends in my house at the moment. Hubby has said none of my friends are welcome here. I could say the same for him but he doesn't have any friends. Well, he has two. And some acquaintances. Don't come to this house, any of you. If my friends aren't welcome, neither are you.

I was seeing a counsellor but Hubby was noting down each time I went and how much money was being spent. So I stopped going. Money seems to be his main focus. The last time I dared to assert myself as being the mother of our two children and still having a right to a say in what they do or don't do, he sneeringly called me a spendthrift and said all my family are spendthrifts, bankrupts, and divorcees. And that our children would be inheriting quite a bit of money from his family. Now that surprises me because he's always told me what a mess his parents' finances are in. And his sister and brother are now unemployed as well. But I don't place the same emphasis on inheritance as he does. Yes, it's nice to inherit money, but isn't it nicer to earn your own? As for me being a spendthrift, well, that made me laugh -- it was much later on, but still I did laugh. He married me because SALE is my favourite four-letter word.

People, the man is pathetic in his cluelessness. I want to hate him, and sometimes I do, but really I feel sorry for him. First of all, he thinks he's given me a gold-plated lifestyle, but it's only brass. Comfortable, yes. But not luxurious. Never that. I drive a 9-year-old car. It's a good reliable car and I like it. But it's not a late-model Mercedes or Range Rover. Our house has been done up, but on the cheap. I haven't had to work, but I haven't had designer clothes like my friends who work can afford. I don't even have Marks and Spencer clothes. I have supermarket chic clothes.

Hubby has said he has no respect for me. He's called me a bitch and said our two children "fucking hate" my guts. Well, they probably do at times. And truth be told, there are times I'm not too fond of them. I've considered walking out on the lot of them (have I mentioned that we're all still living under the same roof?). But then my children would have only their father as the parental influence in their lives. And I can't allow that. They NEED me. They may not realise they do but in time they might. I can't allow a man whose sole motivation in life is money to be the only influence in my children's lives. Not that they want to be influenced by me. But deep, deep down, it will leave a mark on them. And when they turn 50, perhaps they will forgive me. And understand me.

Or perhaps not.

My first divorce was so much easier. No kids, no house to sell. Just split the possessions down the middle. First ex, I forgive you for I realise now that you actually behaved quite honourably. Unlike this one, who wants to know what I did with £40 I made in an attic sale (like a garage sale). For the record, I gave £13 to each of the children and kept £14 for myself since I did all the work. He also wanted to know what I did with £175 he gave me in lieu of going on a trip with him and the kids. For the record, I deposited it and haven't spent it. In 2008 I bought my family's Christmas presents at charity shops because Hubby had me thinking we were practically on the bread line. He went and spent the same amount of money on his family that he always has. In 2009 I paid for my family's Christmas presents with the credit card. He paid for his family's out of our joint account. He tried to make that credit card debt all mine and couldn't understand how unfair that is. He wanted to know what three cheques I wrote for the amounts of £300, £300, and £210 were for. For the record, two were paid to the courts and one was a deposit to my solicitor. Meanwhile, he opened a savings account in his name and promptly deposited £42,000 from our joint account into it. It now has £1000 in it and he appears to have returned the rest of the money.

Or maybe not.

He wants to know if I plan to remarry. For the record, none of your fucking business, bub. But not for five years at least.

I still believe in the institution of marriage. I just don't seem to be very good at it.

I've come up with several career path ideas, which I will write about further at another time. In fact I'm full of ideas. This split seems to have unlocked all my creativity. I can't wait to get on with the next chapter in my life.

Wakeup has gone to sleep

2010-02-20T21:11:00.001Z

But she may reawaken one day with a new invitation-only blog. Look out for your invites, and let me know if you want one.

The Power Game

2009-11-24T08:11:00.003Z

People thought they were the perfect couple. He the big hitter in the financial world. She the little housewife and mother. He brought home the modestly big bucks. She tried not to spend them because it upset him so much. They had two golden children whom she ferried round to piano lessons, beavers, brownies, dancing, acting, tutoring, swimming. And then he came home when it was all over. And basked in their reflected glory.

He spent every evening locked away in his study, a room so sacrosanct it wasn't cleaned in 11 years, counting his money and dreaming of ways to make more. He would bring a bottle of wine or two up with him. Or he would be on the phone all night to colleagues. She would read to the children after their baths and put them to bed. Then she would watch TV. Alone. Till he got off the phone to come in and tell her all the wonderful things the colleagues had said about him. All conversation was about him.

She was lonely so she developed hobbies. Singing. Amateur dramatics. Sewing. Exercise. He did not ask about these nor share her interest in them. He counted his money and compliments instead.

He got a job offer in London. This would be a great way to build my career, he said. And she encouraged him. For she no longer had a career, having given it and her country up to be with him. Her home and children became her career. While he was in London she raised the children. He would come home at weekends, demand all homelife revolve around him for 48 hours, then return. She would breathe a sigh of relief when he left. But she was lonely. There was no conversation -- not with him nor anyone.

Then tragedy struck. He lost his job because his fund wasn't performing. He came home and immediately set about upsetting her domestic routine. Any routines she had with the children were overturned immediately by him without a second thought. He demeaned her and undermined her each and every day. She tried to smile through it but was so sad inside. He drank and drank and drank. The children would cry at night because they hated seeing their father like this. He kept getting turned down for jobs so they decided to buy a business. The first sale fell through when he inappropriately tried to contact employees. The second sale fell through as well. Secretly, she was relieved for she knew what life would be like running a business with him. It wouldn't be a partnership, but him making all the decisions and her making the tea.

Then someone old but new came into her life, and the Power Game began. She enjoyed the attention. She enjoyed finding someone she could converse with about anything. She allowed her imagination and fantasies to go wild. And unfortunately wrote a draft email about them. He found the draft email and behaved as though he'd found her in bed with someone else. He sent her sister an email exhorting her to make his wife behave. He behaved like a Victorian husband. And the stricter he was the more rebellious she became.

The Power Game soon took on a life of its own, neither he nor she thinking its conclusion through clearly. And her fascination with her newfound friend continued. She wanted to see him in the flesh, to talk about books and ideas. And her husband found out. He thought that spying on her would be the answer to their marital woes. Instead it flamed the fires of a foolish passion in her, a passion for privacy and freedom. The stricter he was, the more she struggled against the chains. He started to do strange things like send anonymous emails to her friends about her or steal her journal, read it and copy the pages. He put a keylogger on the computer to record each and every keystroke she made. He read her email and kept a diary of all her so-called bad behaviour. She found this diary and was outraged. He felt justified because of her long-distance friendship. He wrote her parents, her friends. He engaged their children in the battle against her. The more he fought to control her, the more she wanted out. Her friendship fell by the wayside, finally the victim of all the stress.

He started to used the money in the Power Game, warning her she would die in dire poverty if she left him. He wanted her back, he made that clear. But on his own controlling terms and without having to make any changes to his now very odd personality. He told her he had complete control over all the money, even that in her name, and there was nothing she could do. She went to the bank, who advised her otherwise. She took money out to pay her solicitor. He threatened her with an injunction.

He started to put around that she would get nothing, that he would get the house and the children because he had the moral upper hand. How could I have ever loved such a person, she thought. She despaired at losing her children and thought of drowning herself or slitting her wrists. But no, she thought, I can't do that. For then he wins the Power Game. And he cannot win.

The Spy Who Thought He Loved Me

2009-11-14T22:35:00.002Z

I keep thinking I must write more. And then something happens to zap my creativity. Suffice it to say that my life is pretty turbulent at the moment. And full of intrigue. Who knew I was married to a wannabe spy? Certainly not me. Or maybe it was all those detective stories he devoured as a boy. A sort of James Bond/Philip Marlowe wannabe.

And I'm Nancy Drew. Coming soon on www.powderroomgraffiti.com: an enlightening article on how to spy on your loved ones.

Know Your Friends

2009-10-21T07:37:00.002+01:00

To blog or not to blog. To update my wall on Facebook or not to. One can't be too careful these days on the internet. You never know who is watching or reading or reporting back to spouses. Or mothers.

When I joined Facebook, in my sad quest for more friends, I asked my daughter to be my friend. She refused. After months of badgering, she finally relented. Then I made a comment on her wall and she immediately defriended me. Then she refriended me. Then one of her boyfriends sent me a friend request, which I accepted. Bad move.

My daughter accused me, jokingly I hope, of being a pedophile. I never visited her boyfriend's wall. Until one day when the head teacher at my son's school got suspended. I got the bright idea of visiting the friend's wall to see if there was any gossip about it. There wasn't, but there were pictures from my daughter's "Fab 15 Birthday Party," which had been held at me house while I was home.

I knew there was drinking, but couldn't find the bottles. I didn't know that one of the bedrooms was "the makeout room." I didn't plan to tell daughter I'd seen the photos because I knew she'd get angry. Also, I thought they were funny. And I laughed so loud my son came in to see what I was laughing at. He told daughter I'd seen the photos. Daughter got on the phone to boyfriend in tears telling him he had to choose between her or me.

And the next day I had one less friend. But I understand. For my mother is my friend on Facebook. And she queries everything I put on my wall.

50 Dinner Parties, Part 1

2009-09-19T14:05:00.003+01:00

Well, 50 might be a bit of an exaggeration. When I moved into this house 11 years ago, I decided to make use of the beautiful Victorian dining room as much as possible.

It was the first room I saw when we came to view the house, and the first room I fell in love with. I haven't changed much in it, other than install my own furniture. The walls were papered in a cranberry-coloured, star-patterned paper. The Victorian fireplace and mantle were intact. The floors had been shellaced to a high sheen. They still are though these days the lights are rarely on in that room.

One of my early dinner parties involved much red wine and then the inevitable flood. I'd invited my next door neighbour, newly separated, and the neighbours across the street. One other couple came as well. I served roast lamb, as I recall, but the rest of the menu is lost to me. Probably some vegetables, possibly my pear-apple pie. Or maybe something from my Delia cookbook. I used to follow her recipes avidly before I moved on.

As I said before, the red wine flowed freely that night, some onto the tablecloth. As I cleared up afterwards, I noticed a huge stain and took the cloth up to my bathroom to soak in the tub for a while. Then I came downstairs to help hubby do his compulsive cleaning. Seeing I was of no use, I went and sat on the couch for a while. And dozed. Then I roused myself and went up to bed. Hubby was already up there, up to his ankles in water. Oh yes, I said I left the tablecloth in the bathtub to soak. I didn't say I turned off the water.

Hubby ran downstairs to the room below to check the water hadn't seeped through. Too late. Part of the ceiling had collapsed. To say hubby was unhappy is just a bit of an understatement. He slept on the couch that night. The next day I gathered our still-young children and took them shopping so as to make myself as scarce as possible during the cleanup. I ran into my next-door neighbour and told her how the evening had ended. She laughed so hard she wet herself, particularly at the thought of hubby being so mad he slept on the couch.

The ceiling was repaired and replastered. I learned a valuable lesson about red wine stains and the bathtub. For the record, though, the stain came out.

He's Still Wacko Jacko to Me

2009-06-29T08:52:00.003+01:00

I'm going to say this once and for all: Michael Jackson was not a god. He did nothing for world peace. He was a very weird, mixed-up grown-up, probably a pedophile, who happened to sell a lot of records. Though not to me.

When I opened my paper on Saturday and found an entire section dedicated to him, I knew the world had finally gone mad. Let's get this in perspective. He was a drug addict. He was addicted to other things as well, mostly spending money. Anyone who watched the Martin Bashir interview could never respect the boy/man again. What kind of a man in his 40s has young boys for sleepovers at his house and shares his bed with them? I'll tell you what kind of a man. A pedophile. At my primary school we had a choirmaster who used to have the members of the boys' choir stay the night at his house on Fridays. His wife, who performed in an orchestra, was usually out on Fridays. Yes, he was married. They had no children and she went to church every day and prayed fervently. Years later, it came out what really went on in his house on those Friday nights. And I have no doubt what went on in Jackson's house.

Contrast Jackson's career with Bruce Springsteen's. Here is a man who can write a song. Here is a performer who cares about his fans. And what a performer! I saw him in 1984 in Tallahassee, Fla. He performed nonstop energetically for two hours. I watched him at Glastonbury over the weekend (on TV, I'm not daft enough to actually go there). And he hasn't changed in all these years. And not one word has ever been written about Springsteen and 13-year-old boys.

What is wrong with the world that we elevate people like Michael Jackson to god-like status? OK, he could dance, but so can a lot of people. Could he write a song like "The River"? Nope, don't think so.

He died young-ish, which promotes him to a category peopled by Elvis, Marilyn, Princess Diana, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin. People who were flawed human beings in life, but icons in death. Could you imagine Jackson living to ripe old age? He wouldn't have a face left, for one thing, as all the plastic surgery would finally take its toll. No, he's better off dying when he did. All the O2 concerts would have killed him anyway.

I think we should let Jackson rest in peace. And let ourselves have a rest from him.

Bad, Bad Dreams

2009-06-27T07:59:00.002+01:00

I awoke this morning from a dream about my ex-husband. I can't remember the details but I felt uneasy when I awoke so it couldn't have a good dream. Why do I dream about him now when we have been split up for nearly 20 years? Well, Facebook has brought him back into the periphery of my life. We share some friends. We would share even more friends if I could be bothered to invite more people to be my friends. But I hesitate because of him and the bitterness of our divorce.

I think I dreamt of him because of the contrast between him and my hubby. Today is my hubby's 50th birthday party, which I organized against his will. He needs a party. I have never known him to be so depressed. The Ex appears to have a good job and going great guns in his life. Hubby, as we know, lost his job last year and has been met with disappointment after disappointment in his quest for employment. I think the biggest loss in his life, though, has been the dog. This morning, a Saturday, he went downstairs at 6:45. Why are you up so early on a Saturday, I asked. I have to make the coffee, he replied. Not at 6:45! It is a habit he started when we got Jake, and one he seems unable to shake.

My heart bleeds for this man, an intelligent man with a degree in history from Cambridge. A hard-working man who has no time for hobbies. I haven't always treated him well. He hasn't always treated me well. But we're still together.

Unlike with the Ex. When I split with the Ex, many people were genuinely surprised. Others, who were a bit more canny, weren't. The Ex's nickname in the newsroom was the Curmudgeon. He presented a sour face to the world and to me. I am so glad he only exists in my dreams now.

I must finish preparations for tonight. So much to do, so little time. And hopefully hubby will have a great time.

Here Comes the Sun

2009-06-22T15:15:00.002+01:00

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. What a dreary week, weatherwise and otherwise. The sun has finally come out though. Hubby got a call today for an interview. And I have decided to take an introduction to massage course and start to follow a dream I've had for a long time.

You see, I'm pretty good at giving massages (not that kind; get your mind out of the gutter). I think it's because I've had so much physical therapy myself, I know where to go to find the source of pain and how to relieve it. I myself have been in pretty constant pain with my back since I don't know when. I'm on the waiting list for physio (four months and counting) and finally broke down last week and went to see a physio privately. She was OK, confirmed my self-diagnosis, and showed me some stretches that I had already found on the internet. She hasn't relieved my pain though.

I have piriformis syndrome. For those of you unfamiliar with this, it's a pain in the butt, literally. The piriformis is a muscle to the side of the sacroiliac joint. In either one-third (what the internet says) or two-thirds (what the physio said) of the population, the sciatic nerve travels through that muscle. When that muscle is overused and contracted too much, it irritates the sciatic nerve and produces a sciatica-type pain down the leg and pins and needles in the feet. But it's not true sciatica because it doesn't originate in the lumbar region of the back.

The other night I was out celebrating a friend's 50th (oh yes!) birthday. She complained of shoulder pain, so I rubbed her shoulders. She knows I've thought about this massage course idea before and she said I should go ahead with it. I woke up the next morning and thought "Why not? Let's go for it." I'll start with the introduction and move on. I could go the sports massage route or stick to the beauty therapy-type massage route. Either way, in about a year's time I should be able to set up my own business.

I can't tell you how wonderful it is to have a goal again. Hubby has been so depressed lately. We went out for son's 13th birthday last Tuesday, and hubby was very quiet. We went out for Father's Day yesterday, and he was so glum. He turns 50 on Wednesday, and I think I know what's going on with him. He's afraid he'll never be able to get himself out of this jobless situation. Since we called off trying to buy the last business, he's really been so down. It was the right thing to do, though.

The night we went out for my son's birthday, I learned more about my daughter's drunk and disorderly evening. She apparently got into trouble for "pulling" (snogging) all the boys at the disco. She turned herself in for the drinking, she says, because she doesn't get enough attention at home. I took great exception to this. Her brother is in the middle of exams. He has wasted the entire year, and hubby has been doing remedial study with him in all subjects for the past two-three weeks. We didn't bother with daughter because she's usually so good in all her subjects. We have promised big-time bribes -- I mean incentives -- if they do well this year. Daughter does get attention; it's just not what she wants when she wants it all the time.

I mentioned before how happy the cats are since Jake was put down. Well, so are the birds. They're cheeky buggers too. Yesterday, I looked outside and saw one of the cats lying on the lawn, surrounded by four Magpies. They circled her, taunting her by running towards her and then away again. She just lay there and stretched a paw out towards one of them every now and then. If it happens again, I'll video it. It is very funny to watch.

And now I must go and finish some articles I'm writing for Powder Room Graffiti (www.powderroomgraffiti.com).

Just When I Thought I Could Breathe

2009-06-15T14:44:00.002+01:00

How was your weekend? Peaceful? Full of activity? Here's how mine went:

Daughter planned to go to a disco with some friends. I don't particularly like her hanging out with these girls because alcohol always seems to be involved somewhere. Daughter dyed her hair (why???) and put on fake tan (very badly) Friday night. We were out with friends, the parents of the one of the other girls in fact. Son decided that he'd like to have a party the next night for his birthday. Nothing like leaving it to the last minute. He managed to get four positive responses. The rest were going to the disco.

Saturday arrived calmly and serenely. Daughter spent most of the day at dancing, which suits me as she's been a complete bitch to me lately. When she got home, she hopped into the shower. But wait. I'm already taking a shower. No matter. I screamed out as the water went ice cold. Later I asked how she's getting home. She bit my head off and said she'll find out when the other girls get there. The other girls arrived, but took an hour to finish getting ready. Meanwhile, I took Son and his friend to pick out some DVDs for this great party he's having. Hubby went to the store for some food for these hungry guys. The girls finished getting ready and I drove them to the disco, stopping off at one girl's house to drop off their gear for they are all going there after the disco. The mother came out and asked if I mind them coming home in a taxi. I said I've been told the other girl's mother is driving them home. "Oh, OK," the mother says.

I drove back, settled down to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall, became very engrossed in it when the phone rang. I didn't understand at first, then I thought it was a prank. Could I come pick my daughter up at the disco because she's been drinking? I had to go because hubby had polished off a bottle and half of wine by himself. I flew there practically. She was the only one still there. Immediately, she began to explain herself. The Serial Text Dumper had dumped her two nights before because he didn't like her anymore. She didn't want to tell me because she thought I'd say I told you so. She held it in till the disco. The alcohol was a bottle of whisky provided by one of the girls I took to the disco. She sobbed and apologised and threw herself into hubby's arms when she got home. I gave her two paracetamol and a glass of water. Son watched the whole drama with not-so-quiet amusement.

