What would you have done?

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A few weeks before Christmas I had an experience that I'm still struggling with. Let me tell you what happened and then I'd love you to tell me what you would have done instead.

It was early evening, the day was still light and the children were in the garden. I was in the kitchen which looks out over the garden. My children aren't little, they are both teenagers now with the full form of teen sarcasm to back them up. 

The dogs started barking and I saw a person had come through the gate. Our home is surrounded by a six foot fence, mainly to keep the children off the road when they were little, and now to keep the dogs from accosting passersby with doggy licks and leaps which, shockingly, some people don't enjoy. The point is, it is rare for someone to venture through the gate unless they know us or know our dogs.

I walked out of the house and saw a women. She wasn't old, but she wasn't in the first flush of youth either. I'd estimate around mid 30's. I felt slightly apprehensive as I looked at her. She was dressed in what looked like a short satin nightie which was very odd considering it was a cold day. She stood just inside the gate hugging herself and looking around. I asked if I could help her. Said she'd been out with her boyfriend, they'd had a fight and he'd driven off with her bag, phone and jacket in the car. Could she use the phone to call for a ride.

U-huh, I thought. Maybe. Maybe not.

Now you're probably all thinking - don't let her use the phone - well I did. Because if you think about it, how else was she going to get a ride if she had been stranded. I knew The Bloke was in the house, I had my dogs, and I didn't get any vibes from her that made me feel unsafe. Dubious maybe, but not unsafe. Still, I kept my eye on her during the call. The person she called didn't answer. She said she needed to access her email account to look at her contact list.

I would too if I was stranded. I don't keep phone numbers in my head. I let her access her account on my phone. I stood next to her. I know you might well be yelling "NO" at the top of your lung right now. I did it anyway, knowing the risk. 

She ended up staying at our house for more than an hour while she waited for her lift. She sent several txt's from my phone asking when they were coming. She seemed nervous and didn't answer to the name she'd given me when I called her by it. As we chatted, her story had quite a few holes and inconsistencies in it.

I feed her and she admired my handbag.  It's a nice bag, I moved it when she wasn't looking.  I gave her a jacket I'd had out to drop off at the local charity shop. She thanked me profusely. Her ride arrived and she was out of the gate, in the car and gone.

I picked up my phone and checked the txt messages. She'd deleted all the sent ones. Hmmm. I opened gmail, she hadn't logged out. I checked her name. No surprise, the one she'd given me wasn't her name. I typed the name on the gmail account into Facebook and my heart sank right into my abdomen. Up popped a picture of her...on a police notice looking for her on outstanding arrest charges. The post was on her own page (privacy settings people!) and all the comments from her acquaintances were laughing about her being famous now. 

I contacted the police. they were still looking for her, but honestly, they weren't that interested. What I wanted to know was what kind of crimes she'd been charged with. I hoped to God it wasn't anything violent. Nope, just petty theft and credit card fraud. I checked my wallet. The card was still there. 

I like to think of myself as a kind person, some might disagree.  One of my beliefs is that kindness is linked to worthiness in a person. I've spent some time thinking about what I would do if the same situation occurred. Firstly, I really believe this person was in trouble and had been abandoned with nothing. Should I have turned her away? Maybe. She probably deserved to be turned away. She thought nothing of stealing from people.  Although I didn't know that at the time, I did know something wasn't right. Would I have acted differently if it had been a man instead of a woman? What if I'd been home alone? I think I would have helped using a different strategy with less personal risk involved.
I've been extra vigilant in my home security since and a tiny bit of me feels mad that I let this person into my sanctuary. But a bigger part asks what would turning her away say about me?

Are only 'good' people worthy of kindness? Should only good and honest people be treated with consideration? Should only those who don't need it receive your assistance? Should people provide three referees before they are deemed worthy. Or is one act of kindness towards someone, irrespective of who they are and what they've done enough, to set a seed of something in their minds that might flourish into greater self esteem and an increase in their own level of kindness (enough to stop stealing credit cards perhaps).

Imagine if  kindness  was contagious.  How beautiful the world would be if we all started treating each other with greater kindness and took the very real risk that it might backfire.  Would that be worth it? Or not? Don't be stupid with it, I had my whole family at home and didn't leave her alone for a second. That isn't kindness, that's respecting your instincts and using common sense.

