When I was seven or eight, living for a few years in New Jersey, I had a best friend. We had those little broken heart necklaces that say “Best Friends” when you put them together. Apart, my half said “Be Fri”, hers “St Ends”. Somewhere, I still have it…
Then my family moved back to England and I left my best friend behind. We wrote letters that ended in ever more complex acronyms. They started as WBSOE (write back soon or else) but soon progressed to fill whole lines of the aerogramme with things like WBSOEIHTCOTAGYAYWNWTWY??? (Write back soon or else I’ll have to come over there and get you and you would not want that would you???) We’re still in touch. There were some gaps and although we missed each other’s weddings, we finally met up again and introduced our husbands to each other in 2006. She has a little daughter now and although the emails are sporadic, I know I won’t lose her.
When I started school in England, another girl asked, after only a few days acquaintance, if I would be her best friend. Of course, I had to say no, I had a best friend already, but she was a very long way away. So this very pragmatic young girl suggested to me that she could be my best friend in England. I thought that would be ok and agreed.
A few years later we went to different schools and drifted for a while, coming back together at various times. I had the privilege of attending her wedding earlier this year.
Role on a few more years to my eighteenth birthday. A very, very good friend gave me the grown up equivalent of that Best Friend heart necklace when she designed me a necklace and had an opposite design made for herself, they did indeed fit together. She was one of my bridesmaids and I did a reading at her wedding a few months ago.
The point of all this? I’ve had so many very good friends, have been so blessed by the people around me, that I’m always very wary of the term “best friend”. Since that first instance when I agreed to call someone my best friend, I’ve pretty much not gone there again. I guess a part of me still feels I would be disloyal to that first best friend if I ever used the name for someone else.
Many of my very good friends have someone else, almost always someone they’ve known their whole life, that they call their best friend. I have in the past found it extremely strange, especially when I have seen the best friend desert them, be inadvertently mean to them, neglect them, fail to understand them. Why did this person get that title? And why were people to keen to point out that this friend, this particular one, was the best one? It is almost a smack in the face to any other friend - you will never be "best".
I used to get quite insecure because of all this "besting" going on and found I never felt comfortable unless I had a label for my friends. So in the run up to my wedding, it was all good, I had labels for everyone as it were - bridesmaids, ushers, readers, prayers... I've also had some slightly more random labels or friends in the past, like my male alter ego (we're very similar, minus the gender!)
Lately, it seems I've relaxed a little. I do still find people insisting on calling someone their best friend a little weird but hope it is lovely for them all the same. I've got a lot of very good friends, how could I pick just the one?!
Monday 13 October 2008
Thursday 9 October 2008
Writer’s Block
For the last few weeks, I have been suffering from the above affliction…but not just in the realm of writing. Writer’s block has been affecting my whole life. I have been wandering listlessly from task to task, unable to settle on any one thing. Like a caged tiger prowling, ready to snap at anyone or anything that touches the raw nerves.
I have known what the route cause was (lack of stimulation due to unemployment, no friends so on and so on) but knowing does not always make a problem solvable. For the last few days I have known that work and interest and people and things to do were just around the corner but I could not “make the most” of the time left to me. I still drifted, dithering, with no purpose or plan.
Now… Now I’ve started two jobs. On Tuesday I began tutoring a girl preparing for her maths GCSE. I love tutoring (no, I do not want to be a teacher) and I had a great hour and a half or so meeting her and her mother and starting a first lesson.
Yesterday, I started my job-in-a-shop. For years, I had issues with working in a shop. I’ve got a degree! I can’t *just* work in a shop! At last though I’ve accepted that it gives me lots of things that I enjoy and a whole heap of inspiration. All those people to meet! All their problems to solve! It’s got to be an interesting shop with products worth selling but I’ve found that and so I can merrily spend a few hours a day selling outdoor clothing to the masses, listening to tales of the adventures they have had and will have with products they’ve bought before or are buying now. Occasionally, I can chip in with tales of my own adventures. It is good.
So here I am, my block unblocked. Even though my first day in the shop was not brilliant, I came home a little glum, it was still enough to lift me from the lethargy and get me moving again. So I’m back, with a back-log of about ten posts that I thought of but was unable to write. I know most of them won’t ever get written now, that’s how it goes but one or two may find that they stick around in my mind long enough to make it to the page.
