Dad

Today on Father's Day we celebrate our fathers, give them gifts and pamper them. Those of us who have lost our fathers remember them and are very grateful for our time with them. I lost my Dad when I was just ten years old. I had him for a very short time. In some ways this is very sad but in others it has its benefits. Often, when I hear people praising my lovely Mum there is a mention of a fault of my Dad. It is not done unkindly just showing how good my Mum was, and she really was. This is where the benefit side comes in for me. Children see the world as beautiful, for it is, and, unless it is really horrible, they see past faults and ignore many. I have no recollection of my Dad's faults. My memories of Dad are all positive. I remember the love he showed me. I remember how he taught me to accept everyone, regardless of race or creed. I remember how he taught me to stand up whenever I saw or heard prejudice and injustice. I remember how much he made me and people around him smile and I remember how much he was loved - at his funeral there wasn't room inside for all who attended, there was a crowd outside who wanted to pay their respects too. That was because, despite his faults, he was a good man who cared about all mankind and in return they cared for him. I try to be the person he expected me to be. I get it wrong sometimes because I too have my faults, but each time I get it wrong I try harder because my Dad was right, this world works better when you love your fellow man and work together in a positive way.

Don't Let Hatred Ever Win

                                       My mother taught me love

                                       To forgive when you were wronged

                                       That's what my mother did

                                       And that's why she was strong

                                       My father taught acceptance

                                       Of folk from other lands

                                       He practised what he preached

                                       As he gently held my hand

                           

                                       My mother said "Don't listen

                                       When people speak with hate

                                       The truth gets lost, not cared about

                                       It's such a sorry state"

                                       My father gave me time

                                       Helped me pause to think things through

                                       That when upset and angry

                                       "You stop and think, you do"

                                       My mother showed me kindness

                                       How to love my fellow man

                                       Now, even on dark days like these, 

                                       I do the best I can

                                       My parents were amazing

                                       They taught how life should be

                                       Don't let hatred ever win

                                       Love's better you will see

Did The Sun Really Always Shine?

Recently I have been revisiting my childhood. There is a new approach to stress and anxiety of giving adults Mindfulness Colouring Books. My husband bought me some for Christmas and a super set of colouring pens. I enjoy using them and, yes, they do relax me. I began to wonder why, then one evening as I was sprawled on the carpet in front of the TV news I had a flashback to doing exactly the same thing as a child - colouring in while my parents watched the early evening news, I think that is what relaxes us. It takes us back to our childhood when we were happy, had no worries and knew we would always be looked after.

We mostly have happy memories of childhood. I remember playing outside with my friends from dawn to dusk - hide and seek, tying skipping ropes to lampposts if you were a few short, football in winter, cricket in summer, roller skating - our skates had a piece of leather that tied over your toes and a strap that fastened round your ankles when your feet grew you undid a screw and lengthened them. I remember playing in the garden making mud pies (do children still do that? My son says no) The summers seemed to last forever - at least that's how it felt. I remember very few rainy days. My husband says that's because I was stuck inside, bored.

I don't actually remember ever being bored. I do remember playing indoors but I don't recall the rain. Memory is a weird thing. I would play with my dolls house, my brother's old train set, I'd build things with Meccano or Betta Builda. I would spend hours with paper dolls, changing their paper clothes, I could colour in for ages. In those days we didn't have the Disney Store, dressing up outfits were your Mum's old castoffs but, with childhood imagination, they were just as much princess dresses as Sleeping Beauty had.

Then there was reading - oh I could read and read. I read in bed every night and every morning, My Mum would often come in to find me asleep with a book on my nose. I had some new books and lots of old ones inherited from relatives - all were magical and took me to imaginary lands in my head. I lived with the storybook characters - apart from the ones in Alice in Wonderland - they terrified me - as did Rumplestiltskin in the Ladybird books. I can remember being curled up in a comfy chair reading. It must have been raining for me to be indoors but I don't recall. I just remember being very happy.

