Tree Shaped Sanity

'Twas the Night before Mothering Sunday

2010-03-13T22:40:00.002Z

It is not always an easy day, Mothers' Day. I have had my share of tricky ones. Before I had children, when I so desperately wanted them, I used to think that once I had them, all Mothers' Days would be wonderful. I would watch with envious eyes as toddlers thrust handfuls of daffodils at their smiling mothers, and inside my heart would break. I could not comprehend the pain that having children can bring. I am not undermining that pain. Nor am I suggesting that it is in any way less than the pain I have subsequently experienced. It is just different.

I would never want to return to those days, and when I recognise that longing in another woman's eyes, I ache inside, wishing I could soothe and comfort but knowing I cannot. I represent an endgame in the infertility world. The barren woman. No fruit springs forth from my loins and never shall. As such, I am not often welcome in the midst of grappling with such traumas.

And yet I am a mother:

Not flesh of my flesh,
Not bone of my bone,
But still miraculously my own.
Never forget,
For a single minute,
You didn't grow under my heart but in it.

So are my Mothers' Days a source of constant delight and joy to me now? The best answer I can give to that is, it's complicated. There have been times I have cried harder than before. Times I would rather Mothers' Day did not exist. But there has been joy too. Today hope flickered in me as I heard from another mothers' grown up child. As this young woman chatted on the phone, I recognised adult responsibility and care in her voice. And I am so very grateful.

Tomorrow we have a family lunch planned. I shall hold onto my hope and remember my joy.

Blight

2010-03-12T19:15:00.003Z

My tree could have been struck by a killer virus. It could have been eaten by locusts. It could have acquired Dutch Elm Disease except it is not a Dutch Elm. The point is I would not know. I have sadly neglected it. I have been housebound. Confined by germs. Restrained by sickness. Barricaded by bacteria. Or in other words, I have cold.

Last week I neglected my tree because of a lingering 3 day migraine. This week it is a cold. I am most displeased. My germs have long outstayed their welcome but there is little I can do to hasten their departure. I should have seen CBT bloke yesterday but had to cancel. All in all it is most unsatisfactory.

Tomorrow I am hoping for a little perambulation around the block. I am mixing my drugs with alcohol this evening in the hope of a miracle cure. If nothing else, perhaps tomorrow's walk will clear my head. My sinuses are another matter ...

Epiphanies

2010-03-04T19:47:00.007Z

I have been very out of touch. My tree will not know who I am. Spring is springing all over the place and I have been missing it. This is not good.

Last week past me by in a haze of musty books, ink, paper and laptops as I typed furiously trying to get my three thousand words hammered out in time for my deadline. I did it. Just. Jeff gave me some advice. Just type 'a' a lot, Mum, no one will notice. Unfortunately it was a chance I could not take. So I wrote indifferently about the politics of kingship displayed in one particular scene in I Henry IV.

I missed my tree. I did take a walk to see if the words were written on its bark but I could see nothing. I even took photos to prove it. But sadly, the Captain deleted them before I could upload them. It is not his fault. It is mine. I have been very efficient in my uploading. Not this time. However, spending so much time in my teeny tiny university library did give me opportunity to gaze out as Spring started creeping across the lawns. The garden is beautiful. Very soon it will be a carpet of crocci. For now it is all snow drops and some dainty yellow flowers that might be celandine but I am not sure. My mother would know. But she was not with me. Anyway, this was my view as I slaved over a hot laptop. It can only have helped the thought processes, ne c'est pas?

This week I have not seen my tree much either. This is very bad. More than that. It is VERY BAD! CBT bloke would not be pleased. But he would tell me not to beat myself up about it. He would tell me that I need to accept that I cannot do all things perfectly at all times. This is easier said than done.

The week started with germs. The Captain had been generous. My bones felt like they were falling out of my skin or separating themselves from each other at the joints. It was not altogether pleasant. Then, today, I decided to wake in the wee small hours with a migraine. This really did not please me. I am much better now. A bit post-migraine ish, but ok.

