Days 118-121 May 3, 2012

It’s been a hellish work week: I’m clumsily stumbling my way through the complicated choreography of someone else’s agenda and it’s making me tired and cross.
I’ve marked all the week and yet the paper mountain grows…

So I’m getting back to the basics if the 365: the moments of grace or magic in my day: however simple they may be.

118: Feeling a little flutter of holiday excitement as I put a pair of sparkly flip flops (and a funky if rather ridiculous hat) into my grocery trolley; and financially surviving to another pay day.

119: making satisfying comfort food (a Jamie Oliver pasta dish), Tim Riggins’ smile in Friday Night Lights, and imagining I was the girl Don Draper was kissing in the back of a taxi.

120: Watching with emboldening pride, a former student’s direction of a Dan Gordon penned Titanic themed theatre piece; and marvelling yet again at the Jack and Jill’s of many, many trades the Primary School Teacher is.

121: I should be excited about an
incredible theatre opportunity for my students but Belfast traffic, the thought of the paperwork and my general disgruntlement with school makes that a rather begrudging acknowledgement…

I ranted too much at my Mother, rather ruining the rushed dinner I’d arrived uninvited for: but the drive through Ards to the house of a new Tutee brought moments and people to my mind that is quite forgotten. They made me smile.

And tomorrow: it’s the weekend x

Days 115-117 April 29, 2012

What on earth happened on Friday? I’ve seriously no recollection beyond the unscheduled meeting that knocked me for six; in which I held my own, and yet the situation is still so utterly in limbo.

116/ Saturday
Met a friend at Mount Stewart (I became a member of the National Trust at the beginning of the year, it all seemed a bit too middle class but I was aiming to walk more, appreciate life and have an answer to the question of what do you do on a Sunday afternoon: I’ve been twice since January), she brought coffee and freshly made muffins: we caught up, we fed the ducks, I had snuggles with her girls. That and the gorgeous drive down the peninsula made for the sort of Saturday morning that brings a sense of utter contentment.

Saturday afternoon I was domestic and Saturday night I headed to friends’ house for great Chinese, wine and banter. My hosts are getting ready to move to a new house, another house guest had ‘popped’ home as she begins her second trip around the globe, another having cycled from was back from Holywood to Downpatrick, told takes from her Easter cycle around Italy; while planning her summer trip to Mongolia.
I sat thinking of inventive reasons why I don’t have a boyfriend…
How can I blog about every day and have no news to share?
It was great to see them all: my university ‘family’ that I adore.

Sunday/117 was about procrastination: I’m avoiding school work. The crazy performance week/ stressful meeting was all too much: I couldn’t dedicate my weekend to the altar of school too. I had to breathe and reboot. I’d lunch with Mum, we went to a huge garden centre and pottered, we visited an aunt and I got to change my mind about a local bistro.
Yes I will curse my lack of marking, yes it will add to my workload, but time spent with friends and family was golden to me this weekend. Moments pass, another month has gone by: I gathered a few of the darling buds of May: work is tomorrow’s adventure.

Days 108-112 April 23, 2012

I didn’t really blog this week as I think the very few of you who glance in the direction of my writing realise that the new term, the week before a performance, school/ life/ work in general is, well let’s just label it stressful.

Sometimes it cathartic to write about it all; and sometimes moaning it all on to paper just reminds me why I was annoyed in the first place…

There were good, bad and very ugly moments at work this week; and great glimpses of hope: I’m letting that be the summary at least for now.

Towards the end of the week my focus was on a family wedding. My sister T is married with a baby, and little brother B lives in London: so it seems to my job to accompany Mum to ‘formal’ events were the seating plan works best in couples. I do it with little grace.

Friday’s beauty appointments (gel nails, an eyebrow wax and the humiliation of the spray tan) meant I got to leave school on the bell; and spend the evening turning what I hope was brown and not orange.

