Escaping - Just for a little while

So this year so far has been a tough one. There can be no denying that. I still have my moments when I think I'm going to wake up and find out it's all been some really horrible dream.

When I think that yesterday was 7 months since Dad left us so suddenly, it shakes me to the core. How can life have just kept going on as usual for so long when he's not here any longer? But I have to confess that the good moments are slowly starting to outweigh the bad. And the bad moments are often touched by a kind of happiness.

This last week I've been escaping from everything. Myself and the other half took a camping trip up to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (which is quite possibly one of the most beautiful places I've been). We found ourselves in a beautiful campground, miles from anything, with no internet and no phones. It was a kind of heaven.

 

But when he disappeared off to get firewood from a little store down the road I had one of the bad moments. Camping was and still is something I associate with Dad. He loved to camp. He was a Scout leader for many years and there were a number of Scout camps he took us kids along on.

 

So sitting there in that stunning campground, with only really the sounds of the wind in the trees and the river running along the back of our site, I couldn't help but think of Dad. I couldn't help but think that I was in a place he would have loved, doing something he would have loved, and I wouldn't get to tell him about it. I wouldn't get to send him pictures of the tent, and tell him how it ended up being way bigger than we expected and how we managed to put it up backwards. I could picture his reaction, he would have laughed and told me some funny story about some scout camp I could barely remember, or given me some tips for 'next time'.

 

But even though I was sad, and I cried a little, sitting there on my own under the trees, listening to the river, I was also smiling. Smiling as I thought about Dad, and his stories and how happy he would have been that I was out there camping at all.

 

It's getting easier to remember the good things, easier to deal with the sad parts. I know that it's never going to be easy, but it's getting better.

 

But this escape was more than just about Dad, and dealing with everything that goes with it. It was also a nice reminder that I can go without internet and phones if I need to. Something I have to admit I was starting to doubt. Neither of our phones work in the U.S.A, and internet was out of the question, so it was just us, no distractions. And it was heavenly.

 

 

 

Now, don't go thinking that I'm about to dump all my modern technology. I can do without it, and enjoyed being without it, for a while, but it also reminded me how much I rely on it. My family is scattered across the globe, as are my friends, and as much as that is by choice, it also means that the internet is the only thing that connects us. Even if it is just a 'like' on a picture on Facebook, it helps me feel as though my sister, my mother and my brother (along with all the rest) are still a little involved in my life, and me in theirs.

 

So have no fear, Facebook, I am not abandoning you just yet.

 

But escaping from technology, from people, from life itself, just for a little while, is probably the best thing I've done all year.

 

I highly recommend it.

24 Years Later

The 2^nd of August. What a strange day. My father ‘celebrated’ the 2^nd of August every year for the last 24. This will be the first year he doesn’t. As he’s no longer here to commemorate it, I suppose it’s down to me.

It always struck me as an odd day to celebrate when I was a child. Why on earth would my father want to celebrate the day? But now I’m older I think I understand. Dad wasn’t celebrating the day, he was celebrating the days, weeks and years that came after it. He was celebrating the fact that he lived through it.

For those in the know, who understand the significance of the date, you can skip this bit. But for those who don’t, allow me to explain.

In July of 1990 the Middle East was in a little bit of turmoil. Saddam Hussein had massed his troops along the Kuwaiti border, threating invasion. It was supposedly about territory, but really, it was about oil. The rest of the world didn’t pay too much attention. It’s sabre rattling, they said. He’ll never actually invade, they said. They were wrong of course.

Also in July 1990, I was on holiday in Cyprus.  We went away most summers. Kuwait could be unbearably hot those last few months of summer, and it is absolutely no fun being a kid and being stuck in the AC. And so my parents would take myself, Ian and Jo away on holiday. Cyprus wasn’t exactly cool, but it was a hell of a lot cooler than Kuwait. Dad could never stay the whole time though. He had a job to get back to. So towards the end of the holiday he would pack up his bag and say goodbye for the next few weeks. We didn’t think too much of it. After all, we’d be back in Kuwait soon enough, and we still had Mum.

Then came the 2^nd of August. It was the same as any other summer day. We played in the pool. We ate copious amounts of ice cream. My older brother and sister teased me. I told Mum on them and got them into trouble. Nothing unusual. But of course, we didn’t have a TV in the holiday home, we never listened to the radio. How could we know anything was wrong?

