Diary Of A Redhead

[mylolita]

Exactly at the time of me writing about my Grandad above, he passed away.

 

My Dad just called.

 

What timing. I could go on about it, I could go into how I feel, but I already have.

 

Just silence and a moment of respect and memory. I think I honoured him in my own way.

 

You were very old, but happy. And now you rest.

 

And now, so should I. It’s late.

 

x

[mylolita]

After a heavy night, D messages me this morning to tell me some materialistic news that really perked a girl in mourning up.

 

George Smith sofa, coming my way. A beautiful traditional British designer of furnishings. Very luxurious and delightful. Don’t know what two toddlers bouncing on it everyday having a “dance party” is going to do for the springs but, whatever! 
 

I am one spoilt girl!

 

Definitely reminds me of the most tasteful casting couch you ever did see - LOL! My mind is eternally in the gutter. When things were gonna be rough round the edges, beachy and natural, it just got very British and luxurious all of a sudden. 

 

Thank you Mr D!

 

x

 

 

[Seraphim]

I am so very sorry about the loss of your grandad. 

[mylolita]

3 hours ago, Seraphim said:

I am so very sorry about the loss of your grandad. 

Thank you Seraphim.

 

It feels sometimes trivial, because, they were never your parent, they weren’t a husband, a child, or a lover. But they were the next closest thing. And your childhood and therefore your development is wrapped up with their being and memories.

 

My Grandma died in January who I was especially close too. I think it’s just been an up and down kinda year. I have had such major highs, and some real lows. Everything inbetween seems like waiting around!

 

I hope you’re feeling better today and your husband is picking up.

 

x

[Seraphim]

36 minutes ago, mylolita said:

Thank you Seraphim.

 

It feels sometimes trivial, because, they were never your parent, they weren’t a husband, a child, or a lover. But they were the next closest thing. And your childhood and therefore your development is wrapped up with their being and memories.

 

My Grandma died in January who I was especially close too. I think it’s just been an up and down kinda year. I have had such major highs, and some real lows. Everything inbetween seems like waiting around!

 

I hope you’re feeling better today and your husband is picking up.

 

x

I am so sorry you have experienced a lot of loss too lately . It just hasn’t been a good time for anyone . 💕

Hubby is getting better a day at a time. The neurogenic stutter is resolving and much better every week. His short term memory right now isn’t the best but the doctor said it will come with time . She is impressed with how he is coming along . 

[mylolita]

Part One

 

Ever had a sequence of events in your life happen, that when looking back over your shoulder after some passage of time, you realise were escalating towards a perfect storm?

 

A week after I saw the curtains close around my Grandmas reflective coffin, I forced myself to call my Mums eldest sister up, who always seemed to be the head and organiser of anything to do with my Mums side of the family. She is, fifteen years older than my Mum, who is the youngest of three daughters. 
 

“Val, is that you?” 
 

Sometimes you couldn’t tell whether her landline phone answer machine was starting a leave a message or she was actually picking up. 
 

“Lolaaahh! Oh, lovely of you to call!”

 

I just saw the vision of her snuck away, where she thought was private, battered leather bag crossed over her dumpy body, bent over a tissue, sobbing her heart out.

 

”Hi Val! I would love to go to Grandmas place, if okay… I’d like to just, take maybe a small memento, please.” 
 

I was trying to stop a lump forming deep in my throat. Don’t cry, just, be happy. Maybe she was thinking the same thing. Keep it light. 
 

She told me to go in, come round, collect the keys before they sold the home she had lived in since I was about 9.
 

She had moved from a very big, very old, but very dear to me, terrace house in a village. I remember saying goodbye to that house in my own little five year old way and feeling the first sensations of time moving on and, letting something go I would never be able to reclaim as my own again. They ended up moving into a tiny but modern and always stiflingly hot house, a road across from us. I remember always forgetting my house key when I was in secondary school, about 14, while my Mum was away finishing cleaning at the comp. I would open up the rickety gate, descend into the sloping back garden, and already begin to pick up the distinctly sweet, soapy, medicated, stew boiling in a pot smell of my Grandma and her house. That, she took with her from the old place. That followed her. It probably followed her to her grave.

 

I would knock on the plastic door. A small wait, and her bent, petite form would shuffle to start appearing at the window. She would set aside her Zimmer frame and her face would always have this warm and most genuine smile. I often wondered if, as tedious and quiet as being with my Grandma could sometimes be, especially as she had the tv relentlessly on… I often wondered if I used to forget on purpose, as an excuse to escape and be there with her, for that intimate half hour before I could go back?