Kindness coupled with self protection. She might still have managed to steal something, although she didn't. She could have used my phone fraudulently. She didn't, although I did receive a few cryptic txts from an unidentified number which I suspect were meant for her. They soon stopped.

Find me on Facebook @GraceBrookerWrites and comment on what you would have done. Or feel free to leave a comment below.

Grace

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Tips on parenting a teen

Remember that lovely child you gave birth to a few years ago. The one you breathed all your hopes and dreams into? Well that child has become a teenager.

Instead of lovely mornings spent cuddled together reading stories, I now get a grunt and a cutting comment if I don't remove myself forthwith from her presence.

Instead of the day starting at 6 am with her bouncing into our room, full of excitement for another day, I now play paper, scissors, rock with The Bloke,  the loser gets to wake the teenager (known in our family as poking the bear) and break the bad news...it's morning.

Some days she is barely civil, a sneer permanently marring her lips, other days she's effervescent. It's exhausting. I can hear the lyrics from that  John Legend song running through my mind. 'What's going on in that beautiful mind, I'm on your magical mystery ride'.

Friends try to commiserate with stories of their own teenagers, describing years in the desert of emotional turmoil. That's not helpful, by the way, just depressing.

It's conflicting to love someone so deeply, yet be treated by them so appallingly, then at other times have such wonderful conversations.  No predictability at all. If this were a marriage we'd be on the rocks.

I have a false imagine of myself as the Zen Mother who understands that hormonal instability coupled with an existentialist crisis and egocentricity is what makes her act this way and isn't personal. But it feels bloody personal!

Below are some of the tactics I use to try and maintain my sanity and our relationship. We're both still breathing, so some of it must be working.

• I remind myself she is not a mini-me. She has a different world view. She's growing up in a completely different world and it's neither good or bad, just different. Applying her reactions to my own experiences isn't always relevant or helpful.

• Co-parenting is my savior. I don't know how single parents cope. My hat is off and I salute all parents doing it alone. The Bloke and I have different tolerance levels for different things. We ping-pong parent when either of us has reached their limit. When the more rational parent can take over, the outcome is usually better for everyone.

• Finding some way of giving her choice, within the boundary of doing what I want her to do, has helped at times. No-one likes being told what to do. That force is strong in our genes.

• I remind myself that having a spirited and determined child means they will (hopefully) grow into a spirited and determined adult. Traits that will stand well in life. No-one wants their child to be a doormat.

• Get some space. When it all seems too much, taking some time away from her helps with perspective. Breath (fire streaming from your nose doesn't count as breathing)

• When all else fails and I'm on the net searching up boarding schools, looking at pictures and video of her when she was little reminds me that she is still a child. My precious child. A child who needs me, no matter what she says. A child who needs to know she is loved even while being told a certain behaviour is not acceptable. A child with limited life experience who is flailing around in an emotional soup trying not to drown. It's my job to throw out the lifeline.  Ready? Catch.

The truth is, it's damn hard work being a parent. I hold onto those conversations when she opens up and I see glimpses of the woman she'll become and I see she's someone I really like, not just love.

It's a bit like climbing this mountain. You don't know how you'll get to the top, but you know the view will be worth every drop of sweat.

So only around six years and she'll come right, my friends assure me. 

Right. 

Breath.

Start climbing.

Grace

How to fill a winter's day

Hello everyone. Well I've been fortunate to have traveled to both Europe and America in the last month. One trip for work and one trip for pleasure.

It was quite hard to come from this...

Frankfurt Germany

and this...

Waikiki beach

                         

Shangri-la estate

Sadly not the pool at our hotel but Doris Duke's instead.

Shangri-la

Turtle Bay Oahu

blue sky, white sand, warm ocean.

back to this...

Storm warning for Auckland

However there is one amazingly awesome thing about wet and wild wintery days...


There is you know...


There really is...


There is no excuse required. No having to hide out on the sly hoping no-one will catch you. No more parking up on the way home from work just to get an extra 5 minutes. No more trying to justify it when you really should be doing something entirely more productive. You can let loose and read read read.

