Morning all from a frosty Corfu. Yes – yesterday -1. Hey – for us, this is positively Arctic.
So, today I thought I would rant about that one little phrase that drives me crazier than any other. I wouldn’t put up with that if I were you. Well, you are not me, are you? In the words of Mr. Bond…never say never.
In a way, this rant is a follow on from the last blog post in so much as it touches on another issue raised in my novel, Fragile Dreams.
Why did Lisa always feel it necessary to remind her of her husband’s iron-rod of control? But that was women; secretly delighting in even their friends’ less than perfect marriage. It drew the spotlight away from their own miserable existence.
Ellie is a women trapped in a loveless marriage. Worse, her husband is a psychological bully. Before I go any further, I must stress I am not going to discuss domestic physical violence. I am not qualified to do so. It is a whole different ball game. No – I would like to focus more on the subtle mind games many men play on their partners. It was a comment made by a friend of mine that led me to consider this topic. We were discussing a mutual acquaintance who, for want of a better word, is controlled by her spouse. His wants always take first place in their household. She bends to his will. My friend’s comment was….how do these women get themselves in that situation…..if that were me, I wouldn’t put up with it. Stop right there, I said. How do you know what you would do? Second, who the hell are you to judge?
I am sure no one sets out for this to happen but that is the thing about control freaks. They are clever, they know what buttons to push and before they know it, their victims are sucked in, seduced maybe by a sweet smile and deceiving words…it’s because I care about you. I can understand how seductive it is in the first throes of romance to believe your man is so possessive because he adores you. A pattern is set, one that is hard to break and once the children come along, it is often too late to change it. More often than not, a woman will put up with the verbal abuse, the constant nagging to try and keep the peace. Of course, for those foreign women there is the added problem; if they were to leave, were can they go? Back to their home country? Not always feasible. One has to look at it from the children’s point of view. In their hearts they are Greek. They do not want to leave everything familiar to them.
My point – do not be too quick to judge. In fact, by coming out with this rubbish, all you are doing is making this person feel even more inadequate. It’s added pressure. If you know someone in this situation then try to be supportive and understanding. What they need is a friend, not a jury.
But what is it about women? Why do we always have to judge? If it isn’t about relationships, it’s about how we raise our kids? Judging, judging – always judging. You don’t let him/ her do that do you? I wouldn’t put up with it. If he was mine blah blah. Oh please – we all have our ideas on child rearing and while we are on the subject of child rearing, what is it with this competitiveness? You know the parent I am talking about. Whose sole conversation revolves around her children’s achievement and begins every conversation with and what is such and such up to, purely so they can ram down your throat what a band of budding little geniuses they have stashed at home. Please – let your kids breathe. Let me breath. Life is not a battlefield. There are no winners or losers. And – I beseech you, less of the…if I was you…
Let’s move on to a happier topic. Music. Where would we be without it? It certainly rocks my world. It is the inspiration behind most of my work. I hear a song and – whoosh – it gives me the mood and atmosphere I am seeking. Do I play music while I write? Not initially, while I am scribbling out my first draft. I am too immersed in my story for any distraction. If I were to play my favourite artists, I would lay down my pen, pick up my air guitar and burst into song or worse – leave my desk completely and jump into disco mode. However, once my tale is down on pc and I begin the tweaking process, then it’s no holding back. The music blares from all speakers. My play list? Depends on my mood. For those who know me, Savage Garden and Darren Hayes are at the top, closely followed by anything heavy metal and rock. I do confess to being a huge Gaga fan. There is something about that feisty, talented, arty young woman that appeals to me. What I do have is particular songs to fit the mood of each one of my stories; a set of lyrics which helped me form the characters.
Cold, Cold Heart – Daniel: ‘Mine’ by Savage Garden http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwjWfal3v4Y
Actually, Daniel has two songs: Electricity by Anathema
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9LwN_J88-Nc
Dreamweek – Izzie: ‘Pour Que Tu m’aime Encore’ by Céline Dion
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDkPWd6B7rU&feature=related
Fragile Dreams – Ellie: ‘In Your Eyes’ by Darren Hayes http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFTmt27R4K4
Written in Stone – Cassie: ‘I Just Want You to Love Me’ by Darren Hayes http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHN4EQxyf5Y
Class Act – Rebecca: {still looking for a home} ‘Name of the Game’ by Abba
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJ90ZqH0PWI
Past Undone {wip} –Lily: ‘You Can Still be Free’ by Savage Garden
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AQuiYPUBiE
Spin – Sara: {ongoing project since…ever, really} ‘Sara” by Fleetwood Mac
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHJb87nNsGY
Class Act – Rebecca: {still looking for a home} ‘Name of the Game’ by Abba
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJ90ZqH0PWI
Well, I hope you have enjoyed my little selection. If I had to pick an all-time favourite? It has got to be Sara – Fleetwood Mac.{Well I always wanted to be Stevie Nicks}. See you next week. Back to frivolity and my Top Ten Twenties Moments.
Viv
Welcome to the world of a grecophile romance author
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Thursday, 13 January 2011
Life is Fragile
Kalimera. Long time, no speak. I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year and I wish you all the best for 2011.
Ah – 2011. One year to go til the fated year – if you believe in all of that. Who knows? The way the world is going there could be something in it. But for now, let’s all stay positive.
Today is a good day for me. My second novel in the Dream series is released through Red Rose Publishing. Once again, I take you on a Grecian journey to the imaginary island of Kuros {yes it is inspired by my own beloved Corfu}. We meet up with some of the characters from Dreamweek, Isabella and David Wells. Once again, the tale is set against the backdrop of the tourist industry but, more important, Fragile Dreams tells the tale of Ellie Rouva, a young woman recovering from Breast cancer; a woman whose life has been turned on its head and doesn’t know where life may lead her – until she meets Michael.
I originally intended this blog to be a follow on from the last; my ten top moments….but with the release of Fragile, I thought it might be a good idea to touch on the subject of breast cancer. I am somewhat of an expert on the matter, having been through it twice. Expert isn’t really the correct word; everyone’s experience is different, everyone copes in a different way. I would like to give you my take on it.
First off, it’s a topic usually I steer clear of discussing. Why? To be honest, after ten years of the disease being part of my life, I am a little bored with it. I hate all the drama surrounding it; the endless magazine articles, the survivors being wheeled out on chat shows, the hushed tones when folk find out what I have ‘been’ through. Yes, I have been through a lot but hey, so have lots of folk. What is it about the word, Cancer, which evokes such reaction? Someone says…. I have heart problems, liver disease and folk say – oh, that’s sad. But say Cancer and people pale before your eyes.
And that is what I hate most. It is an illness like any other and certainly not the hopeless situation folk have been led to believe– which brings me back to the endless MGM produced magazine articles. Listen up, folks. It needn’t mean a death sentence. Great strides have been made and positive mindset plays a huge role. Again, this is why I hate the Hollywood take on it all. Please, less of the drama.
One moment has stayed with me. It was my first time round. I was in hospital, recovering from a full mastectomy and reconstruction {now that was a barrel of laughs. Pain? Never again}. It was a Sunday evening. All the ward new intakes were scheduled for surgery the following morning. I knew they were scared; who wouldn’t be but what did we do? We set up a card ring and got drunk on laughter. I think, when the consultant came round, he thought we had all lost the plot. {He was bloody gorgeous, btw. Daniel Craig eyes and boyish charm. Bloody good doc too. Wherever you are, Mr. Drabble, we salute you}
A friend of mine constantly says to me. You are/were so strong. Strong? I had no choice. Once over the initial shock, I just had to get on with it. I was too preoccupied fighting the fight and looking after my kids to think about the outcome. As a mother, it’s just what I had to do. First time round, my children were young and probably scared. They knew I had lost my elder sister to the disease so there was no pulling the wool over their eyes. There was no way I could not be upbeat.