 

She would make me a cup of very sugary tea, using those floral, dinky China mugs she had owned forever. Always set up on a plastic tray on the kitchen top, awaiting her, awaiting anyone. Kettle beside. 
 

I pulled up outside of Vals house. My baby daughter was with me, but not my other two. I knew it would be drudging up memories, and I didn’t want them to see me upset. Her head was softly slumped on her shoulder, her pale brows furrowed in sleep. That sleep only babies know. 

 

Val gave me a run down. Take what you want. There is nothing of value. I took that especially personally and offensive, as if I was some crude fortune hunter. I knew she had nothing and I didn’t care, that wasn’t the point. Val seemed shaky still to be talking about the house, and hardly mentioned “Mum”. I understood. I just leap out and gave her a hug. She let loose quickly, turned round back to her door and let me go.

 

I took my baby girl, held her close into my shoulder, still half asleep. Pulling into that drive didn’t seem as bad as I had envisioned.  I turned the round knocker on the gate. I descended that, lovely, familiar slope. But she wasn’t coming to the door. But, her smell was still there. I couldn’t believe it. 
 

I turned the key. I stepped onto her make shift rug I had stepped onto for decades. I struggled to slip my ankle boots off without putting N down. I squeezed my daughter and burst into tears. I just didn’t want to cry but, I don’t know, I wanted too and I could hardly stop myself. I had been holding back the last two weeks, finding tears coming hot and fast whenever I tried to mention her to D. I would literally shake my hands and waft the feeling away. I felt like if I started, somehow, I would never stop.

 

”Why did you have to die?” I just found myself whispering this over and over into her empty kitchen. The mugs still set up, the kettle still resting right beside, ready for tea. I could see her checkered dish cloth over the oven. Everything, everything and everything was there, folded, placed, exactly how she always had it. I almost couldn’t take it. I  nearly walked right back out.

 

I laid my daughter on her couch. She was only about 3 months old. She looked cute and cosy as a button in her snowsuit. I knew my Grandma would have absolutely adored to have met her. She was born while she was in hospital. My mum said she had seen a photo. I almost started smiling because, she had told me not to have anymore. She herself had been a mother of three, but with much bigger age gaps.

 

God. I knelt infront of her cabinet that kept her ancient, cheap trinkets. Everything, so personal and familiar. I had played with all of it as a toddler. I picked up a little brass bell. I always liked it. I used to pretend my dolls would ring it to let the others in. I sat it next to my daughter.

 

Glazing over photos propped up between the memorabilia. Photos of her youthful, with my Grandad, the wind whipping her chestnut hair as she is holding him. They are having a pic nic on a mountain. Photos of me, my sister. My Mum. My Mum the same age as my boy, a seaside visit. I ran my hands over her beat up books. All wartime tales of factory girls finding love and running off with soldiers. She always told me, the War had been a great time for her, even at 14, hiding under her under stair cupboard with her older sister. They had took in two American pilots who crash landed in her field. She fell in love with one of them, he had asked her to come marry him, live on his ranch in Texas. She had only been young. My Great Grandma had burnt the letters and called him to stop contacting her. She had never let it go, even after she got married to my Granddad. I think he was truly, her one and only love. I wish I had asked her more.

 

I saw her chair. Pink, with large roses printed on the fabric. A mismatch of blankets and throws over the back and arms. She was always cold. I saw my blanket, a checkered pastel thing, that I had bought for her Birthday, was at the top and forefront of all the others. My Mum had said she had used and loved it the best. 
 

I saw her frame. Her basket. Her salt shaker she took everywhere in the basket. I pressed it to my cheek. I wanted to take it so badly. I finally peeled it from my cheek and put it beside the little bell. “I love you, I love you, I love you” - it’s all I could think. I love you. Why. Why did you have to go and leave me? I love you. 
 

My daughter started to stir. I sniffed, tried to pull myself together. Took off my jacket. Opened up my bag, changed her on the floor. I cuddled her again into me, unzipping her coat. I walked past the hall mirror. I could see my face in it, unchanged, despite my sadness. The stair lift she never used. A pile of washing needing to be ironed folded up upon it. That made me smile. Then it made me cry.
 

I climbed the stairs. I had a drastic and urgent need to photograph the whole house. I just wanted to cling onto every single micro corner and feeling of it. I knew it was going to go, just like her. I wanted to fight against any change. The thought was hurriedly flying through my head, frantic. I resisted, but considered taking a picture of the living room on my way out.

