twangypearl the elastic girl

state of play

It's been a while. Sometimes I do wonder about this introspection, and if there's any point at all to it, but then I think about the past, say, when I was in Italy, and I wish I had some record of that time, beyond confused memories and a few photos, and so I decide to plough on, regardless. For the record.
Recently the funk I have been languishing in for the last weeks seems to be moving on. I am feeling a clarifying, shifting, lightening thing happening. The fog is thinning. The dawn is coming. I feel stronger. And with the JB, despite whatever differences we have, there's him, and there's me, and maybe the differences aren't so great, after all. Things keep occuring to me: it's like a voice in my head, pointing things out. (But a nice helpful voice, not a mean one, that might demand you stick a pin in someone.) It just says things like: "Don't take it personally", or "It's okay", or "Let it go". And I go: Oh! Okay, then. I can do that. And I realise we are not stuck anywhere, but are in a stream of being, and things shift, things move, and there's no pattern that can't be changed. ++++++++++++++++SO++++++++++++++++++ Exciting times we live in, eh? The world economy is changing - perhaps forever - I have even heard the phrase "The End of Capitalism" being bandied. And Obama, the symbol of the future on whom so much rides. Thirteen days to go. Oh, pleeeeease. Come on, America! If this man doesn't get elected, I am resigning from the human race, and going to live with the meercats. In the Manor, you understand. ++++++++++++++AND++++++++++++++++++++
I have to go to a party next week. Fancy dress essential. For some reason I am seeing myself as a sandwich. Existential?
(It wouldn't be the first time. One time in Milano, in one of the most stressful nights of my life, I got lost in a borrowed car trying to get back to a Carneval party, dressed as one. With the crusts off.)
+++++++ENOUGH OF THIS, SURELY++++++++

Down with the Age of Instant Communication

I am in my parents' house once more, as they gallivant around Bologna. It's decidedly autumnal, the barley has been cut, Smokey is busy growing his teddy-bear winter coat, and the magpies landing on the roof sound like witches practising their landing for Halloe'en. Brrrr. I love this time of year.
This morning I saw fit to start a chat to the JB on skype:
Hi J!
LUCKILY I wasn't in the mood to be cheeky, rude or flighty and left it at that. I say LUCKILY for as fate would have it, he was in the middle of a lecture and my message appeared projected on the screen for all to see. Apparently they all laughed like drains, as it was, so a "Hot stuff, last night, babe!" or similar would have stirred up a riot.

And as further evidence of the Down side of the Information Age, I got a very strange email from Italy on Monday. As I have mentioned, I spent some time in Italy as a callow youth, and during that time had a tempestuous relationship with a young feller who we'll call, errrr - E, the Unfaithful. E, a rich boy from Varese, who as his name suggests, broke my heart in the most dramatic and agonising way when he cheated on me during my absence one summer. Time, as we have noted, moved on, healed wounds, made my heart whole once more, and in the end, I went back to him. Things were irredeemably changed though, whatever respect and trust I had for him was gone forever and when I finally left Italy in 94, it was relatively easy to leave him behind too. Over the years (14, shockingly) he has sporadically popped up with the occasional expression of regret that we split up, or invitation to visit him in Italy. I did go and see him a couple of times, just as friends. We never re-ignited that fire, (to put it delicately).
And then I got married, in 2006, to a lecturer with skype.
Cut to Monday morning, and an email from E, the Unfaithful's account:
(translated from Italian)
Sorry Debbie, this is Venus, E's girlfriend. I don't know if you are still together? he told me you got married, and he wants to marry me. I don't know what to think..
After the initial HUH? effect wore off, I gather that Venus (real name?) was poking around in E the Unfaithful's account, and found an old email from me dated 2004, during one of those sporadic contacts. She must have some reason to be suspicious, - and since E is decidedly slippery, probably with reason - and he must have mentioned me,  making her think we might still be seeing each other in some long-distance, adulterous way. It all sounds horribly familiar.  I feel really sorry for her. Maybe I should answer and say - what? I want to clear my Good Name, and to warn her about him, but part of me wants nothing to do with the weirdness. And, anyway how can I answer her at his email account?
The JB suggested I tell her to give me her own email address or give her my phone number.

**You know, though normally I enjoy the tranquil backwater quality of my blog with its occasional visitors, it's time like these I wish I had actual commenters, who might know what to do. Please feel free if you happen this way, and have an idea.

I've been around the world

And so. I find myself back in the parents' house, relying on the crows in the field once more for entertainment. They (parents) have departed for a cruise to the Norwegian fjords. Which sounds attractively fresh and blue. The lack of other forms of distraction are leaving me with pleeenty of time to ruminate and dream, and stare out the window at crows as above. The non-eventful days slip by punctuated only by Smokey's (Oldest Horse in the World) feed-times. (What passes for) my
mind concerns itself only with why Jenny won't eat her food, and if Smokey is sore on the right fore, and if so when will the farrier come to trim his feet?
That kind of thing.