Going through both times, one thing struck me. The people around you often find it harder to cope. A word of advice to anyone who has someone close to them coping with Breast cancer or any life-threatening illness. All we want is to be treated as normal. I know that’s all I wanted. I only wanted my life to get back to normal. I hated the disruption – never mind the joys of Chemo and surgery. I wanted to be me again but the folk around me kept reminding me that I couldn’t be. Oh but you shouldn’t go back to work. Why the hell not? Better to be occupied than to lie around at home all day, feeling sorry for myself. I was going to throw up anyway so might as well get paid at the same time. I know the concern is well meant but please give the patient credit. We know what’s what. We know what we have to do to fight.
And please, don’t tell anyone losing your hair doesn’t matter in the scheme of things, and that we should just focus on getting well. Duh – a tad condescending, I believe. And, sorry, losing one’s hair is a big deal initially but it gets better. Quite fun wearing different hats. And don’t tell us we look fine when we know we look like an extra from MJ’s thriller video. We prefer honesty.
But there is a plus side to everything, even Chemotherapy.
1} No more leg shaving needed for months.
2} best diet known to mankind
3} You save a fortune on hair conditioner.
4} You can act crazy and blame it on the drugs.
So that is my rant for the day. I am sure there is a lot more I could say on the subject but I wanted to give a little more insight to the character of Ellie. To quote a line from Fragile Dreams.
“Thing is…well, the way I see it, everyone flirts with death. Every day of our lives we take risks. I am no different. My time just came around sooner.
I am not sure if this has helped or maybe will help someone in the future. As I said at the beginning, it’s a personal battle. No one handles it in the same way. What I can do is a little bit to help in the research so that, perhaps, in the future, there won’t be a need for a blog like this. I have asked my publisher, Red Rose, to donate any royalties I may make to breast cancer research. So, my dear friends, I leave you with a short excerpt:
“But, Michael,” Leaning forward, Ellie brushed his cool cheek with nervous fingertips. “We have no control over our lives. That’s one thing I have learned from all of this.” Embarrassed, she shrunk back in her chair. “I think that’s what annoyed Pavlos so.”
“Annoyed.” Honey eyebrows drew together.
“Oh yes.”Ellie failed to keep her contempt at bay. “For the first time in his life, Mr. Pavlos the Omnipotent lost control of me. To him, my illness was an irritation, a hiccup in his well-ordered life.
“Seriously? I find that so hard to understand. Surely he was afraid for you. Perhaps it was his way of dealing with his fears?”
Ellie laughed. “Maybe. Granted, he made all the right gestures, spouted forth with meaningful phrases but his words were empty. Actions do speak louder and his clearly stated I was a disappointment and I’m sorry. I’m putting you in an awkward position. Pavlos is your boss.”
“He’s not my boss; I only work for him.”
His forcefulness surprised her. His eyes held defiance. Ellie surmised that his outward tranquil nature disguised a vein of steel.
“Please...” The glint dispersed. “Go on. What do mean by disappointed? Surely he didn’t blame you for being ill?”
“No.” Ellie rummaged in the fruit bowl and pulled out a ripe strawberry. Biting into it, she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s how I handled everything that he took issue with. You see, when the doctor told us I would need a full mastectomy I thought Pavlos was going to throw up. The thought of it horrified him. His perfect wife — flawed? He wanted me to have reconstructive surgery but I refused. He begged, actually. First time he’s begged me for anything but I didn’t give in. And why should I?” The words scraped at her too dry throat, a stockpile of resentment clawing up and out of the depths of her months of despair. “It’s my body, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
He covered her forearms with comforting hands, making the hairs there stand to attention. His touch, again, threatened to release those tears. How long had it been since Pavlos had shown such sincere affection? Too long. She couldn’t cry. It would be too awkward. “And then,” she pressed on, fighting against waves of emotion. “When my hair fell out, I refused to wear a wig. I don’t know why really. It seemed…well it was the ultimate insult. My body was in enough pain without having that added discomfort. Can you believe losing my hair upset me more than anything? Silly isn’t it, to be so vain when one’s life is hanging in the balance. At least that’s what my dear mother in law told me.” She didn’t need to hear his answer; gut instinct told her he understood. “As for my friends, they said that it didn’t matter in the scheme of things and that I should focus on getting well. As if being pumped full of poison every three weeks isn’t ‘focusing’ enough. People can be so patronizing.”
“I agree.”
“Thing is…well, the way I see it, everyone flirts with death. Every day of our lives we take risks. I am no different. My time just came around sooner. They told me I should stop trying to be brave. I’m not brave, only realistic.”
“You won’t die.”
“I know.” She fashioned what she hoped was a convincing smile. “You won’t let me.”
“You won’t die.”
Silence engulfed them, a cotton wool cloud blanketing reality.
“How can you be so sure? Ellie whispered, almost too afraid to ask, wanting it so much to be true.
“I just am. I…I feel things. Here.” Capturing her trembling hand, he brought it up to span his chest. “Here….in my heart. You’re afraid, Ellie. Don’t be.”
Ellie drew in her breath, holding it until she felt faint. It was as if a whirlpool sucked her down. How did he know that? She’s never admitted it to anyone; not even herself.
Fragile Dreams – purchase link
http://redrosepublishing.com/books/product_info.php?products_id=836&CDpath=2
Viviane
Ah – 2011. One year to go til the fated year – if you believe in all of that. Who knows? The way the world is going there could be something in it. But for now, let’s all stay positive.
Today is a good day for me. My second novel in the Dream series is released through Red Rose Publishing. Once again, I take you on a Grecian journey to the imaginary island of Kuros {yes it is inspired by my own beloved Corfu}. We meet up with some of the characters from Dreamweek, Isabella and David Wells. Once again, the tale is set against the backdrop of the tourist industry but, more important, Fragile Dreams tells the tale of Ellie Rouva, a young woman recovering from Breast cancer; a woman whose life has been turned on its head and doesn’t know where life may lead her – until she meets Michael.
I originally intended this blog to be a follow on from the last; my ten top moments….but with the release of Fragile, I thought it might be a good idea to touch on the subject of breast cancer. I am somewhat of an expert on the matter, having been through it twice. Expert isn’t really the correct word; everyone’s experience is different, everyone copes in a different way. I would like to give you my take on it.
First off, it’s a topic usually I steer clear of discussing. Why? To be honest, after ten years of the disease being part of my life, I am a little bored with it. I hate all the drama surrounding it; the endless magazine articles, the survivors being wheeled out on chat shows, the hushed tones when folk find out what I have ‘been’ through. Yes, I have been through a lot but hey, so have lots of folk. What is it about the word, Cancer, which evokes such reaction? Someone says…. I have heart problems, liver disease and folk say – oh, that’s sad. But say Cancer and people pale before your eyes.
And that is what I hate most. It is an illness like any other and certainly not the hopeless situation folk have been led to believe– which brings me back to the endless MGM produced magazine articles. Listen up, folks. It needn’t mean a death sentence. Great strides have been made and positive mindset plays a huge role. Again, this is why I hate the Hollywood take on it all. Please, less of the drama.
One moment has stayed with me. It was my first time round. I was in hospital, recovering from a full mastectomy and reconstruction {now that was a barrel of laughs. Pain? Never again}. It was a Sunday evening. All the ward new intakes were scheduled for surgery the following morning. I knew they were scared; who wouldn’t be but what did we do? We set up a card ring and got drunk on laughter. I think, when the consultant came round, he thought we had all lost the plot. {He was bloody gorgeous, btw. Daniel Craig eyes and boyish charm. Bloody good doc too. Wherever you are, Mr. Drabble, we salute you}
A friend of mine constantly says to me. You are/were so strong. Strong? I had no choice. Once over the initial shock, I just had to get on with it. I was too preoccupied fighting the fight and looking after my kids to think about the outcome. As a mother, it’s just what I had to do. First time round, my children were young and probably scared. They knew I had lost my elder sister to the disease so there was no pulling the wool over their eyes. There was no way I could not be upbeat.