The next morning the story had changed. It wasn't whisky; it was vodka and they found it outside. What were they doing outside? One of the boys they knew was out taking a pee and they went out too. I wondered why I hadn't heard from any of the parents that day. Finally, I texted my friend to find out if her daughter had gotten home all right. "Oh, yes," she replied, "they took a taxi." I then told her what had happened. I didn't hear back from her for a while. Then she texted that her daughter had told her some boys were outside drinking. So she obviously thinks her daughter wasn't with them.

My daughter is grounded till the end of the school year in five weeks' time. She is not allowed to go out with those girls or anyone else unless I give my approval, which I won't. I'm really disappointed and disgusted.

And it looks like we won't be buying the second business we've looked at even though we're pretty far down the road.

SIGH!

Have I mentioned that I hate my life?

Looking Up the Past

2009-06-12T11:14:00.003+01:00

The modern age of the internet means you never have to say goodbye. At least it does for me. Since I went on Facebook, I have rediscovered old friends and old enemies. I have become a cyber researcher (some might say stalker) of ex-colleagues, bosses, and boyfriends.

Here is what I found: Ex-husband has left journalism and has a 7-year-old daughter. He wrote what was hailed on one website as the perfect leaving note. I found it pretentious and self-absorbed, just like himself. And just like a lot of journalists. In what other profession do people make a big deal about writing a leaving note? My hubby didn't, and he worked in his profession for 20-plus years.

One ex-boss was sent to the journalistic equivalent of Siberia after his ego and ambition for a Pulitzer overtook his common sense. He oversaw the writing of a huge expose of a large fruit company. Unfortunately, a felony was committed by one of the reporters, a former colleague of mine, during the investigation, which negated the entire project, ruined ex-boss' career, and very nearly sent the reporter to jail. This all happened more than 10 years ago, but it's new to me. And thanks to the wonder of the internet, I can read all about it.

I found one ex-boyfriend through Facebook. I have not contacted him, but am able to admire his career from afar. He is married, has two kids, and looks VERY happy in his FB picture. His wife's name has the same first letter as my own. His two children's names start with the same letters as my two. Just mentioning.

One ex-boyfriend and ex-husband live in the same state, and actually not that far from each other. They share the same birthday. Just mentioning.

I have made contact with friends from high school and made friends with people I went to high school with but didn't know too well. My world has opened up, but also closed down. I am relighting old friendships, perhaps because some of the ones I have now are very unfulfilling. Or perhaps it's my age. As I get closer to 50, I look backward and homeward more. My children take up less of my time so I have more time. I choose to spend that time relinking with my past.

But there is also something new in my present. I have started to write for a website, www.powderroomgraffiti.com. Check it out if you have the time.

Young Love, First Love

2009-06-08T12:07:00.003+01:00

My daughter has a boyfriend. She finally admitted it to me last week when I took her out for lunch after her ballet exam.

I am happy for her, though feel a little bit apprehensive too. I am ecstatic that she told me. He had been going out with a friend of hers, whom he dumped by text. The friend cried on daughter's shoulder. Daughter made her brownies, talked to her, dried her tears. So why is daughter going out with this guy? She likes him, he likes her. Did this guy break up with the friend to go out with her? Yes. Did she know he was going to do that? Yes. So what kind of a friend does that make her? Well, she feels bad about what happened to the friend, but.... I tried to explain that no guy is worth falling out with your friends over. But.... That's a lesson she will have to learn for herself, I guess. At least she feels guilty. The friend is talking to her again, just about.

I knew something was up when she asked me to get tickets for her and the boy (just her "friend" at that point) to see a rap musician in October. I told her the relationship could be over by October. How would I know that? Because I know about young love. How do I know about young love? Because when I was her age (14), I had a 17-year-old boyfriend who drove and had a car. We met in February and by the summer it was all over when he was caught taking another girl out while I was visiting my grandparents.

But, again, these are lessons she will have to learn for herself.

She seems so happy as she skips off to school each day. She studies hard for her exams. She practices her ballet every day. She manages to keep in touch with her many, many friends. She and hubby are getting along better than ever. She is sad about the dog's demise and feels particularly bad for hubby losing his best friend.

I am happy for her too. And a bit apprehensive. I just hope she doesn't become one of those women who steals other women's boyfriends and husbands.

The Days After

2009-05-30T08:48:00.003+01:00

It's been a difficult week. I thought I was handling the Jake thing so well till we picked his ashes up from the pet crematorium. Hubby and I (the kids didn't want to go) drove out to North Wales to this lovely pet cemetery and even had a laugh that they had a cafe on the premises. Then we went inside to collect the ashes...

They were in a very nice wooden box with a plaque engraved with his name, the date of his death, and his age -- 22 months. Well, he was just shy of 22 months. Then the man gave us a key chain with some of Jake's hair inside. I lost it then. I didn't think I would cry so I didn't bring any tissues or anything.

I had been on painkillers, including diazepam, for most of the week because of my back. While the rest of the family had trouble sleeping, I was snoring away. Then the pain eased and I stopped taking them. And wham! It's hit me that he's gone.

I've put our name down for a Golden Retriever puppy. I'm trying to look ahead, but my memories of Jake are still so strong -- the good and the bad.

Well, I've had a lot of pets in my life. Jake will stand out for all sorts of reasons.

Onto another subject: I have been trying to keep up with everyone's blogs. And I've tried to leave comments, but something is happening with my server or something because it either takes forever or I get a weird message. Just know that I'm with you in spirit.

He's Gone

2009-05-27T09:15:00.002+01:00

Yesterday was Jake's last day on this planet. It didn't start off too well. He attacked hubby when he tried to put his halter on. Hubby's jeans were ripped, his leg bitten in two places (though not as badly as mine). When I heard the yells, my heart sank. Since Jake bit me so badly a week ago (entailing a tetanus shot and antibiotics), I knew if he did it again that would be the end.

I phoned the animal behaviourist, who of course wasn't there. If I can blame anyone for this mess, I blame her. While her assessment of Jake was accurate, her solutions were next to impossible. She was always late returning phone calls. It was always £200 here, £90 there. And at the end of it, Jake was worse than when we first saw her. Hubby also phoned the vet and left a message.

And we waited for these people to call back. And waited. And waited. Jake dragged the lead and halter around all day because we were too frightened to take them off. Finally, the behaviourist phoned back and said that these situations take a long time and there's no guarantee of a solution. Wish she'd told me that about £500 ago. The message hadn't been passed to the vet so hubby rang again. We were told to pick up sedatives and bring him in when he'd passed out. So we fed him six pills. And waited. Nothing happened. So hubby went back to the vet's and got eight more pills. And we waited. He did calm down enough to allow me to stroke him. I felt his body relax for the first time ever, I think. He was how he used to be before all the operations, etc. I am so glad I got that time with him.

He still was awake but we loaded him into the car. He gave one last growl. Our vet, who is the best vet alive, took him in, gave him a shot, then brought him out to us. Jake fell asleep, then the vet administered the final shot. We all cried. We asked to get his ashes back, and the crematorium rang last night to say they'd be ready today. I tried to pay the vet last night, but he said to come back later in the week.

Goodbye, Jake. I hope you're in a better place now.

Being the superstitious person I am, I hope all our luck changes for the better now. Does this sound callous? I don't mean to sound like Jake was the source of all our woes, but he certainly was ONE of our woes. For a week I've known he would have to go. I hoped he could go to a rescue place, but his unpredictability and violence meant he couldn't. I thought how we'd feel once he'd gone. Relief is what I thought we'd feel. I knew I had to clear his stuff as soon as possible and did so as soon as we got back from the vet's despite being blinded by tears. I know we will get a new puppy one day, one from a proper breeder. A Golden Retriever perhaps.

I want to remember Jake as he was -- the happy-go-lucky puppy with the little tail that spun round in circles when he was excited. That was a lovely dog.

His Bite is Worse Than His Bark

2009-05-18T11:24:00.005+01:00

What can I say? Jake earned a reprieve from Death Row, the trainer came to the house twice, suggesting all sorts of things, many of which I've been doing. We have spent in excess of £300 over the last two weeks what with the trainer and the pain specialist. And Jake seemed a lot better.

But yesterday he bit me. Badly. On the thigh, thank God, though he could have gotten me on the face if I hadn't moved. I ran out of the room screaming because he looked like he was going to go for me again despite my turning away from him. He followed me to the stairs, where I collapsed. My daughter came running down to see what had happened and hubby ran in from the kitchen where the attack had occurred. I sobbed and sobbed. He ripped a great big hole in my trousers. My thigh is black and blue all over. Daughter started to cry too and threw up because she was so distressed by it all. She came home early from school today because she's still upset.

I blame myself again. He'd exhibited all the signs of anxiety and yet I persisted in trying to remove his halter. The trouble is Jake always exhibits all the signs of anxiety. He always smacks his lips, yawns, has half-moon eyes, scratches when there's no itch, chews on his paws. He only ever stops doing that about 5 percent of the day. He's a challenging dog, at least for us.

I've emailed the animal behaviourist yet again. I can't relax around this dog because some small thing I do might start him up again. So I'm avoiding him at the moment. If he comes up to me, I'll give him a quick pat on the head, no touching below the ears. Hubby handles him most of the time. He gets the halter on and off. He takes him on his walks. And Jake seems OK with him for the most part. But this isn't why we got a dog. We got a dog for companionship and protection. Instead, I need protection from him. I'm going to wait a day or two before I try to work with him again with the clicker and treats. He and I both need a break.

I understand him though. He feels that we haven't done our job as pack leaders in protecting him and keeping him safe and pain-free so he's taken matters into his own jaws. With disastrous results. We're afraid to walk him off the lead now. And he actually seemed better for it. The pain specialist thinks there still is some residual pain. He's on yet another pain killer. I'm in need of a few myself. But even Daughter is beginning to think the unthinkable.

Can this doggy be saved?

Wishin' and Hopin'

2009-05-15T15:39:00.004+01:00

I read the other day that there's a report out saying women are bullied more by other women at work than by men. Judging from my own experience, I'd say that's true. Sad, but true.

The truth is that sisterhood is pretty much a myth. Women are less tolerant of and helpful to other women than they are to men. Maybe it's because we all suffer from the same thing and have little time for those that moan. We're all from Venus, and we'd rip each other's ovaries out at times if we could.

Of course it's a generalisation. We can be and are helpful to some of our sisters, but if there's somebody we're going to stick a knife in the back of, it's more likely to be a woman than a man.

The worst bosses I ever had were female. There, I've said it. One was a Machiavellian fat freak. Another was a wannabe Machiavellian freak (she wasn't fat). They favoured the men and spat on and sat on the women. I had a couple of female bosses who were all right, but not much in the way of mentors. I used to think it was because their generation were among the first female managers in newspapers. They had no women to emulate so they emulated the men. Badly. They resented the next generation of women because we had it that much easier.

It's not just in the workplace that women stab each other. There's the ongoing -- and, frankly, boring -- war between working mothers and mothers who stay at home. Working mothers are superwomen. We all know that. It's exhausting looking after a home, small children, and holding down a job. I have the utmost respect for women who do it. I'd like to be able to say that working mothers have respect for those of us who stay at home with our kids. But I can't. In my experience, working mothers look down on those of us who stayed home with the kids. We're not as bright, not as hardworking, not as ambitious. Our children suffer as well.

I never planned to stay at home raising my kids. I planned to be a career woman, just like all the other women I knew. Then I moved to England. I wanted to start over in a new career, but didn't know what. Then I got pregnant. Then I got pregnant again. I had no family nearby to support me if I did go back to work. Hubby had a pretty high-octane career and was quite honestly selfish. I knew I wouldn't have his support either if I went back to work. So I stayed home. It was lonely. It was frustrating at times, boring at others. I developed hobbies and went to the gym and for coffee. I cleaned my own house, did my own gardening, looked after my own children. And endured comments from my working friends. "Wish I could go to the gym." "Wish I could go for coffee." The meaning behind these wishful comments was clear: I was and am a frivolous human being with no real skills and am therefore inferior to them.

Or am I? I have a bit of wishful thinking too. Wish I could have gone to the bathroom in peace just once when my kids were younger. Wish I could get out of the house and have people treat me like I have even one active brain cell. Wish my parents lived nearby so I could dump my kids on them whenever, leaving me free to pursue a meaningful and lucrative career.

Why do we do this to each other? Here's what I really wish: I wish that we women could all just have a bit of respect for the choices others have made in their lives.

Or is that a wish too far?

Oh Dear, What Can the Matter Be?

2009-05-05T11:28:00.003+01:00

I have had a rather stressful week with Jake. Basically, he's turned into a psycho monster who lunges and bites and growls if we bend over him or look at him the wrong way. Why? I think it's because my daughter took him on a walk with her friend and her friend's dog. Her friend's dog has dominance aggression; Jake has fear aggression. The two don't match and they had a vicious fight. I think Jake was bitten on the front paws. Over the next few days he seemed subdued, as he was before his surgeries on his hips. Finally, hubby took him to the vet for antibiotics. To say Jake was unhappy at the vet's doesn't even start to describe the scene. The vet said his behaviour has deteriorated greatly since she last saw him and she left hubby with the impression that the only recourse will be euthanasia.

That was on Friday. On Saturday morning, hubby tried to put Jake's halter on him. Normally, Jake is very excited about having the halter put on him because it means he's going on a walk. This time he wouldn't let hubby or me get near enough to hook it on. Then he went after hubby and bit him on the calf. I took the halter off, and he didn't get to go for a walk that day. On Sunday he seemed more himself, but still growled several times in the day at us if we got too near him. I'd worked in the garden all day and Jake had been out enjoying the sunshine. Around 5 p.m. I was finishing up and he came up to me. I was stroking him and must have leaned forward. He went for me and bit me on the thigh. I burst into tears. Hubby thought it was because I was frightened. It wasn't. It was because I realised the vet might be right.

Yesterday he didn't bite anyone but did growl a few times if we approached him the wrong way. He tried to bite hubby after a walk when hubby leaned forward to get his keys out to open the door.

Today he's more his old self but we are being very cautious around him. Hubby and I are both scared of him now. Daughter is absolutely distraught over the whole scenario. So am I. But I can't have a dog who is unpredictable and bites. I understand that the dogfight spooked him and the trip to the vet spooked him even more. I don't know what to do. We see the animal behaviourist's trainer tomorrow. Maybe she will have some answers.

On to a less depressing subject: I've been tagged by Not Waving But Drowning. So here it is.
1. What are your current obsessions?
Puzzles. Namely, Sudoku and Scramble and Pathwords on Facebook. I can spend hours doing them. They take my mind off other stressful matters in my life.

2. Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?
Jeans (and bras and underpants of course)

3. Last dream you had?
Should I say? It was a rather naughty one about my neighbour, whom I don't fancy in the slightest.

4. Last thing you bought?
I bought a lot of food yesterday, which my children promptly consumed. Before that I bought some shoes and a handbag.

5. What are you listening to?
Birds in my garden. God know why they keep coming back, what with the cats and the dog.

6. If you were a god/goddess who would you be?
I always fancied being either Athena or Aphrodite. I love the sound of Aphrodite's name and the idea that she sailed in on a huge shell. But Athena's pretty smart and cool. Or maybe Artemis. Can't make up my mind.

7. Favourite holiday spots?
We always go to the same places in summer -- Wyoming and Florida -- the downside of being an ex-pat. However, there are some quite nice places in and near Wyoming and Florida.

8. Reading right now?
Barack Obama's books. He is so sensible and knowledgeable.

9. Four words to describe yourself.
At the moment? Depressed, downhearted, dispirited, despondent. What I hope to be? Happy, sparkly, confident, optimistic.

10. Guilty pleasure?
An entire day to myself to do with as I please with no regard for what anyone else wants or thinks.

11. Who or what makes you laugh until you’re weak?
My son and my daughter at times. My son figured out long ago that if he could make me laugh he wouldn't get in as much trouble.

12. Favourite spring thing to do?
Gardening.

13. Planning to travel to next?
Wyoming and Florida.

14. Best thing you ate or drank lately?
Carrot cake I made on Sunday to distract me from the dog dilemma.

15. When did you last get tipsy?
Saturday when I was at the Frenemies. Have to drink to tolerate them.

16. Favourite ever film?
"It's a Wonderful Life." I know almost all the dialogue.

17. Care to share some wisdom?
The wheel turns. Life might suck at the moment, but it moves on so hang in there.

18. Song you can't get out of your head?
"And I'm Feeling Good" by Nina Simone.

19. Thing you are looking forward to?
Hopefully, one day, buying a business and working again and having an income again and having hubby get out of his depression so I can get out of mine.

20 If money were no object, where would you choose to live?
Somewhere where I don't have to wear a coat in May.

I need to tag eight more people. Sorry, guys.

-ann
crystal jigsaw
dave
expatmum
firebyrd
flowerpot
j
pantheist mom

Green Shoots! In My Garden

2009-04-26T12:36:00.003+01:00

I do love this time of year, with the blossoming trees, the lime green of newly sprouted leaves. It gives me hope for the rest of the year, which another disappointing summer is likely to ruin. But hey ho.

I'd like to share a tale of one of my first frenemies. She was, I thought, my best friend in high school. That illusion was shattered with one phone call. In the summer of 1975 my world as I knew flew apart quite violently and quickly when my dad informed my mother he had moved out and wanted a divorce. We had been in Wyoming most of the summer clearing out my grandparents' house and preparing my grandpa to move in with my aunt. My grandmother had died the previous May. As so often happens with deaths in the family, it brought out a lot of latent grievances between my mother and her sister and brother. Also, my dad kept not answering the phone (he'd stayed home that summer to "work") when my mother called. And my brother and I were snotty teen-agers.

We drove home as quickly as possible. My mother's ESP was in overdrive, and she wanted to get back to my dad as soon as she could. On our last day we drove about 15 hours in the car, arriving sometime after midnight. I still remember that quiet drive through downtown Tampa before hell let loose. When my mother took in what my dad had said, she ran to the bathroom cupboard, grabbed a bottle of Valium and took as many as she could. She spat most of them out, but swallowed enough to knock her out for quite a few hours. Over the next few days, she attempted suicide again in other ways and threatened my dad and me. I forgive her completely for her actions. I understand why she did it.

In the middle of this turmoil, my erstwhile best friend called and asked what was happening in my world. I told her about the divorce. She said, "I can't talk to you about this," and hung up. And never did talk to me about it. Soon afterward, I started on a downward spiral of drink, drugs and sex that I eventually extracted myself from a few years later.

This frenemy came to mind the other day as I sat in the kitchen of one of my current frenemies. She and I supposedly are training for the Race for Life, but one or the other of us keeps crapping out. I have hardened towards this particular frenemy over the last year as I felt she had been pushing me away exactly when I needed her support. The other day, it was her turn to need my support. She is worried sick about her elderly parents, in particular her mother. She is also very scared that one or both of them may need to go into a home. She burst into tears in her kitchen, and despite my best efforts, I could not help but go to comfort her. I hugged her and found some tissues and dried her tears. I couldn't say things would get better. They rarely do with people in their 80s. I sat and listened, which is all I could do. And I realised that being a frenemy isn't something I can do.

