And treat those two imposters just the same

This is a story of hubris, preserves and living in a sitcom.

The first thing I did after breakfast on Saturday was to water the poly tunnel and harvest some of the produce. The first batch of tomatillos were ripe, there were 17 jalapeños ready, some dwarf cucumbers and courgettes ranging from acceptable to giant marrows.

After chucking the marrows to the hens (chickens love them) I laid my haul on the garden table. I called  to Mark, "behold, I have a crop of finest Green!" in a daft pompous tone. The photo went to friends and family, Facebook and Twitter; I was extremely satisfied with the fruits of my labours. Downright smug even - look at the Earth Mother growing her veg and making preserves and pickles! How very Good Life. 

I wasn't far off the mark, but not in the way I thought.

The next thing I did was tackle the overgrown raised bed to remove some of the giant courgette leaves, the borage that had collapsed in the high winds and was drooping across the path and remove the bits that were rotting or dying back.  It's a job I'd been putting off because they are extremely prickly plants. Despite long sleeves and gloves, I had the raised bumps and  rashes I always get from the many bristles poking into me. My forearms were covered in them. I hate that job.

Mark and the kids were doing errands in Zach's car (Mum's aged Polo) so I messaged him to ask he buy a big bottle of white vinegar so I could do the pickling in the afternoon. We usually buy the glass bottles with a screw top. This time he bought plastic bottles with the small hole in the stopper (like you use for putting vinegar on your chips) because he thought I might need lots and it was cheaper. This will matter later.

I was looking forward to making the salsa verde with the tomatillos. You can't buy them easily in the UK and they are delicious. We love  Mexican/Central American food in general, really - hence the jalapenos! 

The counter was *covered* in stuff because I am a slob who lives with slobs. I couldn't be bothered clearing it all properly. I knew I could clean down a working area and ignore the rest - to Mark's horror I can do this perfectly happily. For reference, here's how it looked last week when I was making a curry:

Yes, I am ashamed. Mark can't work in this chaos because he's normal but as long as I can clear and clean a small space I'm good to go. 

First, I peeled the papery cases from the tomatillos, washed their soapy residue off, halved them and roasted them skin up in a very hot oven for 10 minutes.  I'd then pop them in the blender with half a chopped onion, a big fistful of coriander, a garlic clove, 3 chillies and the juice of a lime. Whizz it up, salt to taste, and there you've got a fantastic salsa that lasts about a week in the fridge or several months in the freezer.

Spot the food blogging in the anecdote; I'm content-rich, me.

While the tomatillos were cooling, I started on the pickling liquor for the jalapeños.

My preferred recipe is 250ml water, 250ml vinegar, a teaspoon or sugar, a tablespoon of salt and a few garlic cloves simmered to boiling, to which I  add the sliced chilli peppers off the heat and leave them to infuse/gently cook for 10 minutes before putting in a jar. It's very good, I heartily recomment it.

(See - content! Two recipes already)

I tried to prise the stopper off the vinegar bottle with the edge of a spoon so I could pour out 250ml, but it wouldn't be shifted. Damn it.  I squeezed the plastic bottle into the measuring cup.

I squeezed a bit hard.

The stopper came off with a POP and vinegar poured out at force, covering everything.

Everything.

Veg, cooking equipment, papers, a book, bowls, fruit, phone, floor, me.

I found every single scratch I got pruning back all the prickly stuff this morning. Ow.

It took me 40 minutes to clear up: wash everything down, mop the floor, rinse the fruit and veg and leave them out to dry, bin the butter in the butter dish, wash the pasta jar, lay out the papers and novel to dry, change clothes, wash up the crockery I doused.

 I was knackered and sweating. 

My (freshly washed) hair and face got covered to. I sweated VINEGAR into my EYES.

I smelled like a chip shop.

I want to be an Earth Mother type, whereas I am in fact in a slapstick sitcom or a Carry On film.

It was the hubris particularly.  “Look at my amazing monochrome veg harvest. Isn’t it gorgeous! Aren’t I such a great example,  growing and preserving things?” to a Joni Mitchell Ladies Of The Canyon soundtrack. Me in my maxi dress and wellies, tending my crops and preserving my veg.

Fast forward to vinegar drenched train wreck.

I did get a happy ending - see the jars below. 