 

When I opened the door to her bedroom, my sobbing, which had slowed, just caught me for six. I saw at least five torches hanging on her bed post. Her slippers strewn across the floor because, this is the room she had fell. Her dressing gown. Her dresser, with a hand sewn passage from the Bible, framed. I was frantic. I just wanted to throw myself on her bed, ball my eyes out into the duvet. Her smell was dominating this tiny, feminine room of hers. I couldn’t stand it, could hardly bear it. “Oh Grandma!” I called out to her.
 

I took one of her torches. I clasped it to me, as tightly as I was holding my daughter. Then, I suddenly started going through all her drawers. Train tickets, tissues, knickers, face creams. I just, wanted answers. I started to think, she might have left a message, or wrote something. She kept a diary for every year. I ran to the cupboard on the landing, started taking out all the diaries, flicking through. It was ordinary things in her flowery, shaky, small scrawl. Doctors appointment times. The time her brother had called her. 
 

I just, wanted her to have wrote something, anything. I just wanted something, one last time, to be spoken to me, from her. 
 

“Why didn’t you say anything Grandma?! Why didn’t you write? Anything! Why! Why why why why why why” I was just talking to myself, just throwing words out into her empty house, as if she was going to answer me. I don’t know why I suddenly expected her to have left me a secret message  

 

Then I got something. She had wrote, in the corner of the page,

 

“I might be old, but I am happy.”

 

I clasped it to my chest. I re-read it. I re-read it again. I could hardly read the words, blurred by my constant tears. “Oh God.” 
 

Something else. “Washing out, 10am.”

 

Her life was so, internal. She never left the house for at least the last ten years. She was semi-acrophobic even in her late 40s, and she had been 94 when she passed. I just saw that memo, unlike the other doctor appointments and friends who called scribbles. It was, so plain and, so telling of her insular and unchanging life. I got the feeling of, boredom and, loneliness, through that jot. Of course, it cast me into pieces.

 

I took that diary. I moved onto her shelves, which were behind mirrored sliding wardrobe doors. When I was little; I had liked nothing better than coming up into her room whilst she watched Corrination Street downstairs to dance and flit around and look at my youthful little self reflected back in those huge, at the time, endless seeming mirrors. Now a woman was looking back at that little girl, and she was holding a tiny baby. I was standing in the exact same spot I had always stood. I looked myself in the eyes. Big, green eyes. Knowing green eyes. Determined green eyes. A torrent in those eyes. I see you. You see me.
 

My Grandmas eyes had been small and piercing pale blue. 

 

Suddenly, I heard the door. Val was calling up. God damn her, I hadn’t had enough time. I had a feeling this might happen. There had been a rushed essence to my search. I quickly started to wipe my fingers under my eyes. I stopped breathing so fast, tried to calm myself down. I could hear the stairs creaking. I managed to call out, normal as possible, “No need to come up Val.”

 

We ended up sitting on her furniture downstairs. She just wanted to talk about the kids and my little baby girl. We both didn’t want to say a single thing about Grandma. I felt extremely protective over the items I had set aside. Val was eyeing them up, looking confused. I explained, is it okay if I take them?

 

She ended up bundling me out, locking the door behind me. I knew the house would be put on the market the next day. I didn’t look back, she was behind me and, I don’t know. I just didn’t look back. I was fighting with a hot knot in my throat and I was trying to blink away the urge to allow the tears all over again.

 

She told me to drive safe. She told me my daughter was beautiful, so beautiful. She told me I was beautiful. She told me, Grandma always loved me. She told me, she would have wanted me to have anything I needed to remember her by. God, I could hardly take it. I could feel a hot track of tears slowly starting to pool down my cheeks. I said I had to go. I turned back, changing my mind, and said, I’m so sorry Val. I said, I’m so sorry for everything my Mum has done and how you had to organise everything with no help. She brushed it off but appreciated it anyway.

 

My daughter was looking right at me in her car seat. I drove the whole way home crying my heart out, I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop thinking of, this song. I played the song, over and over. I couldn’t stop feeling like, something had ended, but something had began. I was a woman now. I had almost said goodbye to that little girl who, would sit on that raised up chair and drink that sugar tea and, just sit and adore and soak up any little ditty my Grandma would say. I knew she was left behind there. I knew I couldn’t take that with me. Neither myself or my Grandma.
 

I looked back at my daughter in the wing mirror. I felt like I had just gone to war, and come out with my baby, bundled, wrapped, safe. I felt fragile and strong all at the same time. I knew something was churning up in me. I had anger, hatred for my own Mother that had been dredged up by my Grandma passing. I had nerves, a whole unstable ball of them, unsettled stresses of having to move house with nowhere to go. I had walked into her tomb, but, it was a peaceful and steady place. It was okay. I was going to be okay. I could take care of my babies. I just felt, steady but all the while, overwhelmed. I couldn’t put my finger on it. So desperately sad.