Despite all that, there has been lots of good things happening. I have been sleeping - hoorah! Almost every night has resulted in at least six hours and sometimes even more. I am so relieved I could cry. CBT blokes suggestions definitely helped. I have also started listening to the cd he gave me and had an epiphanic moment (I love that word!). During a fairly ordinary ten minute relaxation the disembodied voice told me to rest my tongue behind my lower teeth. Sounds normal doesn't it? But mine has been stuck to the roof of my mouth for years. Peeling it off resulted in an audible pop and felt so strange to begin with I questioned my nearest and dearest about the resting positions of their tongues. They are used to my vagaries so did little more than raise eyebrows at my, but it seems that it is in fact normal to rest one's tongue behind one's lower teeth. Well, I must say that since doing this, and practising it, the whole of my face has felt more relaxed!

Tomorrow will definitely require a tree visit. The afternoon brings a meeting that should not be bad but will be awkward if only by association. However, the weekend is something to look forward to. We are away to a family wedding celebration by the seaside. So the Captain will get to gaze longingly at sea going vessels while I'll drink in my wide open skies. Oh, and I get to frock up. Always a joy. This Saturday, I shall be a vision in pink :o)

Writer's Block

2010-02-22T13:04:00.002Z

Grrr. I have been sitting at my laptop since 7:30 this morning. I have written 458 words. About 450 of them are dross. From this you will be able to deduce it is not going well. My deadline is Thursday midday. In reality I have to complete by Wednesday 9pm. I know what to say just not how to say it. 'Tis locked in my head.

Am off to my tree. Perhaps the key is hanging on the branches?

Signs of Spring

2010-02-18T20:14:00.004Z

I have returned to the parental home. I am nestled snugly on the bed in which I was born. Although now I come to think of it that is not possible as I distinctly remember that bed was discarded some years ago. Ah me, c'est la vie. So, to revise that sentence: I am nestled snugly on the substitute birthing bed, the one I was born in having been discarded previously. No one else has been born here, so it is probably not correct to refer to it as a birthing bed. But hey, I have had 3 glasses of wine therefore I do not care.

I am here to collect Jeff. He has been sojourning with his grandparents for a few days for his delectation and delight. It has also meant that Tilly has been home for a few days. Today is change over day. Many miles have been covered. Alcohol was therefore required.

I saw CBT bloke this morning. He is pleased with me. This is good. Especially as I did not do any of my previously set homework. He was pleased with the way the meeting of last week went. He was pleased with my walking. Pleased with my honesty. All in all, pleased generally. I like that he was pleased. I still have a stress management plan to complete. But I have a three week extension on that. That is also good. I have an essay due in next week and the last thing I need to stress about is a completing a stress management plan ...

Because it has been half term, and because of all the child care duties, I have not visited my tree as much as I would have liked. Yesterday I had an extended day at university. The Captain worked from home in order to release me and I was there for when the library opened and did not leave until the library closed. I was immersed in musty academia for twelve solid hours, with minor breaks for caffeine and calories. It was blissful.

During one of my caffeine breaks, I wandered around the gardens and found these:

They are not my tree. They are not a tree at all. But they are a sure sign that Spring is coming.

Budding

2010-02-15T21:11:00.002Z

At last, there are visible, photographable signs of Spring on my tree. Look:

If they are not buds, I do not know what are. Granted they are small. Tiny even. But they are a start. Thank goodness. I have had enough of Winter.

I walked down to my tree at lunchtime. It was a solitary stroll. I had invited Tilly to join me but her response ran thus: 'Du-ur, like, no!' From that I deduced she was not keen. They do not call me perceptive for nothing. I did not mind. Quarter of an hour under the open sky, even with a light drizzle, is proving to be a real source of pleasure and not sharing it was fine. Although I may be developing a reputation as something of a local eccentric. I was spotted today as I grappled with branches and trunk trying to capture the perfect shot. It is not easy you know. My tree moves. But only when a the camera shutter is depressed.

Fortunately, it was just a friend who clocked me. And she already knows I'm barking. Speaking of which, did you notice the bark on that photo? No? Here, have another:

I have not yet been confronted by strangers or asked to account for my bizarre actions by the police. But I do wonder if it is just a matter of time ...?

Juggling Family

2010-02-14T22:10:00.002Z

This weekend has been a chaotic whirl of dashing here and there and everywhere.

Saturday was family round one: entertaining Jeff, enjoying parents. Jeff spent the day with his best mates eating pizza, gaming and generally chilling. I spent the day introducing my parents to the delights of some of my favourite charity shops. Meanwhile, the Captain went to work. We rounded off the day with curry. Yum.

