I often recall a line from a truly great poem called ‘Liar’ by Lynne Crosbie in which she notes that ‘expectation is synonymous with the worst arrogance.’
This is something I often think of when I recall my innocent, totally secure, married self. Continue reading
I’ve been thinking a lot about fear lately since it’s something I manage every day in its varying forms. Many of these random thoughts may be highly ridiculous; for example, although I dearly love scallops, ever since I read about some people developing an anaphylactic reaction to them later in life the pure joy in eating these plump, succulent pillows of the sea has now been tempered a bit – I even hesitate to order them sometimes. (More often though I still do and eat the first few quickly – just in case – and then settle down to really enjoy). Other recurring fears revolve around my children, relationships past and present, money, plumbing, my own profile and oh yes that small nagging one about death (including all the spiritual and dietary considerations that I may or may not be dropping the ball on).
I’ve never been someone who enjoys rushing – especially in the morning – so I’ve been taking a long analytical look at what is slowing me down recently. My head seems to never quite empty of what needs to be done and I find myself waking early, sifting through all the strata, heading downwards into the land of lists.
And it goes liiiike this …
When I was 35 I distinctly remember believing – and I mean actually believing – that I was likely not going to age much more. It’s this kind of absolute conviction that allowed me to continue to wear those band t-shirts (Elvis Costello, The Clash, The Pretenders) possibly longer than I should have and to separate myself from those around me who may have already succumbed to floppy gym pants and soccer-mom haircuts. (These are always touted as ‘wash and wear’ but the truth is, if you’re not careful the whole family will end up with basically the very same do …)
And yet this would not be me and nor would I lose my urban edginess, not with a single strip of leather bracelet, the possibility of a nose piercing presenting itself every now and then and of course I also had a perfect husband – handsome, well kept, often sporting designer stubble and a quirky, tweed scarf when the weather turned chilly. There was a spanking new Subaru in the driveway. We also had two big dogs and a red wagon to pull our children along through crisp leaves in the soft, golden glow of autumn. Continue reading