A year of travel... the first six months

For those of you who know us, the title of this post may not be surprising at all given that we are generally known as the Globetrotters amongst our family and circle of friends, but this year was different. It didn't actually start out this way, but a belated idea for a New Years' Resolution turned it into a different kind of travel year. I call it a New Years' Resolution, but as it was made in the second half of January, I'm not sure it technically counts, but as I also fancy myself a bit of rebel, I rule that it counts. So nah.

So, what is the resolution? I need to go back a step before I can fully explain how it came to be. But to take that step back means writing a blog post that is still too difficult at the moment, is 10 months in the making so far, whirling around in my head because of all the posts I've ever written, I need to get that one right. And I can't right now, so in very brief summary, the resolution was borne out of the very sudden and unexpected passing of our lovely Steve, Dave's dad.

Skip to the awful days and weeks after it happened and I just wanted to wrap Dave in cotton wool for a bit. The only way I knew to do that was to take him away. Away from all the horribleness and give him some kind of reprieve. Away from the sudden, stark darkness at the end of the garden that still occasionally upsets us. Just away. The funeral was, after what seemed like an eternity, planned for the 13th February which coincidentally, in a way that has become strangely par for the course for us, is the anniversary of when Dave and I met 11 years ago. It somehow seemed fitting in a really absurd way. I had a feeling that all the waiting was bound to result in a bit of a Butterfly Effect and so decided to whisk my mourning man and our pup away to the New Forest for a weekend. What better place to revive and refresh the senses than a freezing cold South Downs National Park in the middle of Winter, right?

And so my New Years' Resolution was born... to get away from home for at least one weekend a month. It didn't need to be far, nor expensive, but just away. It also helped that we already had a few trips lined up, so my job was pretty much half done for me, to be fair. We have got to October and I realise now how crazy this idea was, even for us, but in true 'us' style, it also seems perfectly in keeping with who we are as a couple. Another reason for this to be the year for travel presented itself way further down the line, so can't genuinely be included as a motivation, however as I said before... rebel. But more about that later.


January


So, back to January and everything else aside, in terms of my NYR, January had sorted itself as we'd been in South Africa for Christmas and into the new year.

Month one:
Weekends away: 1
Weekend away tally: 1


February


February's trip was meant to be a long weekend in Portugal, however under the circumstances, we postponed - not cancelled - as some companies are insensitive enough not to allow you to cancel for a full refund, despite the production of a death certificate. C'est la vie. And so to the New Forest, which is an easy 90-minute drive from home and meant no need to arrange any leave from work - another plus. So we jumped in the car as soon as I got home from work on the Friday evening and we were off. We stayed in a gorgeous dog-friendly B&B really close to the seafront and harbour. Lucy doesn't muck about and made herself right at home.

Month two:
Weekends away: 1
Weekend away tally: 2


March


My sister travels quite often for work and March found her in Barcelona... coincidentally, it is somewhere that has always been on our travel list, but always got relegated in favour of somewhere else deemed more exciting at the time. But this presented the perfect opportunity to finally hop across to Catalonia and see what all the fuss was about.

Well, as it happens, the rain in Spain doesn't always stick to the plains. It rains in Barcelona. A lot. Who knew, huh? So it was a soggy weekend, but a fun one all the same, spending some time with the sibling and meeting her awesome manager who lives in the most perfectly named place on the planet: Pleasanton in California. Sounds like something out of a Disney film.

The one thing I was looking very forward to on this trip was sampling the cuisine - I love a Mediterranean-style diet and really wanted proper tapas as the only tapas I've ever had comes on a "Buy 3 for 2" special at Tesco. After walking past and inspecting the menus of a few restaurants for dinner on the Friday night, we settled on one. As it happens, not a good one. You live and learn and the company more than made up for the less than mediocre food.

Breakfast at the hotel was plentiful and when faced with a plentiful breakfast buffet, I like to think that my stomach is bottomless. This is a true story - I eat about 7 times more from a breakfast buffet than I would on any ordinary day of my life. No idea how as 2 weetabix on a normal day keeps me going all the way through to lunch, but something about the luxury of having a chocolate mini muffin immediately after croissants filled with Nutella makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. But my point in all of this is that eating an enormous breakfast when we're travelling generally keeps us going until dinner time, so you know... cost saving. Because Dave has to visit Hard Rock Cafe in every city we go to that has one, we found ourselves cowering from the torrential downpour at the Hard Rock bar at 2pm, in the hour-long queue for a table waiting for the buzzy bleeper thing to start buzzing. We eventually ate at around 4pm and, because HRC serves supersized portions as standard, I declared myself full until sometime in 2020. And so with no need for dinner, another tapas opportunity escaped me. Sigh.

We left on the Sunday with no tapas opportunity presenting itself before we had to make our way to the airport, so I left Barcelona tapas-less and, quite frankly, disappointed at my tapas-less state of affairs. I did get some absolutely delicious freshly squeezed coconut and pineapple smoothies though, so I guess that counts for something.