Sunday, family round two: church, packing up Jeff & parents, collecting Tilly. Perhaps one thing that should not go unmentioned is that I made it all the way through the church service! This pleased me a lot. It was not easy. I nearly bolted. The service began with a video presentation of Sam McBratney's book Guess How Much I Love You. It is a beautiful story. You can watch it here. It was Tilly's favourite story as a little girl. Listening to it made my heart ache.

After lunch the real juggling began. I drove north to Tilly's school while Jeff headed in a similar direction with his Grandparents. We met up at a local reservoir for hot chocolate and cake. The teenagers were civil, if a little edgy, with each other. Then Jeff headed further north for a few days while Tilly returned to the family seat till Thursday. It is the first time she has been home since October and it will be her longest stay since February last year.

Doing family in lots of three is strange but workable. So far, I feel relatively tranquil. I need to see my tree. I did not make it at all over the weekend and am missing it. I feel extremely maternal towards those buds I spotted and need to check on their progress. Photos will follow. Tilly may not join me. I explained about my tree. She was not impressed. Her actual words were: 'Man, that is Sad!' Then again, laughing at her sad mother is something of a hobby so you never know.

It is good to have her here.

Much loving

2010-02-14T21:51:00.002Z

This weekend my parents came to stay. They arrived on Friday complete with bags of parental loving. As they spread their love around I got all caught up in the nurturing and began cooking which is always a Good Thing. I baked wholesome breakfast muffins packed with blueberries and fibre. I stewed dried fruit compote. Then there were crumbles and fruit salads and soups. It was a culinary fest.

In the middle of it all I took my Mum to meet my tree. It was a bit drizzly so I did not take the Captain's all singing all dancing camera. I took the little one that fits neatly into my pocket. Before we left I checked the batteries. They needed changing, so I replaced them. Sadly I did not check the replacements. So I replaced them with dead ones. Utterly flat ones. Ones with no charge. None. Hence the absence of photos. But my Mum liked the tree. I formally introduced her and she was very polite. It is her opinion that my tree is a cherry. But blossom time will tell.

Meanwhile, I think I spotted buds. But you will have to take my word for it until I next visit with a working camera.

Lancing Boils

2010-02-14T21:32:00.002Z

I have been very absent. But I have been here. Sort of. I have been busy. And tired. But I have still visited my tree.

On Thursday I had an important meeting. It was harrowing. But I think it was good. It is difficult to say as it was very tied up with the events that caused my post traumatic stress symptoms. I did not manage to get through it without tears. Or shaking. I believe my nose may have even dripped. However, I got to ask the people ultimately in charge, why the things that happened to us in the summer, happened. Of course they had no answers. But they did say sorry. They have also promised to give us a written apology and to re-write the offensive documents so that anything kept on file will represent a fair and balanced account. We will wait and see. They have promised things before.

It felt a lot like lancing a boil. It was painful. And messy. And involved bodily fluids. But maybe it is the start of the healing?

When love speaks

2010-02-10T23:11:00.005Z

There are times I wonder why I love the Captain. He would have me believe it is because he is the easiest man alive. But I suspect he is not telling the truth. Or his capacity for self-delusion is greater than I thought. It is not for his ability to muddle up the alphabetised books on the bookshelves. Nor for the disagreement that has been simmering over the laundry for about twenty one years. It is probably not for his wild impetuosity or reckless nature either. And I do not believe that I could ever find his feet attractive even if though they are inherently a part of him and therefore I must love them.

However, days like today make me realise that there are a myriad of things about him that I do find deeply attractive. He knew I had a busy day. He knew I would not be able to visit my tree (who I am thinking of naming Lavinia. I am just trying it out for size currently). He also noticed the snow. He remembered me mentioning that I would like a tree photo in the snow. So, he re-arranged his working from home schedule to incorporate a brisk run down the hill in order to take a few snaps.

*sigh* Do not tell him, but I think he might just be perfect after all.

Realising the dream

2010-02-09T13:29:00.005Z

The Captain and I took an evening stroll last night to capture my tree. I had hoped for silvery moonlight and twinkling stars. But then I remembered we live in a city so settled for a neon glow. Nevertheless I like the Captain's photo:

It makes me realise that even the most unpromising moments can turn out well.

I am not sure what has happened to Spring. I think, after poking its nose out last week for a quick peek it has taken flight because the weather has turned bitterly cold again. But I do not mind.

