Saying Yes

It’s been so long since I wrote a blog post I may have forgotten how to do it! Impossibly I have now been living in the land of the blue rinse for almost two years. For the first year I mostly felt a sense of relief, and enjoyed being able to do nothing at all if I felt like it. 

Gets boring after a while...

Sometime during the second year, doing nothing started to lose its attraction - partly because an enduring knee injury prevented me from being physically active, and partly because, quite frankly, it’s boring!

In an attempt to do something about it, I decided I would try and say yes to more things that came my way. This has meant overcoming low self esteem, social anxieties and my classic ‘I can’t be bothered’ demeanour.

Was this a wise 'yes'?

I’ve written at length about my ‘boudoir shoot’ which did a massive amount to improve my confidence in myself at the time. Looking back, I still can’t quite believe I did it - it was my equivalent of a bungee jump over Niagara Falls, and I really had to force myself to say ‘yes’ not only to the shoot, but also to agreeing to the photos being shared.

Gin, peppercorns...who knew?

A seemingly trivial thing I said ‘yes’ to was going out with my sister-in-law for a drink. Writing it down seems ridiculous, but it was to somewhere I’d never been, with people I’d never met. Both things challenge me, and there were times when I would have made an excuse. But I didn’t, and not only did I have a lovely time, I tried lots of new gins too!

But the thing I said yes to that has had the most impact on me was agreeing to go along to a local writing group. A friend asked me, so I did know somebody, but after the first meeting I honestly thought that it wasn’t for me - everyone wrote poems, and there was a talk by an erstwhile author who had self-published two books. Not my cup of tea (or coffee - I don’t drink tea!) I missed the next meeting, but then was persuaded to try again, and I am so happy that I did. Each month gives me something to write about, I love listening to what others have written and everyone is so welcoming. 

I've got notebooks and everything!

Through the group I found a short creative writing course at the local library, which opened up even more horizons for me. I actually enjoy writing poetry now and proudly read my efforts to anyone who will listen! And at least if I’m unable to sleep I will muse on how I can interpret this month’s title, or how I can start my novel, instead of the usual worries that regularly keep me awake. Maybe now I need to find a reading group!

So Much Better than a Bucket List...

©Rob Ryan

When did ‘bucket lists’ become a thing? Was it when the film of the same name was showing on the big screen? (Shockingly that was ten years ago!) Whenever it was, I was reminded of mine, for two reasons, last week.

1. My lovely friend Eleanor over at The Salted Tail blogged about 30 things that she wants to achieve before she turns 30, next September (read her list here)
2. I was facing a general anaesthetic last Friday, and that always focusses your mind on your own mortality - did anyone ever NOT think that they were never going to wake up?

I remembered writing a list of ’25 Things to do Before I Die!’(note the jaunty exclamation mark, showing that I don’t really think I’m going to die), so I asked my husband to find it on the depths of the hard drive and print it out for me. Turns out my bucket list is rubbish. It claims to be 25 things, but I only reached 17 on my list. 

Not exactly adventurous!

This adequately demonstrates my total lack of imagination and derring do! I must’ve written the list about the time of the film, because ‘Marry Brian’ was on the list, and I did that in 2008! To be fair, I have achieved 9 out of the 17 things, but some of them were not exactly challenging! Along with ‘Marry Brian’ was the separate item of ‘Move in with Brian’, which turned out to be one and the same thing. Also,’Sort out my facial hair’ was achieved, but now its all grown back, so I probably only deserve half a point for that! (FYI, nothing works, and I never go far without my tweezers!)

So, out of 17 items, I have realistically achieved 7.5 of them, and given that another one was ‘See Norwich play in the Premiership again’ - ticked off but not exactly down to me - I can probably only claim 6.5. In ten years…

I was there - I get some credit, right?

Now as I clearly woke up after my op, and I’m not planning on shuffling off this mortal coil anytime soon, I hopefully have plenty of time to work on the rest of my list. But it begs the question ‘If I’m that bothered then why haven’t I done them?’ 