Saturday was the wedding: I’m a huge wedding fan. And have been to enough now, that each ‘new’ occasion is now a lovely stroll down memory lane.

It was a really lovely service, with an engaging address on the nature of beauty. And a truly gorgeous rendition of ‘Pie Jesu’. It was good to spend time with extended family I don’t see enough of.

T, N and B (my sister, bro in law and baby bro) appeared for the party: it’s been too long since we’ve all been out drinking together and dancing like total eejits. I love that we’ve reached that stage in our relationship when they’ve become some of my very favourite people to spend time with. It was a fun party, a real ‘country’ playlist that included a track ‘Horse it into ya Cynthia’ that demands your attention!

The problem with weddings is that you (well, not you… Me) start drinking so early and continue drinking. And while I never felt drunkety drunk there was a lot of gin: and even after the ‘Auld Lyne Sang’ finale (it reallywas a playback from way back wedding disco DJ) there was residents bar drinking to do…

I’d forgotten what the other side of a gin hangover felt like; and that coupled with the after 3am bedtime and ‘up for hotel breakfast’ wake-up call made for an exhausted Sunday. The drive home was endless, Mum’s birthday lunch too much to manage after the breakfast fry and yet again I was at an airport saying goodbye to B without quite knowing when he’ll return. Big family occasions remind us all of the people who aren’t there and I spent much of Sunday missing my Daddy more than
I had in forever. The gin melancholy meant I spent too long thinking that my future looks rather empty without the promise of a wedding of my own.
I couldn’t shake the blues all day: there seemed, by the time I was back home, to be endless, rather ridiculous sobbing. It negated the fun and family of what had been a great weekend. My beloved g&t and I may have reached the end of our rather tempestuous relationship…

Oh, and Mondays (bar emails and texts that promise friends and nights out and in; and one that has hopes of a new baby) suck worse when you’re deep in gin depression and still sleep deprived…

Days 100-105 April 15, 2012

You would think that someone on Easter holidays would manage to find a moment to blog…but my week has been full of people and places: cramming two weeks worth of ‘catch-up’ into one week, more than took care of the time allowed to me.

The highlights:

100: that coffee became lunch in one of my favourite places, with a friend who makes me laugh and that my Tuesday night was about the friend who visited, the stories told and a drink in my local rather than my continued fascination with the TV characters I usually depend on for Tuesday night company.

101 & 102:
Team D are my therapy. They have the grace and generosity to include me in the daily details of their lives when I come to visit. My friend G apologised that my visit was mundane, trips to Tesco and prescription collection, play parks and feeding the ducks: but he forgets that his company, that of his wonderful wife and his changing with enchantment by the second daughters, make their mundane my privileged special. In the two days I was there, I got: an Irish history lesson, and one on the bombing of Dresden, endless beer, great food, a favourite movie, hooked on a book, the promise of a night in with Matthew McConaghy and too many moments of genuine love and friendship to do them justice to in a continuing list.

103: lunch and a afternoon with a favourite friend in her truly idyllic little corner of a world. There was endless and entertainment from her 4yr old daughter and snuggles from her bubba son; there was wine ( which I managed to knock across the wonderfully pretty dining table and all over my non-drinking friend) … And there was enough sunshine, flowers and calm in her garden to make summer seem a promised thing.

104: I needed a day at home. I’d decided post London et al that school had claimed more than enough of my free time this Easter (and all of my half term) so I cleaned and scrubbed, folded and ironed, tweeted and text.

And I wondered what I’m supposed to be doing with or at the National Theatre. Sometimes a book, a song, a word, a person keeps presenting itself to you; fate or the universe or whoever is on charge demands that you give whatever it is some attention; and rarely, very rarely it’s a place.

I got the same feeling walking into the National as I had when I first stepped on the quad at Queens and into the apartment I now call home. It’s a sense of belonging: a premonition of significance. I dismissed it as my regular desire/ feeling as a wannabe lovey but then I read James Corden’s autobiography, in less than two days.

