Hi everyone, and firstly may I say a huge thankyou to you all for taking the time to read my ramblings and secondly a big welcome to my blog for my new followers. Thankyou!
Every time I discover I have a new follower it reminds me of Christmas Day and that sense of wondrous anticipation and excitement which lingers in the air prior to opening ones’ presents.
Even as a child this was one of my favourite times, savouring the moments BEFORE opening any of my gifts. I’ve since seen children frantically ripping the festive paper from each one before immediately discarding the contents by practically throwing it over their shoulders in their haste to move on to the next – but for me the most exquisite time, a time to be relished, was in the seconds before I carefully removed the wrapping paper, neatly folded it and then gently set it to one side just in case I ever needed it (unlikely), or perhaps someone else would need it at some point (even more unlikely).
I confess that I was considered an eccentric child even as an infant. My Mother once told me that I used to go to sleep in my cot laying on my back with one arm pointing straight up to the sky and occasionally one leg too. My Mother explained that whenever close family or friends came to visit and asked to see the baby she had to first dash upstairs to make me presentable by lowering my arm and leg, as was often required apparently, so that her visitors didn’t think I was strange or even deformed.
And even now, (this is top secret, strictly entre nous and must go no further) I occasionally love to go to sleep with one arm in the air, stiff as a board – my arm just sort of locks into place and I find it very comforting somehow. I don’t do it with my leg though, that would just be odd!
As I grew I then developed an appetite for eating brown paper bags – don’t ask me why but I thought they were delicious. I really liked the old fashioned ones best, sprinkled with vinegar. And if we ever had a fish and chip supper I would always prefer the salty vinegary paper to the actual fish and chips – in fact that would be the only time I would eat white paper but brown … yummy, that would have been my diet 24/7 if I had been allowed.
Now, couple all of that with the fact that I was obsessed by just two things as a nine year old child – ballet and Cilla Black. I attended as many ballet classes as I was allowed, wore my ballet shoes around the house at all times, walked on pointy toes pretty much everywhere (even though I wasn’t allowed) and wandered around singing ‘Anyone who had a heart’ and ‘You’re my world’ spontaneously creating the soundtrack to my childhood.
I can remember breaking into a song and dance routine once (Cilla + Ballet) in the middle of a large department store as my Mother stood chatting to a friend she had bumped into – my Mother was so accustomed to this, and so engrossed in her conversation, that she no longer paid attention … until my little sister started shouting “Booooo, rubbish, get off” and throwing broken biscuits at me. It was on this very day, once we got home, that my Mother put paid to my blossoming singing career by telling me that she had given me life and she could just as easily take it away if I didn’t stop. Probably just as well as I could feel myself veering towards Shirley Bassey at that point and she’s quite loud and needs a lot of arm room to practise and perform.
Anyway, back to Christmas Day … as a psychologist I have naturally analysed myself a zillion times hoping to one day fashion the most perfect possible version of me. Is this a vanity project or a lost cause or perhaps something in between the two? I haven’t established that yet. I prefer to think that by analysing myself, and by being scrupulously honest, I am honing my skill set further to sympathetically and successfully analyse my clients.
Which reminds me that many years ago, when I started training as a counsellor, the first homework I was given was thus:
Submit fifty phrases, each containing just three words or less, which are non-judgemental but which reassure your subject that you are listening and understanding what is being said.
I started off well, as I assume most people would, with phrases such as:
“Oh, I see”
“Yes, I understand”
Blah blah blah etc.
But by the time I got to phrase 48 I was at a complete loss for new material.
And so Phrase 48 was “You don’t say” …
Phrase 49 “Get outta here” …
and Phrase 50 was “F**k right off”.
Upon examining my paper, my tutor informed me that she felt my style was more suitable to Los Angeles rather than Lowestoft, and that was the end of that particular course.
Honestly though, in mitigation, it’s not as easy as one might imagine – just try it and see. It becomes quite difficult before you even hit half way!
Anyway, back to Christmas day again … even at that young age I had already worked out that the presents sitting before me could, in fact, contain anything at all (subject to the parameters of my imagination) right up until the point I actually opened them. As my sister screamed like a banshee and threw mounds of crumpled and torn wrapping paper everywhere I was perfectly happy to just sit there staring at this beautiful magical pile of surprises yet to unfold.
For example, in my mind, that heavy looking pink and silver parcel tied tightly with silver ribbon might contain a real live poodle, or perhaps a pony even. Anything was possible, right up until I opened it. I can, to this day, remember opening it slowly in case a dog or a pony jumped out – I needn’t have worried. It was actually a Petite Junior De Luxe Typewriter (which gives an indication of the size of the box that I thought a pony may have been waiting in) but I was over the moon with it and my love of reading and writing accelerated from that day forward.
Such a wonderfully thoughtful and inspirational gift for a young girl with a vivid imagination and I am eternally grateful!
Enjoy your day, and thankyou all so much for making mine by following me,