Lost in translation

I just replied back to my Dad's text enquiring how I was doing. Said I was busy with work and that I have exams for my Dutch class tonight and tomorrow.

The response:

"Ach dung x"

*shakes head shamefully trying to conceal her laugh*

What chance have you got?!

In prep for the big day

As I type this, my dad is out clearing the snow from the drive way in preparation for the big day tomorrow. He did the same thing yesterday but unfortunately for him we had more snow overnight. Actually, I think it's doing him some good. You know how parents can't sit still when there's a big event underway. Particularly one where there's public speaking involved.

You see tomorrow is my wee brother's wedding! So as you can imagine there's a lot of excitement in our house just now. I think I've heard my dad's speech a hundred times as has my brother lol. It's very warming to see how he's putting so much effort into it. I could hear him in the wee hours of this morning around 2am still practising...either that or he was just talking to himself...who knows...either is possible ;)

Something old, something new...

Actually, I'm really not fussy, anything would do right now. I've been looking FOR AGES for an outfit for my brother's wedding that's just after Christmas. I've only had a full year to prep for it but it would appear I've gotten rather side tracked.

Not to mention my dad checking in with me to make sure that I'm organised. Well, it's not that he's checking that I'm organised, he's doing the "my daughter is a lesbian therefore her track record of outfits to social gatherings can, well, erm, go against the norm." It's not like I'm going to turn up in a tie die top, dugaress and cherry doc martens. Please dad give me more credit than that, I live on the continent you know!

I'll be sure not to take my inspiration from the below...

Let us pray

Where ever dad goes, doesn't matter which country, as a devout Catholic he'll always find out the times of the local mass. Me, always living in a different country, has left him experiencing many different readings...on his own.

This is the dilema. He's here visiting me, so should I go to mass with him even though it goes against my own beliefs? The last time he was here my little brother was also here, so Johnnie went along with dad.

I'm thinking the seats won't be comfortable so it won't be good for my back...

Better late than never

I haven't been able to make it home due to the weather. Unfort no snow in York :-(. But Pops has come up trumps and has sent the charger for my camera. So, without further ado, here are some piccies from my bday w/end

This is what greeted me when I got home *grin*

The man with all the dance moves!

The best birthday cake in the worrreeld - ever!

It kinda scares me that Sarah said there was an uncanny resemblance...

Breast aware

I had an appointment today at the breast clinic to have my breasts checked. Breast awareness - I'm being serious now so no rude comments please - is very important to me.

My Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 37. Both my parents knew from the start that the odds were stacked against Mum's survival. Fortunately for us, she had the most incredible character to keep us all going through the 2 years that followed her diagnosis. She passed away when she was 39.

En route to the hospital, I saw my Mum's hands driving the car when I looked down at the steering wheel. Trips like today, always make me wonder what it must have been like for her, and many other women in the same situation. I can only begin to imagine.

Mum's strength of character was the absolute back bone to keeping us all on track. Looking back on those times, I'm in complete awe of her.

She would play games with my brother and I. I always thought it was silly and dull because the main game she'd play with us was called "let's pretend Mum's not here." She named it, not us, she had a sick sense of humour.

I hated it because it involved me having to do the ironing while she lay down on the couch, ordering the odd cup of tea here and there. To which my retort was, "I can't make tea for Mum if we're pretending she's not here!" She gave me the look, half giggling. You never mess with "the look."

I'm lucky to have the warmest memories of her, and her sense of humour. After some surgery, she applied for a disabled badge for the car. Her argument being that she couldn't walk very far with the groceries. But in reality, she was vying for the best parking spots for shopping in the city. She got the badge.

When asked how she was feeling after her mastectomy, her response was "I feel like I've gotten a lot off my chest!"

Medicine has advanced in the 19 years since Mum was diagnosed. But I feel that I have to take control. I'm not satisfied waiting until my 50th birthday for my breast screening. I want to be in the system, being checked. By taking action, it makes me feel like I'm armed. I want to do everything in my power, every preventative measure, to give me the chance that wasn't available to my Mum. I owe it to us both.

That's life

I strolled downtown today for my daily caffeine hit. Making my way through the barrage of bustling crowds was like making my way through my own thoughts of late. I found my usual spot by the window, seeking insightful revelations from my skinny blueberry muffin and my americano. I've felt a bit agitated of late. I feel like I've been stuck in limbo. Waiting. Any instant gratificationist will vouch, that to be in purgatory, is sheer unimaginable torture.

See, I'm usually impulsive. Go on my gut instinct. More often than not, I'll consider my options in retrospect. The main lesson that I've learned about myself, recently, is to trust when I don't think things are going my way. When I'm compromising my happiness, my core being, I need to take action. But recently, I've tried to think consciously about the decisions I make. I can't kid myself. I'm someone who's ruled by their heart, as much as I'll deny it. And you know what, that is not a bad thing, at all.