(an aside: I’m supposed to be reading Religion for Atheists : a book I suggested for book club, in the hope of pleasing my soul sister Belle, igniting discussion and quite possibly continuing on my quest to prove to the others that despite all appearances, I do have a brain. And because part of my whole: join a book club thing was to read things I wouldn’t normally give head or shelf space to…
But I’m hating it, no that’s unfair, I’m just not getting it- at all. It’s become homework. Something I have to do. I am not doing it. And, I stubbornly refused (until M insisted I read James Corden) to allow myself to read any other book until I’m done… So I read magazines, I watch TV, I deny myself the pleasure of ‘real’ writing as a punishment for being too ignorant to appreciate non-fiction. I will read it. I must. But next time, I will pick a page turner piece of popular fiction and enjoy it.)

Back to JC and the NT: he wrote of the theatre and his experiences there with passion. He wrote of its significance to him personally and to British drama. He accepted his role in the award winning ‘One Man, Two Guvnors because of its director and that it was a National Theatre production.

Maybe I’m meant to see something amazing there, and it’s that simple- although it has been fun this past week to imagine, a play I’ve written or am staring in opening there, or a career and/ or a romance there. A girl can dream, especially when given such an inspiring and promising place in which to dream in.

105: and so it’s Sunday night; and school, coursework marking, the exam cram, the AS performance, endless paperwork, the annual timetable battle await. Today, I had coffee and a walk with Mum at Mount Stewart in lieu of dinner at home. I told Mum I’d stuff to do for work and I do. I just knew I wouldn’t do any of it. I tweeted, I blogged and I watched TV: fighting of the Sunday night blues.

It’s been a great Easter: filled with people and places I love. May my summer be seven weeks that are just like this one.

Days 93-98 April 9, 2012

So it’s been a while…a whole week since I bemoaned my privileged existence to the faithful few who indulge me and me blog self.

This time last week I was in London with two of my best friends and 28 hangers on. The much blogged about, endlessly lamented school trip was… well something .

I know the things that make ‘good’ reading are when the best laid plans of Drama teachers go off the radar even slightly; and I know the party line is: the ‘kids’ really behaved; they enjoyed themselves (and I actively enjoyed their company) we got them home safe and sound: all the measures of a successful educational visit.

So I’m not quite sure how I do it justice.
Settle for a few highlights:

- an impromptu birthday cake (oh to be turning 17 again) in the Covent Garden sunshine.

- Billy Elliott is phenomenal:
political, risqué, emotional, funny: all I demand of a piece of theatre and more… I was on my feet for the ovation before I’d quite realised it was over.

- A backstage tour of the National Theatre: these people take their theatre seriously: perfectly pitched for our students, long enough to be informative and short enough to hold the flitting teenage attention span, and again I was reminded that I should really look beyond the bright lights and lure of the West End when I come to London in search of culture.

- I wouldn’t say I was disappointed in Wicked but it didn’t live up to the hype I’ve heard. Rachel Tucker made an engaging and talented Elphaba but Glinda was an annoyance…yet, maybe it’s impossible to give anything your full attention when you’re worried about a sick student; and getting the remaining 27 home on the tube, in the rain, minus one staff member. Another visit to Oz is needed before I give my informed verdict.

- the Wicked workshop was fabulous. An engaging ( and rather stunning actor) who could both do and teach; and an informative Q&A the included a very lovey Wicked dancer, in which our kids held their own and I managed not to gush too much.

And I could go on… yet, this and any list, denies those moments of magic when you see your pupils as more than a potential grade and name in a mark book: when you’re made privy to their inner world and you get to remember the sheer joy and potential that exists when you’re 17: and when you see the cultural value of travel and teamwork and friendship and fun.

It was a great trip: I was blessed by my travelling companions and a brilliant group of kids BUT I have swore to all who will listen that never will I attempt such madness again!

