In times of stress

It’s tough going at the moment. There’s a lot of stress for me. My other half is stressed too. I just found out that my mum has a back injury. It’s not good at the moment.

I’ve lived in this house for 5 years (nearly) and in the South for 17 years, yet in times of stress I want my home. My Glen. The Glen. (You’ll only get that reference if you’re from the area).

I want to go for a walk after dinner to the waterfall and drink malt whisky from my hip flask – while sitting on a rock in the middle of the river.

I want to listen to the noise of the Glen. The River. The sheep. The cows. The burn. The fox cries. The silence and then, the banter. There’s always banter in the Glen.

OK, so I’m homesick. I’ve been having a glass or two of wine and I’ve been watching Monarch. They’ve been to the cemetery on the hill. We’ve got one of those. I remember my first hike up there (Kindrogan Hill) to the cemetery. I must have been 13 years old. It was a wild walk. Deepest, dark pine forest – the light struggling through the needles to reach you. The smell of the pine. The worn dirt track, rough underfoot. Warm from the hike, I relished the cool air of the sheltered path to the cemetery where the local ‘laird(s)’ and his family are buried.

Last year, I took my step sons to the very same cemetery (with my Mum along for the walk). It was a trek for them, but they quite liked the history lesson, thanks to Mum. We saw deer, listened to the wildlife and watched a Buzzard do its stuff. But, for me, the sight I found was heartbreaking. The walls of the cemetery overgrown, and the graves not easily distinguishable from the weeds. There are no trees any more. There’s no path. There are no fresh flowers. The forest reached its ‘peak’ and so became a deforestation project for the ‘Forestry Commission’. The resulting landscape is just sad. Bare. The cemetery has lost its mystery. It’s neglected. It’s unloved. It’s forgotten.

I do, of course, have happy memories of the trip with J & B. We picked wild raspberries all the way home. The boys don’t like rasps when I buy them at home in Surrey. But, Scottish rasps? Any time, any place, anywhere… That’s how it should be, right??

We need happy times and happy memories to keep us going in times of stress. The Glen is one of mine.

Haste ye back…

The Boss

I use the term the boss to represent the person we report to at work. I’m now on my fifth boss at my current company – the second this year. I like the rest of my team wonder when this person will show us the way forward. When this person will lead. Today, I find myself doubting that that will happen.

We go to work every day. We offer a certain amount of time to our companies in return for a wage. We build relationships with the people we work with. We talk, we discuss, we argue, we debate and we do what’s necessary to get our jobs done. And then, at 5:30 we go home. But it doesn’t actually end there. Often, we work late because we don’t want to let anyone down. Because we want to do a good job. Because there’s a tight deadline and it’s an important task. We don’t get paid to do it. We do it through our good will. On the promise that our company will take care of us, treat us well and show respect.

In recent weeks,  my company has used up the good will of most of my department. It has used up the good will. It has ground people’s humour down. And it’s squashed the life out of some people. Why do companies (or the people running them) think this is good or acceptable?

Today, I took several (blows) pieces of ‘bad’ news about my ‘role’ and what I do for the company. Here we go again. The question is, can I find any tiny bits of good will to see me through? Or…what is the or?

Here we go again

Every year, around about this time, I get a little bit distracted. Not because there’s anything going on with my family, but because it’s close to the birthday of a special girl. I had a dream about her last night. I haven’t seen her for five years – almost to the day. And in one month she’ll be 12 years old.

As her ex-step-mother, I have no right to see her, or any access to be able to see her and I miss her terribly. (I have blogged about her before). I often wonder how she’s doing. I wonder how she’s growing up? Whether she’s enjoying school. Whether she’s a bright spark, a sporty miss or whether she’s just not enjoying it at all. Has she got a boyfriend? But, most of all I wonder whether she’s happy.

Unfortunately, I’ll think about her now every day until after her birthday. A little bit of me wondering if/whether/should I send her a card and if I do will it actually reach her. I know where she lives, but her mother always resented my presence in K’s life. I have my doubts whether the previous cards (birthday and christmas) ever got there.

K has a brother too. I miss him, but my relationship with him wasn’t the same. There wasn’t the same connection between us, as he’d been older when Daddy introduced his new girlfriend. K had been a baby. He was six. He was conflicted and torn between his loyalty to his Mother and the fact that he thought I was cool. Wherever he is, I hope he is happy too.

So, to all you step-parents out there – past and present – I’m sending you hugs. It’s not easy. And it’s hard if you create a bond which you lose. We all know that the rewards are high for step-parents when things are good, but very few blogs I read talk about this side of it.