A footnote about the high school frenemy: she grew up to be a psychologist, has gained about 50 pounds, acts like she's on something, has had one divorce and no kids. I hope she's learned something about empathy since we were friends. I can't imagine her telling clients that she can't talk to them when they're going through a tough time.

When the Dog Bites, When the Deal Dies

2009-04-18T11:38:00.002+01:00

When I'm feeling sad... Forget Julie Andrews, I take a Valium.

Jake bit me for the first, and I hope the last time, about a month ago now. I was trying to dry him off after his walk. I stepped backwards, and I may have stepped on his tail or leg. He went for me quite viciously. Luckily, I had my coat on or he would have ripped flesh. Two weeks later he did the same thing to hubby as he was trying to load him into the car.

I've been on the phone to the animal behaviourist, of course. We've stopped taking him in the car temporarily so we can break the negative cycle (and save our clothes and ourselves). But he continues to growl at least twice a day. I'd rather have growling than biting, but I'd rather have none of this at all. We are persevering because we know it would be next to impossible to rehome Jake. And I don't want to put him down.

Our plan to buy a publishing business crashed and burned yesterday. The owner sprang a surprise demand of £70,000 more for the business on Wednesday. I feel he wasn't being forthcoming because he knew for a month that he wanted more for the business but at no point came right out and said so. We also discovered he'd fiddled his books. The last set of accounts we saw had the business in the red by £30,000. Then he sent us his final accounts. Lo and behold, that £30,000 in arrears was gone or rather, "redistributed." How creative! So we were very uncomfortable about all this. Hubby sent an email to one of the employees to finish up a conversation we'd had with her on Wednesday. She forwarded it to the owner, who sent us an email saying this was no way to do business and he never wanted to hear from us again.

So, that's that! You live and learn. And take a Valium (or a quarter of one, in my case) when it gets really bad. Shall I go on about the other bad things in my life?

Nah. I'll leave you with this: I met Fire Byrd for lunch on Thursday and left, as I told her, feeling wrapped up in a warm blanket of friendship. Spread the love, everybody. We all need some.

It's All in the Accent

2009-04-15T16:46:00.003+01:00

Yesterday we saw hubby's brother and wife and two daughters. As the girls walked in the house, they started talking and didn't stop till they left four hours later. In between I was fascinated by their accents -- Leicestershire. Very different to my children's -- almost-but-not-quite Scouse.

Since I moved to this country 17 years ago, I have been amazed by the number of different accents within such a small geographic area. To the untrained ear, an English accent is an English accent, and a Scottish accent is a Scottish accent. And South Africans, Australians, and New Zealanders sound like the English. But they don't. And sometimes even the English don't sound like the English. Try talking to a Scouser on the phone sometimes. To me, when I first moved here, they sounded German.

After my ear became more attuned, I was able to pick out Geordies from Glaswegians (though I still struggle to understand both). I could distinguish the differences between a Southern accent and a Northern accent. I could even place where the Northern accent originated (Manchester, Yorkshire, Liverpool, etc.)

All very My Fair Lady. Remember the scene where Rex Harrison moans about why can't the English speak properly? "Aw, gwon," said Eliza Doolittle. But even Londoners have variations in their accents.

But because of all these different accents and variations in how some words are pronounced, I don't always understand what's being said. Many people think I have a hearing problem, which I probably do. But a lot of it, I'm sure, is because I still have to concentrate on what's being said just as I did during my first encounter with a Glaswegian. I'd asked for directions on a visit there and understood only two words -- "Turrrrrnnn rrreet." I had to learn what my mother-in-law meant when she said bewk, lewk, and cewk.

I have trouble with Irish accents as well, but for different reasons. Northern Irish accents sound somewhat Welsh or Scottish to me sometimes. Southern Irish, depending on the origin, can sound American. Oh yes, I have embarrassed myself by asking an Irishman if he was American. And I have been asked if I'm Irish or Scottish. By the English.

Accents matter a lot in the UK. People make assumptions about you based on your accent -- whether you're intelligent or stupid or rich or poor or honest or dishonest. This happens in the U.S. and elsewhere too, I'm sure (I'm thinking about In the Heat of the Night).

Apparently, even dogs in the UK growl in regional accents. Now that's taking things a bit too far.

Tongue-tied by Macrame

2009-04-07T09:15:00.002+01:00

It's happened again. Just when I think I have mastered all the quirks of the British English language and its various odd pronunciations, one reaches out to bite me on the ass.

The culprit this time is the innocuous word macrame. Remember macrame? It was all the rage in the 70s. For some reason the other night I felt the need to speak its name -- MAC-ra-may. My companions hooted with laughter. Apparently not MAC-ra-may, but ma-CRA-may. I don't know which pronunciation is actually correct. I don't care. In my country, the way I said it is right. Sorry, my home country, the land of my birth. In my adopted country, apparently the second way is correct, and humiliating those who say it wrong is socially acceptable.

This has happened to me before, many times. The first word was oregano. My future mother-in-law peered at me over her glasses when I said o-REG-a-no. Politely, she corrected me -- or-i-GAN-o. I already knew about the to-may-to/to-mah-to debate (we Americans preserved the Elizabethan pronunciation apparently). I knew about lu-ten-ant/lef-tenant. I discovered Van Go/Van Goff, ga-RAJH/gar-ridge, and jag-wahr/jag-u-arh.

The British have a way of taking foreign words and making them their own, with their own pronunciations. Take poor Jose Mourinho. In his home country, and probably the rest of the world, he is HO-say. Here in Britain, he is Josie (as in Josie and the Pussycats). When I order Mexican food with my friends, I have hal-i-pen-yo peppers while they have jal-i-pe-no peppers.

I don't know if the Brits should be criticised for pronouncing foreign words their own way. Every language contains bastardized forms of words from another language. Even French. But I do think that some Brits show their ignorance of other cultures by making fun of those who pronounce words differently. Not that ignorance is something only the Brits have. They just are more pronounced in how they show it.

And You May Ask Yourself, Well, How Did I Get Here?

2009-04-03T11:18:00.003+01:00

That's a question I've asked myself a lot since I was a teen-ager. Sometimes I ask myself, How the hell did I get here? Like when suddenly I find myself at home and having no memory of driving myself there. Other times it's a why question. Why am I here?

I've been taking a philosophy taster course these last six weeks at my daughter's school. I think the seven of us who attend have basic philosophical questions about the meaning of life (which Monty Python answers somewhat) and the origin of life. Of course, we're all in middle youth, so we've come to a few conclusions already. The neurologist thinks along the lines of Richard Dawkins, though he claims not to like him. The grandfather is more traditional in his views. I'm an "intelligent design" sort of person. I think atheists take the easy route and agnostics are just fence-sitters. It's easy to say there is no god. It's easy to say religion is the root of all evil. But contemplating the creation of the universe, what caused those factors to happen at that time, is more difficult.

I suppose going to parochial schools spurred on my curiosity about religion, or more specifically humankind's need for religion. The neurologist in our class suggests humans are hardwired to need religion or to believe in God. Then what happened to atheists such as Richard Dawkins and Madelyn Murray O'Hair? Are they anomalies? Are they faulty somehow? How did we come to be hardwired in such a way? And why would we become hardwired in such a way? Some scientists suggest that those who believe in God are not as intelligent as those who don't. Hmmmm. Who created intelligence tests in the first place? Scientists. Could it be they created them in their image, so therefore anyone who thinks differently won't score as well?

Then again, there are those who hide their ignorance behind their religion. Is ignorance bliss? Or is it stupidity? So many questions.

I've been taking another class as well: How to start your own business. This, too, has opened up my mind and provoked me to think in a different way and to ask myself the questions, Where will I be and How will I get there?

Our attempt to buy a publishing business is not going as well as planned. The owner is throwing a few spanners in the works, to use a British phrase, which we hope can be sorted out. But we've had to face the possibility that we may need to walk away. And then what? Hubby has been out of work for a year now. He has applied for several jobs. He has narrowly missed out on many of them. I can't begin to describe the roller coaster ride that has been the last year.

But the second course has given me food for thought. It's given me confidence that we could go out there and make our own way in the working world. The course was run by a marketing guy, so of course the emphasis was heavily on marketing. And you know what? I think I could do it. Market myself, that is. I do it every day in fact. We all do as we stand in front of the mirror getting dressed for the day. We are preparing ourselves to send out a message to the world: this is who I am.

The philosophy course has helped me answer the next question: this is how I think I got here.

One of My Hang-ups

2009-03-26T19:06:00.002Z

About 18 years ago, I was living on my own in my beautiful pink apartment in suburban New York. I'd split with the first husband and was enjoying, for the most part, my independence.

But there can be a price for independence, such as having only two cats to talk to all weekend. Or buying a six-pack and sharing it with -- myself. And, for women, there's a safety issue too. I lost my job, though not employment, the same week my marriage went belly-up and went from having my own office, editing a Sunday magazine, to a broken drawer in a metal desk working on the copy desk till about 2 a.m. Still, I had my pink apartment. And the cats.

I used to call my answering machine several times a night from work, convinced the ex was going to beg me to come back. One night the phone was busy. Hmmm, strange. Are the cats calling sex lines while I'm out. I called again an hour later. Still busy. And still busy a few hours after that. Maybe something was wrong with the line?

I got home about 2:30 a.m. I had to park a few blocks away and struggled back with my drycleaning, which I'd picked up before going into work. I put the key in the flimsy lock on my front door. One cat was there to greet me, but where was the other one? I walked into my beautiful blue bedroom... and there he was trussed up with telephone line. He'd been like that for ages and had wet himself. I extricated him from the line and thought about how this had happened. I had two playful cats who would chase each other all over the apartment. Could one have knocked the phone off and the other one in play have gotten himself tied up? I chose to believe this line of thinking.

Until.... the phone calls started. They were brief, a bit of heavy breathing, then hanging up. They were infrequent too for a time. Then they started coming more often and at all hours. Once, having been awakened about 3 a.m. (I had moved on from the copy desk by this point), I called the ex's number. No answer. He must have been at his girlfriend's. I started to rack my brain for who could be making these calls if not the ex. People at work? The cable guy? I didn't want to think of the most obvious suspect.

When I moved in, I met my neighbours -- a middle-aged couple and their two grown sons. The husband was a dentist, the wife was an alcoholic as near as I could tell. The sons did nothing but wander round all day plugged into their Walkmans and not making any eye contact with anyone. One of them got into the habit of stealing my New York Times till I cancelled my subscription.

A few months after I moved in, I happened to meet the previous tenants who were friends of people I worked with. They told me of the fights they would hear from next door, the sons calling their parents all sorts of names, the furniture being thrown around. I heard them too, sometimes turning the TV up to drown them out.

The phone calls persisted, even after I met hubby and he answered the phone a few times. Why didn't I have the phone company trace the calls? I think I was afraid of the truth. I was afraid of having my suspicions of my neighbours confirmed. The only time I heard the person's voice was once when I let my answering machine pick up. "If you're there, pick up the phone. If you're there, pick up the phone," he said over and over till I unplugged the phone and the answering machine.

I moved not long after that. No more phone calls. Except once in the middle of the night. I froze, wondering how the person had found me. But it wasn't a person. It was BT testing the line. Safe at last.

We Were Gannettized

2009-03-24T15:10:00.002Z

When I was growing up, we took two newspapers every day: The Tampa Tribune and The Tampa Times. The Tribune was -- and is -- a morning paper; the Times was the evening paper. Around the time I was 8 or 9, we stopped taking the Times. No time to read it, my parents said. And the absence wasn't felt in the slightest.

Still the Times continued to publish into the 80s, when it died the death of an afternoon newspaper.

It was a similar story in newsrooms across the nation. People had changed. TV was to blame mostly, I suppose. People got their news and entertainment from the little boxes in their living rooms.

Some PM newspapers formed an alliance with the AMs to create a 24-hour news cycle. But it was too little too late really.

In the 70s, I approximate, news corporations started to take over newspapers. What had been mom-and-pop operations became slick corporate products. One man, Al Neuharth, was a genius at this. Al Neuharth started as a reporter, I believe, on a paper in upstate New York. But he had a genius for business and created the corporate Goliath Gannett Inc. He started buying up small and medium-sized papers across the country in places such as Coffeyville, Kansas, Fort Myers, Florida, and El Paso, Texas. Not exactly full of bright lights and big streets. What these small markets had, though, was a captive audience.

Neuharth wasn't satisfied with his empire of tiny papers. He wanted to create a newspaper for the nation. Thus, USA Today was born. Neuharth cannibalized his newsrooms in the smaller markets for the staff of USA Today, and the newspapers had to carry the salaries of these people for some time. USA Today was mocked as McPaper by serious journalists. Yet, today it thrives.

Somewhere in the 90s, Neuharth remarried, started a new family and passed the reins onto other more ambitious corporate guys. They now wanted quality, not quantity, and decided to buy it. They bought the Detroit Free-Press and the San Jose Mercury News, among others. But quality requires money. The 90s were perhaps the start of the beginning of the end for newspapers. Budgets were squeezed to maintain the bottom line. Gannett was very, very good at maintaining the bottom line and rewarded their investors many times over. But I believe this squeezing mentality is where Gannett and other corporate news organisations got it wrong. News coverage shrank and editorial space was limited as ad revenues started to dry up. Quality was sacrificed. Readers noticed.

Now in the noughties newspapers are dying or moving online. There is a great hue and cry across the world, mostly, it seems, from journalists or ex-journalists. Where did this decline begin? I think it goes back to the 60s and 70s. Changes in lifestyle and changes in ownership. Corporate greed over corporate good. The internet has just hastened the decline and fall of the media empires.

Where will it all end? I don't know that answer. Do you?

Another One Bites the Dust

2009-03-18T14:21:00.002Z

Another day and another report of another newspaper biting the dust. The Seattle Post-Intelligencer is the latest fatality. In intensive care are several others, notably The San Francisco Chronicle. The New York Times has had to seek a bailout from a Mexican billionaire. The Miami Herald and many, many others are hemorrhaging staff in an effort to stay afloat. Here in the UK are similar stories. Will the layoffs work? Probably only for the short term.

I take a personal interest in the demise and ill health of newspapers since that used to be my chosen profession. I started my career during an economic downturn and felt fortunate to get any job at all. I ended my newspaper career during another economic downturn. Though I joined the newspaper world at the dawn of the computer age, I wouldn't say I ever worked during the heyday of newspapers. Always there seemed to be a struggle to balance the books, to sell enough ads to support the mighty costs of running a newspaper.

Advertising was, and is, the mainstay of a newspaper's economic health. Take it away and you see an awful lot of red. But advertising revenues during my time were shrinking, slowly at first, then in one great big rush. The big advertisers used to be banks (which may be dying daily now but have suffered ill health for some time), department stores (ditto), and car manufacturers and dealerships (same as the others). That was for the big ads. The little ads, the classifieds, could always be counted on to prop up the first group if need be. Not any more thanks to eBay, Craigslist and other internet sites.

People moan about the cost of a newspaper. Circulation revenues actually aren't that great. Think about all that you get for the cost of one newspaper -- an awful lot. People say they don't have time to read a newspaper anymore. Then turn off your TV. People say they don't agree with what is written in a newspaper. What? Not a single, solitary word?

My friends and former colleagues in the newspaper business naturally are anxious about their jobs, if they still have one. On the editorial side, one goes into newspapers almost because it's a calling. You don't get paid a lot. The percs are almost non-existent. On the advertising side, there's always (or used to be) a competition, a prize, a party for selling the most ads. Not for the editors and reporters. The prize is seeing your product in print.

Newspapers record the major events of a person's life -- birth, death, engagement, wedding. Think of the major events in the last century, and what picture comes to mind? The headlines in the newspaper. Pearl Harbor. VE Day, VJ Day. Harry Truman winning the election and holding up a newspaper that called it a day a bit too early. Kennedy being assassinated. 9/11/2001. Obama winning the election.

Now, take away newspapers. What records the importance of these days? What do you save to show your grandchildren?

Newspapers are partially to blame for their death. They haven't managed for change. But I don't put much blame on their shoulders. Despite or maybe because of all this change, it's a lazy world. And it's going to be a much less-informed world too without newspapers.

Where is HG Wells when you need him?

2009-03-16T09:54:00.003Z

I've always been a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side-of-the-fence person. I was always looking for the next job. When I was 9, I wanted to be 15; when 15, I wanted to be 18; when 18, 21; when 21, 25. Then I stopped wishing I were older.

I wish now I were any age or any place in life other than I am. I look in the mirror, and crepey eyes and jowly neck stare back at me. A lifelong sun worshipper, I now have the brown spots that go with it. The bulge is winning in my battle with it. My body aches and creaks every morning. When I try to increase my activity level, it moans and groans and sometimes screams out.

It's not just my body that I am dissatisfied with. I am sandwiched between elderly parents and curious teen-agers. I approach my weekly Sunday chat with my mother with trepidation. What illness has befallen her or her husband this week? Last week, she was in the hospital with chest pains again. While she was there, her husband slipped on ice while taking the garbage bin to the street and fell, laying there God knows how long till the mailman found him and lifted him up, then called the next-door neighbour, who is ill with cancer, who called his daughter.

My mother and stepfather are not the only ones I worry about. On Saturday, daughter had some friends round -- three girls and three boys. Only the boys were not the ones she had invited, or so she said. They were the ones who had left the urine-soaked toilet paper roll in the urinal at her birthday party. She knows what we think of them. Still, she risked sneaking them into our house, right under our noses. She also risked sneaking the bottle opener upstairs, and risked hiding four empty beer bottles and one WKD in a drawer in the playroom. She went to a friend's house for a sleepover after the party. Hubby and I were a bit suspicious, though we didn't quite know why. We knew the bad boys had been in our house and were very loud in our opinion of them so they left. After they had all gone, we went to check on the state of the playroom. Hubby, for some reason, pulled open a drawer, and there were the bottles. I called daughter and told her we had found the bottles and hubby was on his way to pick her up and bring her home. She's been very quiet since then, though one comment she made sounded like she's doing us a favour by being quiet. She blamed it all on one boy and said he'd been the only one drinking. Like I was born yesterday.

I suppose the worst bit of this is that we were home. This was done right under our smug noses. She has abused our trust, and I'm not sure if she even understands all the repercussions of this. No more parties, and certainly not with those characters. No laptop till the end of the month. And no more trust in her to do the right thing.

I hate this stage in my life. Transport me five years into the future, or five years into the past. Anywhere but here. I can't talk to my mother about this as she has her own worries. I have to be careful which of my friends I confide in or it could end up being broadcast across the Northwest of England. Hubby is disgusted and not much of one to talk to anyway. Just show me the time machine and get me out of here.

Put This in Your Pipe and Smoke It

2009-03-10T14:08:00.003Z

There's been a lot in the news (the UK at least) lately about a woman who has written a thinly veiled novel about parents who kick their teen-age son out of the house for smoking cannabis. This woman, Julie Myerson, has made a career out of writing about her home life apparently. And she did indeed kick her teen-age son out of the house for smoking cannabis -- and apparently being violent toward her and supplying her two younger children with cannabis.

The backlash has been against Ms. Myerson though. And I must say I agree with a lot of it. She didn't consult her son about the publicity surrounding the book and her interviews about kicking her son out. So he went to the press himself and presented his side of the story.