Day 96
Another day, another theatre trip! Who said teachers have great holidays?!
At least this time we were closer to home. Blood Brothers never, ever disappoints, it’s tragedy and comedy move me every time.
And when it was over the holidays could officially begin…

Days 97&98

My friends S&P hope to persuade me out of my Aetheism through thought provoking, liberal services at their church. The Good Friday Reflection </em was moving, engaging and prompted many queries as I held court in their house with their friend T, who as an Anglican minister was able to shed some light on various issues: if not answers to the questions that have none.

Brunch with my boys is always a delight and I got to travel to their rather far flung new build. Even my spatially unaware self was able to imagine their ‘work in progress’ into their castle on a cloud. My hovel apartment paled into insignificance on my return.

S&P are a blessing I cannot imagine my life without; my soul is richer and happier through knowing them.

Day 98
Easter Sunday is always spent at Auntie V’s eating more than is good for me. It’s always lovely to catch up with extended family: and the cousins at different exciting stages of their lives. A family wedding is planned for a fortnight’s time and it was good to share in that excitement, reminding me of the fun and chaos I’d enjoyed before T& N’s big day.

And bless Sky TV scheduling, I got to catch up with my boys in the NYPD and the men of MADison avenue; and my ultimate TV guilty pleasure Made in Chelsea: while planning and securing the various catch ups a week off promises.

Days 90, 91 & 92 April 1, 2012

Day 91

The last day of term is always something of an anti-climax. I spent nearly three hours and too much money at the hairdressers (no one has noticed): and came home too tired to see straight. I lay semi conscious on the sofa to watch a frustratingly good chick flick, I had so been hoping to dislike.

Day 91

Babysitting is one of my all time favourite activities and my nephew M is my all time favourite baby: so Saturday was full of cuddles and giggles and endless moments of cute…

Post dinner saw the real onset of ‘school trip to London’ panic. Why did I volunteer for such madness?!

I spent too late a night realising that even though Jude Law’s Alfie seems like a terrible kisser: he can really act and has one helluva smile. Following on my from my mid week Don Draper obsession: clearly I like my cinematic crushes to be very flawed; if I wasn’t consumed by school trip fear, I’d worry about that instead.

Day 92
After a bad start my Sunday shaped up to be quietly panicked: a misplaced Oyster card and lost hearing aid were found and the packing/ list ticking completed. Mum taking me out for coffee in the middle of the afternoon was a welcome hour of calm.
3am ( our flight is at stupid o’clock) will come all too quickly: wish me luck and pray for the safe return of this band of travellers. London here we come…

The Selfish Singleton March 29, 2012

Let me be clear. I am not saying that all single people are selfish: I try to avoid saying ‘all anything are anything‘ as fascist ideals and -ism prejudice stems from generalised thought: I avoid both, instead this is a confession: I’m selfish.

A good friend had a baby six weeks ago, I haven’t seen her, I see my Mum merely once a week and my sister and nephew even less, I last saw one of my best friends for pre-Christmas drinks, which is around the same time I last saw my Goddaughte; and one of my closest friends has been going through hell and I’ve shed little, or no sunlight on her darkness… This is not an exhaustive list.

And yes, we’re all busy: we’ve work commitments and houses to run…but other people manage this and so much more. A quick glance at a family calendar and you realise, some women are managing their job, their house, their relationship/ marriage and the multitudinous tasks of motherhood.
And their time/ daylight hours last exactly the same amount of time as mine.

I’ve let work take over: I love my job: it’s drives me crazy, it frustrates me and I allow it to consume too much of my ‘out of the office’ time (even though I do much less ‘at home’ than I used to). I let the stress of it consume me: I spend hours of conversation moaning, venting or even praising; and maybe that makes my career, my vocation, but it makes me a work bore. I’ve let my work become my life and that ain’t healthy.

