Better than Sex!

...well, I think so. It's been so long that I can't quite remember...but in any case, this week has been one of the best ever!


It's been a week of getting things done. Actually, I've been getting things done all summer.
 I have been clearing out, dusting down, clearing out then washing. Then I cleared out and dusted down and cleared out and had a car boot!
Then I cleared out, organised and had another car boot.
Then I cleared out, had a change round and had another car boot! 

Then I thought I'd do a bit of sorting and chucking out but was thoroughly hacked off with car boots and so stuck stuff at the bottom of the drive with an honesty box.

Wish I'd thought of that before all those early mornings.

It felt marvellous; free if you will.

Free even if you won't.

Then, I got a man in. He put my blinds up and assessed my awning (too much material apparently)

I enjoyed that so much that I got another man in who took two days to flatten my mound.
It looks so much better and he had the good grace to leave a plum tree marking the spot.
He taught me lots about planting and trees and  that rats like dry roasted peanuts. 

Who'd have thought?

He arrived on the same day as my painter.
The painter and the mound flattener didn't like each other.
There was a bit of a Mexican stand off under my hanging baskets. It was so embarrassing.
They've gone to seed.
  (This house has been changed to protect identities)

The painter taught me patience, how to concentrate on 1 thing at a time and not fly off in all directions willy nilly . He taught me that I deserve 1 lovely room to sit in and to have someone do it properly. He taught me to value myself.
 He taught me that painters need an awful lot of tea.

Then I got a woman in to tend to the rest of my garden,which had gone a bit hysterical and then had a   breakdown.

She came round with lots of power tools and I got very excited. I love power tools.
There was the petrol strimmer -it really kicked the shit out of the triffids.
Then there was the 'hedge trimmers' -they seemed to masquerade as a chain saw. There were leaf blowers and loppers and choppers and spikey things and funny shaped spades. I was labourer all day and just  giggled because we were showing the fucking bastard garden who was boss at last.
I saw a couple of frogs.
I can see where edging is now....

................

..........................Sorry, just had a small weep of joy.

Oh and I had the most fabutastic massage yesterday. Guess what my fave bit was? (It was an all over body massage)
Nope! It was my hands and feet...Apparently we hold lots of stress in them. Something tells me if I had a petrol strimmer and industrial hedge trimmers, I'd have less stress.

Anyway, the point is, that I have finally and irrefutably discovered the joy of 'support'. I have always felt that I should be able to manage. But I can't and as my philosophical painter said, neither can he. We all need people to help us to do the stuff we aren't so good at, and sometimes, that needs paying for.

What I didn't expect was that, rather than feeling completely skint, I feel ...happy!
I think that's it, but it doesn't visit here very often. Overwhelmed visits quite often, but I think 'support' might be the antedote to overwhelmed. What's more it's totally addictive. I can't stop organising support.
The house has had to be tethered to the ground after all that clearing out. It feels so light and spacious and breathable that it thinks itself weightless. Then, like everyone who loses weight, it felt like sprucing itself up and showing off with some new clothes and  the combined effect is that there is enough space in my house to create enough space in my head to get on with work. Spending money might actually help me to earn a wage.

My life feels like it's being put through one of my dad's old garden sieves and the ground is smooth and fertile beneath. Those old bits of pottery and rock  and straw are slowly being put at the end of my life's drive.

It's surely better than sex for the effects will last much longer.

What's better than sex for you? 

Pam's thought for the day

I've been listening to Bob Geldof on Radio 4 in  'Meeting Myself Coming Back' . The format was to walk him back through his life, via the BBC archives. It was a hugely moving piece.
 I was struck again by what a unique man he is and the programme has made a huge impression on me. I have listened to it many times since and it pins me to the target every time. I offer up Bob for readers of Multiple Mum

Above all, his honesty is vast. He never excuses, or apologises for himself. He says what he means immediately, regardless of occasion and he supports himself  to do that. Even when listening to himself as a young man, he respects and agrees with his younger self, not once berating him for naivety, arrogance or for being misguided.
He absolutely stands four-square behind the person that he was then, giving him support and encouragement and giving weight and value to those young words. The wisdom of his age has not eradicated the wisdom of his youth.

To me, it seems absolutely clear, that even as a very young man, Bob Geldof  knew who he was. He spoke with clarity and conviction;  felt the need to please no-one, to conform to nothing but himself.

He was never held back by role or etiquette and is never intimidated by power or protocol. He absolutely uses his right as a free thinker, as a citizen of the world, to both stand up and be counted, and to bring others to account.

I so envy him his memories. Not his memories of Live Aid or punk stardom , but his memories of living as a man who is at home with himself; someone who is not afraid to be whole in public. I envy that.   

He also described the vastness of grief, it's limitless form. He talked of a destruction so complete that it ran like liquid horror through his veins. He would cry in his sleep and know this because he was still weeping when he woke.
And yet, like everything else he says, there seems to be not a trace of self pity or blame.  It was told because he was asked and that was the answer; it was how things had been.

And I am quite proud of a young Pam, who saw such a lot to admire in the young Bob. She knew quality when she saw it and could have done much worse than to use him as a role model.

 If only she had.