The truth is, I’m not really a bucket list fan. I’ve done lots of things not on my list, which could easily warrant a place - going to the British Grand Prix,

Not on the list...

taking my husband to the Minack Theatre,

Not on the list...

taking the grandchildren to Legoland,

Not on the list...

getting my kit off in front of a camera - see, I must be up to 25 things now!

So not on the list!

It seems I don’t really need a list - I manage to do things without one, and the things I really love wouldn’t make it onto most people’s lists anyway. I’m not an abseiling, zipwiring, mountain climbing kind of woman. I enjoy seeing new places and experiencing new things, but I get just as much pleasure from an evening at home with my family, playing silly games or watching TV. Would this change if I were to receive news of a life threatening or life changing condition? Of course not - in fact I am sure it would make me want to cherish and spend more time with the people I love, and that hopefully love me. 

Should be on the list!

The print at the top of this blog sums it up for me: 

• Can we? Shall we? One day very soon, let us go away together. Just you and me. Can we? Shall we? Call in sick one day and travel to the sea and hold hands all day. Can we? Shall we? Eat our sandwiches on the train. Get drunk on fresh air and come home tired and never tell anyone…Ever (Rob Ryan, 2011)

It makes me smile every day!

My daughter bought this print for me for my 60th birthday. It hangs on my living room wall and I look at it every day. For me, this is what life should be about - treasuring time with loved ones - partners, children, friends - and appreciating every single moment. So much better than a bucket list.

Who needs a bucket list?

Let them go - they usually come back!

Kitchen sink???

This weekend, thousands of parents will be taking their children off to university. My niece is one of those parents, and has been dreading the day since, well, probably forever! Letting go of our children is a very difficult but necessary part of parenting. When they are little, we force ourselves to leave them with grandparents or childminders, then pre-school, infant, junior, secondary schools, each time leaving them a bit further away or encouraging them to cycle, walk or catch the bus with friends. You hope that they will become increasingly independent as they move into apprenticeships or sixth form and then comes the day that they want to move away! And for many, that day is now.

Because of my great niece, I’ve been thinking about both when my daughter went to uni, and also back to when I went to college back in the - deep breath - seventies!

Ah, the trousers, the belts...

Even in the time since I took my daughter for the first time, in 2004, things have changed considerably. We did have texting and a rudimentary form of messenger, and I could speak to her on her phone if I needed to. Except when she dropped it down the loo, but that is another story… When she moved into her first student digs, she had no idea who she would be sharing with, what they would be like or even where the accommodation was in relation to her college. Nowadays freshers have the chance to chat to their ‘roomies’ on Facebook or other social media and feel that they ‘know’ them before having to share a flat. They also know that, should they feel homesick, they can FaceTime their parents whenever they want. 

However, my daughter did benefit, as do most students these days, from her parent stuffing the car full of just about everything she owned, as well as the obligatory saucepans, duvets and toilet brush and driving her down the A14 to Coventry to start her new adventure. This weekend, every other car on the road will be similarly stuffed, as excited freshers embark on the next chapter of their life while their parents determine not to cry, and try to ignore the knot in their stomach as they get closer to the moment that they have to leave to drive a much emptier car home. I had to do this homeward journey alone, as my stepson also started uni the same weekend, so my partner and I were driving a very similar cargo in opposite directions! And I cried! I was listening to Keane on the stereo - depressing at the best of times, and I still can’t hear some of their songs without a lump in my throat - and I cried.

Still makes me cry!

All the way home to an empty house. And I still cried. I messaged my daughter to let her know I’d arrived home and got a reply - ‘Just making cowboy hats out of cardboard boxes, then we’re off to a party!’ She didn’t take long to settle in!

My room in 1974 - I thought it was so cool!

I was talking to my brother about when we went away to college and he said, ‘I don’t know about you, but all I had was a train ticket and a suitcase.’ And he’s right. I didn’t have much more - my parents didn’t have a car so all I took to college was what I could fit into a trunk and send ahead by road, and what I could carry on the train. Admittedly I was in catered accommodation, so didn’t need saucepans, but it was quite a logistical challenge! Just as well personal computers hadn't been invented then. 

Still hiding in my loft - full of, and surrounded by detritus now!