I learned from an early stage in my childhood, that life is seriously just too short. This isn't a dress rehearsal. And because it isn't a dress rehearsal, it means that we're entitled to make mistakes, the key is learning. Trying new situations, letting people in, engaging in different perspectives, most of all, making sure you just keep on trying. Oh, and the occasional hot chocolate and a big snog with yer girrel helps too ;-)

Dirty thirty

What a weekend I've just had! I drove up to Scotland straight after work on Friday, in convoy with some friends. We were well prepared for the trip with supplies of chocolate eclairs -not the pastry ones much to my disappointment, Jellytots -which I haven't had in ages(!), and wine gums -yuck. The destination was Pop's house. We hit the M73 around about 9pm which wasn't bad going considering the weather and the traffic. At this point, Karen excitedly blurted out - "Oh, I can tell I'm in Scotland, there's a castle over there!" *Confused look on my face* "Castle? Where??" I looked in the direction Karen was pointing and realised much to our amusement that she'd seen the outline of some high rise flats just before Easterhouse! From a distance, the square tops looked (some what) like turrets. Bless, an English person across "the border."

As I pulled into Dad's street I thought I could make out his shadow in the doorway. As it turned out, here's what greeted me:

Well, sorry to disappoint folks, I just realised that I've left the box and all the bits for my new camera at my Dad's! Work with me here and picture the scene...the front door was plastered with a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner and balloons clinging for dear life *grin and a big wiggle* More birthday balloons and banners greeted us in the living room along with the rest of my folks. It felt sooo good coming home to them and all the decorations :-))

On the Saturday Sarah, myself and the girrels hit Glasgow for some shopping. Why is it when you're ready to part with cash that you never see anything that you like?! In the evening, along with the extended family, we all headed to a contemporary Scottish restaurant. I figured with all the foreigners attending that no trip to Scotland would be complete without some haggis on the menu! The venue of choice was Arisaig in Glasgow. I have to say, that it was the best meal that I've had in a long time, and they had an excellent selection of vegetarian dishes too, even a veggie haggis.

Well, no birthday is complete without the cake. Piccies will follow, but trust me when I say that it was the best cake that I've ever had. The design was a girrel on a bike, she even had dodgy spikey hair!

I really had the best time. I kinda feel like I've added the last book in the bookshelf that is this part of my life, and I'm now moving onto to fill the next. It feels like you've got something under your belt, turning 30. You feel more comfortable in who you are and the decisions you make, and you definitely appreciate the effort that family and friends make.

A big, big thank you to Dad for giving us his house for the weekend, and to Ann-Marie for organising the decorations and cake and helping Dad colour code the bed sheets, and for sending him back to the shops for the umpteenth time until he arrived with the correct duvet cover and valance sheet! A big thank you to my wee brother for flying over from Denmark just for one night! A big thank you to all my friends and family who were there to make the night so special. And last, but by no means least, a big thank you to Sarah for being the bestest girrelfriend in the whole wide world ;-)! (although you have lost some points for making me share the chocolate cake ;-))

Laughter is good for the soul, and for male pattern baldness

I should be in bed right now. I'm working tomorrow and I'm driving up to Scotland after work for my birthday weekend. I'm turning 30, so I need my sleep. But I'm buzzing. I'm buzzing from the chat that I've just had with Sarah. She giggled and laughed a lot tonight. Lots of cheeky funny giggles, proper laughing. I was re-energised with each wee pleasurable outburst.

I was getting in the mood for the weekend and started singing "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to...you would cry too if it happened to you..." That's the extent of my knowledge on the song. Sarah then took up where I left off and launched into the next verse. Well, I for one am well impressed, she's going to get on great with the rest of the gene pool! Now all she needs to learn is my version of "Every party has a pooper." Honestly, the fact that my Mum used to sing that to me on the odd occasion, hasn't left me emotionally scarred, well, not much lol. She had an excellent sense of humour.

Male pattern baldness runs on my Dad's side of the family. So I once said to my little brother, "You know, when you get old, you're going to be bald like..." Then I blurted out all of the names as if there was NO way Johnnie could avoid it "Dad, Uncle Sammy, Gerard, John, Uncle Hughie, etc, etc..." Johnnie, who could only have been about 5 at the time, (I was 10), burst into tears. Mum was cooking in the background and heard what I said. When she realised that Johnnie was crying and I was looking rather smug she replied to me by saying "Well how do you know it wont happen to you?!" The young, no longer smug PP, was then in tears.

I've been packing tonight. Said task, still not completed. Had scheduled it in my diary for Wed but put off for today. I did however manage to clean my car and do my recycling. Silver star for PP! Think I'll finish off the packing tomorrow morning.

