Fabulous Forty : A Year in Review

I'm in the final weeks of my 40th year, so I've had 340 days + to consider this.  Forty.  40.  Two score.  Naughty 40.  The big 4 - 0hhhhh.  Blind 40.  

The thirties nostalgically placed on the shelf.  A time to reflect and look forward.

I had a 40th birthday party in February which was great craic.  Unfortunately, I didn't appoint a photographer with a decent camera on the evening, so all pics are a little hazy.  Maybe just as well, because I forgot to put a belt on the dress that I bought for the occasion.  The draught beer and stone baked pizzas supplied by Ray were a big hit.  'The best pizzas EVER apparently.  Although intended to be a 'grown up party', quite a few children come along.  I was stressing out that they were going to be bored, but the weather was super - A crisp, dry night.  The little people charged around outside in the moon light playing dares - Sorted !  I was really touched that so many of my nearest and dearest made it along, even though I had flip all time to talk to any of them.  I was reluctant to invite the guests to my house the following day as 1. I was so hyper, I hadn't slept the previous night and 2. The heating oil ran out and the house was freezing. Typical !!

I had a 'no presents' rule for the party, asking for poems instead.  I got plenty of lovely poems that are stashed away and I'm very grateful for them.  But some of the guests broke the rule.  I'm glad that they did, as I'm still living off the goodies - fab stuff that I wouldn't buy for myself.  Like expensive lipstick.  The adverts are true - it REALLY does last longer - Would ya believe it ? After years of living on cheap lippy, I ain't never going back.  

I'm one of those lucky gals who doesn't have grey hair (Thanks Dad and the Russell genes).  A few sneaky stray greys appeared earlier this year and I wasn't too impressed.  I took the plunge and did a rather fetching plum coloured home-dye for my brothers wedding in May.  After that, I decided to go blonde and stocked up on peroxide in the chemist.  Here's the science thing though -  You can't just put one hair dye on top of the other.  The blonde took to roots of my hair and nowhere else.  It was a flipping disaster.  I looked like a wet badger.  My little girl asked me to 'bend over so I can look at your hair' and she would run away hooting with laughter 'Oh Mammy … !'.  

There was nothing for it except to go to the hairdressers for a proper 'do.  One that takes at least four hours to do (or in this case, undo).  One that required me to sit on a chair and read glossy magazines on a Saturday, instead of spending time with my kids.  A 'do that I probably couldn't afford.  One that requires attention every eight weeks or so.  But you know what ?  

I'm worth it.  

I deserve two-tone hair.  

And to sit and read about B-List celebrities love lives/divorces/weight gain/loss for four hours, while someone beautifies me and brings me tea.  It has only taken me 40 years to come to that conclusion and to allow myself this indulgence.

In January last year, my journalist buddy Siobhan asked me if I would write an article for the Irish Examiner, about my diagnosis with MS a few years ago.  My article was published on 28th January 2014.  I didn't have much time to think about writing it, but didn't hesitate.  It was only when it was republished in The Kildare Nationalist, that I thought, 'flip, now lots of people know this THING about me'.  Wouldn't you think that I would have considered this before hand ?  In hindsight, I'm delighted that I did write it.  

As a result of this article, the MS Society asked me to join their blogging team 'MS and Me'.  It's a lovely feeling to be part of something 'bigger' than me and to think in some small way, I can make a difference.  The 'MS and Me' blog was nominated for 'Best Group Blog' in the Irish Blog Awards last autumn.  We didn't win, but the nomination was a real pat on the back for our work.  The award ceremony was great fun.  In a room full of bloggers and tweeters, I felt surprisingly comfortable.  

While I'm happy to share my experiences about MS through writing, I really don't want to be defined by it and I certainly don't want to think about it all the time.  My medical condition bores the pants off me. 

The fact that a real life journo had faith in me to write something was a big boost to me.  It's probably what led me to start writing my blog last April.  This blog is my 50th piece of writing so far.  Fifty ! Imagine !  I wouldn't have dreamed of writing like this a few years ago.  I get a real kick out of it though, gathering ideas in my head, taking notes on my phone or in notebooks as I go.