Both sides feel they have been wronged by the other, but I see one side as being more wronged than the other. I think Myerson's son's privacy has been terribly invaded and compromised in his mother's quest for publicity. There used to be a saying, don't air your dirty laundry in public. Some things were family matters and meant to be kept within the confines of the home. That saying doesn't seem to have much relevance these days, what with blogs, facebook and its ilk, Twitter, etc. People -- I include myself -- feel free to write about whatever. Their relationships, their fantasies, their problems, their joys, their fears. It seems almost compulsory to bare yourself figuratively.

But is it fair to do this when the act of doing it bares someone else? The word loyalty comes to mind. I have written here of hubby, son and daughter. They are anonymous to you all and will remain so, I hope. Even still, I do not write everything about what goes on with them because of a sense of loyalty to them. How would they feel if they knew that anyone could read about them?

I think Myerson would argue that by writing about her own dysfunctional family life, she is reassuring others that it can happen to anyone. But here is where her conceit begins. Of course it can happen to anyone, and it does all the time. But not everyone feels compelled to tell the world about it. She and her partner are a certain type you find within the British middle class: educated, articulate, terribly earnest and principled. So principled they wouldn't allow their three children to eat meat. So earnest they wrote about it. They didn't believe any imperfection could happen in their family. When it did -- as in the son smoking cannabis -- they were angry at the son for showing the imperfections in their perfect world. He in turn was angry at them for using him as a topic for many an article and now a novel. I don't know that this fractured family can ever be repaired.

I think anyone who writes about their family in any forum must be mindful of the family's rights too. It isn't the same as having a moan about your spouse or your child to your best friend over a coffee. Setting it down in words creates a permanence. But all relationships, particularly the parent-teen-ager ones -- are fluid beings, full of ebb and flow. What is today will not be tomorrow.

Perhaps Myerson should have known that before all the hundreds of words were written by and about her and her family.

Swivel Hips, Softhands, and Fat Wanker

2009-03-05T14:32:00.003Z

What you see isn't always what you get. People make assumptions all the time about others based on external factors. For example, at my salsa class I have come up with nicknames for many of the regulars: Softhands, a nice, soft-spoken young man with -- you got it -- soft hands; Swivel Hips, another nice young man who is a funky dancer; BT2, a woman blessed (?) with big tits and big teeth who can't seem to find T-shirts that fit her; Paul the Pillock, enough said; Big Mustache and Small Mustache, two jolly guys with, um, mustaches, though Big Mustache doesn't go anymore and Small Mustache seems to have ditched his wife; Smelly Man, who fortunately doesn't go anymore; Curvy Girl, who likes to shake that booty.

I don't know much about these people beyond twirling around, with, and among them for an hour once a week or so. Softhands could be a right bastard; Paul the Pillock could be a saint. I have made assumptions and judgments based on these assumptions.

I'm not alone. Others have done the same to me, particularly after I moved to the UK. I became The American, with all the connotations -- negative and positive -- that might have. I am also Blonde. I am also a Stay-At-Home Mother. Put all those together, and you might have a very negative view of me indeed.

Even people who have known me for quite a few years can't seem to get beyond these labels. Such as -- dare I mention their name -- the Frenemies. Yes, I should dump them, but it's difficult because our kids are friends and I actually like two out of the five couples. One couple I'm neutral about, and two I can't stand. Anyway, we were having dinner at the home of one of the couples I like on Saturday. Frenemy's husband and the fat, balding know-it-all wanker of a husband of another one were talking about George Chakiris, he of West Side Story fame. I piped up that he had been in White Christmas. Frenemy's husband and Fat Wanker scoffed at me. They fancy themselves Trivia Kings because they've actually been on TV quiz shows. But I know my White Christmas and I held my ground. Fat Wanker said he couldn't possibly have been because White Christmas came out in the 40s. No, I replied, it came out in 1954 or 1956 (you can tell from the clothes and hairstyles). Fat Wanker and I made a £10 wager. Fat Wanker's wife looked it up on her Blackberry on the internet. Guess who won? Guess who didn't get her £10?

They made assumptions and judgments about me and were wrong. In that case, at least.

It's occurred to me that this has happened to Barack Obama his whole life. Assumptions have been made about the color of his skin, his name, his parentage, where he's lived. And yet look at what a cool person he is. No chips on his shoulders.

We label people because that makes it easier to categorize them in our brains. And we humans generally like to categorize. It helps us cope with the unknown, probably a throwback to Neanderthal Man. But we must remember to look outside the assumptions and judgments. These can be wrong. Just ask Fat Wanker.

The Excuses Game

2009-02-27T13:20:00.002Z

Hey, everybody, let's all play a new game. The Excuses Game. Soon to be a Parker Bros. game. Or Mattel. Maybe a video game. Or Wii.

Actually, it's a very old game, but has gained some new converts in the last few months, mostly in the banking sector. Politicians perfected this ages ago.

Here's how you play: Think of as many excuses in one minute as you can for totally fucking over the world.

After you've mastered this, you can move on to the Blame Game. Even the kids at home can play this one. That's where when you've exhausted all the excuses, you look to blame someone else -- your sibling, your spouse, the government, the economy.

And when you've mastered both of these games, you can run a country. Any country. And a bank. Any bank. Because no one likes to play the Responsibility Game, do they? That would be no fun at all.

Emergency!

2009-02-20T20:46:00.004Z

Somebody call 911 or 999 quick. Some crimes of fashion are being committed as I write.
These are back in style. Yes, the harem pants, which make you look as though you've dropped a load in your trousers.

And these:

And these:

What will be next? This?

Or this?

Or even this?

Where are the Fashion Police when you need them?

Going Back in Time

2009-02-17T08:56:00.003Z

Jake has dug a very large hole in one of my flower beds. I have repeatedly told him not to do this, but he persists. I find he does this when he is bored outside. This morning, I had to drag him away from the hole. He didn't like this and responded by growling at me. Just a short, low growl while I was trying to clean his back paws. I backed off and left him. A few minutes later he thrust his nose into my lap, wanting forgiveness. Apparently, I should dig a hole specifically for Jake and toss in some biscuits or toys. I am searching my garden for such a place.

Being a dog owner, for me, is turning out to be far more difficult than being a parent. Or perhaps I would have been a better parent if I'd had a dog earlier.

Hubby recently had some old videos of the kids converted to DVDs. We watched them the other night, completely fascinated by the people we were 10 years ago. Three birthdays, one Christmas and one New Year's Eve party were on the DVDs. I made a few observations:

1. We gave, and give, our kids far too much at Christmas time.

2. I was actually a very good mother.

3. My ass was quite large in those days, not helped by my choice of jeans or underwear.

4. Our kids were incredibly cute and adorable.

5. I've aged a lot better than the Frenemies.

I am nostalgic for my children as they were, so innocent and loving. I suppose all parents of teen-agers go through this phase (and I don't believe a word from those smug people who say they "adore" their teen-agers).

I am not nostalgic for my body as it was. I was two and three years post-pregnancy and still had not given up the extra layers of fat. You know how some people can carry extra weight quite well? They look the same, only slightly larger? Not me. I have a surprisingly small frame -- tiny wrists and ankles. My body was meant to be small, yet there on the screen it was 30 pounds overweight. It wasn't long after that I started a longstanding acquaintance with Weight Watchers, reuniting every once in a while. I still wore big white underpants too, comfy but not sexy in the slightest.

I should be going to the gym today to try to keep the extra layers of fat at bay, but I am feeling the beginnings of a cold and just want to rest. The fat will still be there next week, as will the gym.

Jake is barking to be let out, no doubt wanting to return to his digging. I am resisting and will go play a game with him soon. He exhausts me sometimes. It's as though I have gone back in time to that DVD, constantly watching, entertaining, avoiding tricky situations by diverting his attention. I have a two-year-old again. A hyperactive two-year-old.

Should I resurrect the big white underpants too?

A Tragedy Too Awful to Imagine

2009-02-14T11:07:00.003Z

The concept of being in the right place at the right time or just the opposite has taken on a completely new meaning with the news of the death in a plane crash of a woman whose husband died on 9/11.

Beverley Eckert was on the Continental flight that crashed into a house in New York state. All aboard and one man in the house perished in a fiery inferno. She was on her way to inaugurate a scholarship in her husband's memory at the high school where the two met.

The newspaper article I read didn't say whether the couple had children. But don't you just wonder at the complete injustice and bad luck and unfairness of it all?

Also over my breakfast coffee I read about the 13-year-old boy in the UK who is now a dad. He impregnated his 15-year-old girlfriend when he was only 12. He is four feet tall and shows few signs of puberty. Experts say it's extremely rare for this to happen. I wonder if Chantelle, his girlfriend (and I didn't make her name up), perhaps had a bit on the side with maybe another 15-year-old? Again, the article didn't state if any tests had been done to confirm this boy is indeed the father.

This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "toy boy."

I haven't written much of late because my mind has been a whirlwind of conflict and questions. I want -- I ache -- for some sort of peace and calm in my life, for easy solutions and answers to be found, for resolution of long-term conflicts. I question my role in these conflicts, I wonder if I sound too whiny or appear too needy. While this interior monologue goes on, I can't write. I can't organise my thoughts. But while the inside may be a mess, the outside is looking up.

The plan to buy a business is starting to move ahead, with due diligence on the cards very soon. It's scary and exciting all in one. But at least it's some sort of movement beyond the slump that hubby and I have fallen into.

Finally, I would like to point out that within this post are several commas, apostrophes, and full stops (periods). I know where to place these because I was taught where to place them. In the UK there is a movement afoot to ban these from government signs. I think we need to rise up against the tyranny of mis-education (or missed education). SAVE THE APOSTROPHE! It's an endangered species.

Let It Snow

2009-02-08T14:39:00.004Z

Ah, it's snowing again. We get big, fat flakes of it that don't tend to stick. Still, it's far better than rain.

Lots has been happening in my world. We're progressing in our plan to buy a business. It would take me back to my journalism roots in a way, though not completely. So much to learn and to do. It's scary and exciting at the same time. Hard to believe that a year ago was when all the turmoil in my life was starting. I just live in a constant state of it now. And I have the back pain to prove it.

I went away for a spa weekend (or night) the other weekend with the Frenemies. I had such a good time with them for a change. Till the bill came. The hotel mistakenly charged another table's restaurant bill to my room. Would you believe it took an hour to sort out? And the hotel staff were actually kind of snotty about it. Would you believe the Frenemies blamed ME for it because I said to the very flustered desk clerk that we weren't angry at her personally. Not that they said it, but there was a definite atmosphere when I finally got in the car after paying and one of them later told my daughter I had apologised to the clerk. I didn't apologise to anyone. I was so upset and disappointed that my fun weekend had been ruined that I wrote a very outraged letter to the hotel and received the promised of a cheque for the restaurant bill and a free night for two at the hotel. I told the Frenemies about the promised cheque but not the free night. Why should they benefit from my efforts?

Jake has improved so much since we started walking him on the beach. But he brings back half the beach in his fur. I'm constantly sweeping up sand. He no longer seems to have issues with other dogs, which is such a relief. He's growled at us a few times, but no biting. Previously, I would have sternly told him no growling, but since seeing the doggie therapist, I just walk away. I think he growls because he thinks we're going to hurt him, and it only happens in certain circumstances. What is very hard is not hugging and kissing him. He's such an affectionate dog, or is that neediness? The clicker also isn't working too well. It doesn't work at all on the beach because by the time we catch up to him to reward him for having positive encounters with other dogs, he's moved on. And he's not too bothered about getting treats either.

I have plans to write a collection of poems about the stage of life I'm about to enter. The first one will be titled "I Found My Ex-Husband on Facebook." If nothing else, it will be great therapy.

Blog Central

2009-01-27T13:54:00.004Z

I have a new award on the left. It was given to me by a blogger I only became familiar with after she very kindly awarded it to me. MBNAD Woman wrote about life with her border collie. I use the past tense because by the time I visited her blog, she had decided to stop writing because her beloved border collie had died. MBNAD Woman, if you're out there, thank you so much. And please write again sometime. You are a fantastic writer. Maybe you'll get another border collie and write about that or maybe you'll write about something else.

While visiting MBNAD Woman's blog, I came across another new (to me) blog. Alright Tit writes about her experience of having breast cancer in such a funny way. I know cancer is a serious subject and we shouldn't laugh. But Alright Tit does. She's not even 30 yet and has had what must be one hell of a year. But you wouldn't know it from reading her blog. I highly recommend it. You can find it on my blogroll.

Once again, I am reminded of the diversity of the blog world and the beauty of it. It brings together so many different types of people, and so many who express themselves so well. Sometimes I think I might shut down this blog. I haven't given it and my blog buddies the care and attention they need and deserve. But I wouldn't want to miss out on the blog world. I am going to pass this award on to everyone who visits this blog. You all deserve it.

It's Such a Pain

2009-01-24T13:13:00.005Z

Have you had a Eureka! moment? The kind that comes when you're thinking about something else or looking for something else?

I had one yesterday. We took Jake to see the pain specialist, who agrees that he appears to be in some sort of chronic pain. She took the time to explain the difference between chronic and acute pain -- the different nerve fibres involved. Also, when the body is expecting pain, it usually will feel pain.

Again, it was a lot for hubby and I to take in. But my Eureka! moment wasn't about Jake. It was about me. I have found a canine equivalent of myself. I don't feel physical pain, at least not when my back is behaving. But I feel a deep, chronic emotional pain every day.

Like Jake, I didn't have the best of starts. I arrived as a surprise, and not a very welcome one. My dad accused my mother of tricking him into impregnating her, then he was disappointed I was born 8 days after the new year because he missed out on a tax deduction. My sister, 10 at the time, was not pleased to have a baby sister. Only my brother seemed at all to share my mother's joy.

Jake is an anxious guy, owing in part to his humble start in life (20th out of 21 pups born to his mother last year). His mother was a nervous wreck when I saw her. But Jake seemed happy with his barnmates. Then we took him to our home and he encountered all sorts of foreign experiences. Loud music, car rides, sleeping on his own. And of course then he started to feel exceptional pain in his hips.

I'm an anxious person. You may not know it when you look at me. Over 49 years, I've devised ways of hiding it. I used to bite my nails. I used to constantly bounce my leg up and down. I stopped those habits and tried to channel the anxiety in other ways. The only time I've not felt anxious was when I took certain illegal substances. I grew quickly, like Jake, and people often thought I was older than I was. I was put a grade ahead in school. I look back now and see that this could have been the start of my social anxiety -- the fear that my peers won't like or accept me.

Or it could have been because of my parents' tumultuous marriage. Sunday was fight day in our house. My mother was the main culprit, I decided early in life. Now, I'm not so sure. She's a high anxiety person, and her mother before her was. My dad did nothing to mollify her anxiety. If anything, he heightened it. She did crazy things like cut the crotch out of my dad's underwear in front of us or throw a can of hairspray at his car as he was backing out of the driveway. There are lots of such incidents in my memory bank. She also used to threaten to commit suicide and/or divorce my dad. And when he left, she made good on her threats, or tried to at least.

So I didn't grow up in a warm, loving atmosphere. It was war, and everyone for him/herself. When my dad married my stepmother, I thought that would be the end of the anxiety. It was only the beginning. I never thought my own dad would treat his children as if they were his stepchildren. But that's what my stepmother achieved.

I tried to make friends into quasi family. But if my family is dysfunctional, so are some of my friendships.

This is background for my Eureka! moment. The pain specialist said that chronic pain sufferers became sensitised to causes of pain, anticipating it even when it shouldn't be there.

And so I have become sensitised to causes of emotional pain. I anticipate that certain people will cause me pain; then when they comply, I reassure myself that I'm right to fear the pain they cause. But they have to cause an awful lot of pain before I walk away. I've never walked away from my family so my capacity for pain must be quite high.

Anyway, Jake's pain is being treated medically for now. I no longer take certain substances so I feel all the anxiety and pain. I just need to find a way to cope with it.

The Animal Behaviourist

2009-01-17T03:50:00.003Z

And now a word or a thousand about Jake's appointment with the animal behaviourist.

We drove Jake to the vet school teaching hospital where the AB showed us into a room with three vet students and another woman, whose function I never determined.

I thought she'd start off asking us about our concerns and had written some notes to take with me. She didn't. She started by asking us all sorts of questions about Jake: why we wanted a dog, why we chose a Border Collie, where we got him, where he sleeps, eats, is allowed in the house, how much time he spends alone in the day, who feeds him and when he gets fed, what other animals are in the house and how old are they, how many children in the house and how old are they, how much contact he's had with other dogs and when, how he behaves toward visitors to the house. She asked if we ever used spray bottles on Jake. I said we had for a short time when he was a puppy, but abandoned the idea because it didn't seem to work. She asked if he messed in the house at all. I said he hadn't messed in the house since I got the puppy crate. She asked if he chewed furniture. I said he did for about two weeks, then stopped. All this time she took notes and observed Jake and us as well.

Jake, for his part, seemed completely at a loss as to why he was there and alternated between hubby and me, sticking his nose in our hands, jumping on hubby, barking at the door occasionally. He didn't venture far from us for a very long time. When he did, he sniffed around the AB's shoes, then peed on her. I shouted no, Jake ran back and hid behind our chairs, ears back. AB calmly got up, got some paper towels and spray and cleaned the mess. He was marking his territory, she said. She found his reaction most interesting.

She asked if loud noises bothered Jake (they do) and chastised us for having a fireworks party at our house. Her words were, "You have a dog and you had a fireworks party?" Then she got to the nitty gritty of the biting incidents, the pulling on the lead, and the aggression toward other dogs.

First of all, I hold my hand up and plead guilty to reading this dog completely wrong. He is not by nature a dominant dog and doesn't need to be treated as one who needs to know who's boss. He knows who is boss (me). He is a very anxious, insecure dog who also has had quite a bit of trauma in his short life due to the hip dysplasia and other factors. When his ears are back and he is acting attention-starved, this shows his anxiety and lack of confidence. My shouting at him when he barks at door, speaking sternly to him when he growls, very occasionally rolling up a magazine when nothing else will make him do what I want are exactly the wrong things to do. (I hasten to add I have never hit this dog with magazine or anything else.)

Two of the biting incidents -- the vet surgeon and once when he bit hubby because another dog had attacked when he was on the lead -- were due to fear. The others were anxiety-driven, she said. He is not a malicious dog. Well, I knew that. He's a sweetheart. She thinks he's still in pain, particularly on the left side. When I told her and the vet students that he had had no cartilage left on his left hip when they operated, we all nearly cried. This is a dog who has suffered and is still suffering.

Some of the aggression towards other dogs is normal dog behaviour. Most of it is because he doesn't trust other dogs. This probably started when I took him to obedience training classes before I knew about the hip dysplasia. A lab puppy did what boisterous lab puppies do and jumped on him while he was on the lead. No wonder he doesn't like lab puppies. Another border collie barked incessantly during the classes. He only liked the quiet chihuahua next to him. And he still prefers small dogs. Like other hip dysplastic dogs, he is sensitive and protective of his back area. And where do all dogs go to sniff other dogs? She said aggression toward other dogs was common in dogs with hip dysplasia.