This morning I resolved to have a less farcical experience. I went down the garden to sit in my new swing/hammock chair and read a novel. Swaying gently in the sunshine enjoying a favourite book I was feeling at one with the world.

Until the hook holding the chair gave way.

Cue title sequence.

P.S. No, I'm not kidding, yes, it hurt and I'm on painkillers and yes, it did look ridiculous and yes, I was flat on my back like an upturned tortoise.

To the half century.. and beyond!

Nearly 3 years ago I wrote a list of happiness-inspiring things I'd like to try before the end of the year I turn 50. It all seemed reassuringly far away, I had loads of time to do it all. 
2 years ago I updated my progress, and then completely forgot about it.
Last week my mother-inlaw reminded me of my list, and asked if there was anything on it she could facilitate as my birthday present.
I'm 50 in 3 weeks.
Better get my damned skates on.

Here's the list, which I could add to as I found new things I wanted to do. Those I've done are highlighted with white:

Venice is incredible.

1. Go fishing  
2. See the Giant's Causeway - Still haven't arranged it
3. Try salsify and Jerusalem artichokes
4. Go rock pooling again - somehow the opportunity hasn't arisen
5. Sing in a choir - I'm a wuss. Nearly gone to 5 different ones and always bottle it
6. Grow cut flowers 
7. See live music 
8. Visit Hadrian's Wall 
9. Spend all day at the movies  
10. Learn to apply make up properly 
11. See the Northern Lights 
12. Go whale-watching 
13. Learn a new range of cooking 
14. Sew something I can wear  
15. See a new ballet company 
16. Learn to play a song on an instrument 
17. Go birdwatching on the Farne Islands 
18. Return to Paris 
19. Cook a decent roast dinner 
20. Build sandcastles - not done that in ages, and I like it
21. See Venice while it's still there
22. See at least one of the birds on my most wanted list 
23. Visit Petra - never going to happen, but it's the ancient wonder I'd most like to see
24. Start another business
25. Find a fossil

Each of those I have done has given me such a sense of achievement or pleasure. Seeing a Bearded Tit (keep your sniggering to yourself) at St Aiden's wildlife park the other week had me grinning for days - such a tiny bird, and so glorious! Venice was beyond my expectation of beauty and impossibility. Except for the eating of octopi it was perfection itself. (Octopi are probably smarter than we are. It's rude to eat them.)

weeks of sweetpea bouquets

I'm so glad Mark's mum reminded of my list.

Moving forward, I've found a workshop to achieve No.14 at the charming Hello Workshop in May. If I can make myself a T shirt someday I might be able to make myself jersey tunics, and I LOVE tunics.

M's parents are kindly treating me to a train ticket and ticket to see the Royal Ballet in Covent Garden - WOW! - so I can achieve No.15 as well as seeing one of my favourite ballets, Romeo and Juliet.  I'm ridiculously excited at the prospect.

My parents generously offered money for a trip.  I'm clearly horrendously middle aged as I decided I'd rather use it getting new stuff for the garden. Isn't that a lowering thought? It's true though; I spend all my daylight hours outside once the weather is half decent and eat most of my meals in the garden. Replacing our rickety, collapsing table and chairs with something better will give me many more hours of happiness than a weekend break, even if I were visiting the Giant's Causeway or Lisbon or somewhere else wonderful. Being in my marvellous garden is my easiest source of happiness. It's often scruffy but it's wonderful.

Obviously the trickiest is to start another business. I loved being self-employed, and I would be delighted to be so again. I need to think of something I can offer that other people would pay me to do. I'd say 'watch this space' but I feel I'd leave you hanging a good while.

What should I tackle next? 

The music? I have access to a ukulele, guitar, recorder, keyboard and clarinet, but can't play any of them.  Probably the wisest "play a song" route is the uke or the keyboard. 

Finding a veggie/fish - friendly roast dinner to prepare? Mark always does the roasts here. I prefer non-English food myself (if it doesn't start with garlic, why even bother?) so I've not been motivated to learn to do a roast properly with all the trimmings. Actually, asking Mark to teach me how to do it would be fun, we like cooking together... until I remember how critical he is of my knife skills and that I inevitably tell him to sod off about it. 

Perhaps not.

Planning a day at the seaside for rock pooling and castle building is easy enough - I just need the seasons to turn. I'll put a reminder in my diary and arrange it.