My memories of Primary school are equally as happy. I can remember the excitement of learning new things there. In fact I can associate a lot of the nature and linguistic facts I know with which classroom and teacher I learned them with. Primary schools were fun places then, not at all an environment where teachers and children were stressed and anxious but we learned so much in those happy places. Playtimes were fun too. In the summer we played on the Infants field, making daisy chains, We'd play 'ollies' for keeps in juniors, or skip, or knot dozens of elastic bands together for a jumping game. We'd play two balls - juggling against the wall underarm, overarm, under your legs - we were skilful - and we were champions at handstands against the school wall.

Apart from one lightning storm one afternoon in Infants school I only remember the sun shining at school but I guess it was probably similar weather to now. I do know one thing though. We sure were happy!

What is a Christian?

"So you're a Christian?"

That is a question I am sometimes asked, followed by people stepping back as though I am going to eat them alive. Once many years ago I gave a lift to a colleague at my new school in the pouring rain. She gratefully climbed into the car and then thanked me profusely whilst adding that she was so surprised that I would offer her a lift. I was thoroughly bewildered. Even more so when she told me why. She had announced that day that she was to have a lovely baby. This, it seems, was why she thought I would not let her into my car. "Well I'm pregnant and not married - and you're a Christian" she said. I really could not believe that anyone could think I would be such a judgemental prig. Later she often laughed about it and said "Well you're not exactly a normal Christian are you?"

Which brings me to the question I am asking in this blog. What is a Christian? We once had a vicar who gave a sermon about this and informed us that if he asked everyone in the church he would not get the same answer twice. I really don't think he would. So if we are all so different then why do we get the same label? Probably because, as with everything, it's only the negative side of things that gets the publicity and is then classed as 'the norm'. I don't think I can ever be accused of fitting anyone's 'norm' in anything.

So today I am going to explain what being a Christian means to me. You can read, find out more and then at least choose to avoid me with the truth rather than an imagined idea of who I am.

Well first of all I believe that a Christian is a follower of Christ's teachings - or at least what his friends remembered and wrote down about his teachings. From what I read this is based on tolerance, forgiveness, understanding and, before you start to have a go at others, accepting that you're not so great yourself! So I will not judge you,I have no right, because I have made plenty of mistakes of my own and am sure to make plenty more. I believe that we are all here to help and support each other wherever possible. I don't manage to get that right always but I try my best. It's all I can do.

So do I believe all that is written in the Bible? I am afraid that I do not. The Bible was written by humans, simple fallible humans, making sense of the world as  best they could.  As with everyone I choose to follow the parts of the Bible that speak to me and that I feel make me a better human being - there are a lot of those. I am an evolutionist, rooted in scientific fact and I am afraid that I do not believe in the virgin birth, I believe the resurrection was probably because medical standards then could not determine a death as we can now. This may shock many other Christians but to me this does not make him any less of a person whose teachings are worth following. He preached about ways of living that I still believe to be right today. Yes, he was called the son of God but he taught all to call God Father so I don't think it lessens my faith if I believe him to be just a wonderful human. Yes I still feel happy accepting the Trinity - I follow the Father, the teachings of Jesus and I sure get a lot of help from somewhere so I count that as the Holy Spirit giving a little help.

I also believe that Jesus would have taught far more acceptance than my Church allows today. Don't tell me that there were no women followers or that he would have let gay people be punished etc because I do not believe this to be the case. His story was written by friends who had watched their leader put to death in the most horrific way. I am sure that if I was trying to spread his teachings then that I would have been careful what I wrote too. The truth is that we do not know but I try hard to love my neighbour as myself and I don't believe that should have a lot of exceptions added.

So what about God? Do I believe in an invisible, all seeing being who answers prayers? Yes, I do. Do I believe that he/she is full of wrath and judgement? No, I do not. I believe him/her to be a loving God. And, before you ask, no I cannot explain all the suffering in the world and, yes, I do get very angry about it all very often but that doesn't stop me believing or praying. I am sorry if this makes you feel uneasy but it is just the way I am. Do I believe that only Christian prayers are answered? No I do not. I believe that we all pray to the same Deity just in different guises.

So, that is what being a Christian means to me.  Now, if you still choose to avoid me, at least you are doing it knowing who I am and I respect your decision.