Month three:
Weekends away: 1
Weekends away tally: 3


April


April was another local getaway to the coast, again with the pup, who laps up any opportunity for a run on the beach and Swanage did not disappoint.

It was rainy, grey and a bazillion degrees below zero in the wind, but we were away from home and I just kept having to remind myself that that was the point. It happily afforded me the opportunity to catch up with a high school friend who now lives down that way, which was just an fab way to while away 3 really weather-miserable hours. We cosied inside a cafe for a meal and a chat and then gave the pups a run on the beach. I have to say, despite the weather, I was disappointed to find the ice cream shop closed for the season.

Month four:
Weekends away: 1
Weekends away tally: 4


May


May was a pretty special trip, both because of the place we went, but also because of how it was made possible. Steve would almost certainly have worried sick about our choice of destination, but I sent a little thanks skywards to him every day that I saw Dave smile while we were there.

Jordan.

Wow. I had never really thought about Jordan before - in fact, I still probably couldn't confidently point it out on a map - but this was a Bucket List destination for Dave. His eyes lit up at every turn and he just absorbed the experience into every fibre of his being. To say we loved Jordan would be a mild understatement and, like Bosnia a number of years ago, I was so completely blindsided by it all. What an amazing country with fantastically friendly people and just breath-taking scenery.

We started out in the desert at a Bedouin Camp which is not for the faint-hearted nor anyone with a delicate disposition. I can describe the baseline experience with one word: flies. However, flying-poop-carriers-landing-on-your-food-constantly aside, the desert was a pretty special experience. It was about a billion degrees with no luxuries like aircon, or even a breeze, but there was something pretty special about being out in the middle of nowhere with just a couple of Bedouins, the stars, moon and a lifetime supply of sand to keep you company. No light pollution. No sound at all. Except if you count the eleventy thousand flies and mozzies. As I said... not for the faint-hearted.

The part that Dave was most looking forward to was Petra and it didn't disappoint. His face was like a kid whose birthday and Christmas had come at the same time, with a surprise visit from the Easter Bunny. What a place.

It's an entire day, again spent in what feels like a billion degrees, walking, trekking and glugging on any form of liquid you can get your hands on like your life depends on it (we spent £40 on drinks alone that day!), but all totally worth it in the end. When we planned this trip, some friends told us that we just HAD to trek to the Monastery, which is located at the top of the mountain, up over 900 very ancient steps. There's something you need to know about me... I don't hike. I don't run, jump, hike or do anything even remotely resembling strenuous exercise. The constant debate I have with myself when faced with more than 1 flight of stairs is whether I really want what's at the top or not. So the thought of climbing over 900 steps UP a mountain was just not even an option. Dave was always going to go on his own, it wasn't even a topic for conversation. So when we got all the way through Petra to the end of the site and, as it happens, the base of the aforementioned mountain, I was fully expecting to sit down in the shade and while away 2 hours whilst Dave exerted energy which, quite frankly, seemed too precious to me to exert. But... I found myself tagging along, just as moral support. I was not hugely impressed with everyone who opted to mount themselves on the back of a poor, desperately tired donkey to make that climb. Shame on you all! I heard one lady muttering 'poor donkey' whilst on the back of the poor thing.... go figure. At 200 steps I was still tagging along as I was still at 500. What was going on?! At about 876 though, that was me, I was done. I told Dave to go on and collect my body on the way back down and to make sure I was buried with chocolate. We stopped for a freshly squeezed fruit juice - lemon for Dave, orange for me - and asked the vendor how much longer it was to the Monastery, which I hoped to God after all of this actually existed. 10 minutes, he said. We'd been climbing for 35 at that point. So I now had to decide whether I believed this juicing aficionado or whether I wanted to hang out with the flies. I chose to stick with the tagging along and we eventually made it to see this...

My first words, and I quote, were "Is that it??" I mean, nobody even lives there?! For goodness' sake, I'd have at the very least expected a marching band and bloody cocktails with umbrellas and everything for all that effort! But instead we got flies. But admittedly, after cooling down as much as you can in Jordan in 45-degree heat after having trekked up a veritable Everest, I finally looked around and appreciated the view. My fitbit told me we'd walked nearly 18,000 steps to that point and the bloody hilarious* thing is that we had no option but to reverse the journey on foot.

*heart-stopping realisation

But first... I grabbed a perfect photo op of my man taking in his ultimate Bucket List destination.

The next stop was the Dead Sea, which was relaxing, but one of those things in life that you can see once and cross it off the list, although it was admittedly a very relaxing end to our trip. You're told to cover yourself in the mud and leave it on for 15 minutes for the detox fairies and elves to do their work. Well... I don't know about anyone else, but the second the mud was on was the same second that my internal oven switched itself to the 230 degrees with fan setting and I started baking. From the inside out. We barely had enough time to take this photo before running into the sea to get it off as quickly as possible. We look happy, huh? Yeah... boiling internal organs must release endorphins.