She asked what I'd tried to stop the pulling on the lead. I reeled them off: harness, two Haltis (shredded in minutes), a whistle apparatus, turning the opposite way whenever he started pulling, and most recently treats. She said the pulling wasn't a training problem; it's a behaviour problem. I'd already suspected that.

So, the solutions. No more shouting, rolled-up newspapers, or other negative reinforcers. But also no more cuddling and kissing. Dogs don't lick to show affection. In his case, it's another manifestation of his anxiety and leads to overexcitedness, which could in extreme cases lead to more biting. She gave us a DAP diffuser, which contains pheromones that a female dog releases when she is nursing puppies. The pheromones calm the puppies so they nurse better. Jake, and we, have been calmer since we plugged it in. She gave us a clicker to use with treats as a positive reinforcer of secure, confident behaviour. Example: He keeps nudging us to pet him. We ignore him till he gives up, then we press the clicker and give him a treat. He loves this.

We are to walk him only in wide, open spaces like the beach so he doesn't feel trapped and confined if he comes across another dog. We use the clicker with treats every time he passes a dog with no incident. This way he will come to associate something good with other dogs and gain more confidence with them. We aren't to use the muzzle or keep him on the lead as these will reinforce the negative feelings. We are also to take him back for another session at the vet hospital with one of their dogs so he can gain more confidence with other dogs.

He is to be fitted with a Halti harness and we are to bring him back to the vet hospital for a session with the trainer there on how to use it.

He is to see a pain specialist at the vet hospital to assess his pain and put him on appropriate medication.

I'm also to stop watching "The Dog Whisperer."

We emerged three and a half hours later exhausted. The appointment was only supposed to last two and a half hours and any additional time was to be charged. I think she took pity on us when she found out we weren't insured when Jake had his surgeries and that the insurance probably wouldn't cover her either as I'd already consulted with the vet about the biting before we got it. I kept thinking "Kerching!" every time she mentioned another appointment.

I have some advice to anyone out there reading this who is thinking of getting a dog. Don't be cheap. And don't go to a farm in North Wales. This £30 bundle of love has turned into a very expensive dog.

But he's worth it.

I'm also thinking of getting a clicker and treats for my son. Every time he does well in school, he gets a treat. It might work.

Just One of Those People

2009-01-15T10:23:00.004Z

First of all, thank you all for your support and helpful comments about Jake. We see the animal behaviourist today and I'll let you know how we got on.

But onto other matters on my mind. Last night was parents night at my son's school. It's a wonderful night when I go to my daughter's school, less so at my son's. He is not an academic high achiever or even middle achiever in some subjects. But most of his teachers seem to think he's capable of far more if he just puts in the work. I don't disagree with this.

Most of his teachers offered helpful comments on how he can improve his performance. Not so his physics teacher. Perhaps in her mind, she did. But she didn't. What she did first of all was chastise him for not turning in overdue homework. Fair enough. Then she accused him of not studying for his tests at home. When we backed him up and said he did indeed study at home, she asked how he prepared. He said he read the information, then had us quiz him on it. She said that method was useless. Then he said he copied out diagrams. She said that was worse than useless. I was beginning to think she was a bit useless so I asked her what study methods she recommended. She spouted a bunch of things, mind mapping and cartooning being the only two I remember and even recognised. I turned to my son and asked if he knew what they were. He said he did, but I don't think he does.

She said they were in the study guide book he got last year, and she should know because she wrote it. She then said a method that works for kinesthetic, auditory, and visual learners was to try to teach the information themselves. My son is 12. He doesn't know if he's a kinesthetic, auditory, or visual learner. I then said, "So if my son came to you before a test and asked which would be the best method for revising, you would be able to tell him?"

She didn't like that, and ended the appointment immediately. I was fuming. I woke up in the night still fuming. But, as we told our son, those people exist, and sometimes they become teachers. The only thing for him to do is to make sure he doesn't give her any ammunition against him, like forgetting to turn in his homework.

When we got home, my husband looked in my son's physics homework book. It was full of smiley faces and "Good work" remarks. So what happened? Son said she told him off one day for sneezing in class. Is this another unfulfilled or ill-suited person for teaching taking it out on the pupils? That's what it's looking like.

And you know what's the worst bit? She's his head of year. We have no one else to go to to complain, should we decide to do so.

Jakey, Jakey, Jakey

2009-01-10T16:12:00.003Z

I haven't posted about Jake in quite a while, but that doesn't mean nothing is happening in his world. It's just not very positive.

Jake has turned into a bit of a bully. You know he bit the vet surgeon in the crotch, my daughter in the hand, and my husband (five times now). I was afraid to tell the vet about it because I didn't want him to be labeled an aggressive dog. But I don't want him to bite any more people either. So finally I did tell the vet. The vet referred Jake to an expensive animal behaviour specialist. The appointment is next Thursday, and it's not soon enough.

Jake also has turned into a bit of bully with other dogs, but not always. Sometimes he's perfectly OK, but sometimes he will growl and go after another dog. I always shout and tell him to move along, which he always does. But the other dog and its owner are quite understandably unhappy. I could keep Jake on the lead, but I'm not sure that's a good idea either because he gets really aggressive if a dog not on a lead approaches him when he is on his lead. I could muzzle him, but I'm not sure if his behaviour is bad enough to warrant that punishment. And he isn't always aggressive. I used to be able to say with some confidence that Jake loved spaniels and all small dogs. I can't now.

Today on his walk he encountered two dogs, both also Border Collies. He showed aggression towards both. I got him to leave the first dog alone very quickly. By the time he encountered the second dog, he'd tried unsuccessfully to evacuate a bit of his blankie that he'd chewed and swallowed. It was flopping around his tail and annoying him. He growled when we tried to remove it. So along comes this other Border Collie and its owner. The Border Collie tries to sniff Jake's bum. Jake is most unhappy about this and becomes aggressive toward the other dog. I try to catch up to get him to move along, but not before the other owner decides to tell Jake off herself. She pointed her finger at his nose and told him off. I suggested she might not want to do that, fearing he might bite her in his state of mind. She said, "Excuse me?" in a rather aggressive way herself. "I don't want him biting my dog." I said I didn't want him to bite her or her dog. She said he needed to be on a lead if he was that bad. I walked away and so did Jake. I was angry about the situation, but also fear the woman may have been right. I don't think I would approach an unfamiliar dog in an obviously aggressive state the way the woman did. But as Jake's owner, it's my responsibility to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone.

Jake LOVES his walks. He NEEDS his walks. He needs a lot of exercise and room to run around. I think a lot of the reason for the aggression is fear and memory of pain. But others don't know his history. We have to get this situation under control before it controls us.

Christmas as a Metaphor

2009-01-07T12:30:00.003Z

Christmas lingers, or rather the memory of Christmases past. And tomorrow I celebrate (?) my last birthday in my 40s.

On Sunday I started to pack away the Christmas decorations. If I have anything I could call a collection, it would be my decorations. Never mind that most were made in China (I always wonder what Chinese people think of these odd red and green things they make to sell to westerners). The decorations, particularly for the tree, have been collected since my early 20s. I have a hot air balloon (something I wanted to go up in at one point in my life) that was attached to a long-ago present. A china bell. Various angels. And Santas. Betty Boop on a motorcycle. A pink bicycle. A red train. A blue tractor. Wooden houses bought in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I had a thing for houses when I lived in apartments. An old-fashioned telephone. A lute. A wagon. A picture of me in my 20s that was an ornament on a staff Christmas tree one year. That one gets moved around the tree every year by my children. A crystal Christmas tree. A bird. Many salt dough and felt decorations made for a PTA fund raiser. A sheep's head made by one of my children in nursery. Fragile baubles from the '50s given to me by my mother-in-law. King Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I. A lighthouse with a wreath on it. Peter Pan and Tinker Bell, courtesy of Disney World. Winnie the Pooh and Goofy as well.

All of these decorations have a story about where they come from. No matter their provenance, each is treated with the same care and concern. This is why I didn't moan too much when no one offered to help me put things away.

They all were there when the tree came down and the decorations came out. I always play Christmas music as we decorate the tree. Hubby and I usually argue about the Christmas lights (is there anyone out there who doesn't argue with their spouse over the Christmas lights?). This year, though, we broke with tradition and allowed the kids to put up the lights and let them have the argument. Daughter lost all interest in the tree and Christmas after a couple of hours. She barely went in the room with the tree again after we decorated it. This is a far cry from when she was little. One Christmas Eve I shook carpet freshener on the carpet from the fireplace to the tree and had my husband step in it to leave "Santa's footprints." I feigned displeasure the next morning at having to clean up after Santa. Every year we leave a carrot for the reindeer and a mince pie and glass of wine for Santa. Every year Santa thanks us for these gifts, using his best left-handed writing.

This year I felt a bit melancholy packing away Christmas. How many more years before the kids don't come home at Christmas time, before my daughter demands "her" decorations for her tree, before hubby and I decide it's too much trouble to decorate the house for Christmas? I am on the precipice of 50; my life as I know it will probably change greatly this year as we move forward in our plan to buy a business. We have to really because hubby isn't going to get a job in financial services again anytime soon.

How many more years will those decorations last before they break and crumble?

Baking Time

2009-01-04T20:50:00.002Z

I've written here before about some of the differences between the UK and the USA that I've encountered. How we celebrate Christmas is one of them.

Take baking. Christmas baking was a big deal when I was growing up. I'd bake various cookies and make fudge (because my mother may have shown me where the cookbooks were but she never was too interested in it herself) to give to others, who in turn would do their baking too. My favourite cookies still are Russian Tea Cakes, which are probably called something else in other people's cookbooks. These little balls of flour, butter, sugar and nuts rolled and re-rolled in powdered (icing) sugar send me into sugar heaven. Even when I was working I always managed to make Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookies for the staff.

Then I moved to the UK and had loads of time for baking, but was frustrated by the lack of familiar ingredients. How could I make Chocolate Pecan Pie without Karo syrup? What was gingerbread without molasses? And I still can't get the butter conversion right. Also, I discovered, people in the UK do a different kind of baking. They make Christmas cake, a kind of fruit cake you souse with brandy or whiskey for a month, then cover with marzipan and royal icing (this also is known as Wedding Cake and Birthday Cake). They make Christmas pudding, a dried fruit-filled steamed pudding that traditionally is set alight (for it too is brandy-soaked). And they make Mince Pies, pastry filled with -- you got it -- dried fruit soaked in brandy.

My first Christmas here I dutifully made a Christmas cake in November, wrapped it in greaseproof paper and foil and squirted it with brandy every week. Then I wrapped it up in marzipan and royal icing. It wasn't very good, but I'm not really a fan of Christmas cake. I never attempted making Christmas Pudding, though I have bought them. I have made Mince Pies, with varying success.

I also baked peanut butter cookies and made truffles for that first Christmas, to which I'd invited the outlaws. No one else but me ate the cookies and truffles. I gained a lot of weight.

So I quit the Christmas baking. I'd make chutney some years, but that was it. Except for this year. For some reason, this year I wanted the house to be filled with the smells of baking. I made gingerbread with molasses I sourced from a health food store (though I could have used treacle). I made Chocolate Pecan Pie with golden syrup. I made apple and cherry pies, conjuring up my very own pastry. I rolled mincemeat up in puff pastry (I will always do this now -- it was delicious) and baked it. I made Mexican Wedding Cookies (similar to my beloved Russian Tea Cakes) and butter Christmas cookies (too much butter), meringues with chocolate chips inside, my own jam with blackcurrants I froze in the summer, cranberry and pear chutney. The house absolutely buzzed with the smells of Christmas baking, as I know it. I gave out jam and chutney as presents to my friends.

Perhaps all that baking took its toll on my mood on Christmas Day. Perhaps I'd had too much sugar and was coming down. But I enjoyed it. My kitchen was always warm, though the rest of the house was freezing.

I am putting away the Christmas recipes for next year, getting the house clean for 2009. But maybe I'll still do a bit of baking. After all, as the Pillsbury Dough Boy would say, "Nothin says lovin like somethin from the oven."

Farewell 2008 and Good Riddance

2008-12-31T09:15:00.002Z

I'll be raising a glass or two tonight to the end of a very challenging year. Yes, I'll wake tomorrow to those exact same challenges, but it's the symbolism that counts. Life as I know it will go on the same, but maybe a bit differently.

Happy New Year to all of you who read this little blog. I hope 2009 is a great year for you.

Little Boy Lost

2008-12-29T16:04:00.002Z

He wasn't planned, though came to be very much wanted. He slept through the first two weeks of his life, then woke up, and wouldn't sleep through the night again till he was 3. As his hair grew, it turned blonde and curly, setting off his piercing blue eyes perfectly.

He was a happy baby for the most part. But he let you know when he wasn't. Usually it was because he was hungry or tired. His big sister would "read" to him and "feed" him by shoving a spoon down his throat. She took on a lot of the responsibility for looking after him, as long as it suited her. He would look admiringly at her from his bouncy chair. His little face would light up when he saw her.

As a toddler, he and we discovered his sense of humour. His laugh was loud and deep, an indicator of his profound amusement. He would roll his eyes back into his head, then roll them back again and laugh long and hard at our reactions. He adored his mother too, buying her plastic flowers to plant in her garden, pulling broccoli out to help with the weeding.

He started to founder a bit when he started school. Blame it on his gender and the month of his birth. His very clever older sister was only one year ahead of him in school. Where she excelled, he struggled. He began to resent her a bit, and tears of frustration became common as he tried to learn to read. He became more introverted, only showing that brilliant sense of humour at home. His mother became frustrated too, as she tried all the tricks that had worked on his sister, and often homework sessions ended in tears for all.

But underneath the sharp wit lurked a latent intelligence. His mother knew this and still pushed and tried and got him into a grammar school. Quietly, though, she wondered if she'd done the right thing by him. A few weeks into his first term at school, she knew she had. For he had become the most popular boy in his form, his year, on the bus. He still struggled with his studies though. And his mother reverted to some old tricks -- bribery and threats. Threats worked better.

He started to confide in his older sister. The bond that had always existed grew stronger. Every day after school, he waited for his sister to tell her all about his day. He showed her his school report first. He told her his hopes and dreams, his fears. She dried his less frequent tears. And his mother stood by and watched, hoping that he would come back to her, would be once again that boy who once bought her plastic flowers for her garden. And she shed tears of mourning for the boy she lost to his sister.

BAH HUMBUG!

2008-12-27T06:21:00.002Z

I am not in a good place right now. I wanted this to be a good Christmas. I tried. I cooked. I cleaned. I invited the in-laws. I shopped for the kids and the hubby. And it all went pear-shaped for me on Christmas Day. All that giving I did didn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy. Because I got a set of kitchen scales and two horrendous sweaters. The in-laws arrived on Christmas Day. As MIL doled out the presents to kids and hubby, I sat on my hands, rictus grin frozen on my face, trying not to show my anger and disappointment that I didn't even get one fucking present from them. Then she finally pulled it out: a book on making things. I told her her Christmas presents for next year would be coming from the book. Then my stepmother informed me my dad couldn't call me back because he was too busy cooking the turkey for her family!

Then the kids decided to gang up against me because I'm a nag, apparently. I didn't take this very well. We spent over £1,000 between the two of them on presents, and all I got was a set of kitchen scales, two horrendous sweaters, and two disrespectful children.

The kids were sent to bed and told they won't be going to parties this week. If they continue this behaviour, I WILL be a hateful parent and keep taking more and more privileges away. I know I sound very ungrateful, and I suppose I am. BUT I'M NOT IN THE MOOD FOR CHRISTMAS ANYMORE!

The Moral Matrix

2008-12-21T13:04:00.004Z

That's the name of a new TV series I think should air. The idea came to me while watching Gok Wan help an ugly duckling find her inner swan. The idea of the Moral Matrix is to help immoral people find their inner morality. People such as the Barclays employee who sold inside information obtained secretly from his wife. People such as Bernard Madoff, the disgraced Wall Street trader whose pyramid-scheme fund has disappeared in a puff of smoke.

But morals aren't missing just from Wall Street. Across society in general we are seeing a general decline in plain, simple knowing right from wrong. We see it in the rise of gang culture. We see it in the number of hate crimes or road rage. We see it in the mother who organizes her daughter's kidnap to claim the ransom money.

There has been much discussion about where children should learn morals. The obvious answer is from their parents, but that doesn't seem to be happening anymore. So people point to schools and say that should be the source. But should it?

But why not television? Most homes have one. Most people watch it. Put a charismatic presenter on The Moral Matrix, run it at 8 p.m. or right after some popular program. Show people who found their moral center (usually in prison) and what they do now. And get people thinking about their actions. Well, that's a start. I'm sure that many arguments can be made against this idea and they might be very valid. But isn't this a start?

Words in search of meaning

2008-12-12T15:57:00.003Z

Pavicate

Whili

Frustinating

Can you think of any others?

Now for more mundane matters: Since I've been on the Austerity Budget (started back in June when I realised hubby's unemployment could last longer than a couple of months), I've been buying cheaply as much as I can. Sometimes, though, I've wondered if it is worth it. I've made a mental list of what more expensive items I plan to go right back to as soon as the Austerity Budget days are over. For what it's worth, here are some items I've gone cheaper on and my verdict on whether I'd still buy cheaper if I had a choice.

Butter: I buy the cheapest I can find. I'm not sure that it's as good as the more expensive brand. VERDICT: I'd go back to the more expensive brand.

Bread: The cheapest brand is pretty bad. VERDICT: I'd go straight back to the more expensive brand.

Eggs: I used to buy free-range organic, to ease my conscience as much as anything. VERDICT: I'd probably go back but not because the free-range organic are that much better.

Fruit: I stopped buying fruit like strawberries out of season. They tend to be pretty tasteless at this time of year anyway. I've started buying the cheapest bananas, apples, and oranges. Not all the fruit is ripe. Sometimes it's overripe or rotten in the middle. VERDICT: I'd go back to the more expensive fruit.

Cereal: I've been buying store-brand for years because it doesn't taste that different to me. VERDICT: I'd stick with store brand.

Vegetables: I buy what's on offer but it's getting monotonous. VERDICT: I'd like a bit more variety.

Crisps (or potato chips or potatoe if your name is Dan Quayle): Store brand just aren't as good but are half the price of the premium brand, which I buy when I can find it more cheaply. VERDICT: I'd go back to the premium brand.

Juice: My daughter likes apple and is happy with the store brand. My son loves Tropicana orange juice. However, my local Tesco has raised the price to close to £3 after having it on special offer at £2 for forever. So I've switched to the store brand. VERDICT: I'd go back to Tropicana.

Wine: Never a good idea to skimp on this. Better to not drink at all. VERDICT: I like my chablis.

Meat: I've tried the cheaper cuts and yuck! VERDICT: Give me sirloin any day. Or I might become a vegetarian.

Milk: I go for the cheapest brand. VERDICT: I'd still go for the cheapest brand.

Face cream: There's controversy over whether any of these work, no matter the price. The best thing I could do for my skin was to stay out of the sun 30 years ago. I never splurged but now I buy Superdrug face cream. I still have wrinkles. VERDICT: Maybe I'll get a facelift or wear a paper bag.

Toothpaste: I'm trying the store brand. Seems the same. VERDICT: I might stay with the store brand.

Clothing: Again, I never splurged. Now I just buy less. VERDICT: I'd sure like to spend more.