I’ve replaced, or rather filled the void in my life where relationships where or should be, with television. I watch for hours: my nights are consumed. I am more in touch with the lives, feelings and challenges experienced by the characters of favoured US drama series than I am
with the real people in my life. That’s terrifying.

My 365 blog that was supposed to be about finding the moments of joy in my day reads like a cheap Tv listings magazine: I bore myself.

I’m single. I live alone. I eat what I want. Sleep when I want. Watch what I want; and deal less and less well when anything encroaches my territory and my routine. I live my life on my terms: there’s an independence and a glory in that, that I enjoy: but there is also a rut: a sense of self service that soon becomes indulgence and has become sheer selfishness.

Too often I’m lonely and do nothing to counter attack such a negative emotion.I chose text, tweets, status updates and blogs over real conversations and while I will never deny the power of the written word: the human connection of the spoken word is incredibly powerful too.

This morning I was watching Dangerous Minds with a class: Ms Pfieffer’s character is, like many of my chosen profession, guilty of allowing her English teaching job to encroach on too much of her personal
life; but she makes a difference. Her sacrifice is worth it, mine is too, but not often enough. And beyond the classroom walls, all too often, I haven’t looked beyond my own needs to see how I can be of service, or of help, or just a friend to somebody else.

As the end of spring term is mere hours away, my thoughts start to stray to the endless months of summer and the time I get to fill. Shouldn’t I be volunteering for The Samaritans or FASA ? Learning sign language? Offering my services to summer schemes or a reading programme? Shouldn’t my value to the world be measured by more than the tv hours I log, the salary I earn or the blog moments I too often struggle to find?

I’m setting myself a challenge: every day I’m going to do something that benefits someone else: it can be at work or beyond, it can be small and understated, and it can have the potential to be much more.

I won’t give up TV or being a cyber whore; I won’t suddenly stop
moaning about work and find the privileges teaching presents in every lesson; but I will do more to look beyond myself. I will reconnect with the people in my life, I will venture beyond the works of televisual fantasy and my daily blog-moan. There is happiness to be found in the service of others: let me find it.

Days 84, 85 and 86 March 26, 2012

It was a great weekend: on Saturday, I got to bake brownies, eat great food with old friends, drink good wine, have cuddles with a new born and do the delightful ‘after party/ one for the road’ chat with the fabulous hosts.

Sunday brought a trip to a sunshiny park with Mum, T and my fabadoo nephew: ice cream, a wander around Victoria Square and a delicious Wagamamma’s dinner…

Monday? Well it still sucks: but news of long awaited happiness in a Friend’s engagement made me smile and in ‘twenty four little hours’ I have the hottest of dates with Don Draper and the new series of Mad Men…so it ain’t all bad.

Days 77-81 March 21, 2012

There comes a point in this 365 thing, or at least there does for me, when you’ve skipped so many days it seems ridiculous to try to pick up the ball again…but it would bother me too, too much if I stopped now. The inner perfectionist would sit in critical judgement, tutting loudly, I give her enough to worry about, and I can’t have her noise crowd my head…

So forgive me the wait…

Day 77
I had hoped to write a social critique, of the type I started ‘actual’ blogging for, comparing the celebrations of St Patrick’s Day to those divisive ‘demonstrations’ of the 12th of July: an analysis of contemporary Irish feeling…but I realised as I sat at home: avoiding the hangover more than the day’s drinking, that I should actually experience something before I tear it apart. I’ve opted out of both occasions for quite a while. And…as always so many of Saturday’s revellers would care little for St Patrick’s religious view or pseudo-political commentary: people want an excuse to enjoy themselves. I should have taken mine.

