Like a hurricane

I was standing in the wind tunnel that is my daughter's school playground yesterday wishing I'd a) worn more clothes and b) weighted down my boots.

As I was pulling up my hood to (unsuccessfully) protect against the relentless gusts I was joined by a fellow windswept parent.

A parent who, I must admit, I have something of a mum crush on. She is immeasurably kind and wise - she's the yardstick I refer to (in my head) when I'm having a parenting crisis.

She is my distinctly non-religious and eminently capable female version of  "What would Jesus do?"

We got chatting about weekends - she'd just been on a mindfulness weekend to aid her working life and her personal one. (See! This is the kind of thing she does!)

The weekend had involved a visualisation exercise where she and the other attendees were asked to create an image of all their worries and concerns, write them on the side of a log and sit on the riverbank and watch as those logs drifted downstream.

You weren't allowed to touch the logs as they went past, you weren't allowed think of an answer to the concerns they raised and you certainly weren't allowed to launch yourself full-pelt into the river to slow down the logs.

You simply watched and acknowledged the logs as they drifted by.

This had really helped her, she said, as she's prone to hurrying to find solutions rather than taking time to calm herself down and think without clouds of anxiety hampering any decision.

I like the thought of it. I'm also prone to leaping into decisions, to reacting on panic, to blindly trying to clear lots of things off my list without properly thinking them through.

I don't know if it's a personality thing, a distraction thing or a reaction to MS mayhem thing - a way of gathering some sort of decisive control from the uncertainty this disease brings. Even if that decision might be the wrong one.

At the moment, I feel that I'd like to try for a bit of calm in the middle of the mayhem and if it's some floating logs that will do this for me, then I'm willing to sit on the bank and give it a go.

:: Like a hurricane by Neil Young

Reasons to be cheerful, part 3

It's been nice, hasn't it, this unexpected sunny weather?

Not for all us, I appreciate. Not for anyone with heat intolerance or anyone stuck in an office facing an unassailable pile of spreadsheets while silently weeping at the loveliness of the outside world, but on the whole after what seemed like an endless freeze, it's been really nice.

We've dipped back to normal April temperatures now, but for three glorious days last week, the weather gave us a glimpse of summer promise and forced us to make the most of it (even around the spreadsheets.)

I am in the fortunate position of being able to work from home, so reading documents in the garden, walking my daughter to school before opening my emails or even pegging the washing out inbetween tasks has been deeply lovely.

And it was my concerted efforts at grabbing the fleeting moments of sunshiney joy that made me consider how rubbish I generally am at appreciating the moment.

I know it's something we're constantly being reminded to do and there's a billion and one guides telling us how to do it, but IT IS VERY HARD, actually.

It's very hard among the work worries, the family plans, the emotional toll and physical constraints of illness, the financial concerns, the news fear, the outside pressures and the failure to be aware of what on earth a Milkshake Duck* is.

And this is from someone in the very privileged position of having a family, good friends, interesting work and being relatively stable (in the scheme of 14 MS filled years) health-wise.

So firstly, I need to count my blessings, and secondly, I need to properly appreciate them. Not everyone is in this position.

But how to appreciate? I found these five pointers through Google (the internet loves a list.)

The article recommends being mindful of your surroundings, beginning your day with affirmations, ending your day on a positive note, being curious and savouring the ordinary.

This would seem to make sense.

So I'm starting small, taking time to notice what's around me. Turns out there is a remarkable amount to appreciate.

The view of our garden (even the overgrown parts), the taste of my favourite tea, the sound of my daughter laughing, the smell of morning air.

The next page in my book, the last of the Easter chocolate, the song for this week, an over-the-fence waft of next door's tempting barbecue selection.

A cool shower, cats on my lap, lunch with a friend, stretching out at the end of the day. 
Not currently relapsing

It's all there for me to embrace, yet it's not always easy to do so - there are many distracting thoughts lining up to bash into my bubble. But like a long-forgotten muscle, I'm hoping my ability to appreciate will only get stronger with use.

:: Reasons to to be cheerful, part 3 by Ian Dury and The Blockheads

*One of last year's words of the year, apparently. I am so old.