So... Dead Sea done and dusted, it was time to hit the hotel pool bar. Aaaaand... relax!

Jordan definitely gets our vote, it was a fantastic trip made even more amazing by seeing Dave that happy for the first time in 5 months. It's definitely one for the 'must go back' list.

Month five:
Weekends away: 1
Weekends away tally: 5


June


Every June we make a trip over to the Isle of Wight music festival - it's become somewhat of a tradition and in recent years, our group has grown. Last year, my sister and brother-in-law added a few days in the UK onto their big European adventure to join us, which was so much fun. As it happens, they liked it so much, that another trip all the way from SA was planned this year to attend with us - not as part of a European adventure this time, although my sister was in between business trips in this hemisphere, which made it a no brainer! After years of trying to convince them, Dave's cousins also joined us, so it was a bit of a family affair. Flower crown in place, off we went. From Sheryl Crow to Liam Gallagher, Depeche Mode to The Killers, Nile Rodgers & Chic to Manic Street Preachers... it was a fantastic weekend of music just as it is every year. And this year, the weather played ball and was lovely and warm with no need for the waterproofs at all. There is always, however, the need for a second mortgage to afford any of the food and drink, but that's how they get you... they ensure that the beer is flowing freely enough to avoid anyone noticing the rapid depletion of their bank balances until they've arrived back on the mainland.

Month six:
Weekends away: 1
Weekends away tally: 6

And that, dear readers, brings me to the end of the first half of the year, resolution intact (which I can't quite believe). I'm not sure about anyone else, but I don't remember a single resolution that I've ever been able to keep, so let's hope the rest of the year pans out!

And to answer the two most common questions I get:

Yes I have a job.
No we haven't won the lottery.

For those of you who were subscribed to it, I know I'm 21 months late on updating The Travel Blog that Never Was... I'll resurrect and update it as soon as I can!

It only happens to other people

You know what it's like - you're young, thinking about your future, who you'll end up with, where you will live and what you'll be doing in 5, 10, 20 years' time.  I was never a child who envisaged every detail of her wedding day, I always just lived in the moment and kind of figured it would all work out the way it was meant to eventually.  The older I get, the more that idyllic picture becomes fuzzy, not as clear and definitely doesn't fit in with the timeline I had in my head.

I've recently become increasingly aware of my age, strange as that may seem.  It's always been a foreign concept to me, probably because I'm incredibly lucky to still have friends I met at the age of 8 in my life.  When you grow up with the same people, all growing up at the same time, turning a year older in quick succession alongside each other, you all just seem to remain the same age, never get older, always feel as though you're 'forever young'.  Unfortunately, when it comes to that idyllic picture, if it includes children, the 'forever young' plan comes to a screeching halt at some point, because you realise that that pesky timeline is stretching further and further out and it's not something that you have much control over.

I never wanted to be an older mom.  There has always just seemed to be time before now, but on the eve of my 37th birthday it hit me, this was the age by which I said I had to have children or this was it.  It broke me.  At the dinner table.  With Dave looking on.... pretty horrified.  Not out of embarrassment (I hope!), but because the tears just came from nowhere and he was concerned about this sudden flood of emotion from his (not normally overly dramatic) wife.  I couldn't explain it at the time and I still can't, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the tears flowing.

Infertility has been an annoying dark cloud hanging above our heads for the past almost 6 years.  That's what it's been... an annoyance.  Most of the time, I manage to ignore it and the shadow it casts, but every now and then, it sucks me in and the cloud and I have a bit of a face-off.  I'm healthy.  I've never broken a bone in my body.  I can't remember the last time I had a cold or 'flu.  I have never had the need to maintain a skin routine - up until I few years ago, I used to wash my face with shower gel.  I used to have a washboard stomach - nobody who has met me in the past 6 years would ever believe that.  I was once fit.  I was a dancer for 16 years of my life, dancing 6 days a week, sometimes 6 hours a day.  In between that, I fit in the swimming team, as well as the diving team.  I also did the occasional high jump and athletics race, although I was definitely far from good at it.  I was always more comfortable in my tap shoes or in any one of my dance classes (except ballet... because pointe shoes are created by evil goblins who hate feet) .  I hate not feeling fit anymore, but I'm largely healthy, despite not having that level of energy anymore.  In fact, apart from a minor form of skin cancer which is kept under control with regular check-ups and the occasional surgery, I'm absolutely fine.  And I don't mean that in the usual, girly way of saying 'I'm fine' when they're clearly not, I genuinely mean that I'm fine.  Throughout the past 6 years, all my tests have been perfect.  There is nothing to report.  Now comes the 'but'.  The exception to all of this is that I am significantly overweight.  That's not healthy.  For 6 years, I have gone to various GPs, raising concern over my significant weight gain since coming off the pill to try to conceive, to be met with very little in the way of guidance, help or support.  I have tried eleventy million different diets, detoxes and eating plans, most to much the same effect - I'll lose a few pounds, but nothing significant enough to make a difference and I have yet to find a plan that feels like the lifestyle change it needs to be to work for me.