Going through both times, one thing struck me. The people around you often find it harder to cope. A word of advice to anyone who has someone close to them coping with Breast cancer or any life-threatening illness. All we want is to be treated as normal. I know that’s all I wanted. I only wanted my life to get back to normal. I hated the disruption – never mind the joys of Chemo and surgery. I wanted to be me again but the folk around me kept reminding me that I couldn’t be. Oh but you shouldn’t go back to work. Why the hell not? Better to be occupied than to lie around at home all day, feeling sorry for myself. I was going to throw up anyway so might as well get paid at the same time. I know the concern is well meant but please give the patient credit. We know what’s what. We know what we have to do to fight.
And please, don’t tell anyone losing your hair doesn’t matter in the scheme of things, and that we should just focus on getting well. Duh – a tad condescending, I believe. And, sorry, losing one’s hair is a big deal initially but it gets better. Quite fun wearing different hats. And don’t tell us we look fine when we know we look like an extra from MJ’s thriller video. We prefer honesty.
But there is a plus side to everything, even Chemotherapy.
1} No more leg shaving needed for months.
2} best diet known to mankind
3} You save a fortune on hair conditioner.
4} You can act crazy and blame it on the drugs.
So that is my rant for the day. I am sure there is a lot more I could say on the subject but I wanted to give a little more insight to the character of Ellie. To quote a line from Fragile Dreams.
“Thing is…well, the way I see it, everyone flirts with death. Every day of our lives we take risks. I am no different. My time just came around sooner.
I am not sure if this has helped or maybe will help someone in the future. As I said at the beginning, it’s a personal battle. No one handles it in the same way. What I can do is a little bit to help in the research so that, perhaps, in the future, there won’t be a need for a blog like this. I have asked my publisher, Red Rose, to donate any royalties I may make to breast cancer research. So, my dear friends, I leave you with a short excerpt:
“But, Michael,” Leaning forward, Ellie brushed his cool cheek with nervous fingertips. “We have no control over our lives. That’s one thing I have learned from all of this.” Embarrassed, she shrunk back in her chair. “I think that’s what annoyed Pavlos so.”
“Annoyed.” Honey eyebrows drew together.
“Oh yes.”Ellie failed to keep her contempt at bay. “For the first time in his life, Mr. Pavlos the Omnipotent lost control of me. To him, my illness was an irritation, a hiccup in his well-ordered life.
“Seriously? I find that so hard to understand. Surely he was afraid for you. Perhaps it was his way of dealing with his fears?”
Ellie laughed. “Maybe. Granted, he made all the right gestures, spouted forth with meaningful phrases but his words were empty. Actions do speak louder and his clearly stated I was a disappointment and I’m sorry. I’m putting you in an awkward position. Pavlos is your boss.”
“He’s not my boss; I only work for him.”
His forcefulness surprised her. His eyes held defiance. Ellie surmised that his outward tranquil nature disguised a vein of steel.
“Please...” The glint dispersed. “Go on. What do mean by disappointed? Surely he didn’t blame you for being ill?”
“No.” Ellie rummaged in the fruit bowl and pulled out a ripe strawberry. Biting into it, she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s how I handled everything that he took issue with. You see, when the doctor told us I would need a full mastectomy I thought Pavlos was going to throw up. The thought of it horrified him. His perfect wife — flawed? He wanted me to have reconstructive surgery but I refused. He begged, actually. First time he’s begged me for anything but I didn’t give in. And why should I?” The words scraped at her too dry throat, a stockpile of resentment clawing up and out of the depths of her months of despair. “It’s my body, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
He covered her forearms with comforting hands, making the hairs there stand to attention. His touch, again, threatened to release those tears. How long had it been since Pavlos had shown such sincere affection? Too long. She couldn’t cry. It would be too awkward. “And then,” she pressed on, fighting against waves of emotion. “When my hair fell out, I refused to wear a wig. I don’t know why really. It seemed…well it was the ultimate insult. My body was in enough pain without having that added discomfort. Can you believe losing my hair upset me more than anything? Silly isn’t it, to be so vain when one’s life is hanging in the balance. At least that’s what my dear mother in law told me.” She didn’t need to hear his answer; gut instinct told her he understood. “As for my friends, they said that it didn’t matter in the scheme of things and that I should focus on getting well. As if being pumped full of poison every three weeks isn’t ‘focusing’ enough. People can be so patronizing.”
“I agree.”
“Thing is…well, the way I see it, everyone flirts with death. Every day of our lives we take risks. I am no different. My time just came around sooner. They told me I should stop trying to be brave. I’m not brave, only realistic.”
“You won’t die.”
“I know.” She fashioned what she hoped was a convincing smile. “You won’t let me.”
“You won’t die.”
Silence engulfed them, a cotton wool cloud blanketing reality.
“How can you be so sure? Ellie whispered, almost too afraid to ask, wanting it so much to be true.
“I just am. I…I feel things. Here.” Capturing her trembling hand, he brought it up to span his chest. “Here….in my heart. You’re afraid, Ellie. Don’t be.”
Ellie drew in her breath, holding it until she felt faint. It was as if a whirlpool sucked her down. How did he know that? She’s never admitted it to anyone; not even herself.
Fragile Dreams – purchase link
http://redrosepublishing.com/books/product_info.php?products_id=836&CDpath=2
Viviane
Monday, 20 December 2010
My Top Ten Teen Moments
Winter is here and I don’t like it. Those of you who did me the honour of reading last week’s blog post will know I spent the first 4 years of my life in Singapore. I still maintain this is why I have such low tolerance to the cold.
People often ask, do we have snow in Greece? Oh yes, is my answer. While not much will fall on Corfu {apart from the northern mountains}, just across the narrow stretch of Ionian sea, the mainland mountain ranges resemble a winter wonderland. Greece is more than sun-kissed islands. The terrain is mountainous, with some of the last remaining virgin forests in Europe. Anyone who watched the devastating fires of 2008 will attest to this and understand why the fires were such a tragedy for the country. Anyway, I digress……
Last week I shared with you my top ten childhood moments and, as promised, this week I will attempt to list my top ten teen moments. When I got to thinking about this, I realized I had bitten off more than I had bargained for. The reason – my teen years were not always that great. Age 13, my family hit some rough times. My father, in an attempt to better our lives, made some decisions that ultimately resulted in a vast change of life style for us all and a complete upheaval from all we knew and loved, a fact which contributed to my mother having a breakdown. Suddenly, I was forced to grow up and become the buffer between harsh reality and my younger sisters’ childlike confusion. Looking back on it now, as a parent myself, I do not blame my parents. I have learned from experience, as parents we are human and thus all make mistakes. We are not infallible. To cut a long story short, we left Glasgow to try and make a life in France. It didn’t work out. The UK was not yet a member of the EU and it was tough to find work. After 6 months, we left the continent, ending up in Huntingdon, Cambs and this is where I remained til I married my first husband {oh how Liz Taylor} at age 20. Anyway, life was not all bad and I did experience many high moments. Here is my list…
1} Glasgow age 13 – singing a duet with my best friend, Allison, at my brother’s wedding. We really thought we were the bees’ knees - a female Simon and Garfunkel. I remember it to this day. There we were, up in the balcony, decked out in our best long frocks, minister announcing us, congregation as serious as hell and what did we do? We broke down at verse two of Morning has Broken and collapsed into giggles. My sister-in-law hasn’t forgiven me to this day.
