I am full of cold.  Yummy green snot, fuzzy head and a throat made of glass.  Oh yes.  Baby.

There's something terrible about taking a day off work just for a cold.  I struggled in on Thursday with sniffles and a croaky voice, and was awarded tea and sympathy for my troubles.  I didn't struggle in on Friday.  Instead of struggling in I had a manic cleaning episode, which was futile because I still had to hoover the hall floor again this morning as there was a crumb sitting there, mocking me.  Tsk. 

I even started making Christmas cards.  I managed two in the space of an hour.  I may [or may not] get enough done in time for Christmas. 

My Open University course started on Wednesday.  Don't get excited!   It's only a photography course worth ten credits.  Tesco have, very kindly, paid for the course and they may be paying for the next one too [probably something literacy/English language based] if all goes well. 

I'm supposed [obviously] to take photographs for this course.  I have no inclination or motivation though.  No enthusiasm.  It seems to have toddled off to distant pastures, perhaps to re-energise itself in preparation for when I make it work really, really hard. 

Actually, I'm lying.  I had the most humongous sense of I want to take a picture of that! on Thursday evening.  ChavBoy

[aside: conversation from a couple of weeks ago ...
ChavBoy: Those lights that people have on their cars are quite nice.
Katiefinger: They're a bit Chavvy.
ChavBoy: I used to have them on my Escort!
Katiefinger: They're still Chavvy.
ChavBoy: I'm not a Chav!
Katiefinger ponders this and doesn't tell him that she calls him ChavBoy on her blog, mostly because he wouldn't even know what a blog actually is.]

was driving us home and the skies were fabulously fandangly.  The road from ChavTown to FlatHickTown runs straight through the Flatlands, and for the most part is perfectly straight.  There's an occasional house, a few dilapidated barns and a smattering of trees.  There's also a little windfarm, with huge wind turbines.  Nice.  I'm so used to this road that I often pay no attention to the fact that on a clear day you can see for squillions of miles in all four directions of the compass.  But Thursday was absolutely gorgeous.  The skies were a perfect blue, the clouds were bunches of cotton wool glued onto a picture made by a four year old, and in the distance the odd shower of rain showed as a simple tiny grey patch on the horizon.  There was even a glimpse of a rainbow, and the sun made everything shiny.  And it was all around us; this immense and magical sky.  It was one of those awe-inspiring moments that can't really be conveyed through the written word and desperately needs a picture to show off its awesomeness.

So, why didn't I take my little compact out and start snapping away to capture a moment that can never be captured again?  Because I was embarrassed.  Yes.  I must stop feeling that.  But, it was ChavBoy!  He's a Chavvy idiot.  Very Flatland, very a woman's place, very ... dull.  No creativity, no shades of grey, no awesomeness.  A lifetime of nothing special.

How could I get across the magic of the moment to someone like that?

I wish, with my whole heart, that I had caught the moment on film.

*sigh*

please God bless my photography xxx Elsabeth

I came from a single parent home when single parent homes were frowned upon; the days before they became the norm.  In the spring of 1980 I went up to my teacher and, in a very matter-of-fact way, I told her, My daddy doesn't live at home anymore. 

We were poor.  By today's standards we lived below the poverty line.  But we had food to fill our bellies, a roof to shelter us from the English rain and clothes to protect our modesty. 

And we were happy.  We were loved.  We were instilled with a passion for learning and a pride for being well-behaved and respectful.  I may not have had as many toys as Rachel from the next street, but I did have an imagination and it was my imagination which held her in contempt.  I remember that, although I didn't have a word for the feelings I had back then.

I am a success because of (not despite) my childhood and family circumstances.  I am not a success because I have a degree, a job, a mortgage, a loving husband, a longing to continue learning and a nice car.  I'm a success because I can find reasons to smile on a rainy day.  I'm a success because I can scrunch all the misery and pain into a little paper ball and file it away in the deepest, darkest corner of my mind.  I'm a success because I know how to keep my house clean and my bedroom dirty.  I'm a success because I have personal morals to adhere to and a desire to help people less fortunate than me.

But mostly I'm a success because I saw my Mumsy struggle to survive for my benefit.  I saw her express all the emotions one woman can (sometimes all in the same day) and I watched her cope.  I watched her live.  I was there with her when she came out the other side and realised she had raised four fabulous - successful - children with very little help (either physically or financially) from their father. 

I genuinely believe that if The Father had shown more than just an occasional passing interest in my up-bringing, I wouldn't be the success I am today.  Or, perhaps because of his occasional passing interest I am the success I am today.  Who knows?

I do know that I am not an exception.  There are thousands of successful adults/children in the world who were raised in one-parent families, and they all have their own stories.  And if we lose everything tomorrow (which could happen; we live in interesting times, my friend) then I will still be a success, regardless of damp walls and Tesco Value foodstuffs. 

But then, perhaps my idea of success is skewed? 

please God bless Mumsy for helping me be a success xxx Elsabeth

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