If you've followed my blog or know me personally, you'll know that I was sort-of diagnosed, then un-diagnosed and then re-diagnosed with PCOS.  I'm serious.  It took 5 years, 4 fertility specialists and about 6 GPs to land on a diagnosis of PCOS.  Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome unbelievably affects 1 in 10 women of childbearing age.  We are definitely not alone, but it certainly feels it.  I'll start with the 2nd fertility specialist we saw, just to get him out of the way for the purposes of this story, because I hate giving him even a second of my brain space.  The first thing he said to Dave and I after 'Hello' was '... so I'm guessing you've come to me for a second opinion because you think I can work miracles'.  Well, he got crossed off the list with lightening speed!  I separate him out, because he is the only specialist who hasn't uttered some frustratingly annoying words to me - mainly because all he saw was a me-shaped puff of smoke when I beat a hasty exit from his office after his amazing appalling bedside manner, that he didn't have the time to no doubt give me the sage advice that all of the others gave.  All of the rest of them have sent me away with 1 of 2 pieces of advice.  'Keep doing what you're doing' and, the more popular option, 'Come back and see me when you've lost some weight'.  Don't even get me started on the first piece of amazingly unhelpful advice but let me explain just one problem I have with the second.  Telling me to go away and lose weight immediately followed by a 'Nice to meet you' and absolutely nothing else that is of any use to me is like telling me to pack a bag and hike to the top of Mount Everest without ever having hiked, nor ever having had any snow training (is that a thing?).  When you have PCOS, losing even 1 pound and keeping it off, feels like an insurmountable challenge.  Is it really that much to ask for a little guidance from the specialists who have the medical knowledge to diagnose me?  I am not telling a word of a lie - with Dave as my witness - when I say that I was actually told, by a private specialist, to go and do the water/lemon/cayenne pepper drink thing in order to lose weight.  Oh... and these words actually came out of his mouth... 'Have you heard of the cabbage soup diet?'.  I actually had no idea what to say (although some choice words were going on in my head... mom, I promise I've never said them out loud *fingers crossed behind my back*), but I think my 'Cabbage is the devil's food' face told him what he needed to know about my opinion on the subject of all things cruciferous.  Which is unbelievable in itself, given that my hatred of cabbage was the least of my concerns with this really, really poorly advised plan of action.  I learnt way too late that 'go away and lose weight' is doctor code for 'prove to me how serious you are about having a baby'.  If a patient returns to them having duly lost weight, they take them on for assisted conception treatments.  The real problem I have with this is that I COULD go on the cabbage diet (my taste buds are dying just at the thought).  I could also go on the vomit-inducing lemon and cayenne pepper drink thing, but how are either of those diets going to give my body the energy and nutrients it needs to successfully carry a baby to term?  It is so irresponsible, I can't even begin to understand how it is given out so freely and with a straight face, but yet it happens.  All the time.

It is so difficult to explain to someone what having PCOS feels like on a daily basis.  It also presents itself so differently in those who suffer from it that no two accounts will be the same.  For me, it's like starting a diet every Monday.  But unlike with a diet, where you can identify where you went wrong - like falling off the wagon after that last cheat day; or you didn't do enough exercise or you stopped going to the gym - this, and particularly with unexplained infertility, is like starting a diet every week, falling off the wagon, but not knowing when, where or how nor, more importantly, how to get back on it and just getting completely run over by the wagon and all of the horses pulling it.  And then there's the feeling that you're the only one going through it, even though logically, you know that's not true.  It's like you're at a birthday party which you can't invite anybody else to.  To invite anybody would be to invite messages of sympathy which - conversely - is like a red rag to a bull for someone struggling with infertility.  We fancy ourselves superheroes, able to get through it all alone.  It's a constant cycle of gritted teeth smiles, feelings of despair, overwhelming loneliness and, thankfully for me, only the occasional tear shed.  So here we all are, 1 out of every 10 of us in the UK alone, all at our own individual parties.  Sounds lonely, huh?  It's really difficult to articulate it any other way.  It shouldn't be something to be ashamed of, but even sharing with my husband when I'm feeling down about it is difficult.  I know some of you reading this will think 'What?  You should be able to share anything with your husband of all people.  You must not have a very strong marriage!'.  For me, and I am almost certain I am not alone in dealing with it this way, I love him and don't want to see him in pain.  It feels natural to me not to share with him every single time I feel this way, because if he knew I felt like this, he'd feel the same pain and I want to shelter him from that.  I don't want him to be upset or hurt because quite frankly, there is nothing he can do about it so for the most part, I take one for Team Us and spare him.  I share only when I need to, and mostly to spare myself, because I never feel more exposed and vulnerable than when discussing this with him.  It is almost the only time I shed tears over it.  This isn't the case for everybody, but for us, we are happy with our lot.  A child would be the cherry on top, but the lack of one will not break us and that is a decision we made when it first became clear that we'd struggle on this particular journey.  So why do I feel at my most vulnerable when discussing this with my husband of all people?  Well, simply because as a woman of a particular age, no matter what we've decided as a couple, it still comes as a blow that I can't give my husband a child.