It wasn’t until I experienced a child leaving home for uni that I realised how difficult it must have been for my parents. They had to see me off at the station, knowing that the only way they could get in touch with me was by letter or by waiting for me to call them from a  payphone. It honestly never occurred to me that they might have missed me, I was so wrapped up in my new life. If I wanted to talk to them, I had to collect my ten pence coins and queue for the phone box - in my final year I seemed to spend lots of time crying down a phone in the middle of Liverpool. I don’t know why I was more homesick that year than others, but it must have been awful for my mum, feeling helpless while I snivelled. 

Ah, the trousers, the cheesecloth smocks!

The worst part of all of this is that, by the time I realised what it would have been like for her, I couldn’t talk to her about it - she had died four years before my daughter went to uni. 

Being miles away from home in the days before the internet did have some benefits. My parents wrote to me every week and my siblings wrote to me too. It is a real shame that we seem to have lost the art of letter writing - those envelopes dropping onto the doormat each week meant so much, and I kept them for years. Re-reading them helped me in difficult times, reassuring me that I was subject to unconditional love. My dad even used to send me food parcels - chocolate, cheese and biscuits, packed in a shoe box and sent through the post. In your face Moonpig! And looking back, I’m sure we were more resilient and self-reliant for not being connected to the World through our phones - we even survived without pictures of cats!

Made my great niece a comfort sloth to take - who doesn't need a comfort sloth?

So, if you are taking a child to uni, miss them but don’t stifle them with Facetime! Allow them to make some mistakes without driving to their aid, and write them the odd letter. One that they can re-read when they need to, one that catches them unawares because they weren’t expecting it. Maybe even send them a food parcel. My parents were amazing, and if it worked for them, I see no reason why it shouldn’t work for you. 

And if you are a newbie student, study hard, have fun and keep your parents in the loop. You don’t have to tell them everything, although waiting until you urgently need them to deliver a new pc before you tell them you've had your lip pierced is maybe not such a good idea(You know who you are..), but letting them know you are fine is the least you can do - after all, you’ll need them at the end of the year to pick you up!

I'm lovely, and I have the photos to prove it!

Satisfyingly blurry!

First things first, Martin J Patterson is a genius…not only did this unassuming man in his shorts and t-shirt persuade me, in the most professional way, of the efficacy of a boudoir shoot, he also managed to produce a portfolio of photos that I not only love, but have agreed to him sharing wherever he likes. 

I have now completed the final part of my boudoir journey. For me it’s been quite a trek, and you can read about how I arrived here in my first, second and third posts in this series. What started out as being, frankly, a bit of a cheeky joke has turned into so much more than that and I genuinely feel that I have travelled some distance in how I feel about myself and about how others see me.

I wasn’t sure how I would react to seeing the photos. It’s been quite a while since the shoot and at times it seems as if I’d dreamt it. I was a bit apprehensive, but nowhere near as much as I thought I would be, and that was coupled with a little bit of excitement. 

My biggest fear was that I would hate my pictures, but have to pretend that I liked them for the sake of the project.

I love them!

I needn’t have worried - somehow Martin had succeeded in taking photographs that were not only classy and tasteful, but that magically drew my eye to my best bits. No photoshopping involved (the stupid tan line on my wrist proves that!) and yet I could look at them and feel genuinely happy with how I appear. And that is something I never thought I would think, let alone write! My husband loved them too, and I happily showed my son, his girlfriend and my stepson. I also shared them with my friend The Salted Tail, my sister and my daughter. My friend and sister duly raved about them, but Beth just asked if I was pleased with them. My mind then went into overdrive - she doesn't like them, so maybe I don’t either. They must be tacky / cheesy / unattractive. Rats. How could I have got it so wrong? I really thought they were nice. 

Of course, she did like them, but was in the pub, and couldn't really look at them. Phew. I hadn't got it wrong after all.

Beth's favourite!

How ridiculous…I clearly worry so much about what other people think that I change my views to match theirs. That definitely needs to change.

So, apart from me not being confident in my own opinions, what else have I learnt from this exciting, yet strange and surreal experience?

