How do you Nourish Yourself?
Or do you Nourish yourself at all? I’m currently by the beach, coming to the end of 10 days of self imposed solitude. Apart from a lunch and a visit to the cinema with new friends, I have spent my time walking along the beach, sleeping, doing a little yoga, meditating, preparing a compilation of blog posts called Oh Crap – I’m 50! A Journey from Fearful to Fabulous (Sometimes) for publication next month, and writing.
The last is, ostensibly, my reason for being here. There’s been a story in my head for the
longest time and I knew it had to be written – if only to make space for something else! I used to make a reasonable living as a fiction writer, but it’s been the longest time. I’m rusty and it took several nail biting days to ease myself into the flow. I also don’t have a publisher – my former agent has retired and I no longer have any contacts – but re-establishing those is a separate story!...
Watching the Royal Wedding, I was struck by how alone the Bride’s mother appeared. I was reminded of the day my daughter was married and how many mixed emotions there were swirling through my mind, and I wanted to give the new Duchess’ mother, Doria, a huge hug! I wonder what she said to her daughter as they travelled to the chapel?
This is the letter I wrote to my daughter:
So here we are on the eve of your wedding – your last day as a Blackwell. Tomorrow you will make the biggest commitment of your life so far and all your family and friends will gather together to witness the vows that you – and Frank – are about to make.
The day is yours, but your marriage belongs also to family and society at large, for a wedding is not just about the joining together of two people, but the beginning of a family unit. Whether that remains the two of you, or whether you are blessed with children, I know that you both will take that responsibility...
Whose hands are these?
I could write reams about the sadness I feel at the slow, but relentless degradation of my body. I shall skim over the details lest it put you off your skinny latte, suffice to say that I now have more curves than angles and about as much spring-back-ability in my skin as a piece of broken knicker elastic.
I’ve changed my mind – have a few details: I now have what I like to call “silver highlights”, though who I think would actually sit in the hairdresser’s with foils on their head to achieve this effect I have no idea. Over time, my foundation wear (what a lovely, old-fashioned phrase!) has become more about containment and less about boasting and I sometimes find myself hunting for “comfortable” knickers. You know, ladies, the kind that...