I do not mind much just now because my current sleep pattern is continuing - hurrah! My nights are far from unbroken and peaceful but I am sleeping and that is such an improvement. With this new found ability, I have rediscovered an old one. Dreaming. I have been having the oddest dreams. There are many you do not need to hear about. Like the one involving dinner, Antony Sher and the penguin. Or the one about the stairs, Jeff and running. I am pretty sure most of these are not real. But sometimes I muddle up my dreams with reality.

Last night I dreamt about my Grandad's steps. He had a wooden stepladder. It was very short, just three steps. I acquired it at some point following his death and I became very fond of it. It joined me in my first flat as a plant stand when I painted it burgundy and magnolia to match the eighties decor. Over the years it had been a surprisingly useful addition to household. However, ten years ago it was stolen.

I know who took it. A plasterer who had skimmed some walls for us decided he liked the look of it. He even admitted to the theft. But he did not return it. I asked. Pleaded. Begged, even. He always agreed but my Grandad's steps never materialised. In my dream I was angry. Shockingly angry. My fists were clenched, my jaw set tight, my brow furrowed. In fact, my whole body was held in a state of rage. I was screaming with anger. Then Nelson Mandela popped up, in the way that happens in dreams. I had been to see Invictus at the weekend (great film, go and see it) so he was probably lurking in my subconscious from that. He had the audacity to suggest that maybe ten years was a little long to hold onto rage over some rickety old wooden steps, however much sentimental value they may have held. Hmm. 'To move on, you have to let go,' he said. Bugger, I thought. But he was right. Ten years for steps. It is ridiculous.

So, as my dream progressed and with Nelson Mandela at my side, now looking uncannily like Jesus, I spoke forgiveness to the plasterer. I began by wishing the steps would collapse under him every time he used them. Nelson pointed out this was not the way to go. I tried again. 'They were my Grandad's steps. They were precious. You took them from me. And that hurt. But it is over. And I forgive you.'

This morning I woke up for the first time in a very long time feeling relaxed. And look, my tree had blue skies over it today:

Sunday Reflections

2010-02-07T13:35:00.005Z

One of my post traumatic stress symptoms has been an inability to be contemplatively still for any length of time. I suspect that has been the root of much of my sleep problems. But it has also greatly affected my day to day life. Well, my week to week life at any rate. Each Sunday I get up. I get dressed - always good to know. I then leave the house with Jeff and the Captain and we head to church. For several weeks now, that has been about as far into the routine as I have been able to go. Either I make it through the church doors only to leave in tears very early on. Or I bail out before even getting there. Our minister is a holy man who is both wise and forgiving. Fortunately. I do not have a problem with leaving. I do have a problem with continually sobbing in public. I know those around me do not mind. Generally. But I get tired of having to explain. Besides what do I keep saying? There are only so many ways to say 'I am as mad as a basket of ferrets on speed and best left alone.' So, much of the time it is easier for us all if I take my communing with God to Costas.

However, today I stayed. For the whole service. And pretty smug I am feeling about it too. It was a Parade Service led by the boys and Jeff was being presented with an award. Hoorah! Proud Mummy moments are prescious and though I did not jump on my chair shrieking 'whoop whoop, go Je-ef, go Je-ef!' that did not mean I did not feel like it.

I liked being there. It felt good. It was not too intense. There was not too much introspection. But there was meaning. One performance spoke especially to my heart. This was performed with gentle passion and great sensitivity. It was beautiful:

Retreating

2010-02-06T21:47:00.006Z

I did not visit my tree today. I have been too busy. Too busy relaxing that is. My relaxing involved driving. Quite a lot. But that is ok. I like driving. I had Prince Hal, Falstaff and the valiant Hotspur to accompany me which is never a bad thing.

It was my day for visiting Tilly. We had decided some girly pampering was in order but first we took in a few charity shops which is a pass time we both enjoy. Then we headed to a little piece of heaven on earth called The Retreat. Once there we took it in turns to have massages and facials. Blissful.

Whether it was the anticipation of such delight or something else, I do not know, but I slept again last night. Another straight eight hours. This could become a habit. I hope.

A Question ...