2} Writing my first piece of descriptive prose for an English assignment. My teacher read it out in class and it was then I realized I just may have a talent for this writing lark.
3} No man’s land Age 13 – driving to France with sisters and parents. The whole trip was a blast. Exciting for us. France is a beautiful country. The most memorable day was stopping over in Fontainebleau. We stayed in a very old hotel, across the road from the palace and slept in the same room as one of Napoleon’s artists. It was amazing. In the morning, we breakfasted in a beautiful walled garden. I can still taste the aromatic bowls of steaming café au lait and the melt-in-your-mouth freshly baked croissant.
4} Spain – age 13. My first sight and smell of the Mediterranean Sea, golden sands and warm, balmy evenings strolling along Cambrils pier, sharing a plate of fresh sardines with my parents, French uncle and my beloved Grandmother. For me, it was a dream come true.
5}Spain – age 13. Taking my grandmother to the local Spanish fiesta. It was wonderful. We danced and drank sangria and she wore my big sombrero.
6 {a, b and c} Huntingdon, UK – fast forward to age 15. New life, new school, new friends – and falling in love with Donny Osmond. I have made this a 3-part answer because Donny was the root of three most memorable episodes
a} After a bout of tears and tantrums, when my mother refused to allow me to camp out on the streets of London overnight in order to secure a ticket to the Osmonds concert, I set off the next fine morning with my friends, resplendent in our Osmond badge encrusted coats and Donny caps for London. Of course, being 12 hours too late, there weren’t any tickets left. A riot quickly followed. Thousands of disgruntled teenage girls went crazy. Looking back on it now, I sort of feel sorry for the police. In our 70’s wedges, we all got a few lethal shin kicks in. Still ended up with no tickets but great fun nevertheless.
b} Heathrow airport. Joining thousands of other screaming, hysterical Osmond fans, I waited with my friends for the boys’ plane to arrive. When it did, I clambered up to stand on the 5in wooden railing of the viewing terrace wall. To this day, I can feel it bending under the weight of too many of us. I later found out that another section of the wall had collapsed and several fans were hurt. Of course, guess whose mother rung the airport and asked if Viviane was ok? Very emotional time but an experience. Kids are no fun these days.
c} Well what do you know? Fighting police again. This time in Glasgow. My friend and I followed the group up there, found out where they were staying and proceeded to follow their trail around the city. Finally found the right hotel and proceeded to scream our heads off. The boys obviously approved because they threw little notes to us from their window. When they finally left the hotel, I got within inches of the limo – only by shoving and kicking a policeman’s shins. I remember I knocked off his hat. He retaliated by shoving me back til I fell and landed on my arse in a puddle. Police brutality or what!
7} Glasgow – age 16. Visiting my elder sister and her husband in the city of my childhood. By then I had ditched Donny and discovered the joy of the electric guitar. Status Quo {the metal head starter pack} were paying at the Apollo. I desperately wanted to go but no one would go with me. So – I went on my own; the only female amongst 4,000 denim jacketed, tattooed longhaired guys all air-guitaring as if their lives depended on it. What could I do? I joined in, of course. One of the greatest experiences of my life.
8} Huntingdon – age 16. I became the proud owner of my first Afghan Hound, beginning a love story that has lasted until this day. Her name was Tara, a two-year-old dark blue brindle rescue bitch and she was the founder member of my subsequent household of this elegant and fascinating breed. Only one downside. My steady boyfriend was insanely jealous. Men are weird.
9} Huntingdon – age 16. Start of Sixth Form College. Two years of fun {and hard work} followed. It was here I learned so much from two of my teachers who, to this day, I thank for sharing their knowledge, for their patience and for their genuine interest in their pupils. Their lessons were a revelation. I have no idea if these two men are still alive today but where ever they may be, Mr. Daniels and Mr. Hurst, I salute you.
10} Huntingdon – age 17. A level year. Oh the stress, the angst but I did it. I passed with the grades I needed and set off for Sheffield University. Time for the next stage in my life – or so I thought but that is for another day…….
Well, I hope you have enjoyed this tiny peek into my teen life. I look forward to reading yours. Take care and a merry Christmas to you all.
Viviane
People often ask, do we have snow in Greece? Oh yes, is my answer. While not much will fall on Corfu {apart from the northern mountains}, just across the narrow stretch of Ionian sea, the mainland mountain ranges resemble a winter wonderland. Greece is more than sun-kissed islands. The terrain is mountainous, with some of the last remaining virgin forests in Europe. Anyone who watched the devastating fires of 2008 will attest to this and understand why the fires were such a tragedy for the country. Anyway, I digress……
Last week I shared with you my top ten childhood moments and, as promised, this week I will attempt to list my top ten teen moments. When I got to thinking about this, I realized I had bitten off more than I had bargained for. The reason – my teen years were not always that great. Age 13, my family hit some rough times. My father, in an attempt to better our lives, made some decisions that ultimately resulted in a vast change of life style for us all and a complete upheaval from all we knew and loved, a fact which contributed to my mother having a breakdown. Suddenly, I was forced to grow up and become the buffer between harsh reality and my younger sisters’ childlike confusion. Looking back on it now, as a parent myself, I do not blame my parents. I have learned from experience, as parents we are human and thus all make mistakes. We are not infallible. To cut a long story short, we left Glasgow to try and make a life in France. It didn’t work out. The UK was not yet a member of the EU and it was tough to find work. After 6 months, we left the continent, ending up in Huntingdon, Cambs and this is where I remained til I married my first husband {oh how Liz Taylor} at age 20. Anyway, life was not all bad and I did experience many high moments. Here is my list…
1} Glasgow age 13 – singing a duet with my best friend, Allison, at my brother’s wedding. We really thought we were the bees’ knees - a female Simon and Garfunkel. I remember it to this day. There we were, up in the balcony, decked out in our best long frocks, minister announcing us, congregation as serious as hell and what did we do? We broke down at verse two of Morning has Broken and collapsed into giggles. My sister-in-law hasn’t forgiven me to this day.
2} Writing my first piece of descriptive prose for an English assignment. My teacher read it out in class and it was then I realized I just may have a talent for this writing lark.
3} No man’s land Age 13 – driving to France with sisters and parents. The whole trip was a blast. Exciting for us. France is a beautiful country. The most memorable day was stopping over in Fontainebleau. We stayed in a very old hotel, across the road from the palace and slept in the same room as one of Napoleon’s artists. It was amazing. In the morning, we breakfasted in a beautiful walled garden. I can still taste the aromatic bowls of steaming café au lait and the melt-in-your-mouth freshly baked croissant.
4} Spain – age 13. My first sight and smell of the Mediterranean Sea, golden sands and warm, balmy evenings strolling along Cambrils pier, sharing a plate of fresh sardines with my parents, French uncle and my beloved Grandmother. For me, it was a dream come true.
5}Spain – age 13. Taking my grandmother to the local Spanish fiesta. It was wonderful. We danced and drank sangria and she wore my big sombrero.
6 {a, b and c} Huntingdon, UK – fast forward to age 15. New life, new school, new friends – and falling in love with Donny Osmond. I have made this a 3-part answer because Donny was the root of three most memorable episodes
a} After a bout of tears and tantrums, when my mother refused to allow me to camp out on the streets of London overnight in order to secure a ticket to the Osmonds concert, I set off the next fine morning with my friends, resplendent in our Osmond badge encrusted coats and Donny caps for London. Of course, being 12 hours too late, there weren’t any tickets left. A riot quickly followed. Thousands of disgruntled teenage girls went crazy. Looking back on it now, I sort of feel sorry for the police. In our 70’s wedges, we all got a few lethal shin kicks in. Still ended up with no tickets but great fun nevertheless.
b} Heathrow airport. Joining thousands of other screaming, hysterical Osmond fans, I waited with my friends for the boys’ plane to arrive. When it did, I clambered up to stand on the 5in wooden railing of the viewing terrace wall. To this day, I can feel it bending under the weight of too many of us. I later found out that another section of the wall had collapsed and several fans were hurt. Of course, guess whose mother rung the airport and asked if Viviane was ok? Very emotional time but an experience. Kids are no fun these days.
c} Well what do you know? Fighting police again. This time in Glasgow. My friend and I followed the group up there, found out where they were staying and proceeded to follow their trail around the city. Finally found the right hotel and proceeded to scream our heads off. The boys obviously approved because they threw little notes to us from their window. When they finally left the hotel, I got within inches of the limo – only by shoving and kicking a policeman’s shins. I remember I knocked off his hat. He retaliated by shoving me back til I fell and landed on my arse in a puddle. Police brutality or what!