The movie one needs a confluence of events - enough films I'm interested in out at the same time, and not at a manic time of year like Christmas. We used to love our 3-movie days, in our pre-kids life. There are very few mainstream movies of the 90s I haven't seen, unless you include horror. (Remember, I'm a wuss) It would be a lot of fun to ditch being responsible and binge watch films in a cinema again.

So, newly inspired to seek out my adventures and about to hit my half century, I'm making plans. I'm not going to stay inside, letting my anxieties dictate the pace of my life. Spring is here and it's time to grow up and grow onwards.

I'd really appreciate any suggestions or advice, my lovelies. It's a big world and I do get a bit daunted.

Taking Stock - This Year's Fearless List

Last year I listed some of the things I found the very thought of rather tricky. Pah! I knew NOTHING.

In 6 months of mentoring from the lovely Andrew Edwards at BBC Radio Leeds, I did so many things I was scared stiff of that my earlier list seems laughable. Walking up to total strangers to ask their views on a subject  - without the shield of a BBC ID badge or other legitimising item - was scary enough.  Interviewing people terrified me but I did it.  Interviewing people on topics I knew nothing about was harder still. Trying for an interview I didn't have to edit - eek!  I never managed that to a decent standard but even trying it freaked me out.

Source of many scary tasks

Then there was the techie side - trying to work out for myself how to edit and tweak a piece with just the software on my laptop.  I got pretty good, considering. (Considering I know nothing and I never mess about with my computer just to see what it does. And I'm a pretty analogue person in a digital world)

From last year's list I did do daily exercise for a month, read Lord of the Flies, ate meat and something aniseed (still hate aniseed, still find the taste of meat fine but the texture distressing. Except pastrami, which is ace), and even kept my opinion to myself several times.  It nearly choked me, so I doubt I'll make a habit of it.  I didn't knit something other than a scarf but I did learn to crochet toys and made two - a rabbit and a dragon - and that blanket for Miss B's birthday, so I consider that a yarn-based ambition fulfilled.

Remember him?

Looking forward, what are the things that seem tricky, intimidating yet worth having a go at this year? I've had a good think about the areas of my life that aren't quite right, and what I could challenge myself to do to improve them.

I'm in the midst of giving up wine. Well, not entirely, but drastically reducing my wine drinking. Mark and I always have wine with our dinner, and then more while watching TV.  It just crept up over the years.  So we're mostly giving up alcohol except for the odd occasion - like my ballet weekend and last night, after hosting Miss B's birthday party.  Cripes, that was a draining day. I've 3 or 4 more things coming up in the next 2 months that I won't mind my having a glass of wine at, but that's about it. The plan is to continue in this vein until spring. It's good for our health and our bank balance. I know both could do with the boost!

I've also realised I'm lonely. I used to see people far more often - whether it was my marvellous pal Julie at sewing class and pilates, the truly ace Emma on our dog walks, or even my monthly book group with women I've been friends with for over 10 years.  Somehow I've retreated inwards and just don't see most of my friends very often. Thank heavens for my mate Kirsty and our procrastination coffees. Without them I might never see anyone. And the less I see people the easier it is to retreat inwards - never a good thing for me. I need people.

Essentially, I'm now unemployed. The school is offering loads of free clubs run by staff members, so demand for the clubs I run (that they pay for) has dried up. Understandably.  In fact, I think it's good for the school and good for parents (Miss B attends a couple and I'm grateful for the free activities) but it means I only had 2 sets of lessons to teach instead of 6.  I'm only baking a couple of cakes a week for Haley and Clifford's regulars, as wholesale baking margins just evaporated in the rising cost of ingredients and power. The franchise "Eggfree (in tiny letters) Cake Box (in big letters) played merry hell with my bespoke cake business, what with using the same damned name to all intents and purposes.  And the more pricey wedding/celebration cake end of things was something I did under sufferance anyway.

So I need a new way to spend my days. For the first time I have no day to day business and no tiny children at home. I need to look into ways to earn money without doing a soul-destroying job I hate, or to volunteer/train at something worthwhile. That could help with the loneliness thing too. The lack of schoolyard chatting, toddler group mornings and work interactions (and the lack of a home-educated kid, who gave me 18 months of good company at one point) and the lack of cash to go out and about only compounds things.

I don't want to think of myself as someone who doesn't work, doesn't contribute to the world, hides away from people. Although in the long dark stretch of the year, those are the easy choices. If I'm to be the Me I like, I need to alter this.

