So it was decided that J would spend the weekend with his dad, the chap who used to be my husband.  He was quite eager to go which pleased me.  Not that I was looking forward to being without him but it pleased me that they like each other enough to want to spend that time together doing boy things.

I had enough to be getting on with anyway.  My ex had brought round quite a bevy of boxes of my shit which I wanted to go through and clear out – bin it, send it to the charity shop or give some of those old books to the library.  I’m one of those people who rather quaintly treasure books sufficiently that they still look clean and new once the reading is done.

God knows where all those boxes had been because I swear there was stuff there I hadn’t laid eyes on for many a long year.  A wedding invite from 1994 from my best old university pal who, I’m pleased to say, is still happily married to the same man.  Some photos of my ex looking so boyish and cute I remembered why I had been putty in his hands.

And many old letters and cards from my mum.  There are some things that cannot be thrown away.  Her words to me were always so heart-felt and kind and slightly self-deprecating, they bring back many good memories.  I know they’re not her but I love the fact that she once touched them and I’m not ready to sling them out.  When would I be?

On Sunday I got up early and came back to my laptop where I was struggling to finish my sales letter.  It wasn’t the copy that was bugging me but a glitchy plugin.  Looking for some spiritual assistance, I picked up Sonia Choquette’s book  “Ask Your Guides” to see how I might source one such techie guide at short notice.  I read:

Before you can begin to recognise the presence of your spirit guides, you must first take note of your own beautiful spirit.

Fair enough, I thought.  And she gave me some suggestions for how I might acknowledge my beautiful spirit. 

Fill your home with beautiful flowers. I’m doing that one already.  I keep a vase (in truth a rather nice glass since in the move I have lost all vases) of simple roses or carnations on the kitchen window sill where I can get pleasure from them all day.

Listen to uplifting music. Sounds like a good suggestion for a Sunday morning so I found my Ipod, the one that is jammers with good music but is invariably used to listen to marketing teleseminars and business podcasts.  I dropped it into the docking station and then in pink polka-dot bathrobe and leopard-spotted faux-fur slippers  I danced and sang alone in the kitchen with Stevie Wonder and cried.  That’s the nice thing about music that’s been around for years, it transports you back and you cry for your youth, wishing you could remember it.

Pray. After my visit to the church the other day and with J being away for the weekend, and the sun shining so prettily, I finally got dressed and walked to 11 o’clock mass, the first time I’ve been to mass in Ireland in over a year.  Rather nice.

Finally, after more decluttering and having finished my sales letter I sat down to watch Celebrity Masterchef with a glass of a very nice Sauvignon Blanc and a Tesco Finest ready meal, the irony of course not being lost on me.  Now bear in mind that I am a week or so behind and I’m catching up on the week that featured Ricky ex-Eastenders Groves and Phil Vickery, ex England rugger captain.

So I loved it when Phil said, at the start of his day cooking for the Women’s Insitute, “I’m not going home.  I’m just not going.  They’ll have to call the police or the fire brigade.”I could see how useful that level of commitment and determination would be on the rugby pitch.

And he proceeded to cook a three course meal that had the three prim and rather self-righteous ladies of the WI fluttering their eye lashes and eulogising over the finess of his dishes.  He’d started the week as a diffident burly cooking rugby player and now here he was, days later, a confident burly rugby-playing cook.  Magic.

Stevie, God and Phil, my weekend holy trinity.

 

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