I read a blog earlier this week that was almost word-for-word, the same as something that has been going around in my head for ages.  It talked about all the 'at leasts' you get when you're struggling with infertility which struck a chord with me because it is just so true.  For me, it's almost always 'At least you have Dave...'.  If you are reading this and have said that to me, then please know, from the bottom of my heart, that I know that it is well-intended and meant as support.  But it's counter-intuitive.  If I didn't have Dave, I wouldn't feel the way I do about it.  Then I get to thinking about what I've actually lost.  Nothing tangible, that's for sure.  It's the 'forever young' picture, the possibility of something that was always meant to happen.  Losing that ideal is not supposed to happen to us, it only happens to other people.

Things have a funny way of working out.  When I think back on it all now, I can see that there is a lot of truth to the old adage that everything happens for a reason.  Had everything gone to my 'forever young' plan, we'd have a 5 year old, and potentially one a little younger.  3 years ago, almost to the date, Dave's dad collapsed and was very ill in hospital, to the point that the doctors were telling us to prepare ourselves.  He recovered, but due to his health concerns, he had to come and live with us.  At the time, we lived in a small 3-bedroom cottage in a tiny village in Hampshire.  Had all gone to plan, we'd have had a 2-year old, us and my disabled father-in-law in a cottage with 1 bathroom.  Then, 9 months later, my mother-in-law collapsed with a brain aneurysm, which keeps her incapacitated to this day.  At the time, Dave was working in Reading, I was working where I am now in Hampshire and my mother-in-law was in hospital in South London.  Dave and I used to make a 4-hour round-trip to visit his mother for about 20 minutes at a time, often getting home after 9pm, then still needing to prepare dinner and wind down for the day, ready to do it all again the next.  Our child would have been nearly 3.  20 months ago, Dave lost his job in an industry he loved, but that was declining drastically and continues to flail.  Despite desperate efforts to find something else, he wasn't successful.  During the same year, our child would have needed to start school, with all the costs associated with it.  Life has a funny old way of saying 'I told you so' in retrospect.

Going through infertility treatment and being on this unexplained infertility journey in general has been confusing, frustrating and overwhelming and I am just so thankful that I am as grounded and naturally positive as I am, because I can't imagine going through this with the weight of the world on my shoulders and I genuinely feel for those kindred souls who are, perhaps, a little less resilient than I am.  Dave and I have had our bad patch, 3 years went by when things just went wrong in quick succession and there was very little to keep our chins up about, but we held onto each other through it, propping each other up and are now past that, through the tunnel and staring into the sunshine on the other side.  I never want to turn back, that's for sure!  For starters, that's not where the finish line is, but apart from anything, what we've been through has got us to where we are now - facing the next chapter together, stronger than we were, but also a little bit older and hopefully a little wiser.  With that, comes a sprinkle of realism that maybe kids are not in our future.  We've still not given up hope, but if that turns out to be the case, we'll be okay.  At least we have each other, right?  That's one 'at least' that I don't mind so much.

It's only hair...

The title of this post is a flippant statement that you or I might make when we get our hair cut.  Turn the tables and look at it from the perspective of someone who is facing losing theirs and you can see how that simple statement could be turned into a frustrated question.  It's only hair?! 

I've just done something that I've never really thought about before.  I've donated my hair to charity to help people who face losing theirs to various medications - the people that spring most easily to mind are cancer patients (read: Superheros) undergoing chemotherapy and radiation.

To give you a bit of background as to why I decided to do this, it's worth pointing out that I, selfishly, initially wanted only to help 1 person in particular. 

My younger cousin has recently been diagnosed with Paget's Disease and will shortly be undergoing all of the horrible medication cycles associated with The Big C.  As you can imagine, one of the first things that initially worried her was the potential to lose her hair through having the treatment, and so, in her typically proactive, upbeat and positive way, she got on the case with 'Project Wig' almost immediately.  I won't tell her story for her, you can read more about it below.

Pause at that point and take one step back to a couple of months ago where, at a Charity Day at work, I won a voucher to have my hair cut and blow-dried at a local salon.  It's not my usual salon, so I didn't really think too much about using the voucher until a couple of weeks ago when I decided that I could probably do with a bit of a pre-Autumn spruce.  I remembered the voucher and, like a light bulb going on, an idea came to me.  I sent my cousin a message to ask if I could donate my hair for use in her wig.  Because she's so on the ball, talks around her wig are already in progress, but she said 'why don't you donate your hair anyway?'.  I thought about it and thought 'why not?'.  It won't be of any use to me once it's cut.  And so began the process of researching where and how I could go about doing this. 