Make Time For Yourself

I often complain that the world is too fast, that businesses rush their staff around the country and the world and work doesn't allow for family time - that everything is just too fast and this is leading to stress and anxiety. Just recently I realised that I am as guilty of that as everyone else. My husband often tells me to just sit down and read a book and stop bustling about, stop volunteering for things, stop trying to do everything perfectly. I say that I have to complete the day's tasks and still feel a failure - Why? Because it is impossible to achieve perfection - in anything, and why would we want to?

My mother had a saying - 'The Dust Will Be There Tomorrow' - she was right. I get stressed and worried that everything isn't getting done. When what doesn't get done can be done later. This year I shall live by my Dad's phrase 'A house should be clean enough to be healthy and messy enough to be home.'

A big clear out of books and DVDs will help ease the work and restock the charity shops. There is decorating to be done but it will be done in a paced manner not charged at in the first month.

There will be more time allocated for walks and cycling. I love doing these things but have become house based and social media addicted. I shall get out more this year and breathe fresh air. I stress that our teenager has hit the 'don't get me out of bed before 3' stage. She is nearly 18 and doesn't have to come with me. If she doesn't want to get up, then she can stay, just like every kid her age around the country. Hills, woods, moors and coast - here I come.

There will be more time for my tai chi and zhan zhuang workouts, So many days I have missed practice because 'there isn't time anymore' When there is time I am calmer, I accomplish more and realise that a day that starts with a workout is easier. A world of relaxation and strength awaits.

I shall be spending much more time in my garden from now onwards. I love my garden. It is one of the most relaxing places there is, I love working there and I have some very big plans for it this year. I am really looking forward to summer tea in my new masterpiece.

On days when I am indoors there will be more time for reading, music and enjoying time with my family. The children grow so quickly I want to treasure every moment. The time with my husband when he is not at work is to be cherished and I intend to do just that. Cherish them all.

So, the New Year will not be filled with just housework, though that needs to be done. I shall be saying no more often when asked to do things. I'll still be walking the dog, going to football and martial arts classes but I shall be spacing everything else out and ensuring plenty of time for meditation, relaxation, and, of course, visits to my beautiful beach.

In short I have woken up and smelled the daisies (my favourite flower), realised that I have let my life become too busy and too fast, which is stressful and not good for my family or myself. I am taking time for me this year and that will mean extra time for my lovely family - and, hopefully, a much calmer wife and mother.

A Happy New Year to you all. Take time to slow down your lives a little and make some time for yourselves - you are worth it and, if you are happier, then everybody wins.

My Life As An Olympic Swimmer

Swimming has always come naturally to our family. No wait a minute, swimming has never come naturally to our family. My mother, to the day she died, never learned to swim. It wasn't her fault. She attended swimming lessons with her school. She went every single week. But she also felt the cold more than most. She would get into the pool and the instructor would give out instructions to the class. By this time my mother would have turned blue and would be ordered out of the pool. This was the case week after week and so my mother left school never having learned to swim.

Over the years she developed a, I suppose in her case healthy, fear of water. Every year we would travel to the Isle of Man for our summer holidays and while my older brother and sister were diving from the floating board and swimming for England, I was to paddle to my mid calves and go no further. You should never get out of your depth Janet or the tide might carry you away!

Then one summer my Dad decided that it was time that I learned to swim and we all trundled to the swimming baths, Mum watching from the spectators' area. Dad had been explaining to me about water giving you buoyancy and how I would always float as he gradually, without my realising, took his hands away from me and I was floating unaided, at the age of five! By 1984 I would have been ready for Olympic gold! Well I was floating until, from the spectators seats my Mother's voice screamed "Oh my God he's let her go!" Then I realised that he had too and plummeted like a stone! From this point my mother regarded my dad as an unsafe swimming instructor and that was it for swimming until I was ten and had school lessons.