After a life time of being a 'walker', I did a 5km run in Athy during the summer, only because our visiting Spanish student wanted to participate,  as detailed in an earlier blog 'Run Lola Run'.  My morning stroll became a jog and then a run.  I always felt good after a walk, but felt exhilarated after a run, so good, that I often felt like going back out for another run.  Sadly, my new found running regime was short lived.  I had a nasty fall one Sunday morning lat August and made bits of one of my knees.  Xrays showed up no damage, but for months afterwards, putting my foot on the clutch in the car caused me great pain.  Raging I was.  I'm itching to get running again. 

My lovely twins turned seven last October.  What a great age.  Maybe the best age.  All of that spoon feeding/nappy changing malarky behind me.  They can both read and write, so there is N-O more spelling out W-O-R-D-S that you don't want them to hear.  This can be a pain in the A-S-S.  They can read Teletext, so they know when Father Ted, Grand Designs, Top Gear, Mrs Brown's Boys is on.  Most of their favorite programmes aren't exactly age appropriate, but at least we can enjoy them together.  I'm enjoying their independence, watching them grow, even if it is slowly growing away from me.  Not looking out the window of the school bus to wave goodbye to me (sob !).  Thankfully, there is still times for cuddles, even if it is when no one is looking.  I'm cherishing their innocence.  Their sense of discovery and wonder.  The 'twinnieisms' that I enjoy sharing with you, dear reader.

Through my work, I had the opportunity to produce a film 'All About Eva' last year.  It was a terrifying, but energizing experience, which has generated a lot of attention and that has and will open doors for people.  I'm looking forward to building on this with three new film projects lined up for this year.  All of these projects were developed to promote film making in the county, but personally, I'm getting a fierce buzz from it all.  It's feeding my ENFP personality type, that thrives on new ideas (in other words, I get bored easily). 

I remember when I started my current job.  I was 26 and my boss was 40.  I respected her, admired her, valued her friendship, but definitely considered her 'older'.  My role model.  I look at 26 year olds that I know and wonder what they make of me.  Most probably think 'older', if not wiser.  I think of the bright young thing I met at Electric Picnic last year, who drunkingly marvelled at me looking 'so glamorous' for my age.  Let's face it, 'glamorous' is a word that you use for old dolls, like Helen Mirren or Sophia Loren .  But thankfully, 40 year old me isn't as self conscious as I once was, so it doesn't matter so much.   I always admired Helen's poise and Sophia's cleavage anyway.  

I was very uncomfortable in my 20's puppy fat skin.  I was finding my feet throughout my 30's.  Now I feel that I've arrived.  41, let's be having ya !

Four Young Lives Lost

Last Tuesday night, when I cosied up on the couch, and maybe you were too, four young girls were killed and three people were injured in an horrific car crash, just a seven minute drive from where I live.

I didn't hear about the crash until the following morning.  I hoped that there had been a big mistake, that reports were overly dramatic.  But sadly, no.  My second thought was who were these girls ?  I was filled with dread.  'College students', the reports said.  I thought of all the young college goers that I knew around Athy.  I phoned a neighbour.  It seemed that we didn't know any of the dead.  I felt a sense of relief.  Then I felt guilty for feeling that sense of relief.  They were someone's daughters.

I usually drive to work via the road where the accident took place.  It's a slightly longer journey, but I feel safer driving on the motor way.  I feel that too many people take chances on the 'old' road from Athy to Kilcullen.  But the morning after the car crash, I reverted to driving on the 'old' road, shedding tears as further news drip fed in on the radio.

I cried for the four girls whom I do not know, shocked at the way they died.  The opportunities they will miss.  All the things they had yet to experience.  That family event they won't attend.  That empty place at the table.  Motherhood.  Supporting their parents as they get older.  

