BEATING THE WINTER BLUES

I love all the four seasons. Correction…I love all the four seasons but truth be told getting through winter is a wee bit more difficult. Slippery footpaths, falls, frozen windscreens, thick bulky jumpers, cough and cold make great whining starters. So I learn to fortify the mind and make a conscious decision to enjoy winter. Yes, enjoy winter amidst the frost and blustery winds.

I think most of us spend every day tending to the needs of others first, ourselves last….whether you are a young mother or someone older, as long as there is someone around for us to mind. So for a change, how about minding ourselves , body, soul and spirit, during winter?

Caring for the body is actually the easiest of the three. I can write a book about it but will limit myself to three examples here.

First if there is a bathtub, then a good warm soak is a very kind thing to do for the brow beaten body that has been on its toes 24/7. Creating a relaxing ambience is very important. A tealight, soft french music from the phone (make sure it is far away from water), a homemade lavender bath bomb and a handful of epsom salts can do wonders. I have learnt to shut the noises out of the mind and actually do nothing for minutes on end. And after that is done, nourishing the skin with lots of body lotion is a must. Not just any lotion (like the complimentary leftovers from some hotel) but the one that I chose and bought for myself. Fragrance is a very personal thing.

The winter bug is very prevalent and I believe in prevention. The importance of a nutritious diet rich in vitamins that boost the immune system coupled with regular exercise cannot be understated.

The winter damp also exacerbates the aches and pains that I had acquired from physical injuries at the gym or otherwise. I am not a fan of pills and painkillers so I root towards external herbal remedies, which take time to be effective but are less intrusive. My beloved calls such remedies, curry paste rubs and potions.

I would like to think of the soul as that part which consists of feelings and emotions. For me, feeding the soul with the things that I like to do, makes me happy.

 I find myself indoors most during the winter so it is a great time to paint, sew and to craft. It is the time to catch up with my reading and writing.

Like Marie Kondo, decluttering, organising and giving away to charity brings me much joy. Drawers are filled with neatly folded socks, kitchen cabinets are lined with attractive containers to house the utensils and even the eggs look very pretty when they sit in perspex egg boxes. 

Even my labrador knows he has to wipe his paws before he enters the house. When he hears the command, ‘Paw wipe’ he’ll lift his paw one by one for me to wipe his paws with a clean towel.

And then there is spiritual care.

Hibernating polar bears do not eat. So I find that as I use less energy during the winter, fasting off food is much easier. January is one of my fasting months, more so because it is the beginning of the year and I would like to get things in order for the year by seeking the Lord and trusting Him as I lay my plans and the plans/desires of my family and friends before Him. And He does not disappoint. Strongholds are broken miraculously and I know  the LORD God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The LORD will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right. (Psalms 84:11)

So, the verdict is I love winter just the same. I may not feel the heat from the sun but the beloved is with me and that is what matters.

Ushering in THE CHINESE NEW YEAR OF THE PIGGY 2019

I’m terribly excited about Chinese New Year 2019 because this is the year where I celebrate my favourite four-legged creature. Pigs are smart and loyal. If only I could have one as a pet!

Incidentally, this is the best age yet as I'm finally eligible to join the prestigious turtle club. It is quite a milestone because only people who have lived through several decades are automatic members without having to pay subscription.

Was it that long ago when I was a member of the unicorn club and running the rat race?

The turtle club is something else. I would like to think that the mature members are calm and secure and completely at peace with themselves. In fact, I can even hear the primordial OM sound ringing in my ears.

But happily we still recognise each other as dementia hasn’t set in yet but for the odd instance where everyone has a senior moment as in, ‘Where did I leave my car keys?

Now is the time to dye my hair purple, and not just to wear purple like Jenny Joseph suggests. I’ve done my fair bit of travelling to touristy spots so onwards to darkest Peru or to the heart of Africa. All at once, I dream that I’m running with the gazelle only to realise that I might end up as fresh kill for some predator as I’ll be moving at a much slower speed than I imagine. The spirit is willing but the body is weak. I have to mind myself now, making sure I don’t trip over that Lego block that some child had left on the floor.

I will finally have that birthday cake with so many candles. It is good that I do not have dentures because the last time my friend blew out that many candles, her false teeth flew as well.

I am still delusional though. I can look into the mirror and try out the dresses that have been in the wardrobe for the last ten years and like Tanya in Mammamia, with great confidence I’ll flick my hair and say, ‘Baby, you do good.’ Be gone, Botox, I won't ever need you.

I love this delicious sense of calm, confidence and clarity of purpose. There is certainly more disposable income to enjoy the fun things in life. There are more good stories in my jar of memories - a jar that has a screw tight lid so none will fly away.