7} Glasgow – age 16. Visiting my elder sister and her husband in the city of my childhood. By then I had ditched Donny and discovered the joy of the electric guitar. Status Quo {the metal head starter pack} were paying at the Apollo. I desperately wanted to go but no one would go with me. So – I went on my own; the only female amongst 4,000 denim jacketed, tattooed longhaired guys all air-guitaring as if their lives depended on it. What could I do? I joined in, of course. One of the greatest experiences of my life.
8} Huntingdon – age 16. I became the proud owner of my first Afghan Hound, beginning a love story that has lasted until this day. Her name was Tara, a two-year-old dark blue brindle rescue bitch and she was the founder member of my subsequent household of this elegant and fascinating breed. Only one downside. My steady boyfriend was insanely jealous. Men are weird.
9} Huntingdon – age 16. Start of Sixth Form College. Two years of fun {and hard work} followed. It was here I learned so much from two of my teachers who, to this day, I thank for sharing their knowledge, for their patience and for their genuine interest in their pupils. Their lessons were a revelation. I have no idea if these two men are still alive today but where ever they may be, Mr. Daniels and Mr. Hurst, I salute you.
10} Huntingdon – age 17. A level year. Oh the stress, the angst but I did it. I passed with the grades I needed and set off for Sheffield University. Time for the next stage in my life – or so I thought but that is for another day…….
Well, I hope you have enjoyed this tiny peek into my teen life. I look forward to reading yours. Take care and a merry Christmas to you all.
Viviane
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Top Ten Childhood Moments.
A nearly merry Christmas to you all. Corfu is doing its usual so-you-think-you-have-the-weather-sussed thingie. Yesterday it was mild and probably in the 20's. Not quite festive mood weather but it beats freezing.My tree is up - thank goodness.I know some folk get a real kick out of decorating their tree but, while I do enjoy it,I do get stressed. It's the Virgo thing. I want perfection.
And so this is Christmas, as the wise and great but, sadly, late John Lennon said and what have we done? It got me thinking back to my childhood. After all, Christmas is about children and the birth of one very special child. As I lay in bed last night, I scrolled through my vast collection of childhood memories. Some happy, some sad but mostly zany. I was an eccentric child from the day I was born - or so my mother tells me. "You are a non-conformist" I heard this from her most of my life.
Now married, with two grown up kids of my own, I believe I still am. But that is for another time, another blog. Today I thought it would be fun to put together my top ten list of my childhood escapedes and dreams.
1}Reading UK. Age...not sure but I was still a baby. All I remember is waking up in my cot and seeing this huge plastic monster grinning down at me. She was called Bella. Bella my arse; more like Chukky. I have hated dolls ever since. From that day, my toy box was filled with guns, cowboy hats and airfix models.
2}Singapore. Age 3 Running away, with Gary and David, the five year old twins from down the street. At this time in my life, I was living in Singapore. My father was in the army and we had a Chinese maid called Pok. I remember hiding in the twins' room. We locked the door and threw the key out the window while Pok stood outside screaming Missie Missie!. My poor brother had to climb up on to the balcony.
3} Age 3. Still in Singapore. Going butterfly hunting with my elder brother in the jungle. I was barefoot and scantily clad in a pair of white undies that always managed to end up somewhere around my knees. I wasn't known as droopy draws for nothing. I love my big brother. He was my hero and partner in crime. His favourite trick was to wait until all of poor Pok's weekly wash was dry and then spray it down with the garden hose. But I digress. Back to the butterfly chase. He could never understand why his collection didn't grow. As fast as he put them in the tin, I let them go.I have remained a staunch animal rights activist ever since.
4}Age 4 Singapore. Jumping off the top diving board at Changi swimming pool only to find my rubber ring had burst. Luckily for me, older brother saw me floundering and saved me. Later on, when I pissed him off, he used to say it was the biggest mistake of his life.
5} Age 6 Glasgow. Climbing my first tree, much to my mother's great fear. She so desperately wanted me to be princess in a pink dress. I just wanted to be a boy. From there, I progressed to running along 12 foot high walls and jumping from buliding to building. When I think of it now, I feel sick at the thought of the danger I put myself in. Those back garden walls were Victorian and far from stable.
A word about Glasgow. I grew up in this wonderful city. I lived in an area called Hillhead. A place full of beautiful parks, museums and art galleries. It became my adventure play ground. 20 minute bus ride and you are in the countryside. Stunning scenery, lovely people and great food. I had the time of my life.
6}Age 8. Glasgow. Reading my first Enid Blyton Famous Five book. My world changed. I now KNEW I wanted to be a boy. I wanted to be George. I became George. Out went the frocks and in came the blue shorts, welly boots and t.shirts. I formed my own little gang and we lived out our own adventures in my back yard well into the long northern summer evenings. And yes - I got into a few scraps. I loved fisti cuff fighting, always trying to prove I was as good as any boy on the block. I did have one dilemna though. I was madly in love with Manilito from the High Chaperal. I was going to marry him but didn't I have to be a girl for that?
7}Glasgow. Age 9. Discovering Santa Claus did not exist. I was gutted and also furious with my parents for making a fool out of me for all those years.On the plus side, I received my first 'big' bike. It was blue and gold and I adored it. Again, I flirted with danger. Telling my mother I was just cycling around the corner to my friend's house, I would whizz off to the clyde tunnel and cycle under the river to the other side of the city.
8}Glasgow Age 9 .I discovered my passion for horses. Blame Champion the Wonder Horse. I was desperate for my own pony but I understood it was never going to happen. I did, however, save my pocket money and enrol for weekly riding lessons. First time I got on a horse, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. During the week I practised perfecting my mount and dismount. Resplendent in my Oxfam jodhpurs and hard hat, I tacked up the back yard railings and rose off into the sunset - much to the bewilderment of the neighbours who finally thought that 'mad, half-foreign girl from upstairs has lost the plot". Not content at this, I turned my spacehopper into a trusty steed named Thunder and set up spacehopper gymkhanas in the garden. Lucky my parents couldn't afford therapy because I am sure I would have been in it.
9}Glasgow. Age ten. Joined the Girl Guides and discovered the performing arts. Actually, I had always been a bit of an actress, a fact to which my long-suffering family will attest but under the inspiring guidence of our wonderful pack leader, our little troop put on numerous plays and pantomines for the local community. We were all crap at the usual friend to whatever badge stuff but we could all belt out a tune. Highlight of my career? Playing Buttons in our version of Cinderella, and so excited because Adrian Laine, the boy from school on who I'd had a major crush since year 4 was coming to watch me. Unfortunately, he feel instantly in love with the girl with long blonde hair who was playing the part of Cinderella. Teach me to cut off all my locks.
10}Glasgow. Age 11. My final year at Primary school. Encouraged by my teacher,I put myself in for the Glasgow High School for Girls entrance exam - and got in! This was the year when I truly did discover boys and thought, perhaps, it was time to ditch the George image. I think it was playing postman's knock in my living room closet that did it. Kissing boys was much more fun than punching their lights out.