But in another part of the world, everything was wrong. Dad had woken to a confusing, half asleep phone call from his boss.

“Don’t come to work. Stay inside.”

My father was never a morning person, so I can well imagine him struggling to make sense of it. But of course, he asked the most important question.

“Why?”

And the answer. I have so many regrets since my father passed away, but one of the worst is that I never asked him more about these moments of his life. Like what really passed through his mind the moment he got the reply. Whether he was scared? Whether he thought about us? Or Mum?

The reply? “The Iraqi’s have invaded. They’ve already taken the city.”

Dad was officially in a country at war. And his family were a few thousand miles away, with no idea.

Eventually he got a phone call through. He finally reached Mum at the poolside bar where we used to spend our days. I’ll never forget. How can you? I was seven years old, I didn’t have a clue what was going on, I only knew that something was horribly, horribly wrong.

I could tell you the rest of the story, but this blog post would be the size of a novel. I will write it down one day, I’ve always said I would.

But I can give you the basics. I saw my father at the end of July. The next time I saw him was at the school gates, surrounded by sobbing parents and the media, over 4 months later. With the wildest, shaggiest beard and hair.

He’d been in hiding, living in fear of being caught by the Iraqi soldiers, for most of that, but he had eventually been found and arrested at gunpoint and shipped off to Bagdad to be a part of the human shield. But in between he had helped organise convoys out of the country to get women and children to safety. He had opened his home to other men in hiding like himself, where they hid in the AC ducts every time the soldiers came calling. He had opened his home to others too. He wrote a small ‘newspaper’ that was passed around hand to hand by those in hiding and the resistance.

He was, quite simply, what every girl believes her father to be. A hero. Not the crazy, action hero type. But simply a quiet, brave man, who did what he felt needed to be done.

So this year I’m going to celebrate the 2^nd of August too. Because he survived it. Because he was a brave and wonderful man. Because I got 24 more years with him, when there was a time we didn’t know if we’d ever see him again.

If only I had a Keo.

Miss you every day, Dad. Xxx

 

(A/N – The memories of a 7 year old child are not the most accurate…and you must allow for a little poetic licence)

My Two Least Favourite Words

One day. (Or it’s variation – Someday.)

Two words that, in my opinion, should never be used together.

Yet, I hear it all the time. ‘One day I’d like to write a book’. ‘One day I’d like to visit Asia’. ‘One day I’d like to quit my job and do something I really love’. ‘One day I’ll tell that person I love them’.

A thousand dreams, a million plans for the future, all prefixed by the words ‘one day’. And I hate it. I hate it with a passion. And so should you.

Why? Because, to my mind, one of two things will happen.

Either, you’ll wake up, some distant version of yourself, and find that ‘one day’ has come and gone. That suddenly you are too old, or too in debt, or too tied down to ever do the things you dreamed of doing. Those old dreams have become submerged in a different life and different dreams. That’s not to say those new dreams are bad, but there will always be that tiny part of you that regrets the things you didn’t do. You will always wonder ‘what if’.

Or, worse, ‘some day’ will never come. The future, the plans, the dreams will disappear in the blink of an eye. You will be gone and the only thing left will be the regrets. There is no knowing how long we have in this world, and today may be the only day we have left. Depressingly sad maybe, but true.

And so the answer is this. Don’t say ‘one day’, say ‘today’. ‘Today I’m going to start writing that book’. ‘Today, I’m going to start saving for Asia’. ‘Today I’m going to look for a new job doing what I love’. ‘Today I’m going to tell him I love him.’

We only get one life. One chance. One opportunity to experience everything this crazy, incredible universe has to offer. (Now I feel like I’m stealing from a rap song). But it’s true. I sometimes think people don’t realise what an incredible blessing they have – just being alive. Life is crazy and wild and never turns out quite how we expect. But we have to take charge, we have to experience everything we can, whilst we still can.

Mark Twain says it better than I can – “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

So my friends and family can take this as a warning. If you say ‘one day’ around me, expect my wrath. It will be terrible. Tell me your dreams and plans and aspirations by all means. But don’t tell me that maybe, perhaps, one day, sometime you might do these things. Tell me you’re striving for them, you’re working towards them. Tell me you’re putting every ounce of passion and intellect and heart you possess into achieving those goals.