Still, making changes is scary.  Even looking into possibilities of changes is scary.  It is particularly so for me - for the last 16 years I haven't dared to look more than 6 months ahead, and the thought of the future repels me completely.  In fact, since I was about 25, the only time I've been happy to look ahead a year or two was when I was planning my first baby. The future - my future - scares me rigid.  But this blog is called Fearlessly Attempting, not Shying Away From, so I'd better up my game.

 Here are things I'd like to Fearlessly Attempt at least some of this year-

• Give up regular alcohol consumption until Spring
• Look for a new way of earning a living
• See friends regularly
• Attend at least 5 book group meetings 
• Have a week of decluttering one room a day.  A month of decluttering weekends would do too
• Walk 30km in a month
• Sew something someone could wear (me or the kids)
• Sew a copy of my favourite tunic by making a pattern from it
• Learn a new skill
• Go to a WI meeting
• Volunteer on a weekly basis 
• Apply to work at a community radio station
• Learn to quilt  (please help, Liz Merckel!)
• Build a new garden project

Yikes.

One thing I have decluttered already is my work shelving unit.  It was covered in a profusion of baking supplies and equipment, all jumbled together. Much of it I no longer need, other bits could be consolidated.  However, downsizing the baking shelves felt like admitting I wasn't working anymore, so I'd put it off.

Happily (!!) my craft supplies were slowly eating my bedroom.  It was chaos.  My lovely calm room was in a dreadful state and I had nowhere to put anything.  It was depressing.  But it was also the spur I needed.

So, I attacked the shelves. I binned some things, reorganised others, bought more IKEA small crates and labelled everything with my Sharpie. I have a shelf for cake boxes, boards and packaging, one for ingredients and the top shelf for things I only occasionally need, like sugar craft supplies and jam-making things.  I have 2 shelves for fabric, needle felting, craft supplies, pens, projects and equipment. The old CD shelves are stuffed with yarn (it looks like a wool shop!) and the tiny wall-mounted boxes that used to hold cupcake sprinkles now hold the kids' Hamma beads, sorted by colour.

It's ACE.  I can find stuff.

Here's a shot of it, part way through:

So, lots to think about, lots to do.  I wish you luck with your aspirations, and I'll let you know how I get on with mine.

J xx

Say cheese

When I was writing that list of things I am nervous of or uncomfortable with, it occurred to me that I haven't told you about one of my biggest fears, and how a true artist helped me get over it.

There are almost no photographs of me. I ensure I am the one behind the camera whenever possible. My next tactic is to be the one who orders the prints from Costco, and I carefully select the ones I'm not in - or crop myself out if practical.  I've even gone so far as to remove pictures of myself and surreptitiously bin them when other people showed me photos.

I know women who've had those soft-focus movie star makeover type photographs and loved them. Those friends had sworn I'd love the experience - someone to do my hair and make up, pose me and style me like a Hollywood goddess. Or, in some cases, underwear model, perish the thought. They said it was really fun and helped them relax in front of a camera. I couldn't think of anything more dreadful than being styled as an actress - mutton dressed as ham.

I hated seeing myself.  I could only see all the deeply unattractive physical traits and no sense of who I am at all. I would even do my best to avoid mirrors; I came home from clothes shopping wanting to cry more often than not.

Then my perspective changed.

In early summer 2012 Mark commented that there was an interesting sounding event at a small art gallery in Leeds. He'd spotted it on Twitter - an exhibition called One Hundred and Forty Characters by photographer Chris Floyd.

Chris Floyd is a Properly Famous photographer. He has a number of his photographs in the National Portrait Gallery. He's photographed a Beatle and a Doctor and a whole host of other cultural icons. To promote the exhibition White Cloth Gallery was offering black and white portrait shoots by Chris for tuppence ha'penny.

I looked at the preview of the photos and they looked familiar. I  pulled out How To Be A Woman by Caitlin Moran from my bookcase. There it was - the cover photo, although colourised, was from the same project.

I absolutely love the cover of How To Be A Woman. The picture captures the personality, warmth and humour of Caitlin. I never look at it without smiling. So if I wanted a portrait of my kids, who better to take them than the man who took it?