Babes in the Woods

2008-12-09T16:44:00.002Z

On Saturday I travelled to firebyrd's lovely home to meet some fellow bloggers. During the course of the evening, we discussed many subjects, one being what we were watching on TV. I confessed my addiction to "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here." For those not in the UK, this is a program in which celebrities (including George "Mr. Sulu" Takei and Martina Navratilova) are dropped in the middle of a jungle in Australia and have to take part in bushtucker trials such as eating camel testicles and lying in a tomb with rats, snakes, and cockroaches crawling over them. They earn meals for the camp by enduring these trials and if they fail, their campmates go hungry. It's all high drama as they all have to confront their deepest fears (that they won't get enough media exposure).

Anyway, I mentioned that this year's I'm a Celeb was like watching a pantomime. Again, for those who don't live in the UK, pantomimes are Christmas-season plays that always feature a woman playing the lead male role, a man playing the role of the Dame, a couple of baddies, an innocent but sexy female lead, and a couple of jesters to keep the laughs coming. The jokes are usually of the double-entendre variety. Audience participation is a must (as in shouting "It's behind you" to the seemingly blind lead or baddie).

This year's I'm a Celeb participants were actually auditioning for a role in the Babes in the Woods panto. Nicola, a pneumatic topless model, plays the role of Robin Hood. Carly, a footballer's partner in real life, is Maid Marion. David Van Day, who had his day in an 80s pop group, is the wicked uncle/Sheriff of Nottingham who wants the babes killed. Timmy Mallet (don't know what he did besides being annoying) is the bad robber employed to kill the babes. Esther Rantzen is the Fairy who has the babes covered in leaves so they can escape their killers. The roles of Friar Tuck, Alan a Dale, and Will Scarlett are filled by Robert Kilroy-Silk, Simon Webbe, and Dani Behr. George Takei and Joe Swash are the babes, naturally. And Brian, the gay policeman, is the Dame. Martina Navratilova sells the ice creams during the interval.

For three weeks, we in the UK were privileged to watch this audition every night. All good fun and a nice distraction from the worries of everyday life.

As was the lovely dinner at firebyrd's. Sadly, just as the party was really getting going, I had to go home as I faced a two-hour-ish drive over dark, icy roads. The memory of good conversation and company kept me warm during the drive. The thought of actually seeing the I'm a Celeb participants in a panto amused me and kept me alert all the way home. Just remember when you see their names in lights next year, you read it here first.

Who Wouldn't Want to Be My Friend?

2008-12-05T11:08:00.002Z

The horrible downside of Facebook has already happened. What if your offer of friendship is turned down? It seems to have happened to me, once by my daughter and once by a former friend and colleague. Facebook has brought back a very complicated part of my life when my personal and professional lives were one. My divorce wrecked that delicate balance as work friends and colleagues struggled to decide whose side they were on or if they should choose sides. I conveniently solved that dilemma by moving to another country. One by one they all dropped me. I learned some lessons about situational friendships.

And that is what happens in life sometimes. You move on. Then you join Facebook and all the past comes swimming back into focus. And all my paranoid fantasies come to life again. Has this person not responded because he/she doesn't want to rock the boat with my ex-husband? I haven't been in touch with some of these people for a good 15-17 years. I'm curious about them. Aren't they curious about me? But when I see the (scary) cartoon character that represents my ex-husband on their list of friends, I wonder. My relationship with them pretty much ended when I moved, but they continued to work with him for I don't know how long. Did they go to his wedding (for he apparently has remarried and has a child)? How close did they remain to him? And, of course, in the background, the worrying thought: what did he tell them about me? We did not end on good terms; he accused me of spreading a rumor about him that, frankly, I don't remember doing. He wrote me a nasty letter, and that was our last communication. Time has stood still in what I think of him, which is a rat-bastard.

Maybe this isn't an ex-husband problem, but a Facebook phenomenon. You rush to find out about someone you haven't seen in 20 years, then you rest because now you know.

Sometimes people are in our past because that's where they belong. Sometimes people are in our past because we were too busy or lazy to maintain the relationship. Facebook allows us to renew those relationships if we so desire, but there can be a downside to letting people back into your life, particularly if they're the wrong people.

Thank God It's Over.

2008-12-01T18:45:00.003Z

I've had worse Thanksgivings in terms of company. Like the time my stepmother's oaf of a father utterly humiliated me in front of everyone and I walked out.

I've had worse Thanksgivings in terms of having to work. Or being on my own.

But I've never had such a bad one for food. I've never cooked or overseen the cooking of such a sad Thanksgiving dinner as we had. I tried, but my sinusitis meant I didn't feel like cooking or eating. I delegated the turkey to hubby. It was tough as a cowhide, but I don't blame hubby. I delegated the green bean casserole and sweet potatoes to daughter but had to go to bed so couldn't stand by and supervise. The beans were underdone, the sweet potatoes bland. I don't blame daughter. I made the stuffing myself -- too dry. And the apple pie. That was OK, but I was unhappy with the pastry. I didn't feel like drinking anything stronger than water.

And my poor dear friend L., whom I'd invited with her family, was at home grieving for her father who had died two nights before.

Which puts the horrible food in perspective.

Facing the Book

2008-11-26T12:18:00.003Z

I did something wild and rash yesterday. I joined Facebook. I know. Everybody is on Facebook. Even my daughter, which I didn't know till I joined. She refuses to be one of my friends. How mean! But hey ho, I've got five friends now. I might just come out of my cloak of anonymity here to reveal my real self so I can get more friends.

Because Facebook makes you want to have as many friends as possible, I've discovered. Just as having a blog can lead you to wanting to have lots of blog buddies who read your blog and leave comments and whose blogs you read and leave comments. (I don't think that's a complete sentence but oh well.)

I've already gotten in touch with one old friend (thanks to laurie), and who knows, there might be even more out there.

That is the bright spot of the week. Here's what else is going on with my friends: one's daughter has a rapidly growing fibroadenoma that is being removed Tuesday, one's husband just lost his job, one's father is on the brink of death.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving in America, where we Americans traditionally pig out, watch football, sleep and have arguments with our families. Perhaps this year we can be thankful for each other. It's a very cruel world these days and we need as many friends as we can get.

Uncomfortably Numb

2008-11-24T18:57:00.004Z

I won DJ Kirby's Wordless Wednesday competition this week. I'm still in shock. The judge, Trousers, is far too kind, but thank you anyway.

On to an update: I've been to see a specialist about my shoulder, which has been in pain since February. I had an MRI, which showed fluid in the tendon. He offered to give me a cortisone injection tonight. I took him up on the offer. He must have put some Lidocaine in there because the arm is pretty numb and he didn't tell me there would be Lidocaine. And I had to drive home on the motorway for half an hour in the dark. I damn near cried but was too worried I would crash. Should I go on about how thoughtless orthopedic surgeons are? Or do you all already know about that?

Hubby still doesn't have a job. It's beyond a joke. It's downright scary, though I try not to think too hard about it. And when I do I focus on the positive (he and I are getting along better; he and the kids are getting along better).

Jake continues to improve. He is 99 percent great dog. The one percent bites sometimes -- hard. He doesn't bite me. He wouldn't dare. But he's bitten hubby four times and daughter once and the vet surgeon once. I happened to be at the vet's today with one of the cats and mentioned the biting. She gave me the number of a behavioural specialist. I just have to get hubby to agree to phone them. I don't know how many bites that will take. The biting seems to happen when someone seems to approach his rear quarters so I think it's associated with the surgeries. I'm scared he might bite someone outside the family one day so we really need to get this sorted.

Here in the UK we have lots of bad news about the economy: deflation, credit crunch, layoffs, etc. But what has been the big news this past week? John Sergeant, a former political correspondent for the BBC, resigned from Strictly Come Dancing because of so much flak from the judges and other dancers because he's got two left feet and really should have been voted out ages ago but the public like him too much. Now for all you who don't live in the UK I will describe John Sergeant's looks. In the U.S., he'd have a marvelous career in radio. Seriously, when I first moved to this country, I couldn't believe he was allowed to be on TV. In America we only have blowdried Kens and Barbies on TV news (not counting PBS, the "educational channel" as my stepmother calls it). So it was a shock to see a droll troll, intelligent as he is, actually reporting the news. Here's what he looks like. He's kind of cute in a teddy bear troll sort of way.

And Why Would I Believe That?

2008-11-15T09:08:00.003Z

There's an email circulating out there saying British schools no longer teach pupils about the Holocaust because of Muslim opposition. My sister sent it to me. I immediately sent her the link to snopes.com that debunks this urban legend. Also, why she thought I, with two children in the British school system, wouldn't have something to say on this subject is beyond me. But that's my family.

But I decided this opened up an opportunity for me to talk to my son (my daughter was out) about the Holocaust. Hubby and I told him what we knew about it, starting with Kristallnacht. I explained to him about how Austrians broke into Jewish-owned businesses that night and ransacked them. It was called Kristallnacht because of all the broken glass on the ground. Then Jews were forced to wear badges on their sleeves and only live in areas called ghettoes. The homes and property of many were taken by the Nazis. Then, the Final Solution was devised in which they were herded onto trains and taken to concentration camps. Their heads were shaved, their clothing replaced by "striped pajamas," they were all but starved. And then they were gassed and either buried in mass graves or incinerated.

I told him the plot of "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas." Have you read the book or seen the movie? It's hard not to be deeply moved by the ending. I told him that not all Germans colluded in this Final Solution, notably Schindler in "Schindler's List." I also told him that in the USA during WWII there were concentration camps for Japanese-American citizens, one not far from my mother in Wyoming. Hubby told him that the British first came up with the idea of concentration camps during the Boer War.

I also told him how Israel came to be a nation in 1948, thus setting the scene for the conflicts that continue to this day between Jews and Palestinians. We touched on other holocausts as well, discussing Stalin's murder of millions of his own people. Most recently, in Bosnia, Muslims were rounded up and murdered en masse. We should not forget the Holocaust of WWII. We should not forget any Holocaust.

This was a lot of information for a 12-year-old boy, but I think he took most of it in. I suppose my first exposure to the Holocaust was reading "The Diary of Anne Frank." From there I read other books about the Holocaust. Some of it was school work, most of it was on my own volition.

I can't change the narrow-mindedness of my family, but I can have some influence still over my children and try to teach them that hating people because of their religion, race, or creed is wrong.

And Then I Fell to Earth

2008-11-11T10:49:00.003Z

Hard to imagine as it is, there are a few Americans very disappointed in last Tuesday's election results.

My father is one of them. And do you know why? Not because of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Not because of the economy. Because, he said, Obama said eight months ago that the first thing he's going to do when he gets into office is legalise late-term abortion (or third-semester as my father called it).

I missed that news item, my father said, because I don't live in the U.S. and I don't have access to the same information he does. I reminded him that there's an internet now that allows me access to all sorts of information.

I didn't call my father to gloat or to argue. I called to wish him a happy birthday. I then made the mistake of asking him what he thought of the election. I had little doubt in my mind that he had voted for McCain. My father is a Committed Christian who is going to Heaven because he has been forgiven by God for his sins. Pity his children haven't forgiven him yet, nor has he asked their forgiveness.

Like most people, I think, I try to avoid the emotional subject of abortion. I've never had one. I've never had to have one. I have had two pregnancies that ended in the births of my children. I know what it feels like to feel life growing inside me, and I could never have a late-term abortion myself unless there were strong medical grounds. Many babies born at 28 weeks survive.

For the record, I googled Obama's stand on abortion. He is in favour of abortion rights, but waffles a bit, like most politicians. McCain doesn't: he says life begins at conception. So if you take the morning-after pill within 72 hours of sexual intercourse (which is how long it takes for a fertilized egg to embed itself in the womb, I believe) then you are having an abortion, according to that famous biologist John McCain.

But back to my father. Abortion wasn't and isn't the most important issue facing Barack Obama today, as I told my father. I'm sure he's got a lot of other issues on his mind and will push abortion onto the proverbial back burner.

What I find most alarming about my father is not his stance on abortion or his support of McCain. It's his lack of respect for my opinion and feelings or indeed those of anyone else who doesn't agree with his narrow-minded, judgmental, moralistic point of view, and this is something that has not and will not change no matter who is in office. It's a shame that he is this way. Last night I hung the phone up and uttered not a few expletives under my breath and over my breath and into hubby's ears. I vowed not to phone my father again. I said he's treating me the same way he used to treat me when I was in my teens and 20s. Only I'm almost 50. But today I feel differently. I resolved to get on with my life, rejoice once more that Barack Obama is president-elect, and perhaps do something (though I don't know what) to help women so they don't have to be in the position of having to make what must be a very difficult decision.

It's A New Dawn, It's A New Day

2008-11-05T08:02:00.002Z

And I'm feeling good. God BLESS America. I am so proud of my country today, so proud that in my own lifetime we have gone from separate public restrooms, water fountains, entrances for blacks and whites to having a mixed-race president-elect whose middle name is Hussein. Obama faces more challenges than perhaps any president-elect. I am confident he will meet those challenges.

I stayed up last night as late as I could. When Pennsylvania results came in for Obama, I went to bed. This morning I jumped out to see the results. And then I cried. I watched Obama's speech on the internet, tears streaming down my face. All I can say now is I'm proud to be an American.

I'm Holding My Breath

2008-11-04T16:57:00.001Z

How about you? Did you remember to vote today if you're a US citizen and over 18?

Get This Party Started

2008-11-01T12:18:00.004Z

Halloween came and went this year without my celebrating it with our usual party. I have hosted or attended Halloween parties since I don't know when. I hit a dry patch for a while, but really wanted my kids to know the fun of Halloween and wanted to introduce my British friends to the American version of Halloween.

So I would cook and come up with games for the kids and dress up and have an exhausting but good time. Even when Frenemy hid baked potatoes in an unknown (to me anyway) shelf of my dining table and didn't tell me till the next year when she presented me with these shrivelled brown things. I asked her if they were her husband's balls.

Last year my kids were starting to hit the "My parents are so EMBARRASSING" age but could just about allow me to enjoy myself as long as I didn't dress up and they didn't either. This year I asked if they wanted a party. They said they did as long as they could invite ALL their friends. Well, that didn't suit me or hubby. We have these parties as much for ourselves as them. So this year we didn't have one. Not a single friend asked me if I was having the Halloween party this year. Guess they were embarrassed or didn't care.

We ate Chinese food in front of the TV. I watched one of my favourite films, "To Kill a Mockingbird," and kept texting my kids all night to check they were OK trick-or-treating since it's a different kind of experience in the UK. Something was missing, I felt. Maybe next year.

Speaking of parties, my daughter went to a boy's 14th birthday party the other night. She'd been looking forward to it, had bought a new top to wear, and had her two best friends round to get ready. My husband dropped them off and another parent was due to pick them up. Before 10, I heard the front door slam. My daughter had come home early. Why? Because once again, foolish parents had gone out and left 13- and 14-year-olds on their own. Once again, some of them sneaked alcohol in. Once again, the parents came home, got angry at the state of their house, and tipped everyone out. My daughter and her two friends were wandering the streets in the dark and the rain on their own. A policeman stopped them and asked where they were going. They said they'd left a party and were heading for the main street to wait for a parent to pick them up. My daughter, who didn't drink the alcohol, said she and her friends sat in the front room watching all the drunk teen-agers lurch about. They didn't dare go upstairs because some bright sparks thought it was a fun game to chuck people down the stairs. Others, she said, were having sex. The boy whose party it was seemed powerless to do anything about the drunken ones. His party was ruined, his parents' house was ruined. And do you know who I blame? The stupid, naive parents who thought they could go out and leave those kids on their own.

I've told my daughter she's not allowed to go to parties if the parents aren't there. If hubby or I drop her off, she's to call us when she gets inside to tell us if parents are there or not. We'll wait outside for the call. If we don't get one, we will go to the door and find out for ourselves. She's not entirely happy with this rule, but I don't think she particularly enjoyed herself and wouldn't want to repeat the experience.

And on to other matters. Please tell me what's wrong with this statement: "He wants to take people's money and give it to others." McCain has said that about Obama. As I read it, I shouted to my husband, "I really must be a socialist after all." He said he'd suspected I was all along. But isn't that what we all do anyway? Isn't that called taxation? McCain just wants to make sure his fat-cat buddies keep their money and avoid paying taxes. I am really, really scared about this election. I've sent off my vote, and it was for -- well, who do you think? Not Old-Age Ken and Moose-hunter Barbie. Please, please, please, any Democrats out there reading this or even Republicans or socialists or whatever. Please vote on Tuesday. Please DON'T vote for McCain and the Palinator. Please. For the sake of our country. For the sake of the world.

OH, My Aching Back

2008-10-24T10:42:00.002+01:00

Oh what a week. It started Sunday when I hurt my back while -- wait for it -- leaning over and looking at the newspaper. Yes, how mundane. How stupid. How pissed off was I? Plenty. I went to the doctor on Monday. I don't usually bother with doctors for my back and just go to physiotherapists. But this was really painful. He prescribed some heavyduty painkillers, which have knocked me out for most of the week. It's meant no gym, no driving, very little walking. And I'm really, really fed up with it. This morning, as I was gingerly getting out of bed, I went into spasm again. How pissed off am I? Plenty.

But today I'm not taking the painkillers because hubby is in London and I have to take the dog for a walk and I have to be able to drive Jake to the park. He's been looking at me mournfully all morning, like he's saying "PLEASE take me for a walk now." I'm working my way up to it.

I'm not feeling as upbeat this week as I was last week. Hubby was supposed to hear about the only job possibility he's got at the moment. And the call hasn't come yet, which seems ominous. I got an email from my sister yesterday about my mother. Seems my stepfather's son-in-law, a pompous, overweight prick, was incredibly rude to my mother on Sunday. She'd told a story at lunchtime which she repeated at dinner, and he took the opportunity to make fun of and humiliate her. She was so upset she told my sister she's moving to Florida now. My mother also apparently has a kidney infection. She has had a pain in her side for about a year and finally went to the doctor about it, who said it probably started in her urinary tract and moved up to her kidneys. She's on heavyduty antibiotics and really doesn't need the prick making fun of her.

I've considered calling the asshole and telling him off or emailing his wife. It's probably best if I do neither. I asked my husband if we could help my mother financially in finding a place to live in Florida. He said we'll be on the dole if we do. I cried my eyes out while making dinner. I kept cooking so I had an excuse not to talk to hubby or anyone else.

Hubby has been down this week too. He's been very quiet and even more short-tempered with the kids than usual. Last night, though, my daughter asked if we could play a card game. I wasn't in the mood but told them to play with their dad. From the whoops and hollers, I could tell they were having a good time. They need more times like that. Hubby comes down very hard on son and sometimes on daughter as well. I've suggested he back off a bit, but he hasn't taken my advice with very good grace. They're going to grow up hating him if he isn't careful.

Yesterday I met up with a very good friend who also has been through financial hard times. Her hubby drowns his sorrows in two or three bottles of wine a night. I advised her to contact al-Anon. We both agreed when these hard times are over for us, we're going to do more charity work. I have in the past, then gave it up. People need to know there is always someone out there for them, even if it's just to listen and make a cup of tea.

The other thing I want to do an Open University course. And I even found the course: English Language and Literature. I have been fascinated by the evolution of this complicated language since I read Chaucer at the University of Florida. The only thing holding me back right now is the cost: £610 per module. I don't think I can qualify for financial aid yet either. What a pickle.

