So I am on holiday this week and have come home to my parent's wee sheep farm overlooking Jura. To my childhood home.
And it has been wonderful. I have not gotten out of pyjamas for the last 3 days. I have been cocooned in the safety of the company of my parents', the dog, the cats, a real coal fire and my bed.
Yesterday evening, I was having a pre-dinner gin and tonic in front of the fire with Moira. We were reminiscing on old times in the village. We spoke of the many Christmases that we enjoyed as kids at Rems, my cousin's granny.
Rem had moved from London and continued a tradition of hosting lavish parties. She spent weeks preparing the enormous oval table and the room felt magical, decorated with Christmas pines and berries from the garden, polished chandeliers, a roaring fire and wonderful food.
Rem was a kind and thoughtful host. Moira told me how she made my pap the guest of honour sitting beside her the first Christmas after my granny died. Moira did suggest that pap may have missed the true significance of this lovely gesture as he was feeling the effects of the many pre-dinner cocktails.
My first ever job was cleaning Rem's house. She had moved from the large house at Duntaynish to a smaller bungalow in the village. I adored going there. Rem would be there while I worked. She would move gracefully about the house, with a constant cigarette sitting on the side of her mouth. Her house was a wonder of books and pieces of art.
Moira spoke of how Rem would spend days in bed-my nana would say 'oh Rem is having a day in bed, today'. She would rest and write letters to friends in London. And I realised how truly revolutionary this act was in those days, especially for women.
As a child, I was able to recognise a woman that was not like the others that I encountered. I can see now that Rem was an independent spirit, who lived life as she chose rather than according to social conditioning. I was in awe of this.
I wrote poetry as a kid-achingly mawkish poems mostly about Ethiopia (which was experiencing massive famine at the time). I used the words, meek and mild in reference to dying children-A LOT.
However, these poems showed the start of a social conscience and creative spirit. Rem recognised this and encouraged me to write. She bought me a book of poems to inspire me-I remember that one had the word ‘cunt’ in it. Another example to me that Rem was like no other adult I had ever met.
As we spoke about Rem last night, I suddenly recognised that I was creating a life similar to the one I so admired in Rem. I no longer have the social roles of wife and mother. Which gives me enormous freedom. That allows me to write in the wee hours of the morning, to stay in bed whenever I chose to read, write and be a geeky seeker.
I see a glimpse of a future where I do not let myself be defined by anyone but myself. Where I no longer feel like I am not enough because I am not a wife or mother. I see a glimpse of what a gift I would be to myself and to those around me. I could just be truly present, celebrating my own life choices and those of everyone else #theroadlesstravelled #celebratingeachother #braveasfuck.
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