Yes my fellow bibliophile, pouring down winter days are the perfect time (apart from some kind of infectious disease ...almost worth it), that you can read as many books as you like without flack, self delivered or otherwise.
Don't have to garden, take the dogs for a walk run (yes I run...sometimes), or do any house maintainence. No painting (too damp outside to paint inside YIPEE) or plastering. No running out to the shops. Just sit back, point the whanau towards the kitchen and dig into your pile.

What pile you say?  That pile all booklovers have. The pile of books you're just dying to read but haven't found the time yet. Mine sits next to my bed on a little table. I live forever in the hope that I'll read at night in bed, and every night I try, but once I hit the sheets something in my brain goes 'Oh we're horizontal must time to sleep now' and I am out. So I have to wait for cold blustery days that look so grim even the dogs balk at going into the garden.

I have quite a few books in my pile currently. Just to celebrate our recent holiday to Hawaii and because I took a tour of Doris Duke's estate named Shangri-La which you can tour through the Honolulu Museum of Art, I have Doris Duke's Shangri-La, A house in paradise. This is an amazing coffee table book examining Doris Duke's passion for Islamic arts and culture. She was so enamoured that she created her Hawaiian home Shangri-la around her collection. Beautiful hand carved marble panels, stunning wall tiles, exquisite gardens and views. The whole lounge window wall drops into the floor on an elevator mechanism forgoodness sakes!

Next I've recently received my favourite kind of book. In fact two of them. I may have mentioned in past posts that I love books of correspondance, so I was delighted to be given 'Wallis and Edward letters 1931 - 1936 the correspondence of the Duke and Duchess of Winsor', edited by Michael Bloch, and 'The Mitford's, Letters between Six Sisters" edited by Charlotte Mosley.

Then to round off the current theme of life in the first half of the 1900s, I have 'The Riviera Set 1920 - 1960 the golden years of glamour and excess by Mary S. Lovell. A fascinating look at the lives of the rich and richer (which included the Mitfords and Doris Duke), and goes to show that poor behaviour is unrelated to the amount of dollars in your bank account.

Finally there is another book. One that has gotten me thinking. Those are the kind I like the best of all. I'm reading 'Writing Home' the writings, musings, etc. of Alan Bennett (British writer and actor). In the first essay Bennett describes his mother's philosophy of decorating with books. "Books upset" she says. I'm assuming she's talking about the aesthetics of books on display, but more apt words for the purpose of books have not been uttered (to my limited knowledge). Books upset, they challenge and confront. This is not a bad thing. It does our humanity good to be confronted with our weaknesses, our self-imposed limitations, our failings. It gives us a chance to consider our own reactions, our own prejudices, our own judgements. It is, afterall, easy to sit in judgement on others if we have never been faced with the same dilemmas, problems, rocks and hard places.

We need to keep in our minds the many failings of humanity over the last 2000+ years. The lack of tolerance, the cruelty, the selfishness, the 'as long as I'm alright, you can sort yourselves out' attitude that seems to be both the epicentre of, and the antithesis to, our humanity.

I am guilty of reading 'easy' books. I'm not talking about the language, but the ideas, the themes of the story. I love a happily-ever-after ending, and I feel ripped off if it doesn't happen. But I suppose one of the benefits (or challenges) of reading is that it gives an opportunity to think about the times when it isn't going to be happily-ever-after (damn it!). A chance to consider the alternatives. A practice run, so to speak.

Alan Bennett points out in his book, life is often unrelated to books (although others would argue this point), as much as Facebook and Instagram are unrelated to what a person's life is actually like. But I think a tiny speck from each book I've ever read, has become part of me. Influencing my reactions, my solutions to problems, my ideas, even my language. Therefore one could argue that books are life.

So bring on the rain Auckland. I'm grabbing a steaming cup of tea, a little salted caramel chocolate, a good throw and some literary treats. I'd love to hear about what you are reading, so feel free to leave a comment below.

As always (despite the weather) have a great week.

Grace

Can grief be good?

The thing about grief is that it can actually good for us. Weird right? How can feeling miserable ever be good?

My theory is that if we want to maintain a robust mental health we have to be able to feel. Not just the good stuff but the bad as well. Things like anger and sorrow have a place in our lives. If they didn't why would they exist at all?