 

I don’t know. Something died that day, and something was born. The perfect circle of life. 

 

————

 

I was lying in my bed 
A creature void of form 
Been so afraid of everything 
I need a chance to be reborn

I never wanted anything 
That someone had to give 
I don't live here anymore 
I went along the wind

When I think about the old days, babe 
You're always on my mind 
I know it ain't like I remember 
I guess my memories run wild

Like when we went to see Bob Dylan 
We danced to "Desolation Row" 
But I don't live here anymore 
But I got no place to go

Beating like a heart 
I'm gonna walk through every doorway, I can't stop 
I need some time, I need control, I need your love 
I wanna find out everything I need to know

I'm gonna say everything that there is to say 
Although you've taken everything I need away 
I'm gonna make it to the place I need to go 

We're all just walkin' through this darkness on our own

Time surrounds me like an ocean 
My memories like waves 
Is life just dying in slow motion 
Or getting stronger everyday?

I never took our love for granted 
You never left me wanting more 
But you'd never recognise me, babe 
I don't live here anymore

Beating like a heart 
I'm gonna walk through every doorway, I can't stop 
I need some time, I need control, I need your love 
I wanna find out everything I need to know

I'm gonna say everything that I need to say 
Although you've taken everything I need away 
I'm gonna take you to the place I need to go 

We're all just walkin' through this darkness on our own

Beating like a heart 
I'm gonna walk through every doorway, I can't stop 
I need some time, I need control, I need your love 
I wanna find out everything I need to know


We're all just walkin' through this darkness on our own 

We're all just walkin' through this darkness on our own 

 

———-

 

That night, I took out her torch from my bag. Her smell, that onion, healing cream, flowery power, talcum scent, was profound. I couldn’t stop crying. I just held it to my nose for hours in bed. I finally laid it on my bedside table. 
 

It sat there for a few nights. I would turn it on and off. The light had grown dim, the batteries were low. 
 

After those days, maybe I had walked through what I needed too. I packed it away with our moving boxes. I knew I would always need it, maybe need to have to have it by my bedside table - who knows? Maybe my bed post? Maybe only in the drawer. I just knew I didn’t want it out anymore. I wasn’t ready or, didn’t need to hold and look at it anymore.

 

She was always so scared. She was always so worried. But, I think she was stronger than she knew. Maybe we all are.

 

God, I miss you so much. I will always want you back, even just for one day. I will turn over everything I wish I had said to you until the day I die myself. I don’t want too though. I don’t want to die. I‘m scared, Grandma. Did it hurt? You always said you couldn’t do anything alone. But, if you got through it, got to the other side, maybe there is hope I can, too? Without fear? 

 

I know you understood me. We just didn’t have to say it always.

 

It‘s okay. I love you. I love you and, thank you… for always letting me in and, sleeping on the floor with me and, always making me, sugar tea.

 

I drove and drove and kept on driving from your house Grandma. I didn’t want to turn in. Something happened on that drive Grandma. My world changed. 
 

You stopped running and finally settled. I needed to ask you, how did you do it? 

 

How did you settle, Grandma? 

 

I know I was your favourite. You were always mine.

 

I love you.

I won’t say goodbye.

 

x

[Jibralta]

3 hours ago, mylolita said:

Then I got something. She had wrote, in the corner of the page,

 

“I might be old, but I am happy.”

🙂🙂🙂

[mylolita]

——-

Take my life 
Time has been twisting the knife,
I don't recognise 
People I care for

Take my dreams,
Childish and weak at the seams 
Please don't analyse 
Please just be there for me

The things that I know 
Nobody told me.
The seeds that are sown 
They still control me.

There's a liar in my head 
There's a thief upon my bed 
And the strangest thing 
Is I cannot seem to get my eyes open

Take my hand 
Lead me to some peaceful land 
That I cannot find 
Inside my head

Wake me with love 
It's all I need 
But in all this time 
Still no one said

If I had not asked 
What you have told me 
If you call this love 
Why don't you hold me?

There's a liar in my head 
There's a thief upon my bed 
And the strangest thing 
Is I cannot seem to get my eyes open

Give me something I can hold 
Give me something to believe in 
I am frightened for my soul 
Please, please

Make love to me, send love through me,
Heal me with your crime 
The only one who ever knew me 
We've wasted so much time,
So much time

So much time

———-

 

 

x

[mylolita]

———

It’s late,

time for bed. 
So I sit and I wait, for that gin and tonic to go to your head.