To be continued.....
Next week... My ten top Teen moments.
Ok, your turn now. Would you like to share your top ten childhood moments?
Viviane.
And so this is Christmas, as the wise and great but, sadly, late John Lennon said and what have we done? It got me thinking back to my childhood. After all, Christmas is about children and the birth of one very special child. As I lay in bed last night, I scrolled through my vast collection of childhood memories. Some happy, some sad but mostly zany. I was an eccentric child from the day I was born - or so my mother tells me. "You are a non-conformist" I heard this from her most of my life.
Now married, with two grown up kids of my own, I believe I still am. But that is for another time, another blog. Today I thought it would be fun to put together my top ten list of my childhood escapedes and dreams.
1}Reading UK. Age...not sure but I was still a baby. All I remember is waking up in my cot and seeing this huge plastic monster grinning down at me. She was called Bella. Bella my arse; more like Chukky. I have hated dolls ever since. From that day, my toy box was filled with guns, cowboy hats and airfix models.
2}Singapore. Age 3 Running away, with Gary and David, the five year old twins from down the street. At this time in my life, I was living in Singapore. My father was in the army and we had a Chinese maid called Pok. I remember hiding in the twins' room. We locked the door and threw the key out the window while Pok stood outside screaming Missie Missie!. My poor brother had to climb up on to the balcony.
3} Age 3. Still in Singapore. Going butterfly hunting with my elder brother in the jungle. I was barefoot and scantily clad in a pair of white undies that always managed to end up somewhere around my knees. I wasn't known as droopy draws for nothing. I love my big brother. He was my hero and partner in crime. His favourite trick was to wait until all of poor Pok's weekly wash was dry and then spray it down with the garden hose. But I digress. Back to the butterfly chase. He could never understand why his collection didn't grow. As fast as he put them in the tin, I let them go.I have remained a staunch animal rights activist ever since.
4}Age 4 Singapore. Jumping off the top diving board at Changi swimming pool only to find my rubber ring had burst. Luckily for me, older brother saw me floundering and saved me. Later on, when I pissed him off, he used to say it was the biggest mistake of his life.
5} Age 6 Glasgow. Climbing my first tree, much to my mother's great fear. She so desperately wanted me to be princess in a pink dress. I just wanted to be a boy. From there, I progressed to running along 12 foot high walls and jumping from buliding to building. When I think of it now, I feel sick at the thought of the danger I put myself in. Those back garden walls were Victorian and far from stable.
A word about Glasgow. I grew up in this wonderful city. I lived in an area called Hillhead. A place full of beautiful parks, museums and art galleries. It became my adventure play ground. 20 minute bus ride and you are in the countryside. Stunning scenery, lovely people and great food. I had the time of my life.
6}Age 8. Glasgow. Reading my first Enid Blyton Famous Five book. My world changed. I now KNEW I wanted to be a boy. I wanted to be George. I became George. Out went the frocks and in came the blue shorts, welly boots and t.shirts. I formed my own little gang and we lived out our own adventures in my back yard well into the long northern summer evenings. And yes - I got into a few scraps. I loved fisti cuff fighting, always trying to prove I was as good as any boy on the block. I did have one dilemna though. I was madly in love with Manilito from the High Chaperal. I was going to marry him but didn't I have to be a girl for that?
7}Glasgow. Age 9. Discovering Santa Claus did not exist. I was gutted and also furious with my parents for making a fool out of me for all those years.On the plus side, I received my first 'big' bike. It was blue and gold and I adored it. Again, I flirted with danger. Telling my mother I was just cycling around the corner to my friend's house, I would whizz off to the clyde tunnel and cycle under the river to the other side of the city.
8}Glasgow Age 9 .I discovered my passion for horses. Blame Champion the Wonder Horse. I was desperate for my own pony but I understood it was never going to happen. I did, however, save my pocket money and enrol for weekly riding lessons. First time I got on a horse, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. During the week I practised perfecting my mount and dismount. Resplendent in my Oxfam jodhpurs and hard hat, I tacked up the back yard railings and rose off into the sunset - much to the bewilderment of the neighbours who finally thought that 'mad, half-foreign girl from upstairs has lost the plot". Not content at this, I turned my spacehopper into a trusty steed named Thunder and set up spacehopper gymkhanas in the garden. Lucky my parents couldn't afford therapy because I am sure I would have been in it.
9}Glasgow. Age ten. Joined the Girl Guides and discovered the performing arts. Actually, I had always been a bit of an actress, a fact to which my long-suffering family will attest but under the inspiring guidence of our wonderful pack leader, our little troop put on numerous plays and pantomines for the local community. We were all crap at the usual friend to whatever badge stuff but we could all belt out a tune. Highlight of my career? Playing Buttons in our version of Cinderella, and so excited because Adrian Laine, the boy from school on who I'd had a major crush since year 4 was coming to watch me. Unfortunately, he feel instantly in love with the girl with long blonde hair who was playing the part of Cinderella. Teach me to cut off all my locks.
10}Glasgow. Age 11. My final year at Primary school. Encouraged by my teacher,I put myself in for the Glasgow High School for Girls entrance exam - and got in! This was the year when I truly did discover boys and thought, perhaps, it was time to ditch the George image. I think it was playing postman's knock in my living room closet that did it. Kissing boys was much more fun than punching their lights out.
To be continued.....
Next week... My ten top Teen moments.
Ok, your turn now. Would you like to share your top ten childhood moments?
Viviane.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
What is love part one and two.
Evening to you all from a chilly Corfu. I think winter is finally upon us. Last week, the island was lashed by storms and some of the heaviest rainfall in years, resulting in damage to many properties. Thank goodness the internet didn’t go down in my area. What a case of sacre bleu that would be.
Christmas is approaching fast but I am resisting putting up my tree just yet otherwise, come Christmas day, we are all already sick of the decorations. Corfu at Christmas time is pretty nice. The town’s tree-lined avenues are lit up by tiny white lights; simple but so effective.
So- on to today’s ramble. I must confess, this week I am cheating. I am going to repost a couple of discussions I posted back in 2008, originally on Myspace. My reason for reposting? To share with my new blog followers and fellow writers my insight into that mysterious thing called love. After all, isn't it what makes the world go around? So here goes and I look forward to your feed back....
Viv
What is love part one
What is love? An easy enough question. Then again, maybe not. First off, love is a word. It defines an emotion, a state of mind. What makes one person's emotion any less or more than another's? What is true love as opposed to infatuation, crush, obsession? To me there should be no difference. Love is a feeling, a spiritual connection with someone or something, be he/she/it be known to us personally or not.
Why do I bring this up? Yesterday, I read on a posting {doesn't matter where or who} that this person felt sad because no one close to her could understand her 'love' for a certain singer who she admired. I can imagine the snorts of disbelief, the 'aren't you a little old to be having crushes?' 'Why are you wasting energy on someone you will never hope to meet and if if you did, he's Gay.'
My answer to these scoffing, cynical folk is - and so what if she doesn't ever meet him? Does that make her feelings any less real? As for wasted emotion, emotion - especially of love - is never wasted. It is what makes us human and what keeps us alive. It is better to give than receive, to love is more important than to be loved. It is what is in your heart that is important. The sense of euphoria, the joy, the laughter of the person who prompted this blog is experiencing is just as real and intense than if this object of her desire was known to her.
Love is a feeling, nothing tangible that we can grasp on to and label. I am no big fan of opera but when I hear Pavarotti sing Nessun Dorma I want to cry. At that moment I am in love; with his voice, the music. He moves me into a state of high emotion. When I watch Russell Crowe deliver his final speech in Gladiator, I weep for this imaginary character of Maximus and for all he has suffered. I feel as if my heart is being ripped from my chest. At that moment I love him. I want to kill all those who have hurt him. Is this emotion wasted? No and if anyone of you out there cannot grasp what I am saying then I truly feel sorry for you.