Well, on a superficial level I found out how to do smokey eye make-up, I discovered how much more comfortable a properly fitting bra is and I know that making time to moisturise after a shower reaps many benefits! I also realised that I enjoy spending time on making the best of myself, and I still use my eyelash curler!

Smokey eyes and a hint of a smile - hubby's favourite ❤️

On a more profound level I have uncovered some truths about myself and even about my husband. I wasn’t expecting it to have such an effect on him and I suppose we have come to a realisation that we both have insecurities that impact on us and our relationship. But this experience has given us an opportunity to explore some of those issues and talk openly about them. 

More personally I have come to realise that I feel judged by people because I judge them - another thing I need to work on - and I wouldn’t have felt anywhere near as comfortable with a female photographer, because I often feel that woman are more critical of other woman than men are.

Daring, or foolhardy?

When I wrote my original posts people made comments about how brave I was. Personally I think that firemen and lifeboatmen are brave, and while I certainly found this personally challenging, I think daring is a more accurate description of what I am. That, and foolhardy!

Most importantly of all I feel far more at peace with myself than I have for many years. The fact that I blithely signed away sharing rights to the photos proves that. I am proud of how I look in my pictures, and am determined to no longer define myself by my age, my weight, my appearance. I am who I am, and Martin has skilfully reflected this in my boudoir portfolio!

Not defined by age or shape - just me, in sharp focus!

When we went to bed last night, my lovely husband turned to me and said, ‘So now do you believe me when I say you are lovely?’ It’s only taken eighteen years, but finally, yes I do.

I survived!

So I survived! More than survived, I enjoyed it! Of course, I am referring to my boudoir shoot.

I probably need to rewind to the very beginning. If you've read my previous blogs (here ...and here) on this topic, you’ll have guessed that ‘boudoir shoot’ wasn’t top of my bucket list. It had never even crossed my mind until a friend shared a post on Facebook.

Where it all started...

It was from a photographer, Martin J Patterson, asking for female bloggers, living locally, to take part in a boudoir project. I normally wouldn't have given it a second look, except that this friend (you know who you are!) had tagged my fellow blogger, dear friend and extremely beautiful The Salted Tail! Not me. Despite the fact that I am also female, also local and also a blogger. It is fair to say I got the proverbial hump.

Has Nanny got the hump, Granddad?

I thought about it for a bit, spoke to my blogger friend who screamed ‘DO IT!’, and messaged Martin. Then told my husband… The rest, as they say, is history.

I have already shared, in unblushingly honest terms, my feelings building up to the shoot, but nothing prepared me for how nervous I would feel when the day finally arrived. To say that I was like a bear with a sore head is an understatement - no one could talk to me without me snarling a reply, and the phrase ‘silk purse out of a sow’s ear’ kept playing in my head as I did my hair and make up. 

Of course my eyes looked like this...

At this point I should own up to having watched Youtube tutorials on ‘smokey eyes for the older woman’ and buying more make up in the last week than I have in the last five years! I took a selfie to send to my daughter but deleted it immediately, deeming it to be just too hideous. I sat, bra-less, watching Wimbledon, thinking, ‘What have I done?’ in an anguished internal voice…

Then Martin arrived, and slowly but surely my fears dissipated. He talked me through what to expect, how the session would work and gave me some tips on how to pose. My sister was acting as my chaperone, although at times she mistook ‘chaperone’ for ‘court jester’, pulling faces, provocatively sucking her finger or just being daft.

We have trouble taking each other seriously!

In the end I had to send her out of my line of vision because I couldn't keep a straight face, and I actually found I was taking posing quite seriously! 

I think poor Martin may have regretted his decision to shoot a more mature woman, as he realised that their joints don't move in quite the same way as a younger person’s! Pretty soon his instructions were prefaced with ‘If you can…’ We did laugh though, and I felt surprisingly relaxed with it all.

Exactly

Because Martin was the consummate professional, it didn't feel uncomfortable or awkward - all the things I was dreading, like laying on a bed wearing not very much, looking into a camera, being the focus of attention for over an hour, just weren’t a problem. Me, being me, overcatered (just ask anyone whose been to one of my BBQs!) - I only wore one lot of the underwear I bought and an old shirt - but in the end none of it mattered, and, if I’m completely honest, I was quite disappointed when the shoot finished.

