A woman full of dreams and occasional insecurities comes home She spills the contents of her bag upon the floor Book in one hand, she removes her scarf with the other and places them both on the floor too She adds the joy of the movie that she shared last night with her daughter and the healing smoothness of honey on a raw, dry throat.
Cuddles with her son. The odd adventure and some day trips with her loved one, the plans for household renovations and balmy evenings on the patio in summer.
With them on the floor, she places her retirement years The goal – three score and ten plus a few more The dog and two kittens are put there as well She adds End Credits and 100 Days, laying them on the once shiny surface. Twenty one times thirty nine plus what feels like a gazillion Whatever that makes she throws it on the pile. Along with the fear of having to work far too long; retaining nothing in the bank (or the tank) to see adventure in old age. Shortages and a bleak outlook for winter that she didn’t choose Years of never organised date nights All these, she places there.
The floor bows and creaks under the weight but still she keeps on piling.
Health goals unfortunately paired with procrastination Bright hair clips and her favourite boots Bananas enveloped in thick batter then fried until their coat holds crisp against the gooey, sweet centre. The floor, it visibly sags But manages to hold the weight of all these things.
And so she squeezes herself in amongst them and sits down Savouring on all sides, the heaviness of them pressing against her skin.
Where have I been for the past few months? Why no posts or poems? Had I abandoned this lovely new platform which I had been extremely proud of when I set it all up last summer? The answers: For the most part, like so many of us, I hadn’t really been anywhere. This sorry fact leads us to the answer to question two; I simply stopped writing. In truth, there just seemed to be so little worth writing about. I could have produced another whinging moan about how unlucky we were to be stuck in and have life remain at a standstill but we weren’t really that unlucky in the grand scheme of things so I didn’t wish to put myself across as an ungrateful wretch. Speaking from a personal standpoint, I was just bored and had few things going on that were worthy of commiting pen to paper.
Come mid-August that changed most abruptly. Festival season had kicked in and I found myself armed with tickets, a group of fellow family festie-goers and not an ounce of worry or jitters about heading back out into crowded society. We all took lateral flow tests before heading to the event and then pretty much forgot our cares and society’s woes for 4 special days in the fields. The music, dancing, drinking, eating from the varied range of cuisines on offer from the foodstalls injected that spark of life back into our veins. Add to that the throngs of happy people with their smiling faces, the random art and light installations, the bands and theatrical performers, fire jugglers and the pyrotechnical finale and we felt as if reawoken from a long and hazy slumber. My thirst for life had been revived.
Following festival one, I had one day at home before taking another prerequisite LFT and attending a much larger event. This time in a completely different capacity. I became a steward, volunteering my time for one of the UK’s largest charities. This was an altogether different experience, nevertheless I found it altogether uplifting.
The mixture of work, play, meeting an abundance of cheerful and amiable coworkers, dancing and partying (of course), overcoming the slight nerves of heading off to this event solo, in addition, the responsibility of caring and getting help for the many teenagers and young people who (in their inexperience and excitement) had gone at it too hard and got themselves into a state (some of which were precarious) all built upon the sense that I had come back to life. It was glorious – the good and the bad.
Having returned and unpacked, I went back to work. A different school from the one I had walked away from in July. It occupies the same buildings but it feels different to be there. The students can move around and are not constrained to one area; they are allowed to play at breaktimes. The teachers can move around the classrooms, looking at work to check the level of understanding as they go. I feel that I can get back to teaching properly.
These last two to three weeks have been crazily busy. I still haven’t written any poetry; that will come in due course. This post is the first baby-step to refinding my creativity. Now I must go and do some housework and walk the dog before I head out to Bristol with friends. We’re going raving in Eastville park. It’s going to be banging.
I have always thought that a house without animals in it feels somewhat sterile and less homely. I grew up in a home with dogs, a cat, rats (tame ones), hamsters, mice, a rabbit, goldfish and a guinea pig (not all at once I have to add).