The 'negative' emotions have to be felt, otherwise you don't get to the point where you can let them go. We all have examples of people in our lives who haven't been able to let go. They hold on to anger or sorrow, pulling it close like a precious child. How well does that turn out for them?

The problem is that many of us, myself included, hate letting our grief show in front of others. We have that whole 'stiff upper lip' attitude, that whole 'remain calm and carry on' thing gong on. Sometimes we can't remain calm. Sometimes we aren't supposed to remain calm.

There are many expections I'm sure, but this is my theory remember!

I don't think this reluctance is about looking weak, but more about not wanting to upset the people we love. We don't want them to see our pain thereby causing them pain, because we know how this pain sucks.

Yet when you're walking around with this unrelieved terrible sorrow sitting just below your skin, any slight tear will let it spill forth with potentially unwanted consequences.

You might be going along just fine, then a throw away comment, or a familiar scent, tears the sorrow right out of your cells and chucks it onto the floor right in front if everyone and a melt down ensues. Mortifying.

 To avoid the risk you have to stuff it down deep, really deep. Then the problems begin.

How do we avoid this situation? Well that's the trick isn't it.

To avoid the melt down, we have to feel the emotion and sometimes we just aren't ready. Sometimes life is so busy that we feel like we can't afford the time to feel sorrow, we have to keep pushing forwards or the whole thing'll go tits up!

My thought is that we have to give ourselves time. Not some metaphorical time somewhere in the future, but time today, this week. Undisturbed time with our memories, our thoughts, our feelings. And you need to give yourself permission, or at least some kind of acknowledgement that this is normal. Grief is normal. Evereyone's dealing with it, just not necessarily in a healthy way (and it's not only about death, grief comes to us through all kinds of loss).

I don't mean force yourself to feel. This isn't a race to get through to the feeling good again part. This is a process that can't be shortcut. I mean when the feelings come, and they will, acknowledge them, allow them but never force them.

Then we need some way of getting the sorrow out in a safe non-harmful way. Binge drinking and drug-taking is not the way people.

Everyone will have a different comfort zone around this part. Some people can just talk it out. I find that difficult. I'm better at typing it out.

Try journaling, painting, moving your body, or the ultimate, a bloody good cry. Get the tissues, a nice pillow to thump. Whatever works for you, as long as you don't put yourself in harm's way.

If all this fails. If you've given yourself time and permission but you're still stuck, unable to let go and feel the joy in life, then consider seeing a professional.

I don't know why our society has such a negative view of taking care of our mental health. We are not just a physical body. We are mind and spirit too. You don't call your neighbour a wuse for seeing the cardiologist for chest pain. So why look askew at someone who sees a psychologist for emotional pain? Each has the potential to impact our lives negatively. As Spock would say it isn't logical (and boy did he have issues!).

So give your self time, be kind to yourself, acknowledge that grief and sorrow are normal, and seek help if you can't manage.

This is just my opinion after dealing with my own experience of grief. Feel free to share your own experiences in the comments below.


As always, have a great week.

Grace

You know your kids are spoilt when...

It's hard to find that perfect balance between loving your child and spoiling your child.

You're moving along through life thinking you're doing an okay job. No-one's needing therapy. No-one's on medication for their nerves. Then your kids do, or say something that confronts you with the fact you might have been a little too nurturing. The following is a true account of the results of my excessive parenting.

You bring your child a glass of water at the dinner table. They respond "I didn't order water".

You ask your child what they want for lunch. They respond "a toffee-pop sandwich". They are shocked when you decline.

Your pre-teen child requests you make her an appointment  for 'a cut and colour'.

You take your child shopping. They choose a pair of denim shorts. The price tag states $105.00. You say "these shorts are over a hundred dollars!". Your child just looks at you. You explain they will have to pay for said shorts from their own account. They put the shorts back and ask to go to The Warehouse.

You ask your child to do the dishes. They fall on the floor sobbing about how they have to do EVERYTHING.

You drive your child to school because it's raining. You drop them at the gate. They say "can't you drive in?"

Your child surveys the fridge, bulging with food, and shouts "there's nothing to eat!"