One company, who will remain anonymous for the purpose of this specific blog post, was a no-go immediately for their discriminatory policies and, after looking through the remaining few, I opted for The Little Princess Trust.  This charity provides real hair wigs for children suffering with hair loss and was the only one I came across which doesn't pay you for your hair.  I don't know why, but being paid for hair that I'm donating for someone else to benefit from made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but to each their own.  I'm not in a position to stand in judgment, but personally speaking, it's just not for me. 

Having carefully washed, but not conditioned, my hair as per the donation guidelines on the morning of the cut, I made sure to pack my plastic bag to put the hair into straight away and off I trotted after work to the salon.  Turns out, they're old hats at this and even offered me a plastic bag of their own!  My stylist had a brief conversation with me about why I was doing this and what I wanted my eventual cut to look like.  She then said to her colleague, 'Please can you grab me the clippers?'.  GULP.  Clippers?  Aren't those used by men to shave their heads??  I remained silent, because these people know what they're doing, right?  RIGHT??  I just sat back whilst she took a razor to my hair. 

She hesitated before she started and looked at me and said 'You don't seem bothered by this at all!', to which I replied that I wasn't.  It didn't phase me in the slightest.  Why?  All together now... because 'it's just hair'.  It'll grow back and, with any luck, I'll be able to do this again next year. 

And I was right... she knew just what she was doing!

And so it is that a voucher won at a work Charity Day enabled me to Pay It Forward to a deserving charity who will be able to make use of something that I'd have ordinarily referred to as 'only hair'.  Even if I didn't already like the word so much, I'd still call that serendipity.

For me, at this moment in time, it is 'only' hair... and for a newly discovered reason, I'm incredibly grateful to be able to say that.

For more information on my cousin's journey, please take a look at her blog by clicking here.

UPDATE:  6th October 2016

Today marks the first day of Sarah's treatment as well as her birthday!  Not a nice way to spend your birthday, but as I've said to her, if anyone can get through their first treatment with a smile (and red lippy) on their birthday, she can!

I received this a couple of weeks' ago, which was a nice surprise.

I have a very talented hubby!

I have often thought about adding a page to my blog to shout about Dave's photography.  He's so quietly humble about it, but I'm pretty proud of him!  He posts them on social media. but some of my family aren't 'connected', so I thought I'd post his most recent one here because it's just too amazing not to share.

Good, huh?

Oh, what the hell, now that I'm shouting about it, here are a few more that he's taken recently.

And my personal favourite....

What y'all think?  

Decisions, decisions...

The title of this blog post seems like it's going to be a deep and meaningful one, but it's not.  I just read something today that I loved and I've gone back to it over and over again... not because I have any burning decisions to make, but because I love the simplicity of the instruction.

"If you are ever stuck choosing between two things, simply flip a coin.  Not because it chooses for you, but because for those few seconds that the coin is in the air, you know what you are hoping for."

Sounds pretty simple, right?  It seems a good way to alleviate the stress of decision-making.  Put all your faith in a coin... and for a few seconds, the power of your own mind and heart.  Isn't that the typical power struggle though?  Heart vs mind.  

I'm going to try to remember to apply this simple logic next time I'm stuck and see which one screams the loudest.

By the way, I have no idea who authored this, so kudos to whomever it is due.

An update on the Travel Blog That Never Was

This post will mainly serve as an aide memoire for me for posterity, given that it was three and a half years ago now that I vowed to keep up with my travel blog by kicking it off with a post about our travels up to that point.  Well, a little like I described in that post about the numerous attempts at a travel blog before that, my idea never really lifted off.  It really tried, bless its little soul, it really begged, bugged, popped itself as an idea every so often into my brain, but it's owner and author couldn't keep up.  Yes, that's me. *she types with one hand whilst guiltily lifting the other*.  

So... a refresher on that post and subsequent trips that did get time devoted to them before I move on:

The travel blog that never was - October 2012

Normandy, France - October 2012

Ljubljana, Slovenia - December 2012

New Year in Switzerland - December 2012

Reykjavik, Iceland - March 2013

Tuscany, Italy - May 2013

Cornwall, England - May 2013

South Africa - May 2013

And whilst going through this list, I have realised that I drafted up 2 further travel blogs - one for Croatia, Bosnia & Montenegro in September 2013 and one for our Thanksgiving trip to the US in November of the same year and I never finished them.  I guess it's kind of understandable since December 2013 is when Dave's dad fell very ill and we needed to make some pretty quick decisions about our - and his - living situation which meant that most other stuff just had to be put on the back burner for a while or cancelled altogether (including, ironically, an anniversary trip to Helsinki that year), but I just can't believe that I didn't finish what I had fully intended to post.  

Just for the record, they were entitled "Beautiful Bosnia, mad Montenegro and chilled Croatia... all in a mini road trip!" and "An American Tale and a home away from home for the holidays".

So whilst they don't have their own posts, they are included in my renewed list of travels with photo album links below, in continuation of the Travel Blog That Never Was (aka The TBTNW).  