It is all about choice. I don’t have to suddenly become defiant because I have never lived for the appraisal of others anyway nor have I been pigeonholed in convention. I can choose to sit in front of the TV all day and lament about my aches and pains (I worship the magnesium spray) or I can choose to be among friends and do the things that make me happy. I am not going to re-brand myself, instead I am a new version altogether.

Do I envy youth? No, been there, done that.

Do I succumb to the allure of  cosmetic surgery to give me a boost? No, I can hold myself against picture perfect, air-brushed images of what women should be.

It is all about having gone through so many challenges with a new sense of achievement and self worth. Those difficult circumstances did not forge the end of my world.

I will not retreat into shapeless clothes, tweed skirts or brown cardigans. The creative soul in me is outraged by the misconception that you need to dress down or wear your hair in a certain way. 

Neither will I let reading glasses with chain attached dangle over my neck. Nor will I go round dishing out unsolicited advice on parenting in particular. My only concession to my great age is sensible walking shoes.

Is there still a greasy pole to climb? 

Being at home surrounded by my hobby crafts is entirely blissful. The creaking hasn’t started yet and I take pride in saying that ‘I am a free woman’.

I enjoyed my days with my students at the university very much but  ever since I clocked out of the office for the last time, going back to work had never appealed to my new found freedom. 

                                   HAPPY DAYS WITH MY STUDENTS AT THE UNIVERSITY

                                                                       (1983 - 2010)

I saw David Attenborough’s 90^th birthday celebrations on telly and he is still in his element and as bright as a button. There is no stopping for him and already he is planning some new wildlife episodes. 

When I am 90, I want to be like him. Charming and clever still.

Now that you are a turtle, what will you evolve to in the next decade? The beloved asked.

Well, I could very well be the phoenix, rising up from the ashes with power and grandeur..... 

Just watch and see, I said.

FIRST DAY BLUES

                                                                                                            

Now that the long school vacation is over, children and teens are heading back to school. It seems like eons ago when my mother held my hand and walked me to Charleston Kindergarten, my very first foray into formal education.

And indeed it was very formal. I was six but I had a lovely blue and white uniform and white socks and white BATA canvas shoes. I learnt very quickly how to wash the shoes once a week and put a layer of chalk over them. So, the shoes were very white and clean on Mondays and quite sad looking by the end of the week.

The more well-to-do kids had several pairs of shoes and their shoes were always very presentable whatever day of the week.

My first reading book was the Man and his Pen. I enjoyed Macmillan’s children’s readers and Mother Goose rhymes and art class. I also liked a smart looking boy who sat three rows in front of me. I found out later that he was the son of the manager of Odeon cinema.

But I was terrified of being called to the front of the class to tell the time by moving the hands of a cardboard clock. I know it is daft because I knew how to tell the time. Maybe it was the fear of making a mistake with so many eyes staring at my back.

I looked forward to recess time where I could play hop scotch, tag or hide and seek and police and thieves. Simple games that involved lots of movement and left us sweaty. I can’t always trust my memory but I don’t remember using a tumbler or a lunch box. Instead my mother had packed for me Milo in a bottle with a screwtop cap . My mum had also made for me a quilted carrier to keep the Milo warm. I also had a packed lunch - rice or sweet buns, never sandwiches.

I loved studying and still do.

It’s strange to see generation after generation of tiny feet entering the hallowed halls in the quest for knowledge. It all seems very different now - heavy school bags, different curricula, different activities.

One thing remains the same: there are those who blend in happily with their new friends and surroundings and there are those who find it traumatic. And it is not always the child.

My friend Alex who works from home is one of them. Surprised to see Alex at the swimming pool the other day, I asked him whether he had taken some time out. He said he had just dropped his youngest at the school gate and with his hand on his chest, he looked downcast. It wasn’t separation anxiety. I think Alex felt the anxiety of letting-go. His baby was taking one step away from him.

He said, ‘I was really looking forward - buying the books, getting everything in order. I even assured Aoife that school would be over before she knew it and she would come home again. 

You know what? 

The moment she reached the school yard, she just waved goodbye to me, walked straight into her class and didn’t look back!’

It was another stage of fatherhood. Aoife had finally joined the ranks of full-time schoolkids. Alex didn’t feel like he had been released from prison to enjoy more me-time, well, not yet anyway. Maybe he felt that his services were no longer needed. Maybe he felt a tinge of betrayal.

Like everything else, adaptation to change takes time. However prepared we are, we can never really anticipate how we feel when the moment arrives.

In situations like this, I dislike others giving me standard responses like ‘Oh, you’ll be grand. It’s just a phase. You’ll get used to it.’ So I refrained from giving him unsolicited advice and trite comments.

Instead I just listened. What he needed was someone to talk to and probably time to adjust to change.

And he knew he had my support.