Hubby and I are still looking to buy a business or two as well. We just have to find the right one that's recession-proof, if there is such a thing.

In the Beginning There Were Tears

2008-10-14T11:23:00.003+01:00

What to do when the breadwinner becomes the man about the house? That's the question hubby and I have been tiptoeing around. We, and he, have gone through a major readjustment to our daily lives and to how we perceive each other and ourselves this year.

Hubby came home from London with his tail firmly between his legs in April after months of fighting for his job and negotiations to get the best redundancy package he could. You see, it's a bit complicated. He was let go for political reasons masked as economic reasons. The mask was quite thin, and everyone saw through it. To avoid the bad publicity of going to a tribunal, his old firm paid him off. Then they got rid of the woman who got rid of hubby. Sweet revenge! But it's not the same as a job.

A man defines himself by what he does, and if he does nothing, then he is nothing. Of course, we women know that's not true. But people do look at you and treat you differently if you're in employment than if you're not. I have experienced that for the past 16 years.

Our friends swiftly divided themselves into two categories: those who were supportive and those who weren't. The supportive ones have kept in touch, have invited us out, asked how things are on a regular basis. Some of them have been in the same boat. They understand when I say I'm waiting to exhale. The others have been notable by their absence. No phone calls, emails, dropping by. Nothing but a great big zero. Actually, in the beginning when I still thought they were friends and actively sought out their company, they would make comments like hubby is a "pain in the arse" and "it's his own fault" if none of the other men talk to him.

Are you shocked to read that? I was shocked to hear it, and I haven't gone out of my way since to see or speak to those two women (Frenemy, of course, and Mildred, who I wrote about previously as well).

It's a tough and uncertain time for a lot of folks. I know we are more fortunate than many in the same boat. I also know just how quickly one's world can change.
That's why I was relieved and gratified to read an article in Sunday's paper about redundancy: that it can feel like bereavement, that it can change the dynamics of a couple's relationship for better or worse, that it can make you a better person if you allow it to. At last, someone wrote about what we've been going through these last six months. I'm not making it up.

We've worked our way through some of the worst of the bereavement. For a few months I cried every morning when no one was around, and sometimes in the middle of the night. I don't do that so much anymore. I try to look forward and think of what to do if this drags on for much longer. We have learned what matters most in life, that a walk with the dog can be infinitely more entertaining and fulfilling than a meaningless evening out. I have tightened my belt tremendously, halving our food shopping bill for example. It brought back memories of my young adult life when I didn't make much money and had to be very careful how I spent it (though I always seemed to have money for alcohol!). I want some new clothes, but a quick perusal through the cupboards revealed clothes I could wear if I lost 10 pounds. So I am working on that. I keep telling myself that I can't control a lot in my life at the moment but I can control what I eat.

Back to the dog: for anyone going through a similar experience, I highly recommend having a dog. Jake has been the saviour for hubby, who walks him twice a day every day. When nothing else could make hubby smile, Jake would sidle up to him and sniff his bum. Guaranteed to work every time (but I'm not going to do that). Hubby and I read the paper together every day and discuss the turbulent world markets and what it all means. Hubby's quite knowledgeable on this subject, and he has taught me a lot.

In the beginning I was reluctant to tell people hubby had lost his job. It felt embarrassing. It's easier now, especially when so many seem to be losing their jobs. It's made me consider how I've behaved in the past toward others in the same situation. Was I rude or thoughtless or insensitive? Was I supportive and helpful? Is there anything I can do now to help others in the same boat? Staying positive is the most important thing. Something I tell myself every day is it doesn't cost a penny to smile. If you smile, the world smiles back at you (though some may question your sanity).

And I plan to keep smiling, no matter what, especially when I'm around Frenemy and Mildred. Let them wonder what I'm up to. I'll never tell.

He's Banned

2008-10-13T16:17:00.002+01:00

You know, 13-year-old boys can be disgusting in a burpy, farty sort of way. But I can cope (just about) with that. What I can't cope with is willful, disgusting, destructive behaviour. Like what happened at my daughter's 14th birthday party Saturday night.

She wanted a disco. I didn't want it in my house. She wanted to invite 40-plus people. I didn't want them in my house. So we hired the clubhouse at the local tennis club. I've been there for quite a few events and knew having the bar open would be a bad idea. I knew my husband and I alone wouldn't be able to keep tabs on 40-plus teen-agers. I knew that a few recent parties had ended with the teens getting drunk on vodka someone had sneaked in, vomit in the garden, parents who stupidly had gone out coming home to a wrecked house. That wasn't going to happen on my watch, I decided. So I invited the parents to stay, and a few kindly took me up on the offer. One or two of those kindly helped police the event.

There was an almost fight at the far end of the courts. I went out and told them all to go back inside, even the ones shoving their tongues down each other's throats. They just about obeyed. They kept going round the side, and I or my husband or a friend kept following them and encouraging them to join the party inside.

At the end, we congratulated ourselves on keeping things from getting out of hand without upsetting my daughter. We cleared the place up, then did a check of the bathrooms.

One troubled teen, and I know which one it was, decided it would be funny to pee all over a roll of toilet paper and leave it in the urinal. That was disgusting! I can't imagine ever leaving the parents of one of my friends to clean up something like that. I'd been watching him in particular all night. I saw him and his friend and a couple of the girls disappear into the gents' loo. I urged my husband to keep checking on what they were doing. He didn't know what to look for. I did. I should have gone in there. I found no evidence of alcohol, and perhaps the boy decided to do the pee show out of frustration or lack of respect. Yeah, I know it could have been worse. But I wanted -- and want -- my daughter to have good, well-behaved friends.

He's banned.

And the next bank to fail is ......

2008-10-07T11:03:00.003+01:00

It's amazing how language can change one's perception of an event. This year we have gone from "a slowdown in the economy" to "a credit crunch" to "a global financial crisis".

It's just been bad news all the way in my life. I could have told you two years ago there was a slowdown when we had our house for sale. In six months we had only four viewers and two of them don't really count because they were just being nosy.

Remember a few months back when the really bad news was how expensive petrol/gas was? Don't you long for those good ole days? To gain an understanding of the events happening over the last couple of weeks, I've been reading about the Great Depression and its causes. I am no student of Economics and apart from listening to my parents' stories of how hard times were then and reading The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck and Hard Times by Studs Terkel, I didn't know much about the causes of the Depression. I knew the stock market crashed in 1929 and before that it seemed to be party, party, party (ala The Great Gatsby). I knew there were bread lines and people out of work and starving children. I knew Franklin D. Roosevelt created the New Deal to get people back into work (my grandparents among them) and built numerous Public Works projects as a result. I knew WWII had something to do with pulling the US out of the Depression.

I didn't understand that trade restrictions, deflation, and sharply increased taxes worked together to create the perfect economic storm resulting in Depression. There are several websites out there that clearly explain what happened.

I also thought I should be more informed about Roosevelt's presidency. He is generally accepted as the greatest US President in the 20th century. But he had to be, considering what a mess Hoover had left the country in. As I look forward to the 2008 Presidential election, I wonder which man will be able to fill Roosevelt's shoes because that is what the next president must do. Will it be the impetuous, flighty, maverick McCain with the beehived Palin ("you betcha!") standing behind him? Will it be the overly intellectual Obama whose so-called terrorist links seem to frighten ignorant Americans and whose running mate has his own issues?

I think as important as who is President is who he surrounds himself with. Roosevelt had some of the greatest people of his day behind him. Harold Ickes, Frances Perkins, Henry Morgenthau. Read about these people. They were truly innovators. I think Roosevelt's best quality must have been his ability to listen and to act on what he heard. I wish he hadn't created the Japanese internment camps during WWII though.

I made my mind up to support Obama over a year ago. Nothing has changed my mind since then. Should he win (and I think this will be a very close race to the bitter end), he will have to be very careful about who he surrounds himself with. Hard times call for the best and the brightest, but also the calmest. Roosevelt's fireside chats did as much to stimulate the economy by reassuring Americans as any of his economic policies. Never underestimate the power of confidence.

But if McCain should win, well, Tina Fey will have a job for a long time. Visit www.nbc.com and view her take on Palin. Funny but scary in its accuracy.

Since You Didn't Ask But Are Going to Find Out Anyway

2008-09-29T13:10:00.002+01:00

J. tagged me a while back, and I am just now getting round to it. I had to take a lot of time to think about this one.

I'm supposed to write six random things about myself and then tag six people. Well, what can I say about myself that hasn't been said before?

1. I'm not having the greatest year, as those who have read this blog will know. It started with my mother having a lump in her breast in January, then in February hubby and daughter were in a car accident, then I had a bad fall skiing and lost our passports (those two events were not connected and two of the passports were found). We discovered our adorable border collie Jake had severe hip dysplasia and he had two major (and costly) operations on his hips in April and June. In April hubby lost his job, my mother got pneumonia and was hospitalized, came out, went back in the next day with atrial fibrillation, came out and got a bad sinus infection. I went to Wyoming to look after her and her husband for 10 days and discovered that he was in even worse shape than her. He went into a nursing home for a month, and tests eventually showed he has PSP (progressive supra nuclear palsy). Each month seems to bring a new headache. But also some new insights. It's a year of growing and learning, of editing out the detritus in my life and moving forward in a new direction. It's scary, challenging, and on odd occasions fun. And it's also not the worst year in my life. That year was...

2. ...1975. In 1975, my grandmother died, I lost my virginity, and my dad walked out on my mother and us. That started a series of events like my mother attempting suicide three times and being hospitalized in a mental health ward for a month. My sister and her lecherous and unfaithful husband and child moved in with my mother, and I moved in with my dad. My dad married my stepmother that Christmas, though they kept it a secret for a few weeks from me and for forever from her children. That was truly a bad year, with 1976, 1977 and 1978 not being a lot better. When the going gets tough, I remember that time in my life and feel relief that I never have to live it over again ever.

3. I like to think I'm an easygoing person, but maybe not. A few things bother me about other people, tardiness being the top of the list. I'm on time to the point of obsession. I have to consciously work at being late. I hate it when people are late, which is problematic since several members of my family view tardiness as a way of life. I see it as a sign of disrespect. If you respect me, you will be on time (and I say on time is up to 15 minutes late, not two hours!).

4. When I was 17, I wanted to be a social worker. Yes, it's true. Then I took a sociology course and was bored senseless. The same happened with psychology. Journalism was way down the list, but I found it suited me best. Still, I never felt confident in the world of journalism, and I think that is why it was so easy for me to leave it behind.

5. Motherhood is the career I've had the longest. Again, I'm not the most confident mother, but every day I get up and try to do my best all over again.

6. One thing I've discovered in this world is that some of us are natural givers and some are natural takers. Some are better at nurturing and others are better at being nurtured. I know which category I'm in though sometimes I'd like to be in the other.

There you have it. I could have told you about my birthmark or my sinuses or some other such detail. But this perhaps tells you a bit more about me.

Now, I'd like to tag -ann, Sparx, swearing mother, chrisb, exmoorjane, and expatmum.

Just When You're Ready to Murder Them...

2008-09-26T19:32:00.002+01:00

They do something to make you proud. Like my son. Last night we had the privilege of attending his school's sports awards evening because he was named Runner of the Year in Cross Country for his year. Was I proud? Hell yeah! These moments don't happen very often for us. Son, of course, was incredibly embarrassed that his parents were proud of him and showed their faces at his school. Daughter wanted him to take her round so she could talk to all the boys. He refused. Quite right.

I had another moment like this in July when daughter won two Bronze awards for achievement and effort (meaning she did well academically and in citizenship despite her bitch of a form teacher). I don't know if I'll ever get to attend these ceremonies again but I savoured the moments.

We're deep in the throes of hormonal teen-age hell. Hubby and I know nothing. We were complete dorks and nerds when we were in school (well, hubby really was). I'm not ready to tell them the truth about me so I let them think what they want. The truth is I grew up in Florida during the 60s and 70s when marijuana used to wash up on the beach for goodness sake. Everybody drank and did drugs in high school. Or so it seemed.

So I'm sort in uncharted waters because I know what's out there. I know about the teen-age life of sex, drugs, and alcohol. I don't want my kids to go there, and I'm not sure how or if I can prevent it. I know that telling them the truth about me could very well backfire (you did it, why can't I?). I think keeping them busy with sports and activities will help a bit. But for how long?

Hubby is no help here at all. He might as well be from Mars and they might as well be from Pluto for as much as they understand each other. He was a good student, helped out his mother at home, worked hard, was school prefect, excelled at cricket, etc. I would have hated him in high school or not given him a second glance. None of those achievements prepared him for being the father of real teen-agers, but he doesn't understand that. He thinks they're the laziest, most belligerant children ever. And sometimes they are. The cuddly, sweet moments don't happen very often anymore. I try to talk sense to all of them, but I'm as much of a failure as anyone. However, according to the book I'm reading about teen-agers (where's the What to Expect When You're Expecting Teen-agers book?) I'm a success if I'm not their best pal. And I'm not.

I do hate being the parent of a teen sometimes (mostly). I have had to curtail my social drinking because apparently I'm an embarrassment when I get drunk (!). I used to worry that my children would get bullied at school for having an American mother. Nope, that didn't happen. Instead, my children bully ME for being an American. I dress wrong, dance wrong, listen to the wrong music, say the wrong things, look wrong. Just am wrong. Lord, help me through this very trying time and make them grow out of this phase quickly!

The Black Box

2008-09-21T17:29:00.003+01:00

See the mysterious Black Box on the left? I got that from firebyrd's blog. She and I met for lunch on Friday, as we do from time to time, and she said it's the hottest thing in the blogging world. Well, since I'm so notoriously not with it -- just ask my kids -- I had to put it on my blog.

It's all about choices. You click on the box and keep making choices till it tells you of a mystery blogger whose choices match your own. You can then visit this mystery blogger. I've done it over and over and I end up with the same two blogs (guess I'm just too predictable). The writer Caroline Smailes came up the idea after a phone conversation she had with a friend in which they discussed how different choices affect which direction in life you take. I'm into this sort of thinking right now. Firebyrd is totally addicted, and I can see why. But I won't get so addicted I lose touch with my regular blogroll because you're my buddies.

The Headaches of Email

2008-09-18T17:57:00.003+01:00

See the latest award on the left? It's from DJ Kirby, who is such a remarkable woman. She's so busy I don't know how she does it all: writing novels, working full time, raising a gorgeous son, being a wonderful wife to Chopper (I'm sure he agrees). I want to spread the love to all of you. Please click on the award and put it on your blog if you don't already have it.

And now on to a subject that has been on my mind since Bulldog's email last week. And the subject is... email. Something so wonderful and so dangerous. You can reconnect with old friends, keep up with distant friends and family, keep informed on subjects of interest. You can also get viruses that wipe out your entire computer or send email to the wrong recipient and wipe out relationships.

Have you ever done the latter? You're thinking of someone and possibly writing something uncomplimentary about them. You press send... and it goes to the person you were writing about. In the old days before the internet, I twice made this mistake in interoffice messages. I learned my lesson. Check before you send. My sister-in-law learned this lesson, too, a couple of years ago. I checked my email one day and discovered six retrieval attempts by her. My curiosity piqued, I found the offending email in which she wrote derogatory things about my husband and me. They weren't so derogatory that I couldn't laugh at the thought of her sitting there going "Oh shit" six times.

I've had email arguments with Frenemy and learned another lesson: don't respond negatively to a negative email unless you're up for a fight. And don't have the fight unless you're willing to go all the way with it.

I blocked Bulldog's email address following what I found to be really pugnacious emails from her. Before, I'd been getting 20-30 emails from her A DAY. All were political. Some were interesting. Some of you think this was a drastic measure. But I know the full extent of Bulldog's temper now and do not care to be on the receiving end of it. I blocked her email address but she is free to write me or call me. She has done neither.

Email's greatest advantage is also its greatest disadvantage: its immediacy. When you write a snail-mail letter, you have time to think about writing it and sending it. You make a conscious effort to write the address on the envelope. You put a stamp on it. Time tempers your temper. Impulsiveness is curbed. When you phone someone, it's more difficult to be angry or say cruel things.

The other disadvantage of email is its complete lack of privacy. I'm not up to date on privacy laws regarding the internet, but I think it would be hard to police. Someone gets an email sent by a friend to all her email list. She then forwards it on to all her email list, it then gets forwarded on, etc., etc. Hundreds of email addresses can end up on one of these forwarded emails. And then someone can write an email to one person and unwittingly send it to another.

As in the case of my sister to Bulldog.

My view is you have to accept that by sending an email, you are opening yourself up to all sorts of potential situations, including the one above, unless you stipulate that you do not want your email address passed along in any form. Maybe we're all a little lazy and sloppy about this. Maybe we all need to be more vigilant. After all, you don't know what's out there.

They're Out There

2008-09-12T09:16:00.003+01:00

Hi folks. I need some input on a little situation.

I'll start at the beginning. My sister is a Palinator. She actually likes her. OK, we're all entitled to opinions. I have (had) a friend who is a rabid (yeah, foam dripping from the mouth) Democrat who HATES Republicans. Both of these women send me endless emails supporting their views. I thought I'd send along a few from the Democrat Bulldog to my sister to enlighten her on Sarah Palin. My sister sent a reply about how she really likes Palin and what she represents and added some personal stuff that happened to her in the 70s. Only the reply went to the Bulldog. And the Bulldog attacked back in a very vicious manner.

OK, she didn't know who the email was from. But...

I don't know who you are or how you got my email below, but I must say you seem to bequite conflicted. If you think Sarah Palin represents women who demand choice, you aresadly mistaken. She does NOT represent women who demand choice over their bodies,and her 17-year-old daughter is living proof. She is herself, too. Everything about her iswrong, wrong, wrong, and too far to the right, right, right.As for John McCain, he is a superficial man who divorced his wife upon his return fromVietnam when he learned she had been maimed from a car accident. Nice guy. And hischoice in VP -- without proper vetting and by pandering to the religious right, a group thatis definitely in the minority and whose religious institutions should pay taxes since they interferewith politics... shows me that he is impulsive. And unqualified.You say that the media should not allow itself to portray the election as a beauty contest,well, start with the GOP. Palin was selected because she is attractive. She has no politicalexperience except on the local level.... Her candidacy is a misbegotten pipedream.She is in way over her head, and you are, too. I don't know you, I don't know how yougot my email, but if you are monitoring emails on behalf of the wingnuts on the right andwriting "personal" responses that are really designed to sway me to your side, BACK OFF.YOU WILL NEVER CONVINCE ME THAT THE GOP IS CAPABLE OF RUNNINGTHIS COUNTRY, OR THAT McCAIN-PALIN IS A TICKET WORTHY OF SUPPORT.Keep your damn opinions to yourself, and stay away from my emails. I don't give a shit ifyou "like Palin." I don't, my friends don't, and we will do everything we can to ensure she isNOT elected. BACK OFF.

My sister sent back an email apologizing for sending it to the wrong person and reiterating her right to her opinion. Bulldog sent the whole exchange to her posse of friends, including me, asking who this person was. I immediately emailed back to say it was my sister, she meant the email for me, etc. I also sent one to the whole posse saying Bulldog had actually met my sister at my wedding in 1992. Bulldog's reply was that she had no idea who the email was from, otherwise she might have considered apologizing for the strength of her response and that she couldn't be expected to remember someone she met once in 1992 who has a common name (she doesn't).