I have known what the route cause was (lack of stimulation due to unemployment, no friends so on and so on) but knowing does not always make a problem solvable. For the last few days I have known that work and interest and people and things to do were just around the corner but I could not “make the most” of the time left to me. I still drifted, dithering, with no purpose or plan.
Now… Now I’ve started two jobs. On Tuesday I began tutoring a girl preparing for her maths GCSE. I love tutoring (no, I do not want to be a teacher) and I had a great hour and a half or so meeting her and her mother and starting a first lesson.
Yesterday, I started my job-in-a-shop. For years, I had issues with working in a shop. I’ve got a degree! I can’t *just* work in a shop! At last though I’ve accepted that it gives me lots of things that I enjoy and a whole heap of inspiration. All those people to meet! All their problems to solve! It’s got to be an interesting shop with products worth selling but I’ve found that and so I can merrily spend a few hours a day selling outdoor clothing to the masses, listening to tales of the adventures they have had and will have with products they’ve bought before or are buying now. Occasionally, I can chip in with tales of my own adventures. It is good.
So here I am, my block unblocked. Even though my first day in the shop was not brilliant, I came home a little glum, it was still enough to lift me from the lethargy and get me moving again. So I’m back, with a back-log of about ten posts that I thought of but was unable to write. I know most of them won’t ever get written now, that’s how it goes but one or two may find that they stick around in my mind long enough to make it to the page.
Tuesday 23 September 2008
Being Resilient
Ron has been saying it for a while but I've been slow on the uptake.
Apparently, I'm rather resilient.
There have been many times in the last little while that I've felt like I'm at the edge. I've had enough, I'm not fighting any more, I'm simply going to sit back and wait for life to go away. But once I reach that point, I bounce back. So it might be "I can't take any more unpacking, we're only going to have to move again in a year, why bother emptying boxes, boo hoo hooo hoooo hooooo". Give me a minute. And I'm back at it "what if this went here? how about that? shall I just tidy this while I'm at it..."
It seems you can't keep a good Lily down.
Over the weekend, it seemed that I'd turned the corner a little. I was not feeling anywhere near so glum and alone in this new city. In amongst that new positivity was a new experience...
On Saturday night we went to see some friends in Leeds for a poker night. They've been hosting these for a little while with proceeds going to charity. I've never played poker before but with the combination of being a mathematician at heart and a general games lover, it seemed like it could be fun.
A couple of the players were rather serious and I managed to offend them a few times by playing out of turn or raising the bet by an incorrect amount (I didn't know there was a correct amount...).
It took me a few rounds to get into the swing of things but after about forty-five minutes, I realised that I was winning more than I was losing. Then I put the host out of the game by matching his "all in" and winning (perhaps not good etiquette...) and started to think I might not be all that bad at this.
A HUGE serving of luck and several hours later, I was the champion! Those who had played a lot before were perhaps a little miffed, particularly at my gung-ho nature at the end (I'd reached the point where I really just needed to go home so was doing wild and crazy bidding in the hopes of losing...but kept winning). I may need to refine my understanding of the game a little to avoid stepping on people's sensibilities in the future but I rather enjoyed myself.
It does leave me with the dilemma of what charity to donate my small winnings to. Perhaps I shall carry the right amount with me until I see someone shaking a charity bucket in town. Sometimes random is best.
Apparently, I'm rather resilient.
There have been many times in the last little while that I've felt like I'm at the edge. I've had enough, I'm not fighting any more, I'm simply going to sit back and wait for life to go away. But once I reach that point, I bounce back. So it might be "I can't take any more unpacking, we're only going to have to move again in a year, why bother emptying boxes, boo hoo hooo hoooo hooooo". Give me a minute. And I'm back at it "what if this went here? how about that? shall I just tidy this while I'm at it..."
It seems you can't keep a good Lily down.
Over the weekend, it seemed that I'd turned the corner a little. I was not feeling anywhere near so glum and alone in this new city. In amongst that new positivity was a new experience...