One more sleep!

Age

As I type this, I can feel my central heating dry my skin. Luckily I succumbed the other weekend and bought some moisturiser. I did it all on my own, and I managed to spend less then a tenner! I don't understand why women would want to spend mega bucks on facial cream. When are people going to just accept that skin matures?! It's part of you, it's your journey. Your frown lines, your laughter lines, and that mole that your gran tried to scrub when you were a kid thinking it was chocolate. Why do grandparents do that lol? And it's always with a really old tissue that's been up their sleeve or in their pocket for ages. The tissues always have that foosty-tissue-nice-gran-smell. My gran used to smell of Oil of Olay, formerly known as Oil of Ulay.

Sarah came over last Thursday. Although she's back in the flatlands, she's even closer than before. She re-confirmed her prime position as my mate for life on Saturday. When, upon seeing the BT ads with the guy from 'My Family' exclaimed - "What's he doing playing a parent/adult?!" Aaah, domestic bliss :-). Every fricken time that ad comes on I ask the same question. He's so unbelievable as a grown up!

Now it's only 9 more sleeps till I'm over there.

Chappy

There are things that my Girrel says that make me pinch myself in disbelief at how lucky I am to have her as my girrel. She sent me an email the other day. We were both in a bit of a strop with the 9-5. To relieve the stress, she suggested that we handle it in a really mature manner by smashing some windows! Now before anyone picks up the phone to dial the police, said target would have been a disused shed in a field some where. The idea was perfect. Our plan now for next weekend is to buy lots of plates and cups from a charity shop and introduce them to gravity and a rather large brick wall. (I'll be taking my brush etc so that we don't leave a mess).

It's the kind of thing that you want to do when you're a kid. It reminded me of playing "chap-door-runaway," more affectionately known as "chappy." One instance sprung to mind that involved my little brother and I. We'd just finished dinner at our aunt's house, and for whatever reason, none of our friends would "come out to play." Rather than head back indoors, I suggested to Johnnie that we have wee game of chappy. It was winter time, the street lights were on and I can remember Johnnie was wearing Magic gloves. Don't get excited. Magic gloves is a bit of an exaggeration. They really should have been called stretchy-man-made-fibre gloves, but that doesn't have the same effect. These are the gloves that look like they're made to fit a 4 month old, but some how "magically" fit most* adult hands. Not only did Johnnie have Magic gloves, but he had day glow orange Magic gloves. Walking down the street all you could see was the glow from Johnnie's hands kinda like the guy from the Readybrek advert.

Being big sister, I flipped the first couple of letter boxes. Once we'd gotten our breath back from running away from the 4th door I decided it was Johnnie's turn. I pointed to a door that had a wall next to their path so that it would be difficult for them to catch us. Johnnie plucked up his courage and went to rattle the door. I poised on my tip toes getting ready to bolt. Unlucky for Johnnie, the letter box was a pushy-inny rather than a flippy. Ooops! I'm standing there, staring at my brother shouting "come on! Run!" And this wee voice screams back at me "I can't! My glove's caught!" He'd pushed the letter box too far in and it had sprung back on his finger! I had to go round the wall and free his finger and Magic glove from the letter box. I'd never laughed so hard - Johnnie never played chappy again!

Meet the Fockers

Well, my g/f has accused me of being a one-hit wonder due to my lack of postings of late. In my defence, I've had lots on. Meh, same old, same old. Anyways, my folks -aka the Fockers- came down at the weekend. It was fab seeing them. I have to say that I'm struck by my Dad's clairvoyant ability. He always seems to book weekends to visit me, just when I really need to see them. We went out for dinner with some "continental" friends fae Germany *nod to Steffi* . My Dad cracked me up! After a few wee drinky-droos, there was absolutely no way my friends could understand his accent. I lost count of the times that I had to tell him to slow down lol. After fulfilling one Scottish stereotype, we tried to break down another - that Scottish folk are tight. We'd managed to prove our point successfully until the bill arrived.


Me - What's that charge?
Dad - Don't know, I don't have my specs on. Could you have a look at it?
Me - Service charge! Dad, don't tip, I'm not that impressed.
Dad - Does that say optional?
Me - Aye. That's shocking, they've just snuck that in there.
Dad - Fine, I'll give them half of that then if we don't have to pay it.


The following day we managed to talk the old yin into taking us to Auntie Betty's for breakfast. I insisted that we get a table in the main cafe. No point in splashing out at Bettys if people can't see you! Dad was funny - he knows his place and declared that he would sit with his back to the window so that we could people watch. He's well trained.

This pic is for my girrel - spotted it when I was raising my pinky with my Earl Grey in a china cup