I emailed Bulldog that I thought the best way to prevent this situation happening again was for her to take me off her email list, and I put a block on her email address. I also said that if I were in her shoes, I probably would have just deleted the email or not even read it at all since we're always being told not to open email from addresses we don't recognize in case it contains a virus.

Does Bulldog represent a significant sector of the Democrats? Because if she does, that party will never win an office. I find her to be as intolerant of other views as any right-wing wacko. She also has anger management issues. She scared the shit out of my kids in February when we went skiing. The kids had been goofing around and changed the combination on the safe. Bulldog went ballistic because her jewelry was in there. She has lost two jobs in the past six months, but it was the employer's fault. In fact bad things happen to her and it's always the other guy's fault. I've known her for 30 years, and it's sad to see her this way. Is it because she lives in NYC now?

I hate to let go of a 30-year friendship, but... I think she's in dire need of therapy or Valium or something. Maybe a life?

Never Ever Forget

2008-09-11T14:35:00.003+01:00

How can anyone speak of 9/11 fatigue?

I may bitch and moan about the woefully inept security checks at airports. But nothing will ever make me forget that day. Last night my family and I watched The 9/11 Hotel, about the Marriot at the WTC and the people in it. We talked about what we did that day, when we saw it. It has changed the lives of so many people all over the world, and we are living with the consequences and will do so for a long time to come.

My children speak of their hatred and fear of Muslims. That saddens me because I don't think people should be judged because of their religious beliefs (except Sarah Palin), but I understand where they're coming from. If this is the intention of Osama Bin Laden and Al Quaeda, well, they've achieved their objective.

I am astounded by those who want to put this behind them, who don't want to watch the endless programs that have appeared every year at this time. I am unable to comprehend why my daughter's friends don't understand why I cried that day, why I've cried every September 11th since. This event has shaped our world and we all need to remember that and remember why.

Here I Go Again

2008-09-09T15:39:00.002+01:00

Last night I went to see the sing-along version of Mamma Mia. The only complaint I have is that in the half-empty cinema, my two friends and I felt too self-conscious to dance in the aisles.

Seriously, folks, if you are feeling down in the dumps, get to a cinema and watch this wonderful film. I went the first time with my husband, who was one of five men in the cinema. Yet he managed to relax and soon was singing along and laughing and enjoying himself for the first time in months.

I remember reading about a woman back in the 60s who was going through a divorce and went to see The Sound of Music about 50 times. I think Mamma Mia will be my Sound of Music. It makes me forget all the worries and strife that are so much a part of my daily world right now.

On to other matters, I read about a new website for parents of teens today. This is such an important yet challenging time in a child's life. Just yesterday I was talking to a friend who is having trouble with her 15-year-old getting drunk at parties. I'm no angel, having done just that myself when I was 15. However, I have the benefit of experience and hindsight and can see how dangerous and damaging it can be. My daughter asked last week when it would be OK for her to drink socially. I said 18, which is when it's legal here. She was disappointed. But I told her that teens need to be very careful about drinking -- who they're with, where they are. It's too easy for girls and boys to get into bad situations. Near us is a town with lots of nightclubs. Nearly every weekend there is a violent episode between two or more young men. Girls get into cars with virtual strangers and end up assaulted or even dead. And then there's what binge drinking can do to their livers and brain cells.

I repeat: I'm no angel. But I wouldn't mind if my two children were.

She's Back

2008-09-05T15:37:00.002+01:00

We found Pearl yesterday after I'd spent a restless night worrying and made up some missing cat posters. She was in the neighbours' back garden and was bone-dry, so must have holed up somewhere safe and warm. Here's how I described Pearl:

She has a blue collar, bad breath, missing teeth and looks unkempt but is much loved by our family.

As my husband said, I really sold her. My kids laughed hysterically when they read it, particularly the bit about the blue collar because her collar is RED! We took her to the vet yesterday, a nice woman from Cincinnati, Ohio, who also married an Englishman (excuse me, Yorkshireman). Pearl most likely pulled a muscle and is on pain killers and is back to her usual grubby self today.

On to more important matters. I think John McCain's choice of vice president is inspired. And I look forward to President Obama's first term. Honestly, could McCain have been more cynical? And I'm probably going to offend a lot of people here but I think Sarah Palin should be spending more time with her Down's baby and her pregnant 17-year-old daughter. Is it me, or does anyone else think that family has a birth control problem? And do you know who I feel the most sorry for? The 17-year-old daughter and her hapless boyfriend and their unborn child. Not even born yet and that poor child is a political pawn already. It actually sickens me.

I'm Trying, Really I Am

2008-09-04T10:57:00.002+01:00

But bad news still hounds me. There is good news: my stepmother doesn't have cancer. But bad news: I don't think they're speaking to me at the moment. And more bad news: one of my cats, Pearl, has gone missing. She injured her paw and I was trying to catch her to take her to the vet but she ran off and hasn't reappeared. Most unusual for her because she is ruled by her stomach and doesn't miss a mealtime. I've phoned vets. I've made up posters. I've called her name all over the neighbourhood. I can only hope she's holed up in someone's garage or shed or even house while she nurses her sore paw.

Have I mentioned that I hate this year? Someone tell me some good news or a good joke quick. I need to laugh and get rid of this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Why I Love the Olympics

2008-08-26T16:53:00.002+01:00

1. The favoured athletes don't alway win. Sometimes they trip up and less well known and financed teams get through.

2. Now that doping is policed better (remember East German women athletes?), I find it refreshing to see these men and women who work so hard at their sport competing and succeeding.

3. There are some strange bodies on this planet, but the Olympics finds a home for them. Witness the amazonian volleyball players or Michael Phelps. Thank God, he found swimming.

4. There are always poignant stories in the background. Remember the female gymnast who competed for Germany this year? She left Russia because her little boy needed treatment for leukemia. She's competed in something like three or four Games under the flag of three or four countries.

5. This was one of the best Games ever for Great Britain. I was cheering more for the Brits than I was for the Americans. I can't wait for 2012.

And now for something completely different:

My mother has done a lot of genealogy work on her side of the family. My mother-in-law has done it for her and her husband's sides. But for me, my dad's side of the family is question mark. I have a Germanic maiden name that is quite common and spelled a million different ways. I know that one of my ancestors on my dad's side came over from Russia. I thought it would be next to impossible to find out about our family history, especially since my dad shows zero interest in his forebears. Then my mother told me about a book she had that she thought she gave to me and I gave to my dad. She actually gave it to my nephew and he gave it to my dad. I borrowed it from my dad, who hadn't even looked at it.

It's about Germans who were recruited by Catherine the Great to settle in Russia along the Volga River. I know that my dad's grandfather was born in Russia and moved as a boy to the U.S. I asked my dad where his father and grandfather grew up. Lincoln, Nebraska. Well, guess what? When the tsar in 1864 issued an edict that all Germans in Russia would be drafted, a group of them came over to the U.S. and South America and explored where the Germans who wanted to move should go. And Lincoln, Nebraska, is one of the communities named. This book also lists the German names in each community in Russia. So it's not entirely impossible now to trace my father's side. This can be another project for me in my spare time.

Does Anyone Have a More Dysfunctional Family?

2008-08-19T09:40:00.005+01:00

Ah, I'm back in good old sunny England. But wait. What happened to the sun? I expected to come home and find the garden in full bloom. Instead, it's in full flop thanks to the rain and wind. And experiencing a 30 degree F drop in temperature upon disembarking in Manchester does strange things to the body.

But enough of the whining. How was my trip? Well, I am pleased to report that my stepfather has made an amazing turnaround. He can not only dress himself, but he gets out of chairs more easily than my mother, no longer uses a cane to get around, and is talking of driving the car again. Levadopa is a miracle drug. Will it last? If he has PSP (progressive supranuclear palsy), most likely not. If he has Parkinson's, the prognosis is more positive. My mother has let herself go a bit. No, a lot. Her twin sister, while weighing 20-30 pounds more, looks much better. She colors her hair, gets it permed, and her face is unlined. My mother's hair, on the other hand, is a wiry, gray mess. Her face, while not overly wrinkled, shows the stress of the past few years of looking after my stepfather. Not that I told her this.

While in Wyoming we took a road trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota. What a beautiful place! The roads were clogged with middle-aged and older motorcyclists on their way to Sturgis, the Mecca for bikers. There's a certain style that goes with riding a motorcycle -- call it biker chic. The men for the most part had to have facial hair, though it was mostly gray or white. The women wore form-fitting tops (and the forms weren't very fit) and shorts or jeans. Both sexes wore bandanas of some form. The motorcycles were mostly of the Harley Hog variety. We saw one group stopped by the side of the road. The men rode their bikes. The women followed in their cars. Quite sensible, I think. I saw very few wearing helmets or protective clothing. Not that those make a difference if a semi-truck decides to make an illegal turn and takes them out in the process.

But back to the Black Hills. We went to Mount Rushmore. Wish I could have stayed longer but we had Crazy Horse to see next. And what a contrast. Mount Rushmore took 14 years to complete. After 50 years, Crazy Horse's head is complete. It cost $10 to park at Mount Rushmore and admission was free. It cost $27 to park at the Crazy Horse monument. Then they want a further $10 for the bus up to the monument. We were fuming about the ripoff cost as we went into the guest center. I fumed a bit more while looking at the pictures of the "progress" of the monument. Then I started to explore the center and realized that the Crazy Horse monument has been mismarketed. It is much, much more than a monument of Crazy Horse. It is a monument to the Native Peoples of North America. Again, we didn't have enough time so I didn't get round the entire center. But in the car I looked at the brochure and saw that this is quite an ambitious undertaking, with plans for a university on the grounds. But it appears disorganized. They should concentrate on finishing the monument before starting up another phase of the project. They need to market it differently and put up a sign advertising the cost of getting in so people don't feel so ripped off when they get there. The Crazy Horse monument isn't a national park and doesn't get national funds as Mount Rushmore does. It is reliant on donations. But why can't they get some of the money going into the casinos on the reservations?

We also toodled round Custer State Park (it was an action-packed day). We took the wildlife loop and felt ripped off again because all we saw were white-tailed deer. Then, on our way out, the traffic was stopped. We peered out the window to see why. A herd of buffalo were crossing the road was why. They came straight past the cars with no cares or worries. It was truly an amazing sight. I've been to Yellowstone many a time and never saw anything as incredible as this. I leaned out my window taking pictures of these magnificent creatures till one came towards me. I rolled that window up pronto. The human response to this was also amazing. One fellow in his giant SUV decided he'd seen enough and wanted to leave so he flashed his lights and tooted his horn at the buffalo in his way, as if that would make them move. It didn't, but one did decide to leave some buffalo chips in front of his car. Another woman, also impatient to move, actually bumped a buffalo with her car. Eventually, the road cleared and we drove on. As we came past cars parked on the other side of the road, we heard one biker say loudly about us, "They don't care; they're not on vacation." Ah, ignorance!

We decided to go back next year to the Black Hills. There's so much more to see. And my mother enjoyed getting away for a few days. I also decided to organize a family reunion of my mother's side next year (I'd better get on it too). I told my aunt about it and I think she'll be taking over. That's fine by me. I would like to see family I haven't seen in years, and my kids expressed an interest in meeting up with more of the American side.

Now for the Florida ordeal. OK, it wasn't that bad, but it was close. Why? Because of the family in Florida. The Wyoming part of the trip is all about hiking and playing tennis and bonding with the kids. The Florida part is all about theme parks, the beach and endless streams of dysfunctional family.

I came to a few conclusions: 1) My sister and stepmother have more in common than meets the eye. They both have dysfunctional adult children whose dysfunction they encourage; 2) My stepmother sets the parameters of the relationship my dad has with us, he allows it, and we go along with it because we're afraid we'll have no relationship with him unless we do; 3) I am sick and tired of sleeping on uncomfortable beds in cramped rooms and my kids sleeping on blow-up mattresses when we visit the family. I want to buy a house in Florida when and if we're able to afford it; 4) The Florida side of my family have no clue about my life.

I'll start with No. 2. We had rented a beach house from a school friend of mine for two nights and invited my dad and stepmother to join us. My stepmother took two hours to get ready to go, packing the entire contents of her refrigerator for seven meals. I gave them the master bedroom and their own bathroom. Everything seemed hunky-dory till we came in for lunch on the second day. My stepmother announced that she had a client making an offer on a foreclosed property she had listed and she HAD to GET BACK that day as soon as possible to fax him something. I assumed she was going on her own. No. She then informed me that my dad had forgotten to bring his diuretics and his feet were swelling. I looked down. They didn't look swollen to me. I asked if they were coming back. No. She might have another showing the following morning. We had lunch. My stepmother twittered on about having palpitations because it had been 18 months since she'd had a closing on a house. I glowered at the two of them. I finished lunch and cleared up the kitchen. My dad disappeared upstairs and came back down five minutes later with all their stuff packed. He loaded up the car, she took a few things out of the refrigerator, and they were gone. He never even came back in to say goodbye. I was spitting mad, but didn't want to ruin the rest of our time there. I decided I'm not inviting them next year if we do the same thing. Yes, I know the real estate market has been difficult in Florida. But she just got on the foreclosure bandwagon that other real estate agents seem to have been on for quite a while.

This woman has been, at best, a thorn in my side for 33 years. I could devote an entire blog to her. She also has been told she has calcification in her breast that is either cancerous or pre-cancerous. So I sound like an insensitive wretch complaining about the beach house. Also, her drug-addicted, alcoholic daughter is back on the scene, and my stepmother, for all her going on about tough love, has fallen back into the same routine of rescuing the ungrateful bitch. Did I mention my stepsister has two children being raised by her brother because she was such a lousy, negligent parent?

Now, let's tackle No. 1. My sister, the one who wouldn't go out and take care of my mother when she was ill but took credit for helping her because she sent one son (whose way was paid and to whom my mother gave $250) and she sends her vitamins, seems to be on the phone with my stepmother every day. My stepmother emails her for information to pass on to her errant daughter. My sister, when I met up with her, went on about how my stepmother was two-faced and she doesn't trust her. Yet when I saw them together, as they carried on a conversation I was not included in, my sister acted like she was my stepmother's best friend. So who is being two-faced? She criticized my stepmother for bailing out my stepsister all the time. Yet who is supporting all four of her adult children, none of whom work?

As for No.4, the proof of the pudding was when we met up with my sister, one of her sons, and her latest grandchild. We met in a mall and ate lunch. My sister had asked me to ask my dad to come along. My dad wasn't going to come because he disapproves of that particular son for not working and fathering a child out of wedlock. We had quite an altercation because I can't see why he disapproves so strongly of this son when we have others just as bad or worse in the family. It's the out-of-wedlock that bothers him most apparently. He went on about how responsible the woman my nephew got pregnant is. So responsible she got herself pregnant when she wasn't married, I replied. That shut him up. Anyway, he talked with the Lord and decided he was no one to judge others (Uh, duh!)

Back to lunch. We ate. My nephew regaled my kids with stories of how he got himself and his son ejected from Toys R Us five times (that's something to brag about?). The bill came. No one made a move for it. Not my sister. Not my dad. Finally, I did. OK, they're in bad financial straits. But we're not exactly rolling in it. We paid the bill for all of us. My sister made a very weak attempt to pay her share. My dad said nothing. OK, we're staying and eating at his house. We'd planned to take him and my stepmother out when we were staying on the beach, but they scuppered those plans. Instead, we took ourselves out.

Perhaps the worst crime my dad and stepmother committed was to make my kids feel less than welcome and to show their obvious favoritism toward my stepbrother's and stepsister's kids. I was stewing about it when my dad brought the subject up. He asked if there was any way he was deficient in his relationship with us. Well, I'd still be there if I was completely honest. But I did say he'd made my son feel bad by ignoring him when the stepgrandkids were around. My dad was shocked and went and apologized to my son, who then got mad at me for bringing it up. But I felt I had to. If I hadn't, I'd have kept that poison inside of me and spread it to my kids (which I've already done a bit of).

It occurred to me that having us stay for 10 days was maybe a bit much for them (though my stepmother is not above telling me we can't stay, as she has in the past). And so we decided No. 3, if we can swing it one day, would be a sensible option.

So I felt a lot of anger and hurt this visit. But when I explored those feelings, I discovered underlying them are disappointment and sadness. I would like to be closer to everyone in my family but the extent of their self-involvement disappoints me and that saddens me. There is no one in my family I would turn to in times of need. Someone else will always be more dysfunctional, more in need.

So it was, so it is, so it will ever be.

And The Winner Is

2008-07-22T15:09:00.003+01:00

Do you see the two new additions on the left? My dear blogmates mean mom and MOB gave them to me. I am so chuffed (British word) to be thought of by these fantastic bloggers. I would like to say to any of you who reads this blog that because you read this blog you deserve one of these awards. Have a look and choose what you want. You deserve it.

We're off on Saturday to that great big country across the pond. As I did in April by myself, we will fly first to Newark, then on to Salt Lake City where we'll spend the night. Then we will get up and drive 5 hours to my mother's in Wyoming. While there we plan to take a side trip to see Mount Rushmore. I've never been to South Dakota so look forward to notching up another state. My mother will be coming with us and is so excited about getting away, even if it's only to South Dakota for three days.

Then we'll fly to Tampa, where we'll hit a few theme parks, see friends and family and GO TO THE BEACH. Supposedly, we're meeting up with friends from here that live less than a mile away yet never see. I hope we see them because we rearranged our holiday for them, which meant paying extra.

I'm looking forward to switching off from the stresses of my life in the UK (though there will be equal stresses in the USA between my mother and stepfather and my sister).

I'll be looking out for more money-saving trends too. I probably won't have a chance to post before then so adios for now.

Make Do And Mend

2008-07-17T14:09:00.003+01:00

Hubby and I have been thinking about what will thrive and/or make a comeback during these difficult economic times. Here's our list, such as it is:

1. Walking/cycling. With the cost of petrol going up and up, more and more people will dig out their walking shoes or dusty bikes.

2. Public transport. See above (though, of course, this is subject to trains actually working).

3. Libraries. Why buy a book or newspaper when you can get one free at the library?

4. Vegetable gardens. Everyone's going to be digging for Britain again.

5. Local shops (if they still exist). You can get your walking in and support your local shops.

6. Charity shops: Why buy new when you can get secondhand? (And walk there too).

7. Dinner parties: Wine is terribly priced in restaurants. You can feed six of your friends for the price of two bottles of wine probably (and have more wine as well). (Don't forget to walk to your local shops for the ingredients, apart from those you've grown yourself).

8. Seeds: Why spend £8 on one plant when for £2 you can get a load of seeds? And you can sell or give away your spare plants.

9. Evenings in watching DVDs (and you can walk to the DVD shop).

10. Appreciation for the truly good things in life. With more and more people losing their jobs every day, this will force the workaholics to sit back and take a good, long look at what they value. Consumerism will, if not completely die, be cut back quite a bit. Couples will have more time for each other. Families will have more time for each other. Being unemployed is no fun, but there can be benefits.

What trends are you noticing?