2010-02-05T21:22:00.004Z

Last night I slept. No, really, I did. All night. Yes. All of it. Without waking up. Even once. I was zzzz-ing by 11pm and did not peel back my eyelids before 8am. That is nine hours sleep, people. Nine. NINE! Not bad, huh?

So my question. Why do I feel tireder today than I have felt for weeks? So not fair. I should be perky and bouncing with a spring in my step and a lightness in my heart. But no. My eyes are gritty. My skin is dull. My face creased - actually, it resembles one of those dogs that wear skin several sizes too large. Only not so hairy.

CBT bloke gave me a cd with relaxation exercises on. I have not dared try it today as I am pretty convinced that I would be comatose in seconds if I did. And one of my strategies is to not sleep during the day. Not that I do that much.

Staying in my pyjamas probably did not help with the lack of perkiness. I did get dressed eventually but not before I had driven Jeff into town. I thought about popping into Tesco to do a spot a shopping but thought they might throw me out so resisted that urge. So home I went and having donned some appropriate attire I took a bracing walk around the block in an attempt to clear the cobwebs.

It is the first day that I noticed Spring in the air. As I left the house, the sun was streaming through the clouds bathing the area in a golden glow. Though obviously by the time I got to my tree, the skies were back to grey. Walking with my many layers on left me decidedly hot, so some unzipping was called for. And if that is not a sure sign that Spring is on its way, I do not know what is.

Good things to come

2010-02-04T20:11:00.006Z

CBT bloke saw me today. I had to report back on the week's happenings. I had to confess to my many walking successes. And my breathing not such successes. I would say 'breathing abject failures' but I'm trying to be positive. We talked a lot about the not sleeping. And I have strategies. Ones that don't involve virtual planting, harvesting or farming of any description. Well, at least not at 4:00am, anyway.

It has not been a very good day really. But Jeff cooked tea. I like having a son that enjoys cooking. Even if my supervision does not always enhance the proceedings. Even if it leads directly to melting plastic dripping over superfluous digits. Have you ever had to pull solidified plastic off your melting skin? I have. Still, more importantly, tea was fabulous. Jeff can add Macaroni Cheese to his ever expanding repertoire, though his idea of washing up has room for improvement.

My tree visit was surprisingly soothing today. Surprising, because I was not sure I would have time to take it in. Also because the weather has not been great. There was a little drizzle when I got there, but that was ok. The sky was a washed out greyish colour that seemed to suggest that it had never once been blue. Ever. The branches of my tree stood out bare and stark against it. There was no sign of Spring. No hint of green. Not the merest whisper of anything waiting to burst out. It felt like a secret.

So I lied ...

2010-02-03T06:56:00.003Z

... but it is not as if you can sue me, is it?!

I believe I have mentioned before that insomnia has its advantages. This morning I woke at 4 am with my Asia sized bladder stretched to capacity and aching for release. Once awake enough to stagger to the bathroom, it seems I am incapable of returning to sleep, particularly if I hear the tell tale groan of the milk float as it hums electronically down the road.

Unusually the Captain was also awake. And the rain had stopped. Hurrah! So all we had to do was wait for the dawn. Which was surprisingly long in coming. Even the birds are slow round here. I noticed their first twitterings at 07:01 hours precisely.

Eventually, we set off towards my tree. The Captain suggested we dress as druids then roll naked on the grass but there was a frost so I declined. The dawn was not spectacular. It was not red and shiny. There was no glow of expectation or promise of glory. But it was there. And we did see it. And there was no naked rolling. Anywhere.

Rain

2010-02-02T21:43:00.004Z

Today I was displeased. It is the first day since I began that I have not visited my tree. Opening the curtains as I stumbled out of bed I was taken aback by the steady fall of rain. And I am so not a wet weather person. Even the Captain usually grants me a wet weather exemption from boating activities above deck. I may love my tree but I do not want to visit it in the mizzling pizzling drizzle. I am a fair weather tree lover.

I was also displeased because I did not get my walk. As I have been failing very badly with the breathing exercises, I wanted to say to CBT bloke that I had been super good about the walking. Hrumph. That tactic is not going to work now, is it? Still, not to worry. I suspect he might have noticed anyway. I am failing on the breathing front because I am so bad at relaxing.