I cried for their parents, getting that awful knock on the door.  That pale faced Garda knowing that he or she was going to change the lives of that house with the delivery of that news.  No easy way to break it.  No way to make that news any easier to hear.  Except maybe that their daughters died amongst friends.  I could almost hear their youthful, infectious chatter in the car, talking over each other, the way that friends do, probably right up until the moment of the crash.  Easy in each others company.  Reviewing Christmas and the New Year.  Bargain clothes bought in the New Year sales. College exams and plans for 2015.  

In the coming weeks and months there will be much talk about what happened to cause this accident, but I don't want to speculate.  In those weeks and months, the girls families and friends will probably be full of 'what if's'.  If the girls had that extra cup of tea in someone's house.  If they hadn't dropped in to pick up the laptop.  If they stopped at a shop en route.  If the van driver had stopped to get fuel for his journey.  Was this their destiny ?  Or just the wrong place at the wrong time ? Why, oh why, so young ?  Why all together ? If only I got to say goodbye.  To tell her how much I loved her. 

I drove home by the scene of the accident last night.  It was dark and there was a spattering of rain.  The road was quiet and I had an ominous feeling.  Apart from some flowers on the roadside, a bent road sign and a scattering of sand on the road, there wasn't much evidence of the dreadful scene a few nights previously.  The flowers will fade away, the road sign will be straightened and the sand will blow off in the wind.  

But the four bright, youthful faces that smiled out at us in the media over the last few days will be remembered by people, many of whom never met the girls or their families.  For generations to come, their story, or this part of their story, will be immortalised in the story of Athy and of Carlow.  

As I write, Finbarr Furey is singing 'When You Were Sweet Sixteen' on The Late, Late Show.  

'Come to me or my dream of love is o'er

I love you as I loved you

When you were sweet

When you were sweet sixteen'

Sleep tight Aisling, Chermaine, Niamh and Gemma. 

Forever Young

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

Good wishes to the three survivors of the car crash

2014 In Review

So, there we have it.  'Another year over, a new one just begun ...' as John Lennon once sang.  It's only two days into 2015 and already I've ditched last year and am plotting and scheming for the next twelve months.  I will take down this years (rather lovely) Christmas tree tomorrow (I can hear you gasp at my breaking of tradition for not holding out til the 6th, but I'm back to work proper on Monday and frankly, it's getting very dusty.  Time to go.  Out to the hens, to give them a new bit of greenery to peck at in these barren January days.

Given that I'm so focused on the coming year, I'm not feeling reflective.  Maybe not the best head space to be in to write a reflective piece.  On the other hand, it may cut out the romantic, rose tinted thoughts that I had in the weeks running up to Christmas.

Lots of good things happened in 2014.
MAKING ART
I started drawing again, after a few years without as much as a doodle on a serviette.  All thanks to Lizzie Longwill's 30 Day Sketch Challenge.  It was a really simple idea - draw something, anything, take a photo and upload onto a Facebook page.  Seeing the drawings of others, many of whom I had never met, was great fun.  I made three drawings of wedding bouquets as wedding presents.  I felt like I was back in the saddle.  But I soon fell off - life became very busy and my pencils were temporarily shelved.  In my work capacity, I am surrounded by artists, many of whom are living on air, who have dedicated their lives to making art. I sometimes feel a bit of a failure about this regard.

But onwards and upwards ! I've two more drawings of wedding bouquets to make.  The guilt is getting the better of me now.  I'll pick up that pencil, root out my water colours very soon ... If I ever remember to buy 'day cent' paper ...

RUNNING
After a life time of being a 'walker', I did a 5km run in Athy during the summer, only because our visiting Spanish student wanted to participate.  As detailed in an earlier blog 'Run Lola Run', I got a great buzz out of it.  My morning stroll became a jog and then a run.  I always felt good after a walk, but felt exhilarated after a run.  When I came home, I felt like going back out and running again.  Sadly, my running regime was short lived.  I had a nasty fall one Sunday morning - the one time I didn't bring my phone with me - and made bits of one of my knees.  I X rays showed up no damage, but for months afterwards, putting my foot on the clutch in the car caused me great pain.  I'm itching to get running again.


garden

brothers wedding

21st April