On Saturday night we went to see some friends in Leeds for a poker night. They've been hosting these for a little while with proceeds going to charity. I've never played poker before but with the combination of being a mathematician at heart and a general games lover, it seemed like it could be fun.
A couple of the players were rather serious and I managed to offend them a few times by playing out of turn or raising the bet by an incorrect amount (I didn't know there was a correct amount...).
It took me a few rounds to get into the swing of things but after about forty-five minutes, I realised that I was winning more than I was losing. Then I put the host out of the game by matching his "all in" and winning (perhaps not good etiquette...) and started to think I might not be all that bad at this.
A HUGE serving of luck and several hours later, I was the champion! Those who had played a lot before were perhaps a little miffed, particularly at my gung-ho nature at the end (I'd reached the point where I really just needed to go home so was doing wild and crazy bidding in the hopes of losing...but kept winning). I may need to refine my understanding of the game a little to avoid stepping on people's sensibilities in the future but I rather enjoyed myself.
It does leave me with the dilemma of what charity to donate my small winnings to. Perhaps I shall carry the right amount with me until I see someone shaking a charity bucket in town. Sometimes random is best.
Saturday 20 September 2008
Friends
I am blessed to have friends spread all over the country and indeed all over the world. What I don't have is friends in this town which is starting to have a strange effect on me...
I once saw a sketch by Oscar Kightley, a very funny Samoan, in which he told the story of an advert on NZ TV as if it were his own. He started by explaining that he was at a party and was telling this anecdote to his friends. I watched without noticing for a while just what the story was. Then I started to realise that it all sounded rather familiar (the ad was for safe driving and was on TV a lot...). Finally, he finished by saying something along the lines of but much funnier than "and then I realised that I was telling the story of an advert and that was my only anecdote. It was at this point I knew I needed to get out more."
So the point of this? I'm starting to see characters in various TV programmes as my friends...Mostly, it isn't new telly - it isn't the soaps or other bits that I might watch "live", it is more the characters that I go back to when I'm feeling a little down, need some comfort watching. Spaced or Black Books or 'Allo 'Allo or Flight of the Conchords... (As an aside...if you don't know any of these, rectify it! There's plenty on YouTube as a start...) I've started thinking of these characters as my friends (ok, maybe not Bret and Jermaine from Flight of the Conchords so much...) I haven't yet found myself telling stories about them (though that is probably only because I have no friends to tell the stories too) but I am a little worried that it can't be long before I lose the boundaries between reality and start telling stories that simply aren't true.
Anywho, you have been warned! You may need to filter all content on here from now on to be sure there isn't a liberal dose of plagiarism going on!
I once saw a sketch by Oscar Kightley, a very funny Samoan, in which he told the story of an advert on NZ TV as if it were his own. He started by explaining that he was at a party and was telling this anecdote to his friends. I watched without noticing for a while just what the story was. Then I started to realise that it all sounded rather familiar (the ad was for safe driving and was on TV a lot...). Finally, he finished by saying something along the lines of but much funnier than "and then I realised that I was telling the story of an advert and that was my only anecdote. It was at this point I knew I needed to get out more."
So the point of this? I'm starting to see characters in various TV programmes as my friends...Mostly, it isn't new telly - it isn't the soaps or other bits that I might watch "live", it is more the characters that I go back to when I'm feeling a little down, need some comfort watching. Spaced or Black Books or 'Allo 'Allo or Flight of the Conchords... (As an aside...if you don't know any of these, rectify it! There's plenty on YouTube as a start...) I've started thinking of these characters as my friends (ok, maybe not Bret and Jermaine from Flight of the Conchords so much...) I haven't yet found myself telling stories about them (though that is probably only because I have no friends to tell the stories too) but I am a little worried that it can't be long before I lose the boundaries between reality and start telling stories that simply aren't true.
Anywho, you have been warned! You may need to filter all content on here from now on to be sure there isn't a liberal dose of plagiarism going on!
Wednesday 17 September 2008
Unemployment
Ok, not the most chipper of topics for a first post but that is what is happening around Lily's Pad at the moment!
We moved a few months ago to a city in the North of England. Everyone told us what a lovely place it was, how much we would love it, what a wonderful place to be...but for me so far it has brought unemployment and not a great deal else.