 

I know.
It’s a devious plan.

But it’s the only way I know, to get those big bad car keys outta your hand.

 

You know that I remain a gentleman

but even so,

there’s only so much a gentleman can stand.

 

Sleep with me.

 

Oh, sleep with me,

tonight. 
 

My cards are on your table, 

my dreams, are in your bed.

Oh, if I was ever able,

I’d be there,

instead.

 

Sleep with me,

tonight. 

———

 

x

[mylolita]

Life is for living, and I’m here, right now. I’ll die another day.

 

I may be your wife; I may be the mother of your children, but darling, I’m your woman. All your woman. I’m all grown. And when I’m in a good mood, honey, you’re playing with sweet, sweet fire.

 

Let’s go.

 

x
 

 

——

Hey, boy
Would you meet me on the roof tonight?
I got a surprise for you.

All (all) night long 
All night long 

Oh, something's got me so excited, baby
A feeling I've been holdin' back so long
You got me shook up, shook down, shook out on your lovin'
And boy,

I can't wait to get started lovin' you.


All night long (all night long)
I've waited for your love to come
Up to the roof to show you the proof
It's you that I love, I love

And now that I can feel you coming closer to me
I'm not running
Boy, may I say,
I can't wait to get it on.

I'm gonna give it to you
All (all) night (night) long (long)
(I can't wait to love you, baby)
I'm gonna give it to you
All (all) night (night) long (long)


Oh, something's got me so delighted, baby
I see your face in everything I do
You got me shook up, shook down, shook out on your lovin'

And boy,

there is just no way I'll ever get over you.
 

All night long (all night long)
I've waited for your love to come
Up to the roof to show you the proof
It's you that I love, I love

Up on this rooftop, I'll be waiting
For your love, anticipating.
Hurry up and come
'Cause I can't wait to get it on.

I'm gonna give it to you
All (all) night (night) long (long)
(I'm gonna give it to you, give it to you, give it to you, give it to you, give it to you)
I'm gonna give it to you
All (all) night (night) long (long)
(I can't wait to love you, baby)


Climb up on the ladder, don't stop
My love's waiting when you reach the top
I'm gonna give it to you
All night long

Climb up on the ladder, honey
What I got is better than money
All night long


Come on up, boy, don't be late
What I got for you won't wait
All night long

I'm gonna give it to you

———-

 

 

 

 

 

[mylolita]

——

In the thundering rain 
You stare into my eyes.
I can feel your hand 
Moving up my thighs.
Skirt around my waist,
wall against my face,
I can feel your lips.

I don't wanna stop just because 
People walking by are watching us.
I don't give a damn what they think,
I want you now.
I'm not gonna stop no, no, no 
I want you.

All I wanna say is…

Any time,
And any place.
I don't care who's around.
Any time,
And any place.
I don't care who's around, no, no, no, no, no
 

——-

 

 

Sometimes, little sentences, as mundane or insignificant or flippant or ordinary as they can be, stick in my mind and I remember them forever.

 

One night, the club was so slow and empty. A few guys sat around the dim tables, lit by low yellow lamps. When on stage, you could only see the outlined shadow of figures in the dark, melting into the plush carpet.

 

There was a DJ called Grant. Silver haired, tall, square shouldered, with the smooth silky voice of a has been radio presenter. He was corny and flirty and respectful and fatherly, all at the same time.

 

I was hung over one of the railings, probably twirling my ankle, watching the glittered strap of my heel reflect the lilac over light. He cocked his head towards me, peering above the high booth.

 

”Lo! Lo!” 
 

“Grant?” He was smiling. He had a fantastic set of straight, white teeth.

 

”Get on the stage Lo. I know you love to dance. They’d love to see you dance. I’d love to see you dance! Get up!” Cheeky 80s grin that probably got him laid plenty in the same era.

 

And before I could disagree, one of my favourite songs started. I slowly ascended those three, wide steps up to the floor.

 

And, I just danced, and enjoyed myself, and flicked my hair. And danced for no one, and everyone, and myself, and my husband, who wasn’t even there. I danced because I could and because I was damn good at it. I never preformed once on that stage. Ever. The performance started when I stepped off. When real life began. 
 

Back to the tiny audience, slowly sliding up, down, slink, back, forth. Pace, slowly, around. Lace encased behind teasing the pole, back arched, languidly. I was laughing at Grant. He was nodding his head like a happy school boy who’d just snuck a kiss round the bike sheds. We had a good dynamic. I rolled my eyes his way, then turned back to face the transfixed.

