shapeshifting

Lunatic

That lunar eclipse turned my brain into Spaghetti Junction last night. No sleep for the inspired. But no clear thoughts either. If I was to write a long (too long) post about my interwoven thought processes right now it would include these threads:

• Online business coaching is producing multi-levels of clones and if the only business they have is telling other people how to run their business telling people how to run their business, who is actually doing anything? Making anything? Creating anything? I see the need for business coaching and there is some incredibly inspiring, fresh stuff out there but ohmygod sometimes it's like standing in a hall of mirrors. Of course I'm not an entrepreneur and I don't need to read any of it but when it's good, it's good. I like good now. Good's cool. Cloning isn't.

• Some of us may have no urge to take over the world but we still want to be part of it. We still want to have left some small positive imprint. And look, Bindu has been reading my mind.

• 

• Being a catalyst for positive change among your immediate circle is a wonderful thing. The common ground you probably share will mean your interpretation of something is more likely to spark change than would the words of someone living an entirely different life. Why throw a whole lot of seeds on stoney ground when you can watch them thrive in your own back garden? I have been inspired to make real change by a number of close friends recently. Even though I've known for years that what they say is true, it took their voice and perspective to bring it home to me.

• Building an emotional immune system (my kind of parenting).

• Age ain't nothin' but a number. Voicing my trepidation of turning 50 in two years has made me realise that the number is simply a marker of how long I've been here. It in no way defines who I am while I'm here. I could as easily label myself as having arrived at 09.30 GMT. Who cares right? But I do think that in my mind it signifies an age at which I really should have grown up. And that's what I'm aiming for. Maturity. A smidgeon of wisdom from the many lessons I've lived through. Less manic intensity. Waaaay more serenity (no, not that one). Serenity is what I've always hoped I'd find when I grew up; I guess the unnamed project is a way for me to get there.

• I love the flavour. I'd forgotten just how much. Next year, now I know to pick before they flower, I'll be harvesting my own.

• Tasha Beagle has been rehomed bringing my charges down to three. And, with so much less to do now (there were seven dogs when I started, three have been rehomed and one passed away) I'm only going to visit them once a month. I have been given three Tuesdays a month to do something else. That's good.

• Megan Matthieson

• Restless. I'm restless. I'm getting that 'throw everything up in the air and see where it lands' feeling. I do not know if or when I'll act on that feeling. I do not know what I'd like to see in that new arrangement. I just have a feeling that there is space for something else. Something outward-facing and important to me. Something real and gritty and true.

• It may be wrapped in something imagined and shiny but still true.

• Thursday night is yoga night.

• The project...it is unnamed.

• Awesomised conversation and laughter with Susannah at Cafe Lucca. Also, standing at one of the busiest corners in Bath while she pokes her upper arm and shouts,"I mean, what the F*CK is THIS?" much to the amusement of me and many passers-by. @photobird...keeping it real.(N.B. It's perfectly normal triceps, in case you're concerned.)

• Dreaming of teaching people to fly by firing them out of massive cannons. I tried it, it was AWEsome.

 

 See? Scrambled. Good, but scrambled.

 

x

 

Hello Sweetie*

Keeping it real. If you're going to turn your life around and write about it then you need to keep it real or that writing means nothing.

So in that spirit I will tell you that yesterday was a bad, bad day. Maybe it's resistance, maybe it's circumstances, whatever. The upshot was that I lay awake at early o'clock feeling like every haggard, worn-out, worn-down, 40something woman you've seen in the street and read as having been seriously disappointed by life. It wasn't pretty.

This morning I was dreading going to see the Beagles after two weeks, fairly certain that the lump I'd found on one of them was terminal and maybe she'd even be gone already. The skies opened on my journey there and I had no coat. I work outside for half my time with them. It was just the last bloody straw on top of a whole load of straws that I'm not going to list here.

Fortunately I was able to call on something inside. Yes, with my reiki healing and communing with nature and animal spirit guides and woo-woo up the wa-zoo I did what any wild, barefooted woman would do. I took a deep breath and asked myself:

"What would River Song do?".

Cos I'm all deep 'n' shit.

The thing is, it may sound silly but that silliness makes me want to kick some arse, namely mine, and that drive is something I can lack at times. I need firing up and a time-travelling, Time Lord-loving, gun-toting, fez-shooting, hypnolipstick-wearing Space Hottie in her 40s inspires me and restores my sense of humour. Whatever works, eh?

Turned out, Tash's lumps are benign and she's in good shape. The Beagles' people were pleased to see me and gave me lots of young tomato plants to bring home. I stayed indoors and bathed all the dogs which was a great excuse for extra cuddles. Beagle Therapy is pretty special and although I still got soaked at least the water was warm.

I also spent an hour on my mobile phone, in Sainsbury's car park (I know, can you even cope with the glamour?), putting worlds to rights with Susannah who was in need of a rant. I know that if you read a certain type of blog, you'll see Susannah's name all over the place because she's awesome but I'm going to tell you that actually...she's way more awesome than that. And she makes me laugh.

I got home and whipped up a glass of green juice that flooded my system with life and goodness (I mistyped that as 'goodnews', that too). Sigh. Greeeeeeen.

There is sunshine outside and that's where I belong so I'm off. I just want to say that if you try to turn things around then you're going to have bad days when you have to look those things in the eye. No more evasion, you have to know their name to say goodbye. That takes strength that sometimes can be hard to muster. I think calling on your favourite shero is a very acceptable way to kick things into action. Who's yours?

 

*that would be her standard opening line.

 

 

 

Protection

Our very nice, conservation-minded Landlord has it in his head that there are too many jackdaws around this year and they're killing the songbirds. They're not. Anyway, he wants to make a pre-emptive strike and shoot the jackdaws.

my work station

We have jackdaws living in our chimney stack or, as Evie calls it, our jimley. They are The Jimley Jackdaws (and if I ever change my name by deed poll again I'm going to be Jo Jimley-Jackdaw because we all know that would be awesome). I love our jackdaws and do not want their death or the deaths of their subsequently starving chicks literally hanging over our heads.

So I thought I should put some protective stuff together for the JJs and to that end, I made a quick totem for them. A very small one. And now it's sitting on the mantlepiece in the kitchen, where the JJs can be heard, waiting for me to add some penwork.

I quite like it.

(Young jackdaws have pale blue eyes.)