Looking back it all seems quite surreal. I know my husband felt really uncomfortable about it, and admitted to feeling sick the whole time the shoot was happening. This has led me to question what made me pursue it. I love my husband very much and regret having unsettled him to such an extent. The truth is, since I retired I’ve felt increasingly invisible. When you have nowhere specific to go you make less of an effort with your appearance. I’m lucky enough to be married to a man who adores me regardless, but equally who fails to notice when I do put on some slap or a new top. So for a while it was nice to be the focus of attention, to feel that my appearance mattered - to buy new things, to bother to moisturise, to learn new make up techniques. It reminded me of how I felt just before my wedding when, despite insisting otherwise, I really wanted to look like a princess. 

I really felt like a princess!

Some people may think that makes me shallow, but surely you can be attractive, make the best of yourself and still be a worthy person. I’m going to try, anyhow.

As to whether I felt empowered by the experience…well, I face-timed my daughter and felt a bit more comfortable with how I looked in the corner of the screen, I am seriously thinking about buying a new swimsuit and I woke up this morning feeling just a little bit happier in my own skin. 

All this, and I haven't seen the photos yet…of course they could make a difference to how I feel, but somehow I don't think so. And I do promise to share - some of them, anyway!

As a footnote, I must be feeling more youthful. Last night I dreamt I was 41 and pregnant! 😯 

So I'm doing this...

So this happened…

I met with Martin Patterson, the photographer for my boudoir shoot. He admitted on the phone that he’d never photographed a boudoir shoot with anyone in their sixties, but didn’t think that should be a barrier to me working with him.

© Martin J Patterson

I was so nervous about the ‘consultation’, but didn't really need to be. Martin soon put me at my ease and explained how he worked. He seemed to get on with my husband too, discussing focal length and types of camera and I think that helped quell some of his fears too!

While hubby showed him upstairs, I had to complete a questionnaire, so Martin could judge how the shoot would pan out.

*What part of you body are you proudest of? None of it!

*What part of your body would you like us to de-emphasise? All of it!

*What would you like to wear for your shoot? A burka…

In all seriousness, I did find it quite difficult to complete, finally deciding that my cleavage was the bit of me I was proudest of! After a long chat, and looking at some of Martin’s work, we decided we’d go ahead and agreed that he’d be back in touch before the end of the summer.

I really hope it does what it says on the tin...

At this point I felt quite excited and I started to google ‘matching lingerie’. Not only was that a real eye opener, it also meant that, every time I surfed the net I had adverts for knickers popping up all over the place. I duly cleared my cookies, and took myself off to good old Marks! M&S lingerie department in Norwich is HUUUGE and I soon found a couple of bras I liked and that, more importantly, fitted. It then took me and my sister about an hour to find suitable (for ‘suitable’ read ‘large’)matching knickers! I also bought a pretty ‘less is more’ gown and felt quite happy about my purchases. 

Not easy to find...

I sort of forgot about it for a while and then, when I was feeling at my most hideous because my knee injury continues to prevent me from exercising in any way at all, I had a message from Martin to say he’d had a postponement and would next week be okay for the shoot! 

‘Of course, why not?!’I replied…why not? Because you’re a silly old woman who will probably break the camera lens and who won’t even be able to bring yourself to look at the pictures! 

So, to prevent me bottling out, I posted the first part of my blog and was heartened by the encouragement (and gentle mockery) of my friends! I purchased a flagon of industrial strength Immac, had my eyebrows waxed and even bought some eyelash curlers! I have spent this weekend noticing every blemish and imperfection on my face and body to the point where I feel I need to either blindfold myself or cover the mirrors! I googled ‘Preparing for a Boudoir Shoot’ and discovered that everything I need to do I should have already done so, apart from putting sparkly white bed linen on and not wearing a bra while I watch Andy Murray play (not because I’m a hussy, but to avoid strap marks for the first part of the shoot), I’m done! 

Come on Andy - just don't expect me to jump up and down!