Last time I visited my tree I tripped over one of its roots. It was a considerable way away from the trunk as roots often are. I could apply the metaphor and make all sorts of pop psychology comments about the roots of my inability to relax working their way to the surface but that is just too contrived. So instead, I shall just enjoy the fact that my busy over driven body has really enjoyed all the energetic walking. It has also helped me keep awake when my sleep deprived brain has been crying out for unconscious at very inopportune moments.

Unfortunately, I will not be able to visit my tree tomorrow either. It is my university day. I don respectable clothes, slap some make up over my face and attempt to string a few words together in coherent fashion. For a whole day I do not think about anything other than Shakespeare. And being me. It is blissful. And I love it.

By Thursday I wonder if I will even recognise my tree?

Shadowlands

2010-02-01T16:36:00.003Z

Queen I may be, but sleep I need. Two and a half hours is really not enough, however much of a positve spin a put on it. I feel wraith-like. Half there. Half not. Insubstantial. A shadow.

Today's photo opportunity was too appropriate to miss:

Queen Belle

2010-02-01T06:58:00.002Z

We are a Queen. There can be no other explanation. And we do not just mean from the easy assumption of the royal 'we'. It is something we have suspected for sometime, though, being of a warm and generous nature we will forgive our subjects for not having noticed.

In the first instance, the town of our inhabitance in one of royal charter. Obviously we did that at a much earlier time when we were much younger. Not that we are old now. Oh no. We are of a very unagéd countenance, we think you will find.

In the second instance, the subject of our current obsession is a tree and trees have long been associated with royal patronage. Charles II enjoyed a spot of hide and seek in an Oak tree, while mad Georgie III warmly greeted a tree in the mistaken belief that it was the King of Prussia.

But final confirmation came from Mr Shakespeare himself. Read this and we think you will find the evidence is irrefutable:

'How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I fighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And husht with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why li'st thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds,
That with the hurly death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy rude repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a King? Then happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.'
Hen IV:2 3.1.4-31

The Captain has will be pleased to have confirmed that he generates the 'sound of sweetest melody' and provides that Eau de Je Ne Sais Pas for 'the perfum'd chambers'. Unless, of course, he is 'the wet sea-boy'. Hmm.

Right, off to discuss matters of state with our tree. We may bestow a knighthood upon it. But only if it kneels.

Walking

2010-01-31T16:19:00.005Z

I started today's post with a long list of all the things that I needed to get done today that were making me anxious. As I was typing I had an odd experience. My left middle and ring fingers were becoming increasingly sticky. Because I am a bit slow on the uptake it took me a while, but eventually I glanced down and realised I was bleeding! Ow! How did that happen? I have a gash on my middle knuckle and I do not know how it got there? Weird and not altogether pleasant. If I were a tree I would be leaking sap.I decided that if I were so anxious I had not noticed fluid leakage of the blood variety I needed a moment or two's respite. So here I am. I am not doing well with the breathing, but the walking is simply marvellous. The Captain and I took a stroll after lunch.

It is the first time I have introduced the Captain to my tree:

He was a little unimpressed and suggested its recent pruning had been too severe. How rude. Though he may have a point, but I am rather fond of the slightly stunted and lop limbed look. It puts me in mind of Lavina. Which seems fitting.
There was no snow left by the time we passed by, though we found ice in abundance across puddles through the park. Winter is still very definitely with us. I may get a snowy picture later in the week though it is an opportunity I would gladly forgo.

Our walk took us through our local park. The Captain's choice of tree would have been the gnarled old oak tree standing sentinel by the gate. But as I suspect my tree may be Cherry, I thought spring might come sooner, and it is a little nearer home. I am very impatient and the thought of having to wait for an English Oak to catch up with Spring when the rest of the tree population is running pell-mell into Summer was more than I could bear. However, if I had really wanted speedy, I should have gone with our very own Magnolia.

Look, a bud:

Learning to breathe

2010-01-30T12:03:00.004Z

I finally nodded off sometime after 3am, giving me about four hours sleep in total which actually is not that bad. And so far, I feel ok. The day began well. I am up to date with my targets. I have exercises to do. CBT man patiently explained the purpose of them. They are to re-focus my mind. To give me a different perspective. They will not change the circumstances. But they may change my outlook. They may help me cope. Well, hurrah, I say! Tell me what to do, I say. You must breath, he replies. Ah. And there was me thinking that was something I had been doing for sometime.