 

When you do something you love, most moments are blissfully happy and, simply in synch with your inner passions.

My favourite cheeseball! 
 

And I just didn’t care! 
 

Him telling me to dance because he knew I loved too always stuck in my head. Most of the girls there would have only done anything if they were getting paid for it.
 

I was there for fun. And I had it, too.
 

A good couple of years went by, and I had left the club for at least nearly the same time. 
 

I’d been dragged to a night out in a huge club that was spread over many floors, with different DJs and different music on each level. For someone who had always worked in bars, either behind them or infront of them, I actually hated going out myself. I would hardly party. I was, if ever, more of a house party kinda gal.
 

I was with one of my friends. She’d been pulling me behind by my hand, swapping from room to room, drunk and not knowing what she was looking for. Maybe a cute guy. Maybe the right mood. 
 

She settled on one of the smaller floors, immediately twirled me round. We danced casually. I was letting my eyes wander, people watching and night dreaming, when I heard a very familiar, silky smooth, corn ball of a masculine voice over the microphone, blotting out the music. 
 

“AAAAAAND THIS ONE’S FOR YOU, LOLA!”

It was God damn Grant. He was the DJ for the floor. He was holding his hand up over the booth in a wave! I gave a mock timid, lady like wave back, secretly delighted and totally embarrassed. My friend was looking at me bewildered like, who’s this old wannabe Hugh Hefner?! Everyone had stopped to stare at me. He only went and repeated:

 

”BECAUSE I LOVE TO SEE YOU DANCE!”

 

God. He really did! 

 

I died a thousand credit deaths and any coolness I possessed was evaporated in his silver fox poof. But, I really liked him. 
 

I never saw him again after that.
 

Sometimes, I wonder if he’s still behind a mixing desk Thursday through to Saturday, interjecting on his microphone, introducing songs!
 

x

 

 

 

[mylolita]

——

 

I got my eyes on you,

you’re everything that I see.

I want you hot love and emotion, endlessly.

 

I can’t get over you,

you left your mark on me.

I want your hot love and emotion,

endlessly.

 

Cos you’re a good girl and you know it.

You act so different around me.

Cos you’re a good girl and you know it,

I know exactly who you could be.

 

So just hold on, we’re going home.

Just hold on, we’re going home.

It’s hard to do these things alone.

Just hold on we’re going home.

 

———

 

x

[mylolita]

The whole world suddenly went dark. Grey clouds casting over the relentless sun and brightness of a week.
 

I could feel the temperature descend. I could feel the pollen being told to p*** off. What’s that? A slow starting, heavy pit Pat, pit Pat, building up in speed on the sky light?

 

RAIN!

 

Thank God for the rain! Huge, glorious, pregnant drops! 
 

I ran out of the flat and stood outside of the door, in brief, content rapture, with the verve and life and unbelievable joy of someone who had just been emancipated from a death camp.

 

A guy called across me from the street, “We’re in for two days of storms!”

 

My heart rejoiced!

 

x

[mylolita]

Ever just feel the urge for a cocktail? Doesn’t matter what time it is?

 

S**t has been hitting the fan for the last year or two and sometimes, ya girl who doesn’t drink, ever - just wants a lil cosmo. Even makes the kids fighting seem… kinda funny 🥹 That face they pull when they nip each other to the bitter end? It’s quirky and, wow, so expressive!

 

HAHAHA

 

X

[Jibralta]

5 minutes ago, mylolita said:

Ever just feel the urge for a cocktail? Doesn’t matter what time it is?

Always.

[mylolita]

Yesterday evening, we began our new little family summer tradition, which seems to be, D comes home from work, I have the kids ready and amped up as they always are, wet suits on, and we head out to take the five minute woodland walk to the beach.

 

The days here have been amazing. Warm, just a slight ocean breeze. I feel so thankful and lucky to live by the sea. I never valued it before. 
 

The ocean was flat as a pancake, as oceans go. It was 8pm but the sun didn’t seem to want to set. Gorgeous. Hardly a soul on the beach. The water was flat and shallow. Seemed like you could just walk out and only get only your ankles wet forever. 
 

A few young girls were galloping horses across the foam. It made me feel emotional, and almost tearful, to see such wild but tamed creatures, full speed, across an empty beach.

 

The kids were laughing, splashing. They played their own games while we chatted and hugged close, looking in amazement at this little blonde curly family we created in such a short space of time. Lil bambino was curled up into me in a sling. When she smiles, which is always, two little white teeth blink at you from the bottom of her gum, and now, two little white ones with a gap inbetween at the top! 
 