Love part two
Someone once sang - Love is a drug. Pop quizzers amongst you will know it was the suave, sexy Bryan Ferry. Mr.Ferry was so right. For those of you out there, caught up in the whirlwind of fresh, sweet new love, you will know what I am talking about. For those who are settled in a relationship - albeit husband/wife/lover - I want to take you on a journey, a voyage into those first golden days; of halcyon days of a relationship. Isn't the rush incredible? That liquid warmth seeping into your blood, surging through your veins,powering its way to take a grip on your heart,squeezing all sanity from what you believed to be your rational, logical oh so controlled thought. Oh how arrogant.Just a look, one smile, a simple touch and your world explodes into brilliance, shattering your ice shield of reserve. You can barely speak, words that usually come so easily to your quicksilver, all too often caustic tongue freeze in your throat. The world around you fades into insignificance. Senses are heightened, You are floating, his/her words caress your ear, a symphony of pleasure, eyes devour you, until your stomach is doing more back-flips than Comeneci. Euphoria! Food of the Gods! Yes indeed, love is a most powerful mind-altering drug.
But then - the come-down. Can there be such raw, gut-wrenching pain? Your stomach churns, heart pulls and tugs inside your chest, lungs ready to explode from repressed sobs because - hey- you are an adult. You cannot allow people to see you weak, emotional - oh so vulnerable.
This unbearable sense of total dejection has many causes. A failed relationship, betrayal. A love you now know to be futile because as much as he/she still cares for you as a person, you know it is over. Your fingers ache to touch him/her, to draw him/her back into your arms and let free what is in your heart. So what do you do? You swallow your pain and continue giving him/her what they have come to love about you; your undivided loyalty, your love, understanding and support as a friend. A shoulder to cry on when their life is not going well. when he/she is down and lonely. You bite down hard on your lip and smile as he/she confides in you about their love, their real love, a new love to which you take second place. You cover up your incredible hurt and envy (you are human} with humour. You give all the right answers, offer up calm, adult advice by the bucket-load but really all you want to do is childishly kick sand in your 'rival's' eye.
So,what is the cure? Go cold turkey? Walk away from what is an emotional whirlpool? Feasable - if you are sensible, strong but no. You are too heavily under the influence of the 'drug' and, as with all addicts, the desire to quit must come from within and let's face it, who of you out there are strong enough to walk away? You are so bound by the barbed claws of your addiction, one drop of their affection is enough to send you soaring back up to dizzy heights? How can you walk away when each minute, hour you are with him/her is sheer heaven? Is it enough to sustain you through night's lonely, cruel hours as you toss and turn, consumed by longing, despising yourself for your weakness? It has to be because, as much as you rationalise, as many times as you tell yourself there is no hope, one tiny mutant cell in your brain continues to grow, spreading to your soul and heart which, in turn, cling fearlessly to a gossamer thread. A thread called....hope. Hope the love that was once so magical, can be rekindled.
Christmas is approaching fast but I am resisting putting up my tree just yet otherwise, come Christmas day, we are all already sick of the decorations. Corfu at Christmas time is pretty nice. The town’s tree-lined avenues are lit up by tiny white lights; simple but so effective.
So- on to today’s ramble. I must confess, this week I am cheating. I am going to repost a couple of discussions I posted back in 2008, originally on Myspace. My reason for reposting? To share with my new blog followers and fellow writers my insight into that mysterious thing called love. After all, isn't it what makes the world go around? So here goes and I look forward to your feed back....
Viv
What is love part one
What is love? An easy enough question. Then again, maybe not. First off, love is a word. It defines an emotion, a state of mind. What makes one person's emotion any less or more than another's? What is true love as opposed to infatuation, crush, obsession? To me there should be no difference. Love is a feeling, a spiritual connection with someone or something, be he/she/it be known to us personally or not.
Why do I bring this up? Yesterday, I read on a posting {doesn't matter where or who} that this person felt sad because no one close to her could understand her 'love' for a certain singer who she admired. I can imagine the snorts of disbelief, the 'aren't you a little old to be having crushes?' 'Why are you wasting energy on someone you will never hope to meet and if if you did, he's Gay.'
My answer to these scoffing, cynical folk is - and so what if she doesn't ever meet him? Does that make her feelings any less real? As for wasted emotion, emotion - especially of love - is never wasted. It is what makes us human and what keeps us alive. It is better to give than receive, to love is more important than to be loved. It is what is in your heart that is important. The sense of euphoria, the joy, the laughter of the person who prompted this blog is experiencing is just as real and intense than if this object of her desire was known to her.
Love is a feeling, nothing tangible that we can grasp on to and label. I am no big fan of opera but when I hear Pavarotti sing Nessun Dorma I want to cry. At that moment I am in love; with his voice, the music. He moves me into a state of high emotion. When I watch Russell Crowe deliver his final speech in Gladiator, I weep for this imaginary character of Maximus and for all he has suffered. I feel as if my heart is being ripped from my chest. At that moment I love him. I want to kill all those who have hurt him. Is this emotion wasted? No and if anyone of you out there cannot grasp what I am saying then I truly feel sorry for you.
Love part two
Someone once sang - Love is a drug. Pop quizzers amongst you will know it was the suave, sexy Bryan Ferry. Mr.Ferry was so right. For those of you out there, caught up in the whirlwind of fresh, sweet new love, you will know what I am talking about. For those who are settled in a relationship - albeit husband/wife/lover - I want to take you on a journey, a voyage into those first golden days; of halcyon days of a relationship. Isn't the rush incredible? That liquid warmth seeping into your blood, surging through your veins,powering its way to take a grip on your heart,squeezing all sanity from what you believed to be your rational, logical oh so controlled thought. Oh how arrogant.Just a look, one smile, a simple touch and your world explodes into brilliance, shattering your ice shield of reserve. You can barely speak, words that usually come so easily to your quicksilver, all too often caustic tongue freeze in your throat. The world around you fades into insignificance. Senses are heightened, You are floating, his/her words caress your ear, a symphony of pleasure, eyes devour you, until your stomach is doing more back-flips than Comeneci. Euphoria! Food of the Gods! Yes indeed, love is a most powerful mind-altering drug.
But then - the come-down. Can there be such raw, gut-wrenching pain? Your stomach churns, heart pulls and tugs inside your chest, lungs ready to explode from repressed sobs because - hey- you are an adult. You cannot allow people to see you weak, emotional - oh so vulnerable.
This unbearable sense of total dejection has many causes. A failed relationship, betrayal. A love you now know to be futile because as much as he/she still cares for you as a person, you know it is over. Your fingers ache to touch him/her, to draw him/her back into your arms and let free what is in your heart. So what do you do? You swallow your pain and continue giving him/her what they have come to love about you; your undivided loyalty, your love, understanding and support as a friend. A shoulder to cry on when their life is not going well. when he/she is down and lonely. You bite down hard on your lip and smile as he/she confides in you about their love, their real love, a new love to which you take second place. You cover up your incredible hurt and envy (you are human} with humour. You give all the right answers, offer up calm, adult advice by the bucket-load but really all you want to do is childishly kick sand in your 'rival's' eye.
So,what is the cure? Go cold turkey? Walk away from what is an emotional whirlpool? Feasable - if you are sensible, strong but no. You are too heavily under the influence of the 'drug' and, as with all addicts, the desire to quit must come from within and let's face it, who of you out there are strong enough to walk away? You are so bound by the barbed claws of your addiction, one drop of their affection is enough to send you soaring back up to dizzy heights? How can you walk away when each minute, hour you are with him/her is sheer heaven? Is it enough to sustain you through night's lonely, cruel hours as you toss and turn, consumed by longing, despising yourself for your weakness? It has to be because, as much as you rationalise, as many times as you tell yourself there is no hope, one tiny mutant cell in your brain continues to grow, spreading to your soul and heart which, in turn, cling fearlessly to a gossamer thread. A thread called....hope. Hope the love that was once so magical, can be rekindled.