Our eldest, Luke, loathed the idea. I could understand that. I thought it would be churlish to expect him to do something I was too scared to do myself, so with a last look at Caitlin Moran's picture as motivation, I rang the White Cloth Gallery and booked 2 sessions - the 3 kids then all 5 of us.

When we arrived that Saturday we had a look at the pictures in the exhibition. Chris Floyd has a wonderful style. There is nothing of him intruding in the portraits; they are sort of ego-less. Each exists to give a essence of the person he's photographing. They are so revealing - of personality rather than of flesh - but not invasive or awkward. It's clear each subject was enjoying being photographed.

I loved them, but was distracted by my nerves.

When we were first called in, the stiff and resentful posture of the kids made me worry this was a bad idea. This is how it started:

Hmm. 

Chris wasn't remotely daunted. He talked to the kids while moving them around, using the dynamics between them to play to their strengths.  Within a couple of minutes we had this:

They had loosened up, were mucking about and relaxing, and paving the way for some lovely pictures. One of my favourites is this:

Even Luke, stiff and scowling at the start, was having fun. 

When it was time for Mark and I to appear in the photographs I felt myself tense up. I felt slightly sick. A print was included in the price, so we would HAVE to have a photo, and maybe even show it to people. My fixed grin, my fat carcass, my lack of fashion sense, my plain face and double chins... all my faults there on display, ruining a portrait of my gorgeous kids and lovely bloke. Oh god.

It was all a stupid plan. What was I thinking? Chris was lovely (he signed my Caitlin Moran book too) but it was still ME he was photographing and I am not an attractive woman.  I mean, I am, I have attractive traits - I am enthusiastic, hard working, creative and a good mum most of the time - but if seeing my face reflected on my iPad screen makes me upset a photo of me would be worse.

 And then...

It was OK. I mean, I felt a bit weird being photographed but following instructions from Chris and keeping an eye on the 3 kids gave me enough distraction most of the time. Some of the things were silly - standing po-faced, then shrieking like banshees - and some were just about letting our relationships and the family dynamic come through.

Then I saw the finished pictures. We looked wonderful. We looked like us - ourselves distilled in a moment of time. The relationships between us, the way we feel about each other, it was all there. Our youngest riding on her brother's shoulders, messing with my hair; his amused face tolerating her imperiousness through his curtain of curly hair; my arm on Luke's shoulder to help him bear her weight; how Mark and Zach's eyes are just the same shape, although different colours; Mark tousling Z's hair as Zach laughs ruefully at himself. 

We didn't look perfect, but we looked both real and beautiful.

I looked beautiful.

I looked like what I am - a woman who is part of a busy, warm, playful family. I'm still fat, my double chins are there and you can't see much of my clothing to decide on my fashion sense, but I'm not plain faced. I've the face of someone who loves the people she is with and it shows. 

When Chris Floyd returned to The White Cloth Gallery in November, it was a large print of that final portrait that greeted people. As we walked in, the woman at the desk said "You look familiar, have we met?" "No, but you've been looking at me all week!"

We'd told so many of our friends not to miss the chance to be photographed by him that the gallery generously gave us that print at the end of the show.  It doesn't hang in our bedroom, for just us to see. It doesn't even hang in the living room, where we spend our evenings. It's in the hall as you come in the house, hanging alongside two more Chris took. Every visitor, delivery person, friend and neighbour sees Chris's pictures of us as they enter. They make me smile every time I look at them.

That experience had a broader affect than you'd think. I've posted pictures - including DEEPLY unflattering ones - of myself on this blog before now. That's something I would never have done before meeting Chris.  I don't try and run away from cameras, I don't crop myself out of any snaps we take.  

I haven't magically been transformed into camera loving model, but I don't feel scared of them any more. I see myself differently. I don't hate my appearance - or at least not most of the time. I still don't like mirrors much.

We gave White Cloth Gallery some money, and they gave us some photographs. But what Chris Floyd gave me was something altogether more valuable, something it took his skill and artistry to achieve. I didn't need a soft-focus makeover photo shoot to like my appearance better. The image of myself I carry inside my head is that photograph Chris took; loved and loving, broad smile, expressive face, and a good heart. 

Now that's a gift I wish I could give everyone. 

Note - all photographs are copyright Chris Floyd as per the watermark. They are used with his permission,  granted to me because he's a very nice bloke. Please don't repost other people's photos without permission, it's rather churlish. And probably illegal.