My ever wonderful husband, let's call him Ron (because the Harry Potter films are being made a decade or so too late...he was born to be a Weasley!), has a wonderful job here. He is indeed enjoying himself very much, as everyone promised. Of course, that makes me happy to but...well, I do rather need something of my own to do too!
So here you find me, with a long list of schemes to keep myself occupied. I have a full shelf of books that I want to read. I have at least seven presents I intend to make (mostly by knitting them) over the next few months. I have a novel on the go (it's been on the go for about sixteen months now, I'm on the second draft, today I don't like it. Yesterday, Ron did). I bake for England...well, for a household of two... I should still be finishing off the last few boxes of unpacking and sorting required from moving house but somehow the desire to achieve there has worn thin. And now this, a new blog to tell you my take on the world and the little events that keep me ticking over.
The last few days have been unemployment lows. I've been frustrated by the lack of...anything to occupy my mind and take me out of the house. I've been lonely with the lack of people (although I'm fortunate enough to have a number of friends at day-trip distance, there is no one at "fancy a coffee?" distance). Today, however, I have been a much more positive human being. So positive in fact that I was able to face a major challenge first thing this morning without any whimpering, protestation or denial...That's right, I managed to untangle that HUGE knot that had appeared in my ball of wool making it impossible to continue the marvellous slippers I'm currently making. (Actually, I don't yet know that they are marvellous. I'm really just hoping...) Now, so that you appreciate a) what being unemployed has done to me and b) the magnitude of this knot I must explain a little further. The knot appeared last night. I have a bit of a go at it and Ron had a big go. He attacked the knot at length. The kind of length that involved me shouting downstairs "Seriously. It's bedtime! Leave the wool alone!" This morning, it still took me an hour and a half to finish sorting the wool. In the end, I still had to use scissors. Which probably means that it should have felt like failure, I was just happy that so much time was gone.
Just think, if my interview on Friday goes well, I'll no longer have the time for giant knots. Or hours spent on Facebook (I know, I know). Or alphabetising books, CDs, DVDs, games....
We moved a few months ago to a city in the North of England. Everyone told us what a lovely place it was, how much we would love it, what a wonderful place to be...but for me so far it has brought unemployment and not a great deal else.
My ever wonderful husband, let's call him Ron (because the Harry Potter films are being made a decade or so too late...he was born to be a Weasley!), has a wonderful job here. He is indeed enjoying himself very much, as everyone promised. Of course, that makes me happy to but...well, I do rather need something of my own to do too!
So here you find me, with a long list of schemes to keep myself occupied. I have a full shelf of books that I want to read. I have at least seven presents I intend to make (mostly by knitting them) over the next few months. I have a novel on the go (it's been on the go for about sixteen months now, I'm on the second draft, today I don't like it. Yesterday, Ron did). I bake for England...well, for a household of two... I should still be finishing off the last few boxes of unpacking and sorting required from moving house but somehow the desire to achieve there has worn thin. And now this, a new blog to tell you my take on the world and the little events that keep me ticking over.
The last few days have been unemployment lows. I've been frustrated by the lack of...anything to occupy my mind and take me out of the house. I've been lonely with the lack of people (although I'm fortunate enough to have a number of friends at day-trip distance, there is no one at "fancy a coffee?" distance). Today, however, I have been a much more positive human being. So positive in fact that I was able to face a major challenge first thing this morning without any whimpering, protestation or denial...That's right, I managed to untangle that HUGE knot that had appeared in my ball of wool making it impossible to continue the marvellous slippers I'm currently making. (Actually, I don't yet know that they are marvellous. I'm really just hoping...) Now, so that you appreciate a) what being unemployed has done to me and b) the magnitude of this knot I must explain a little further. The knot appeared last night. I have a bit of a go at it and Ron had a big go. He attacked the knot at length. The kind of length that involved me shouting downstairs "Seriously. It's bedtime! Leave the wool alone!" This morning, it still took me an hour and a half to finish sorting the wool. In the end, I still had to use scissors. Which probably means that it should have felt like failure, I was just happy that so much time was gone.
Just think, if my interview on Friday goes well, I'll no longer have the time for giant knots. Or hours spent on Facebook (I know, I know). Or alphabetising books, CDs, DVDs, games....
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