Bare feet, water rushing back and forth with the tides. The way they sink into the sand. It’s exceptionally… healing. I don’t know. It just is. In that moment and time, I felt almost baptised. 
 

We have to leave our current holiday home next week. We are locating to a static home with a wooden porch wrapped the whole way round. Two bath, two bed. Very tiny. But in a valley and woodlands only a ten minute drive away. Final push to finish our new house. I am so looking forward too it. There is a babbling stream, huge evergreen trees that touch the sky. Exotic birds and pheasants strutting around across the empty private road. But, last night I realised, I am going to miss living right onto the ocean.

 

I have a new affinity with the coast and these cliffs. Maybe the wild emotion in me relates to their changing and unpredictable moods. The rugged landscape. The way everything is natural, and obeys only their own laws unto themselves. 

x

 

[Jibralta]

2 minutes ago, mylolita said:

A few young girls were galloping horses across the foam.

Ugh. It is so much fun to canter a horse through water. They take these great leaping bounds to get their feet free for the next stride. It's what riding a dolphin must feel like. 

[mylolita]

4 minutes ago, Jibralta said:

Ugh. It is so much fun to canter a horse through water. They take these great leaping bounds to get their feet free for the next stride. It's what riding a dolphin must feel like. 

I often meant to ask you about your experience with horses Jib! What was it like? 

 

I can see why painters love to pain them. So beautiful. So strong at the same time, but with those soppy doe long lashed eyes!

 

I know someone who owns a lot of race horses and his wife is also completely obsessed. I think once you fall in love with horses, there’s no going back!

x

 

[mylolita]

Some of the things you coo at babies when alone and in an empty room! 
 

Anyone would think you were doolally! What do they call it? CUTE AGGRESSION?! 
 

Me:

 

”Ohhhhhh Neeee! You are soo Kuuuuuuuwwwuuuut! Come here!”

 

She’s trying to commando crawl across for a toy and I get her and start pretending to munch at her tummy and she’s giggling and closing her eyes and then laughing and squealing and through the baby sounds I say, 

 

“I’m gonna EAT YOU UP! You’ll be eaten by tomorrow!!!”

 

More laughs, more nuzzling.

 

”LET ME CONSUME YOU!”

 

🤪

 

x

[Jibralta]

10 minutes ago, mylolita said:

I often meant to ask you about your experience with horses Jib! What was it like? 

It's the best thing on earth (besides love!). Physically grueling. The concentration, patience, and sheer force of will totally clears the mind and keeps you in the moment. I've driven to the stable with a deep furrow in my brow and driven away with a completely smooth brow.

10 minutes ago, mylolita said:

I can see why painters love to pain them. So beautiful. So strong at the same time, but with those soppy doe long lashed eyes!

“There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.” ~ Winston Churchill

They're beautiful, but they don't have that same domestic quality that dogs and cats have. They're not cuddly. Some are more personable than others, but if you never show up again they aren't going stand by the door and cry for you lol.

 

[mylolita]

Moving temporarily to this little static home in the valley is filling me with happiness and expectation.

 

I have secretly always wanted to live in a tiny, semi-isolated, simple way.

 

I often think, how much of our lives are for others? How much is, one big show?

 

I look to the new house we have, in it’s large and formal proportion. Something bubbles up in the pit of my stomach that I often push down. Is a big reason I pushed to buy the house to do with, what is expected of me? What I think I should be doing? And, I impressing others? To my own sacrifice and detriment? Probably a whole lot more than I would ever care to admit.

 

To compare your life to others, is a losers game. It’s a sure road to unhappiness, for me, anyway.

 

I often wonder how things would emerge if I were truly left to my own devices. Without any external affects or pressures or prying eyes and opinions. If I were, just cut off, I a wood, with my family? Would I still be obsessed by my closet, and what hangs in it? Would I always be after the next thing? Would I still have a preoccupation with interiors, and aesthetics, in general? Would I dress differently? Would I start being more silly? Would I start laying in late? Would I start playing the guitar again? Would I pick back up my art that I left back when I was doing it as a subject in college? Would I write more, but more for me? And not with others in the back of my mind? 
 

I am sure, all of that. 
 

I often daydream what that simple, Pure, and more authentic version of me looks like. Who she is, and how she feels? It is a total paradox. On one hand, I dream about a “fantasy” self which is full of luxury and glamour. But then, there is this conflicting woodland girl who doesn’t wear shoes much, and definitely doesn’t care about designer satin platform heels she never wears much anyway.