Your child crashes your Valentine's dinner and talks for 45 minutes, non-stop, giving you a blow by blow account of The Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Your child has a complete meltdown when you refuse to combine part of the garage into their room to give her a walk-in wardrobe.

Your child explains to you that she plans to change her room decor every year. This year's theme will be X. She asks what her budget will be.


And the list goes on...


Let me know in the comments below if you've had similar experiences.



As always, have a great week.

Grace

 

 

 

What I've been reading...

I've always been an avid reader. Not necessarily an intellectual reader, let's be truthful, I'm in it for the entertainment. But whether you want intellectual improvement or purely vacuous entertainment, books are the answer.

Reading is a wonderful refuge. I've been shaped by the books I've read just as much as my real-life experiences. You can read my previous post on why I love to read here.

I can almost review my life according to its literary trends. There was the 'young-girl-finds-her-power phase thanks to Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew. The unfortunate, but on reflection, probably necessary Barbara Cartland years. Georgette Heyer taught me about history and linguistics. Then along came Maeve Binchy, who reconnected me to my Irish roots and is a master of characterization. Then came university and the text book years. Anatomy and physiology won-out over fiction. These I refer to as the Literary Lean Years. Fortunately for my soul, they did not endure long.

So many good books, so many stories and ideas, so much inspiration.

So how do you find a good book? I've found great reads through magazine reviews, library noticeboards, even by eavesdropping on other's book conversations. I cold-browse library shelves and I adore second-hand book shops. I love new book shops too. But second-hand adds something special, almost romantic to a book. And, importantly, it keeps dollars in my pocket for even more books. Occasionally I might even buy a book for its aesthetic appeal alone. It looks amazing, or is so old I can feel the history seeping from its pages.

I thought I'd share with you some of my latest enjoyments.

I recently visited a book shop in St Kevin's Arcade, Auckland. I love visiting this arcade. It's Art Deco era architecture is worth the trip alone. Lead-light glass fills the atrium with sunlight and the view over Meyer's park and the city is breathtaking. The arcade is filled with a mix of cafes, and tiny barista shops alongside vintage and retro-inspired shops, including The Green Dolphin. The Green Dolphin is the wardrobe-sized variety of book shop (if you didn't read the link above on why I love second hand books and my favourite type of bookshop you can read it here,). Three people and the shop is crowded, five people and we're falling over each other. cash only. I bought two books for the sum of $25. Far more expense than my usual charity shop finds but far cheaper than a new-book shop.

Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss.

Its about punctuation essentially. I bought it because I love to write almost as much as I love to read. Writing is a skill and it's one in need of constant improvement (particularly for me as I can't spell worth a damn and my punctuation could be described as ...developing). I expected a dry book of instruction that I'd have to force myself to endure. Instead I received an entertaining book by someone with an infectious passion for punctuation. The chapter on the apostrophe had me crying with laughter. Who would have thought a book such as this would be so entertaining? That's the beauty of a great, yet unexpected book find.







Vita & Harold; the Letters of Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicolson 1910 - 1962, edited by Nigel Nicolson.

I am very fond of volumes of letters. I mourn the passing of proper letter-writing. I don't think, in the future, volumes of emails will have the same feel as a proper handwritten letter. Volumes of letters are an amazing insight into our past, how people lived and how they thought. This volume was no exception. If you don't know these people (and I admit I had never heard of either before this book), they are English and wealthy. Both were writers, and you can still buy Vita's books on Amazon today. Harold was also a diplomat and many of his letters are set during WWI. His description of visiting the front (the main line of fighting) is savage in its imagery. I can barely read his description of the noise and the chaos, and the wounded arriving, and the flowering cherry tree under which sat buckets of body parts cut from soldiers, without crying. It lends new appreciate to why we celebrate ANZAC day. Not only is the historical content fascinating, Vita and Harold's relationship is riveting. They were married in 1913 and over the course of their relationship wrote over 10,000 letters to each other. That's 192 letters a year! They really loved each other, despite each having multiple affairs, Vita famously with Virginia Woolf. Some of the letters are a little over the top, but if nothing else, you'll be inspired to write a love letter of your own.


Let me know in the comments below what you've been reading. I love recommendations.



As always, have a great week.