Ready?  Right... deep breath... here we go!

Durban, South Africa - May 2013

Cape Town, South Africa - May 2013

Mostar, Sarajevo & Trebinje, Bosnia - September 2013

Montenegro - September 2013

Dubrovnik, Split & Trogir, Croatia - September 2013

Philadelphia, USA - November 2013

Washington DC, USA - November 2013

New York, USA - November 2013

Thanksgiving in New Jersey, USA - November 2013

Shannon's visit to the UK - December 2013

Bangkok & Nong Khai, Thailand - April 2014

Vientiane & Luang Prabang, Laos - April 2014

Siem Reap & Angkor Wat, Cambodia - April 2014

Phnom Penh & The Killing Fields, Cambodia - April 2014

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Da Nang & Hoi An, Vietnam - April 2014

Hanoi & Halong Bay, Vietnam - April 2014

One Tree Hill Convention: From Wilmington To Paris, France - September 2014

Berlin, Germany - November 2014

Milan, Italy - November 2014

Isle of Wight - December 2014

Etosha & Windhoek, Namibia - December 2014

Durban, South Africa - December 2014

Cape Town, South Africa - December 2014

Oslo & Sandefjord, Norway - May 2015

Santiago & Valparaiso, Chile - August 2015

Wilmington, NC, USA - August 2015

Stockholm, Sweden - October 2015

New York, USA - November 2015

Québec City, Canada - November 2015

Road trip to Montreal, Canada - November 2015

Ottawa, Canada - November 2015

Toronto, Canada - November 2015

Niagara Falls, Canada - November 2015

Thanksgiving in New Jersey, USA - November 2015

Katie's UK visit - December 2015

Penny & Kurt's UK visit - December 2015

North Wales with Penny & Kurt - December 2015

Malta, Gozo & Comino - March 2016

We have a few travel plans already in the pipeline this year, included a 3rd annual family trip with Dave's cousins, but next up will be a short hop over to Dublin to spend some time with a very dear friend and soaking up some music and then it's my beautiful South Africa next month... only 33 sleeps to go!

Almost there and nowhere near it

.... all that matters is we're still going.

Family health issues.  Loss of loved ones.  Money worries.  Job insecurity.  Big Brother-y living situations.  Since December 2013, we've had all of these in abundance - I'd confidently argue that I'd be pretty content never experiencing any of these ever again, unrealistic as that sounds.  BUT... that's not what this post is about.  It's about all the silver linings, the things amongst the tough stuff that has kept a smile firmly on our faces.  It seems that all we've done is jump over hurdles the past few years, but you know what?  I've come to realise that that's just life.  So enough of all of that, most of it is SO last year!

Despite all of the obstacles, we've slowly but surely picked away at them so that most of them don't matter anymore - either by design or by force (Me?  No, never.) - and for the most part, we've been living a relatively stress-free life for the past 8 months.  We've had some pretty awesome family time at the end of last year, which is always a major bonus for me, and we've both acknowledged that by the end of last year, all of the built-up tension and stress we had been carrying had all but melted away.  It was a really liberating feeling to acknowledge it, even if I didn't realise it was happening at the time.  We've continued to travel, although not as frequently as in previous years and we have come out of our hermit-like existence this year to make an effort to see our friends more.  It's been a great few months actually - we've shrugged the heaviness off our shoulders and are finally feeling like ourselves again.

The last major stress hurdle for Dave and I to overcome is the fact that he still, despite every effort literally every day for over a year, hasn't been able to find work since having his contract ended in March last year.  He has had his ups and downs - the downs being periods where I literally have never felt so useless - but the ups and the expectation and anticipation of the next new adventure make it mostly okay.  At the moment, he's almost there.  We're almost there.  And then what?  We may cash in those life credits my cousin told me about.

Dear William

To my gorgeous Godson

It's been nearly 2 months since you came into our lives and I can tell you something, I have never seen your parents happier! Over the past 18 years I've seen them love, I've seen them fight, I've seen them with endless smiles on their wedding day and I've seen them go through one of the toughest years of their lives last year, but nothing compares to their faces when they look at you.

Your mom has been my best friend since we were 9. That's 26 years of solid friendship that I am so thankful for. Those years have seen us go through a huge amount, most of it apart from each other because of geography, but when we speak to each other, it's as if only a few hours have gone by since we last spoke. One of the many things I love about your mom is that when we laugh, we do it properly - until our bellies hurt and we have tears pouring down our cheeks! And one of the best things about your dad is how much he loves your mom. That has never wavered from the first day he came into her life and is so evident in everything he does.

So I want you to know that you have been chosen by 2 of the best people I know and buddy, that's the best start I could ever have hoped for you.

