That house

Home, belonging, familiar familial memory souvenirs- prized and adored.

That’s how my offspring feel about my ‘matrimonial home.

Of course, I can with much mental effort, look back on many milestones: births, celebrations, tears, successes, film marathons, midnight snacks, sleep overs, exam results….oven chips, slaved- over -mighty -Lasagnes…

But all that I remember of their formative years are flashbacks of hiding, cowering, fearfilled minutes extending to months…hating my self, hating waking up and remembering that I still exist and am ultimately responsible. Decisions need to be made and there’s no way out. Fantasies of no longer existing that can only last for as long as I can suspend my disbelief.

I just didn’t want to be. I hated the reminders by my nearest and dearest that time will continue to march onward, regardless of me or my will. As they marched to school and I hid under the covers.

So as I drop my child at that house which now signifies My Oppression, I’m sickened to the stomach that my children still love and cherish that which I abhor. That they have their own story which I must uphold and their voice which must not be quelled as mine Was.

Love Always.

So easy to love people in theory. When they’re up close and personal, it’s very different.

Just the other day I was lecturing Nikolas about how Europeans mistreat travellers or ‘gypsies’. So easy from my far away, holy plateau to make these statements.

A few days later, some travellers had found their way into the carpark for my daughter’s trampolining that she frequents 4 times a week. Their caravans and gas canisters meant there was no where to park. Their heaps of rubbish signalled an open invitation to vermin. My car got stuck on some strewn rubbish, and their noise polluted our ears. Moreover they had used the showers at the gym and left awful puddles and mess in their wake alongside screaming unsupervised toddlers which when the gym manager raised, they swore and cursed in response.

Take people for what they are. Understand where they’re coming from. Embrace them. Learn about their culture. That’s what I aim to do.

I hope in these coming weeks of our new neighbours, I can bridge the chasm in our society and gain insight without judgement.

Posh, Lazy, Garlic bread

I went to ‘Ask Italian’ the other day and fell head over heels with the cheesy garlic doughballs.

Me, my daughter and her trampoline squad devoured these divine culinary delights and kept on asking for more.

So I tried this and it’s definitely not going to help my New Years diet that’s lasted all of 5 minutes!

Defrost half baked baguettes in the oven. Meanwhile, combine shredded sun dried tomato, olives, Scillian garlic, grated mozzarella.

Take the baguettes out of the oven and break them into pieces and add them to the garlic mix and lashings of olive oil plus lurpack if you’re feeling particularly naughty! Ensure all the bread has good coverage of oil.

Bake for 7 mins, grill for 2, add some dollops of soft cheese and you will be far far away on a sunset beach drenched in aromas of The Rustic.

Food love

He’s back!!!!

Not having him near me for 18 days caused a massive hole…an abyss. I didn’t know how much I had come to rely on his emotional intelligence, quirky habits and verbal dalliances!!

It’s scary to be so dependent.

To realise My need. But it’s so refreshing to admit this to myself, to be transparent rather than pseudo detached, adult and cool.

The court cases, financial hardship, family alienation are less looming and pushed back into perspective a little more!

Feeling goooood, dressed in Nikolas’ gift- tartan skirt!

Healthy hearty breakfast

Melt butter and oatmilk, add salt and pepper. Crack eggs and stir on high heat. Slice tomatoes, oranges and fresh spinach with a dash of olive oil.

Breakfast with love. …

I feel…

I feel the wind bellowing and brandishing

I feel the enamour clamouring my heart

I hear the music exploding and rising

I see my Dear One sharing the pain, the troughs, the innocence of new love

I remember the wide eyes of my babes, their dancing their skirmishes with image, identity. Their little legs hopping, jumping, skipping.

And now their withered eyes hateful and cold

I see the reflection of Him stirring , pouring,dancing through pots and pans, stretching to reach that unknown texture taste sensation

All for me because He loves me.

Letting go…

Christmas but comes once a year…

Trying to make it special, trying to meet psycho social, emotional, dietary,financial, needs, trying to enjoy, following my heart…

It all seems to contradict each other at the moment.

The happier I am, the more unhappy my family seem to be.

I just dont get it.

I think I just need let go. Let go of my control. Let go of my role.

Just see what happens.

If I free them maybe they won’t come back, maybe they will.

I need to let go…

Proud.

I’m proud.We made our first dinner for friends.

Reframing trauma is starting to work.

I created some christmasy ingredients with a twist -dishes.Turkey breast in a tomato, spinach and Chorizo sauce. Chocolate cheesecake with sweet cranberry sauce.

He made Thai soup and delicious sides. We danced around each other, sharing our cooking space elegantly. A symbiosis of kindness meets kindness.

What a team we’re becoming! Our guests loved being waited on and it was a total pleasure.

The Prosecco flowed and the laughter reigned. Long may this continue…

Trauma twins.

Was so great to be in the presence of a dear friend today.

We need connection so very badly. All of us. No matter how much we may love our solitary sojourns, other voices keep us tied into a wider community.

I need the affirmation she gives me. It feeds me and strengthens me.

She’s always believed that I have been abused and that Faith in my Word is more valuable than Gold.

She’s always believed that I’m a good mother and again this contradicts my ex and the ICOC church that denigrates women to pre feudal times.

She’s always been adamant that I am capable of looking after myself.

Beautiful sentiments that keep me living and breathing.