 

The question is, I guess - are you happy?

 

What makes you happy?

 

Are you there? Are you doing it? Is what you think will make you happy, really what will make you happy? Really? 
 

There are aspects of my life I adore. Others that bind me. Some day you wake up to see the golden bars that trap you.

 

x

[mylolita]

I have realised that when left alone, when all the kids have gone on their nap, D is out or away, and I have the house empty and silent for a few hours, after a time has passed, I will start to talk to myself.

 

Not, mega long sentences back and forth but, the odd comment just slips out. 
 

I was watching a YouTuber and was trying to load a video up (the service here is not great). It was about working in a book shop. I clicked and then it stalled and I clicked again.

 

”Come on then girl, let’s have this book house then!”

 

I realised I said “book house” instead of “book shop”. I started laughing, manically, like Tom Cruise interviewing about Scientology. I gave myself the total giggles.

 

”BOOK HOUSE!” I say into the empty room, slapping my thigh, then start laughing my ass off to no one again. 
 

Sometimes the days are long, okay!

 

x

[mylolita]

More examples of my personal running commentary too myself:

 

Getting into the car, that I just washed inside and out to my babies turmoil and tears (she hated the spray!) the day before. I saw dust from where D had been sat from being at the new house.

 

”Can’t even keep it clean for a day. What’s the point she says.”

 

Driving around the country roads to the big shop. Cars zooming around a blind corner:

 

”You don’t know these roads babe.”

 

🤪

 

x

[BecxyRex]

I wonder about this happiness thing quite a bit. I don’t think happiness is an end goal to be achieved, but more an accumulation of little moments throughout the day or week. I feel happy lighting a fall scented candle for the first time after summer, or baking a peach pie on a sunny day. Yikes that sounds cheesy? I think as long as any major obstacles in life are taken care of, happiness comes in little moments like these. They can be fleeting if you have a lot on your plate but I think it’s worth relishing in these little minutes in between where you feel a nice summer rain on your skin or you’re cozy inside during a thunder storm. I’m only learning to value these minutes now that I’m approaching middle age and time with my little one seems to just fly out of my hands 

[mylolita]

6 hours ago, BecxyRex said:

I wonder about this happiness thing quite a bit. I don’t think happiness is an end goal to be achieved, but more an accumulation of little moments throughout the day or week. I feel happy lighting a fall scented candle for the first time after summer, or baking a peach pie on a sunny day. Yikes that sounds cheesy? I think as long as any major obstacles in life are taken care of, happiness comes in little moments like these. They can be fleeting if you have a lot on your plate but I think it’s worth relishing in these little minutes in between where you feel a nice summer rain on your skin or you’re cozy inside during a thunder storm. I’m only learning to value these minutes now that I’m approaching middle age and time with my little one seems to just fly out of my hands 

Becxy!

 

This is all so true and you are right! You really are! 
 

Sometimes something that happens for only 10 minutes in the middle of the day can bring sheer joy! I think… I need a bit of a break! This is tired talk. My husband is normally my wing man and he facilitates any breaks but, he’s been so busy with the house, with trying to keep working during it all (hasn’t happened much, house has taken over!) 

 

He’s away on business again today. Because the kids are young and especially our baby, it feels like parenting is around the clock. Well, it is really. She wakes at 5am now and often I can get her to sleep in but then I regret it! The whole day is off kilter! Or she’ll wake up at 2am. Then the other two are fighting for me attention from 6:30 onwards. I am starting to feel guilty because at the same time my son will be like, “PLAY TRAINS WITH ME!” And my daughter is saying at the same time over him, “You be Donald I’ll be Minnie you have to say it’s time for tea and then I’ll say no not yet!” And then my very chilled out baby is normally sat there looking or about to crawl and destroy a game one of others has carefully set up and I see a split second before WW3 breaks out - LOL! 
 

And I’m thinking yes I’d love to do ALL of those things bambino and bath the baby at the same time BUT I just would like to have a cup of coffee and a shower. When I do get away it takes twenty minutes and they are shouting they want to wear their wet suit or he hit me or MAAAAAM I wanna CUUUDDDDDLLLLLEEEE! 
 

😅

 

Some moments are tranquil and picture book. But we never seem to be an in excess of an hour away from some other kind of toddler moment - HA! 
 

I just feel like our life is so much busy than anyone else’s we know? Self inflicted I realise. But sometimes I pooo to others we know who just have a 9-5 job and not much else and almost imagine the rest. HA!

 

x