I was absolutely honoured when your mom asked me to be your Godmother. You'll come to know as you grow older that everyone has their own belief systems and whilst I won't profess to being a Godmother in the true sense of the word, I can guarantee that not a day will go by that I don't love you. My job is to support your parents, support you and to help guide you through life. It's not always easy, but I aim to help make it the most fun, valuable and treasured life imaginable for you! You are one in a million, my little boy, your parents waited a long time for you and they are doing an amazing job! In the few weeks that they've had you, I have seen your little personality grow in leaps and bounds... you are a truly happy little being (with eyes that are capable of melting hearts!). Add to that the amazing family they both have and you are one lucky little chap.

There is plenty of time in your life for me to tell you stories about your parents, funny ones that will give you belly laughs and will no doubt some day embarrass you completely, but for now, I want you to know that even though I am not with you every day, I am thinking about you. I am watching you grow and loving every photo, video and anecdote that your mom sends me. I know when you got your first tooth and I am expecting any day now to know that you've taken your first step or said your first word. There are so many 'firsts' that I am so excited for your parents to experience with you.

My promise to you is that I will always provide a support system, be a shoulder for you to lean on, give you guidance when you need it and a steer on the right path. I promise to always pack the fun along with the life lessons and mostly, I promise that you will always have tons and tons of love. I also promise one day to explain to you why I call you my little Squirt - although I may keep that nugget for your 18th birthday!

You have come into my life just when I needed a ray of sunshine and you've certainly provided it in copious amounts with that ever-present cheeky, dimpled grin.

Sending you all my love across the miles, little buddy!

Love Aunty Lins xxx

Earning life credits

I haven't written in a long time.  That's not to say that I don't have entries stacked up in volumes in my head, but life has been getting the better of us lately, so concentrating on getting through each day, week and month has been the priority.

I won't wax lyrical about the challenges Dave and I have faced over the past 14 months - the last 6 in particular - but suffice it to say that it's not been a bundle of laughs, for us personally, for other members in both of our families and for those near and dear to my nearest and dearest.  I can whole-heartedly say that although 2014 started off amazingly for us (see my last, fairly ironic, blog entry from June last year), it soon became clear that it would end off being one of the worst... and 2015 hasn't disappointed on that front either so far.

I sent an update e-mail to my family the other day and among the responses was a line from my cousin that stuck out at me and I hope he'll forgive me for stealing.  He said "Cuz... hang in there, you are earning life credits from the universe and I'm sure it will swing in the other direction soon".  Life credits.  I love that thought.

All of this, together with writer's block has meant that I've neglected my trusty little blog - the place I go to get the thoughts in my head out and onto paper screen.  So I aim to try and keep up - and catch up! - with it again.  There is a lot of travelling which has not made its way onto the site and I aim to rectify that, starting now.

As the famous movie line goes "It will all be alright in the end.  And if it's not alright, then it is not the end".  We can't control what happens to us, but we can control our attitude towards what happens to us.  I have no doubt that we are nowhere near the end of this tough period yet, we haven't yet rounded the corner where the light starts to shine at the end, but I have a level of optimism about it (most of the time) that hopefully will make the universe stand up and take notice!  With every blow, with every bit of bad news we get either here or from home, I just feel like yelling "Seriously?"  But then I realise that it's just the universe's way of challenging us.  I've always been a big believer in the fact that we won't be sent more than we can handle, so a note to the Powers That Be.... I think we're just about done here.  Although I am certain that I'll learn to deal with it, I'm not sure how much more we or our families can take, so I'm unfurling my white flag as I type!

Tough things happen, sometimes to some people more than others and admittedly, up until now I've been fairly fortunate, but now is my time to adapt my attitude (hard as it may be on some days) and I'm choosing to believe that it will all be alright in the end.

And as for these life credits we're building up? Well, I'm making big plans for them as I type, so Universe, be warned. I hope you can take as good as you give!

A change is all I needed!

It's been a few months since I made what seemed to me to be a radical decision. I've always thought about looking for a job closer to home, but I never really put much effort into it. That was because I loved my job. I loved my role, I love my work friends (still love them to bits!) and I truly loved going to work, even if it meant sitting for 4 hours on trains every day. Circumstances after that - and completely by my own doing - meant that I found myself in a role that was incredibly unsatisfying. I learnt a few years ago that there is far more to life than sitting at a desk, spending every day in a job that doesn't test you.

It has been a month today since I started my new job around the corner from home and I can honestly say that I feel more relaxed than I have done in years - and I didn't feel particularly wound up before! I now have the luxury of time - time to sleep in, time to walk Lucy in the mornings and time to take a leisurely drive to the office. Time to get home when it's still light, time to cook and time to spend time with Dave in the evenings. Whereas before my week was dictated by train schedules, there are now no timetables to stick to and I'm loving it! Add to that the fact that I am once again doing what I truly love to do and it's a winning formula.

I won't lie, this has been an amazing year for us and I touch a lot of wood saying that. If no other good things happen this year, I can honestly say that I'm happy with my lot in 2014. It's been a truly fantastic year so far and it's only June.

The saying is that a haircut is as good as a holiday, well in my case, a holiday and new job have literally turned my life around for the better. Long may it continue!