Day 78

Mother’s Days gone by have bore witness to my attempts to cook lunch for my immediate family: it was always too much food, too much drama and never worth my stress and angst. And the cynic in me (how well she’s doing) thinks the whole thing is a con: nothing I buy could really show my Mum her unspeakable value, and I should appreciate her amazing splendour everyday not just on a hallmark designated Sunday…
I bought the card, I found a poem, made a Mother’s Day playlist on iTunes, I bought flowers and to ease the ‘I have a blood pressure escalating GCSE performance this week: I can’t do that and family lunch: the stress might kill me’ bad daughter guilt by bringing Afternoon Tea to Mum. Let the record state it is absolutely possible to eat too many cream buns.

My sweet little posey’s petals were truly whipped by the ‘ordered in London, arrive at your door’ hand-tied bouquet sent by Little Bro (he phoned that evening: post hangover/ Liverpool match and Mum felt it was so sweet of him to ring when he thought the rest of us might have gone…Jeez: Mummies and Sons: us Daddy’s girls just can’t compete). Then my nephew of the endless smiles, gorgeous giggles and all out cuddly cuteness arrived to see his Granny: if I’d made a cordon bleu gourmet masterpiece: and got Mum a Michael Buble serenade: it would have been cast aside in the face of such baby deliciousness! M is a generous little thing though, Auntie Carrie got hugs and giggles too: my day was made.

Day 79
Mondays suck. The End

Day 80
Tuesday’s are tough too. This was the first of three GCSE Drama performances: I metamorph from general moody cow into uber-bitch teacher/ Drama room Diva. Experience makes the whole teaching thing more frustrating: as you watch each class make the mistakes of youth…
But today talent shone, lines missed became characters performed, misplaced props became items of power and I breathed again.

Day 81
Today is the day before GCSE Drama Moderation and it was Group 2′s turn in the spotlight. This had been a labour of love (and blood, sweat, tears, tantrums, my threatened resignations) and the final rehearsal had just been the source of more yelling. But once again the performance miracle happened : that reason defying thing of put them in front of an audience and something magical happens; they upped their game beyond even the most hopeful of expectations and remind you of the potential you saw in them all along.
The inner Diva wants to scream, ‘where was this magic a week ago?!’ while the this ‘is why you teach inner voice of calm’, congratulates them warmly and thanks the fates for smiling upon us all once again.

I have a favour to ask, can those of you who know someone is listening when you whisper words heavenwards, throw a few in my direction for my class and me? Tomorrow they perform again for the Exam Board Moderators. Awaiting their verdict on my pupils, my direction and my marking is similar I would think to that final walk down death row.

I will them to greatness.

Days 64 and 65 March 6, 2012

Day 63

A christening is always a special thing: as even my increasingly cynical Atheist self realises every bubba is a miracle.

(it would be ungracious of me to criticise the sermon of a church I was an invited guest at…)

The baby belonged to a girl I taught and have been blessed by her friendship since she left school. It was lovely to catch up and check in with other past pupils and to feel part of such a fabulous family.

I was home earlier than expected but not home early enough to catch T and Mum before they headed out: so I spent a much needed afternoon semi snoozing and watching box set tv.

Dinner and catch up with Mum rounded off a rather quiet but rather lovely Sunday.

Day 64

Monday is forever the day I find it hard to be positive / find my 365 moment in. Work is busy and stress inducing, my To Do list beyond control; I left dinner cooking at a rather critical moment and it all ended up rather more bronzed than it should have been…

I did get a Graze box I wasn’t expecting though. I first signed up as was part of the long ago neglected: new year new me: exercise more, eat less, treat your body as a temple rather than the toxic dumping ground of old. So I picked the eat well choices: four little boxes of dried fruit and nuts with the occasional yummy morsel of organic chocolate have graced my post box, every Monday, ever since. And while my diet staples remain caffeine, sugar and gin: I eat more dried fruit than I ever did before and a few fewer biscuits.
Yesterday though a nibble box arrived: dried strawberries and white chocolate, honeycomb flapjacks and other sweet treat morsels.

I will never be thin when food thrills me so much.