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
Brilliant Response.
My blogs of late have managed to provoke quite a but of discussion. I am sure my dear friend and critique partner Christine London will not mind if I post her enlightening response....take it away , Chris
I hope we never figure it out because it is as personal as the individual. Some of us require absolute attention from our beloved. Others find seperate holidays and weeks apart the glue of relational longevity. Some define monogamy in purely physical terms and are not bothered by their partner spending time with members of the opposite sex. Others are more jealous by the shared laughs and smiles than walking in on a tumble in the sheets.
In general our society traditionally defines infidelity by the sex act, but why should society have a say in the our individual hearts and minds? If nothing else good comes from our over exposure to the exponentially growing amount of information produced by mankind, perhaps the fact that we all have our own individual needs and feeling should be central. Freedom should no longer be limited to democractic politics or choice of job/place of residence and religion. Freedom, should be choice of the way we live in our relationships as well. Societal boundries are being pushied and challenged daily as we grow into the future.
Change is always messy, so to, meaningful relationships. It is through the give and take of relationship that each of us must decide with what we are comfortable. Whether it be open marriage or tradtional coupling where no appreciable contact is desirable with members of the opposite sex that are not the spouse--it should be the sum of the hearts and minds of the individuals involved. Messy? Sure. But anything worth negotiating is.
Now all we have to do is be ever vigilant to protect each person's right to make those choices and get our corporate noses out of other people's decisions. Love is good. Love is never wasted. It should always be respected in any healthy form which it manifests.
Thanks.
Viviane
* ·
14 hours ago
I hope we never figure it out because it is as personal as the individual. Some of us require absolute attention from our beloved. Others find seperate holidays and weeks apart the glue of relational longevity. Some define monogamy in purely physical terms and are not bothered by their partner spending time with members of the opposite sex. Others are more jealous by the shared laughs and smiles than walking in on a tumble in the sheets.
In general our society traditionally defines infidelity by the sex act, but why should society have a say in the our individual hearts and minds? If nothing else good comes from our over exposure to the exponentially growing amount of information produced by mankind, perhaps the fact that we all have our own individual needs and feeling should be central. Freedom should no longer be limited to democractic politics or choice of job/place of residence and religion. Freedom, should be choice of the way we live in our relationships as well. Societal boundries are being pushied and challenged daily as we grow into the future.
Change is always messy, so to, meaningful relationships. It is through the give and take of relationship that each of us must decide with what we are comfortable. Whether it be open marriage or tradtional coupling where no appreciable contact is desirable with members of the opposite sex that are not the spouse--it should be the sum of the hearts and minds of the individuals involved. Messy? Sure. But anything worth negotiating is.
Now all we have to do is be ever vigilant to protect each person's right to make those choices and get our corporate noses out of other people's decisions. Love is good. Love is never wasted. It should always be respected in any healthy form which it manifests.
Thanks.
Viviane
* ·
14 hours ago
Sunday, 14 November 2010
INFIDELITY - PART TWO
“The way I see it, marriage is a contract; a contract with which two people promise to love, honour and at least try to remain faithful. Pavlos broke the contract which means…” She spat out a shell. “In my humble opinion, it’s now null and void.” Fragile Dreams
Lepon – as we say in Greece, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. What is cheating exactly? Ok – someone sleeps with someone else. By today’s moral criteria, that is considered betrayal but what about mind cheating? Hands up out there who have ever cheated on their partner mentally? Is harboring lustful designs on someone other than your spouse/partner just as wrong as going through with the physical act? I hasten to add, I am not talking about drooling over Brad/Gerry/Enrique but, rather, somebody one could have access to if they put their mind to it. Ask yourself the question – do you feel guilty about these thoughts? If yes then, no, it’s not so innocent.
Why is the emphasis always on sex – or full-on sex? A simple kiss, a hug, a stroking of the hand, anything vaguely intimate – is that not cheating? Sharing a clandestine glass of wine – is that not betrayal? Do we convince ourselves because full consummation does not take place we are not hurting anyone? What constitutes a relationship? I do find it rather ironic that in modern day thinking, you are not in a relationship unless you are sleeping together. So even if you spent time together, laugh, kiss, hug, joke, generally enjoy the company of someone, you do not have a ‘real’ relationship because you are not doing the deed. It does make me titter when I hear people gloss over their actions with…oh, but we haven’t gone the whole way. Hey, dear, you have committed more sexual acts than found in the Karma Sutra so, in my book, that is cheating. Do not try and justify you actions.
It would seem this topic of infidelity which I opened up last week has invited vigorous discussion. My dear friend and critique partner asks the question – is man really meant to be monogamous. She asks...…What precludes loving more than one man (or woman) not only in a lifetime, but concurrently? What indeed? Who decided the rules? Dare I suggest man-made religion? We often hear…he /she is the love of my life…my soulmate. Granted, we may believe this at the time. We see our present partner through those too-oft deceptive rose-coloured specs but how can we be sure? It’s a vast world out there, filled with, perhaps, a barrel full of potential soul mates. I believe the problem we face is no two people view this matter in the same light and I think it all comes back to the green-eyed monster, jealousy. No one wants to share a loved-one, no matter how much the “errant” partner will tell you it can be done. Which brings us back to physical v emotional infidelity. Will we ever figure out this game of love? Thoughts please…..
Viviane
Lepon – as we say in Greece, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. What is cheating exactly? Ok – someone sleeps with someone else. By today’s moral criteria, that is considered betrayal but what about mind cheating? Hands up out there who have ever cheated on their partner mentally? Is harboring lustful designs on someone other than your spouse/partner just as wrong as going through with the physical act? I hasten to add, I am not talking about drooling over Brad/Gerry/Enrique but, rather, somebody one could have access to if they put their mind to it. Ask yourself the question – do you feel guilty about these thoughts? If yes then, no, it’s not so innocent.
Why is the emphasis always on sex – or full-on sex? A simple kiss, a hug, a stroking of the hand, anything vaguely intimate – is that not cheating? Sharing a clandestine glass of wine – is that not betrayal? Do we convince ourselves because full consummation does not take place we are not hurting anyone? What constitutes a relationship? I do find it rather ironic that in modern day thinking, you are not in a relationship unless you are sleeping together. So even if you spent time together, laugh, kiss, hug, joke, generally enjoy the company of someone, you do not have a ‘real’ relationship because you are not doing the deed. It does make me titter when I hear people gloss over their actions with…oh, but we haven’t gone the whole way. Hey, dear, you have committed more sexual acts than found in the Karma Sutra so, in my book, that is cheating. Do not try and justify you actions.
It would seem this topic of infidelity which I opened up last week has invited vigorous discussion. My dear friend and critique partner asks the question – is man really meant to be monogamous. She asks...…What precludes loving more than one man (or woman) not only in a lifetime, but concurrently? What indeed? Who decided the rules? Dare I suggest man-made religion? We often hear…he /she is the love of my life…my soulmate. Granted, we may believe this at the time. We see our present partner through those too-oft deceptive rose-coloured specs but how can we be sure? It’s a vast world out there, filled with, perhaps, a barrel full of potential soul mates. I believe the problem we face is no two people view this matter in the same light and I think it all comes back to the green-eyed monster, jealousy. No one wants to share a loved-one, no matter how much the “errant” partner will tell you it can be done. Which brings us back to physical v emotional infidelity. Will we ever figure out this game of love? Thoughts please…..
Viviane
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