Grace

A disaster and a new relationship

There are a few relationships in life that make such an impact on a girl she is never quite the same again.

My own relationship began in the late 90's. His name was Mark and when he ran his hands through my hair, I knew my life was about to change.
He stared into my eyes and said "are you ready?".
"Ooh yes please!" I relied, feeling goosebumps break out all over my arms.

I'm speaking, of course, about one of the most sacred relationships in a woman's life. One built on immense trust. One (hopefully) of longevity. One that's not easily replaced. One that is, arguably, essential.

I'm talking about the relationship between a woman and her hairstylist. That person to whom we entrust our crowning glory. That mane of femininity so important to our self-imagine that I have spent vast amounts (I hope The Bloke doesn't read this post!), I repeat VAST amounts of money upon it.

I know of woman who have been with their hairdresser longer than their husbands. When you find "The One" it really is life changing. Mark and I were together for five years. I traveled many miles to get to him and he was worth every minute of my time and every dollar from my bank account. I left his salon feeling like a million dollars. Every. Single. Time.

However Mark eventually left me for the bright lights of Australia. I was devastated, and my hair has never been the same again.

Since Mark, I have been to innumerable salons, stylists, and colourists. Eventually when I had the Misses A and B, I gave up going to the salon altogether. It was just too disappointing. I'd enter, full of hope and determined that this time I'd discover Mark II (excuse the Zephyr pun!). But it was never to be.

Years went by, my hair was randomly cut, and frequently coloured by me in my bathroom courtesy of L'Oreal nice and easy.

In 2016, I decided I had to let go of the dream. Just bite the bullet and get back into the salon. I started going to a local place. My stylist was perfectly fine, but not like Mark. I left happy, but not with that feeling of joie de vie that Mark bought me.

When my last appointment was due, Mum had just died. I couldn't face going into the salon, the same one mum went to. I couldn't sit there and make small talk while my heart was broken. So I cancelled and coloured my hair at home. Just after Christmas I needed another colour. I thought I'd just do it myself, again. But this time was different. Disastrous. Horrifying.

I used a different brand. I can't recall it's name. My hair came out an amazing luminous rich red. Then my hair started to come out...altogether!

I have always suffered from 'hair fall', a polite way of saying that as soon as I get stressed, within a few months, my hair starts to fall out. So at first I wasn't too worried. I thought, well with all the stressful events of 2016, its not surprising. But this time was much worse. Each time I washed it chunks of hair would be on the shower floor. Every time I brushed it more would fall out. The bathroom floor was covered in strands of red hair. I panicked. Would it stop? Would I go bald? Would I have to get a number one and start from scratch? What it if NEVER grew back...Eek!!!!

This was no time for penny-pinching. I made an appointment with a pricey but reputable salon.
"I need your best stylish", I told the girl on the phone. trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. "Someone really, really good".
"Don't worry" she said, "We'll take good care of you".
I didn't really have much hope. But I didn't want to go bald without a fight either. I'd researched on the internet and things didn't look good.

I arrived at the salon early, and met the stylist. Her hair looked amazing. Was that a good sign?
"It's not as bad as you think" she said "we'll do a treatment, and cut it shorter, it'll look much better".

"Okay" I said trying not to cry, thinking about cutting off my long(ish) hair.

"I'll get someone to wash your hair and do the treatment" she said. I was promptly led off to the washing station by a 12-year old with facial piercings. She said not a word, but proceeded to wash my hair with enthusiasm and vigour. Ten minutes later I was back in the stylist's chair, feeling like I had shaken baby syndrome.

An hour later I left the salon. Still no goose bumps, but happy that I appeared to still have a good amount of hair on my head. In fact, although it was shorter by about fifteen centimetres, it did appear to be healthy and thicker than when we started.
I thanked her, thinking this might be the beginning of an important relationship. My eyes strayed to her waistline. I prayed that was abdominal obesity hanging over the waist of her trousers.

"When would you like to come again", she asked, "I'll be leaving in April, to have my baby, but we should have your hair in good shape by then".
NOT abdominal obesity then, I had suspected as much. Another promising relationship turned to dust in my mind.

Trying to not sigh, I booked in my next appointment. I guess we should always make hay while the sun shines.

As always, have a great week.

Grace

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