He thought my midwifery background may have introduced me to breathing exercises. It did. But only ones that ended with pushing. Not so helpful in the circumstances. Then I remembered my singing lessons. They involved a lot of breathing. But again, not so helpful. Those exercises were all about maintaining diaphragmatic tension rather than inducing relaxation. It would appear when it comes to breathing, I am a novice. More than that, I am really not very good at it. But I am trying. Believe me, I am VERY trying, just ask the Captain!

Anyway, anyway, anyway ... I am meant to do these breathing exercises (relaxed posture, eyes closed, slowly in through the nose, hold, slowly out through the mouth) for about five minutes, four times a day. Yesterday, I only managed them twice. Today, I have already clocked up two stints so I am feeling smug.

I have also decided to include my tree in this experience. After all, it is good to share. If I had to turn my tree into a geometric shape, I think it would be closest to an inverted triangle. Quite handy that, as it is the shape I am meant to use to help with the breathing. Visualisation is something I am bad at. Very bad. So random shapes do not really help me. However, thinking of my tree: I breath in from the roots travelling sloth-like up to the outermost top left branches; hold my breath as I cross to the outermost top right branches; then breath out as I plumet to my death on the floor in the manner of a suicidal squirrel, ahem, I mean, slowly breath out as I gently glide down the far side of the trunk.

Before you call for the men in white coats, here is today's offering:

Beautiful blue skies begged for a closer look at the branches. General concensus is that it may be a cherry tree. We will have to wait and see.

Midnight Musings

2010-01-30T01:36:00.002Z

The house is quiet. Somewhere downstairs I can hear the distant grumble of the dishwasher. At least I believe it is the dishwasher. I try not to familiarise myself with domestic appliances too much. I am not good with them. They do not like me. Except for the cooker. I am the cooker's favourite human and this makes me happy. There. It does not take much.

It is very late, or very early. Depending on how you choose to look at it. To be precise it is 01:40 hours GMT. My CBT bloke tells me that part of the therapy is to look at things differently. I cannot change the time. I seem unable to change the fact that I am awake. So instead of fretting that I am awake and will feel death-like tomorrow, or later today, depending how you look at it (still with me? Good.), I am choosing to use the time doing something pleasurable. This. Blogging. I used to be very prolific. I even introduced my husband, the Captain, to blogging, and my, what a monster I unleashed! I have had several blogs in my time, and they served many purposes. But then life got so very complicated I felt unable to carry on. I lost my funny. My un-funny overwhelmed me. I am not sure I have my funny back, but I do not think it matters. I think it just matters that I write. Anything and nothing. Ramblings and rubbish.

I thought about nipping out and photographing my tree. I will do one of these insomniac nights but first I need the Captain to give me some lessons in using his all-singing all-dancing new camera that not only takes night-time photos but probably makes a steaming mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows, whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top then tucks you up with a bed-time story and good night kiss. Besides, the point of my tree photography is really the walking. And as creeping round the neighbourhood in the wee small hours of a Saturday morning is probably not a Good Thing to do, I shall wait until later for both my walk and my photo.

In the Beginning …

2010-01-29T15:08:00.007Z

… was a tree.

Well, actually, no. That is not quite true. In the beginning was Lisibo. And it was Lisibo’s idea to start photographing trees. And Belle saw that it was good. And we all know that imitation is the highest form of flattery so here begins my one woman trek to reclaim some relaxation and peace in my life with more than a nod of gratitude to Lisibo who gave me the idea in the first place.

I have put my own particular spin on the tree idea though. Which will probably make it far more dull, but it is my blog and I do not care. I have always marvelled at the progression of Spring. How we seem to spend months and months locked into Winter, then suddenly without warning we wake up to discover Spring is fully on us. So this year, I aim to track Spring’s progression. I intend to photograph one particular tree over the coming weeks, and hopefully every day.

I am looking on it as a sort of self inflicted form of therapy. For a variety of reasons which are too tedious to go into, I am undergoing a course of CBT. Part of that involves having committed to walking for 15 to 20 minutes for a minimum of four times a week and preferably every day. I thought it might make the whole thing easier if I had a purpose to achieve. So now I have. I am tracking the progression of Spring. While regaining my equilibrium. And maintaining my tenuous grip on sanity.

So, without further ado, here is The Chosen Tree:

I am a tad ashamed to admit that I do not know what sort of tree it is. Except that it is made of wood. Possibly.