As an adult, I also wanted to enjoy the benefits of pet ownership. I wanted my children to have companions, they nagged me for them too. There is no denying that pets are a huge commitment and, when choosing to home an animal, you actively decide to curtail and limit other activities that you could do with your time.
We are quite a busy family, my children play sports and so when my old Staffordshire Bull terrier passed away at a grand old age (just shy of 15) we didn’t feel we could dedicate the time to a new puppy. We got 2 sibling kittens from the rescue centre and they turned out to be the perfect pets for us. They are not too adventurous, they go out but not for too long each day and they love cuddles. We were very content with our choice and on the days when we had sporting commitments we knew that they had each other and grandparents are just round the corner.
Lockdown came and it was at that point that my daughter started to nag us for a puppy. We were walking a lot (still are) and every person we encountered with a dog made her repeat the same mantra. ‘I want a dog, can we have a dog?’ Initially I refused and reasoned that it wouldn’t suit us but as the weeks went past and she continued to go on about it my resolve began to weaken.
I reviewed our situation; things had changed. My children are both now in their late teens and following college or university timetables. My husband is now working from home and is unlikely to return to the office full time. I work locally and can pop home at lunch if necessary. We have family within a 2 minute walk of our house.
I talked with my daughter and explained that if we got a dog then there may be occasions when she is invited to play sports and we will have to turn it down. The dog will become the priority. I needed her to have that reality check and fully understand what it was she wanted to sign us up for. She still wanted the dog.
We took the plunge. We have a crazy, tiny cross breed who is part Pug, part Jack Russell and half Chihuahua. Today is her first birthday. She’s cuddled up on my bed with me at this precise moment and I simply couldn’t imagine life without her. I have written a poem to celebrate today.
Happy First or Seventh Birthday
Happy first or seventh Birthday
to the pint-sized thief with a strange appetite.
The hoover and collector of twigs and stones
Or wrappers, dirty socks – even smelly tights
Our furry lap warmer, occasional scarf
Wannabe feline. Completely daft!
Piggyback rider and nuisance to the cats
Heartbeat of the family and so much more than that.
A reason to go out each day
Our pelted therapist and shrink
A distraction from life’s ups and downs
Making the longest year zoom past in a blink
Cutely annoying, sneaky yet sweet
She keeps us on our toes
She’s vexxed, charmed, worried and loved us into being
If I die a good death, will the last thing I see flashing through the depths of my waning mind be the top ten moments in my effervescent life? Fair rides, Christmases and New Year’s Eves, parties, festivals and riotous revelry. Favourite meals and savouring the juiciest red wines.
Should I die a sickly death, will my mother materialise To stroke my hair attentively and lay cool flannels on my burning brow? Will I revisit the sterile clinics and wards that once treated me? Before I am taken down, free from fear of maladies and germs, having finally achieved complete immunity.
What if I die a gruesome death, Will I remember the night when I was followed home? Or the day when I fell in the park; smashing up my arm and knee? Will my slow walk to the distant passing place be guided through the gloomiest, shadowy lanes with Freddy Krueger for my only company?
I may well die an unusual death – trapped in the airing cupboard Or choking on a dragonfly as I call to my long-lost lover who I spot across the street Would this cause my head to wildly spin at life’s anomalies? Like when I met an angel brandishing a fully loaded gun, who helpfully confided it would be wise for me to run, if anything should kick off in our vicinity.
And if I suffer an untimely death, will I picture my bucket list? And feel sadness for wishes unfulfilled. The items left unchecked. Will the pages of the brochure, heavily thumbed but nothing booked, Lay open in my thoughts for that fleeting eternity until I succumb to the sense of my own regret?
I want to die a first-rate death Wrapped in the warm blankets of my accomplishments, Sporting a sense of true belonging and the loftiest of pride. Having enjoyed an ample share of the vicissitudes of life. Feeling no need to wade out into the sea of final thoughts, as my loyal friends and loved ones stand stoically at my side.
Poetry for Dullards 