School lessons, unfortunately, did not go to plan either. Remember I was a child scared of water, I mean with a healthy respect for water. Well week one I climbed into the learner pool (4ft deep) full of enthusiasm. The instructor, a man who thought he was teaching Mark Spitz, marched across and said "Right, all put your heads under the water" I looked in horror. Surely this madman could not mean me? I would most definitely drown! I ignored him and stood shaking in the water. It was obviously a test to work out who the fools were. The madman, not being one to suffer wimps, then put his hand on my head and pushed me under! After considerable coughing and spluttering I retreated to the middle of the pool, where the madman could not reach me and burst into tears. We were then divided. The good swimmers were taken to the main pool with the madman - who my friends assured me was perfectly sane and an excellent swimming teacher who they all adored. Us duffers remained in the learner pool with the lovely Mrs Mott who was so good she taught me to swim within four weeks. I realised, however, that if you could swim a length you were moved up to the big pool with the scary man who tried to drown me (okay he didn't actually try to drown me, but I was ten and I saw things differently then) so as Mrs Mott said surprisingly I could swim seven widths straight off but could never quite make a length without having to stop halfway. I didn't manage one until the very last lesson, so I never made it up to the main pool. Surprising that.

I rarely swam again until a friend at school decided we should get fit together and off we went, gradually building up to twenty lengths quite quickly. I was surprised how much I enjoyed it. We went a few times every week and I became a good swimmer. Er well sort of.

We ensured our children learned to swim and I actually taught our youngest myself. Now that is how I found out that I was not the fantastic swimmer I thought. An instructor was in the pool one day and decided to help my son improve his strokes. As he corrected every fault I realised that I had taught my son every one of them. Quite an achievement. I bet none of you could teach as many bad strokes as I managed. Mind you it is difficult to swim perfectly whilst holding your head clear of the water.

After my disastrous attempt at running, and the various injuries I've had over recent months, I have decided to recommence my swimming career. Next week I shall be back to the pool , I may dip my head in the water as far as my chin and build up those lengths and my perfect strokes. So if there are any talent scouts out there looking for a future Olympic swimmer I should be ready by about 2054!

My Beautiful Coast

Whenever I start to talk to people who live some distance away about how I live in a small suburb of Liverpool and that we have a beautiful beach they look at me as though I have lost my mind. "You live near a big city with docks, your beach must be in your dreams!" When they eventually come to visit our coast they are always pleasantly surprised and often amazed that we have this small piece of heaven so close to a big city.

I have loved my beach since I was a small child. My mother and sister would pack a bottle of lemonade and sandwiches and off we would go for a day at the seaside with buckets and spades, collecting shells, looking for starfish. The magic and fun never ended.

My Dad would also take us down to the beach and he would tell us about all the ships coming and going, where they were from, where they were heading and the cargo they carried. He managed to make it all sound so amazing. He had been in the Royal Marines and sailed around the world but sometimes he would show me the ships and tell me how, when I grew up, they would take me anywhere I wanted to go and that I would see places that he had only dreamed of. Somehow I have made it to fifty and not sailed anywhere further than France but I do intend to rectify that and go visit some of the places my parents dreamed of.

As a teenager I used to go for beach picnics with my friends and sometimes, in the dead of winter, we would don wellies and waterproofs and go paddling in the rain while we put the world right and made future plans.

When I married I moved with my husband closer to our places of work and for four years I was unable to walk to my beach. I missed it so much. Moving back to Crosby was truly wonderful. It felt like a  real homecoming,even though we had lived a relatively short distance away. My husband loved the town immediately and asked me why I hadn't talked him into moving back much sooner.

We now have Antony Gormley's In Another Place on our beach and the Burbo Bank windfarm in the distance and, for someone who doesn't like change, I have been perfectly happy with both. The Iron Men are like family now. After all they do support the same football team as me. I have seen them wearing the shirts!

But above all my beach is my head-clearing place. Even now, when I have something to think about or my head needs clearing I go down there and, whether sunny or stormy, it sets me right. My sands, my waves - at least that's how it feels, constant and unchanging, always there waiting to wash my worries away.

I love my beach, if I have a spare ten minutes before I have to be there I drive down just to sit and look out across the bay at the ships coming and going and to see the waves rolling in. Maybe one day I'll buy a beach house to watch the sun rise and set there every day. In the meantime I go when I can and it always makes me feel welcome.