Listen

Listen to your own words.

Not the words of the past or the words of other people.

Dance to your own tune.

Just listen to the words.

You must do the thing you think you cannot do

Apparently it was Eleanor Roosevelt who said "You must do the thing you think you cannot do."  Ma'am, I salute you.

Yesterday evening, as I was walking to my dancing adventure, several times I nearly turned around and went home.  I almost had the perfect excuse when I realised I'd got the wrong venue and nearly walked into a Quaker meeting.  (Which would have been interesting in its own way, based on the one I attended once years ago, but not what was on my agenda for yesterday evening.)  Then the first room I found at the correct venue was full of line dancers.  Not what I was expecting, and another potential turn-tail-and-flee moment.

Once I was through the correct door, there was no going back.  And after five minutes, I was glad.  Having only danced at weddings in recent years, it only took me five minutes to rediscover the wild-dancing (if rhythmically-challenged) teenager I once was.  And because 5 Rhythms dance has no steps and no rules, my lack of rhythm didn't matter.  Nobody was watching me anyway; they were too busy following their own beat.

Dancing madly (as, I promise you, I did) may not be for everyone.  My family would have been mortified to see me.  But please, if only once, do the thing that scares the pants off you.  It may just be the most fun you've had in ages.  It was for me.

Dancing outside the comfort zone

Have you ever tried to explain to an 8-year-old that sometimes it's good to do things we don't want to do?  (Like going to school, or tidying up.)  If so, any tips gratefully received!

Confession: I'm trying to explain the same thing to myself today, not jut the 8-year-old.  Anyone who's read this post might have surmised that I recently took (and passed - phew!) my advanced driving test.  It was something I had talked about doing 'one day' but 'one day' never came because, deep down, I didn't want to.  Like a child who doesn't want to go to school.  However, the husband had other plans, and gave it to me as a present - the one present he's given me that I can honestly say I haven't enjoyed one bit!  But I'm still grateful for it.

I'm grateful because I proved to myself that I can succeed at something even when it's hard, and scary, and way outside my comfort zone.

I am telling myself this repeatedly today because I seem to have committed to something else which makes me want to squirm and run away: I am going to a dance group this evening.  I mean, what on earth possessed me?  Why did I think this was a good idea?  (And it did seem like a good idea, weeks ago when I signed up.)  I am the person who, while innocently dancing at a friend's 16th birthday party many years ago, was crushed by a so-called friend murmuring in my ear, "I'm going to buy you a metronome."

But I'll go, and if it's excruciating, I'll leave and not go back.  On the other hand, it might be the most fun I've had in ages.  Watch this space.

In the zone in the zoo

On a day when many people went back to work, I went to the zoo with the boy.  In his words, "I want to do something memorable on the last day of the holidays, so that I make the most of it."  (Do all 8-year-olds think like that?  I'm not sure I did!)  Going to the zoo was his suggestion, and given the chance of creating a memory for him, I couldn't say no.

So we wandered without a plan, and we chatted about not very much, and we laughed at the spider monkeys and admired the fruit bats, and we ate lunch, and went back to the spider monkeys and laughed again.  We're both going to come back as spider monkeys in our next lives, without a doubt.  Can you imagine being able to climb and leap like that?

When we got back in the car I was amazed how much time had passed, without a thought in my head beyond what we were doing there and then.  I was 'in the zone' in the zoo.  I may not have changed the world in that small slice of time, but I do feel ready to return to work after those gentle few hours.

How to live like an advanced driver

Scan the horizon.

Think about what might appear around the next bend in the road.

Plan ahead for the effect it might have and how to deal with that.

Quieten down the passenger in the back seat when he gets too noisy and threatens to break your concentration.

Focus on the task at hand (and not trying to put your makeup on or send a text at the same time).

Change route to avoid unexpected roadblocks when they appear.

Expect the unexpected.

Take regular breaks to rest and regroup.

Accept - and drive according to - the conditions of the road as they are, and not as we would like them to be.

The difference a week makes

Just a few days away from the garden can make such a difference at this time of year: broad beans which were only beginning to be visible above the soil a week ago now have several leaves; the potatoes are suddenly up; and the new plants put in as part of our garden revamp in 2012 are now well established and covering more of the bare soil between them.  (If one ignores the glaring spaces where I pulled out the spiky plants which I hated on sight, and have yet to replace.)  That bare soil shows very clearly that despite the wet weather earlier in the year, there has been little or no rain since we went away a week ago - oh, the perils of gardening in Suffolk.

With all this burgeoning life in the veg patch, I would like to say that on returning home I produced a wonderfully healthy, home-grown meal within minutes of our arrival.  But no.  we stopped at the village chippy for fish and chips to bring home.  What's more, one of us lobbied to eat them in front of The Smurfs - and won.  And I don't feel the slightest bit guilty about that, or about the home-grown but not so healthy rhubarb crumble which is the first thing I've cooked from the garden this year.  Yum.

Signs of spring

Spring has well and truly sprung in our garden here in Suffolk, and the evidence is all around.  I'm not talking about the bright yellow daffodils, the peas poking their little heads through the soil, or even the everlasting calls of the woodpigeons. 

No, this morning our garden holds even more tangible proof that spring has arrived: washing on the line; a papier-mache snake (school project - though I ended up finishing it off) lying on the lawn to dry; the remains of my breakfast on the patio table and, most telling of all, a figure in pyjamas wandering around with a watering can and  big grin.

Yes, that would be me.  Spring is when I put on the husband's old shoes with my PJs and find myself up to my elbows in the soil immediately after breakfast.  (Summer is when I dispense with shoes altogether and find myself out there even before breakfast.)

There is rhubarb waiting to be made into crumble, self-sown coriander all over the veg patch waiting to be sprinkled over chilli, and there is dirt under my fingernails.  Spring is here.