Don’t tell me ‘one day’, tell me ‘today’.

Desert Island Books

I was chatting to someone the other day about reading, and how much I love to bury myself in a good book, and they asked me ‘if you were stuck on a desert island, which 5 books would you absolutely have to have with you?’ It was something no one had ever asked me before and it’s a bit sad how long I had to think about it.

(Owen Island)

Of course, I didn’t like to mention to them that I pretty much do live on a desert island when it comes to getting hold of new books to read. (I swear about 50% of my salary when I did work full time went on buying books for my kindle.) But even though my Kindle is my life-saver I do like still love proper paper books. Maybe it makes me old-fashioned, but I really do feel that there is a difference between curling up with a kindle (or Nook, Ipad whatever) and a proper book.

That aside, if someone told me I had to pick 5 books, what would they be?

1.       The Lord of the Rings (obvious answer for anyone who knows me). And I class that as one book not three. It doesn’t matter how many times I read them, they will never get old.

2.       Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I know I can’t really get away with classing all 7 books as one – so I have to pick my favourite. But Harry Potter in general will always have a special place in my heart. I’ll be the first to admit that J.K isn’t the absolute best writer, but she is a Master of story-telling.

3.       Flowers of Algernon. Honestly just one of the best books I’ve ever read. It’s beautifully written, incredibly engaging and wonderfully thought-provoking.

4.       Pride and Prejudice. Again, don’t think I need to say much about this one. To be honest I love all of Jane Austen’s books – but Mr Darcy *sigh*.

5.       Every. Single. Book. Written. By. Terry Pratchett. Ok, so I guess I have to choose one. But to be honest it’s almost impossible. If I could only read the entire discworld books over and over again for the rest of my life, I don’t think I would get bored. The man is a genius. But, if I do have to pick one it would probably have to be Guards Guards! It’s the first book where we meet Vimes and the Night Watch, and introduces you to my favourite character. (Vimes!)

That’s my 5 (or 7 if you’re really being picky) books that I class as my top reads – and the books that I will happily read over and over and over again.

Now it’s your turn. What are your top 5? What books do you go back to year after year?

 

I Need Some Tough Love

So November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for short). For those not in the know NaNoWriMo is basically Movember for writers. Whilst men try to grow unsightly facial hair, writers try to grow a story.

The concept works like this. For the month of November you’re just supposed to write. No editing, no re-writing, just getting words down on paper. The aim is to get 50,000 words written by the end of the month. It’s an exercise in discipline (which a lot of writers aren’t known for) and creative freedom.

I’ve done NaNoWriMo once before, and managed to write 46,000 words by the end of the month. That rambling, messy manuscript was eventually tidied up and edited into the 120,000 word epic fantasy novel I currently have gathering dust in my hard drive. It’ll probably never see the light of day, but NaNoWriMo got me writing. It did what is says on the box.

This year I had great plans to do it again, but life got in the way. November was suddenly upon me, and has mostly gone past me before I even realised.

But it’s never too late right? So I have come to this conclusion. Half the month has gone – so I simply need to halve the target and I can still use the inspiration of NaNoWriMo to get some words down on paper.

I started writing a new novel on the 15^th – and I’m 10,000 words in. So all I need to do is write another 15,000 by the end of the month. But starting a novel is the easy part – the hard part is keeping up the momentum once you start to get bogged down with trivial little things like needing a plot that actually makes sense.

This is where the tough love bit comes in.

I am a notorious procrastinator. Sometimes I’ll do anything to avoid doing what I should actually be doing. Hell, I’ll even do housework sometimes rather than sit down and force myself to write when the muse isn’t around.

So here’s the deal.  To my online friends - my facebook and twitter friends, my family who are too far away to berate me in person, if you see me pissing around on Facebook or any other social media tell me to get the hell off and go and do something productive.

To the people who physically see me – if you see me around, without my laptop, or a notepad and pen (excluding when I’m at work, obviously) you have my full permission to give me a smack around the back of the head. I’m serious.

Trust me, if it gets to the end of the month and I’ve managed to get down 25,000 words, or hopefully more, I’ll thank you for it. In fact, I might even buy you a drink.

For now, my novel awaits. Two hours till work. A thousand words maybe? Come on, I know I can do it!