There hasn't been a lot of interest in the apartment. Apparently the market is flooded at the moment, although allegedly this will change soon. I have had some interest from an Indian couple - professional, tick, non-parents, tick, non-party types (apparently! could be planning brothel for all I know), tick, non-owners of untrained chimpanzees, ticketytick - in fact, whose only negative is they are not sure if they are staying longer than 6 months.
Hmm. I feel sorry for them though. Maybe I will let it to them. (Although Zonny is not impressed with idea of repainting place again in January, I am thinking with the lack of wild chimp as above, there should be no need of such).
Whole reluctant landlady thing a bit of a drag. But must be grateful and realise it allows me to keep myself in a way to which have become accustomed. (ie. with avoidance of proper job, the dreaded FTJ (Full-time Job. THE HORROR).
Must be grateful. Ooh! phone ringing. The excitement! Shan't answer though, in case couple as above. Not ready to decide.
*****
Hmm, woman saying other couple not interested. As far as I could hear at any rate: the message was not so much breaking up as it being total silence with intermittent words breaking through. Sigh. Reminds me a bit of internet dating, this whole letting thing. When will The One come along? When will my Prince (or tenant, in this case) be here? (if you haven't seen Snow White with adult eyes this may be lost on you). Might be salutary to write a bit about that. Make me grateful for the JB, count my blessings, etc. Ugg. They were horrendous, in some ways, those internet dating days - being pushed by loneliness way out of my comfort zone, but had a certain gambler's thrill too - I didn't mind chatting and emailing online, and indeed I liked the degree of control it offered, but the first date scenario was terrible. My pre-date anxiety was awful. Although, the emailing thing wasn't great either. I really had to grapple with my prejudice as far as the fairly ubiquitous poor spelling and semi-illiteracy went. And as I have mentioned before, what with my own mother being a member of the Language Police, seeking out poor usage and incorrect spelling wherever she goes, (even on holiday probably. As I write, she is probably clocking a Norwegian cappuccino with only one p), this was challenging.
Although, am I remembering a certain, what was it, Rhyce? Yes, I am. He was actually rather clever, someone who'd been to gifted school, I think, and was working for the UN, or NATO, or another acronym, in Philly, if memory serves. So I have to concede that he may have been a good speller.

Funny enough, that didn't compensate for the total lack of physical spark. And neither did the lovely lab he had, called Abe. Although Abe, yes, Abe was quite a catch.
In no particular order the dates were:
Charlie, the unrepentant alcoholic and DJ, who had cocktails every evening, and became morose by 9pm. Richard, broken-hearted recently divorced corporate manager that I met in New Brunswick for an Indian meal. He told me I looked like Nicole Kidman (which I really don't, more's the pity) and that he could touch his toes without bending his legs, not because he was supple or anything but because he had exceptionally long arms. He seemed nice, but deeply wounded after his divorce and we never got past 2 dates.
And, Ryce/Abe as above. That was about it. No need for a second date in any of those cases, needless to say.

My beloved JB, I have been around the world looking for someone who could spell, and tick my boxes - how strange that I should chance upon you, half a mile from home in Dublin, with your clear green eyes, your PhD, your sweet rebel heart and your rather inaccurate spelling.

[The young JB]

visitor

The other day LFriend and I took it upon ourselves to be tourist in our own town (This is very happening, by the way, kind of in the spirit of a staycation in the USA where what with rapidly ascending petrol prices, it has become de rigueur to lurk close to home for the holiers) and made a visit to the exotic and intoxicating Smithfield, the famous horse market in Dublin 7. Nowadays on market day the horses clang their iron shoes and swing their quarters a few feet above the underground cinema called the Lighthouse. It has a groovy bar, with complementary olives and 4 cinemas with variously coloured seats. It's cool, let me tell you. We went to see The Visitor, whose main role was beautifully down-played by Richard Jenkins. So charming and unexpected, sad and real. Also unexpected was the possible appearance of this man - my ex- who shall be known as, let's see, Ted M. I spied him before in this ad (he's the one at the end. I had my doubts about this being a good idea - I mean it was paid for by the Republicans. BLEAH)- and he was a waiter in Marci X, too, so it is not impossible that he should appear as a stall holder in this NY film. It was so strange and strangely a thrill to (possibly) see him again. I hope he's well. He looked it, if it was him.

Ballyf*rmot revisited

this time for quite a different purpose -
Ballyf*rmot is an old, underprivileged area of West Dublin, where by some strange sleight of policy, the best animation training in Ireland can be had. There is was in 1997 that Twangy, amongst the piebald horses and dope-smoking bus-users, found her work, like the love of her life. Drawing, animating, painting - it was so energising and challenging to me - such a revelation - recently escaped as I was from the suspended animation of the corporate world - it was such a RELIEF to find it, at last, the work that made me feel alive. It really was like falling in love. Nearly as important too, I believe. I used to go out there to what was effectively animation boot camp (yes, like love, it was not always easy) on the bus, every day, worrying if I would make it through the year, after staying up all night bent over my animation disk so that in the morning I would have light freckles from the light bulb under it. We animated jumps and sidesteps, skips and fat skips, bounces and walks. We drew till our shoulders hurt, till our fingers ached. Till all we could think of was drawing, till all we could do was drawing, until we couldn't not draw.

Ballyf*rmot, as I have hinted, is not exactly the place you seek out for any other reason than that you really have to go there. It's the place the Celtic Tiger forgot - its main street is lined with bookmakers and dirty shopfronts. So it was strange to revisit it, after 10 years, under such different circumstances - it was one of those moments in life where time folds back on itself so you can glimpse the past as you go by and you can see how far you have come.
Our first Inter-country Adoption meeting was held there this morning in Ch*rry Orchard Hospital.  We sat there amongst the well-brushed and respectable middle-class couples in their thirties, dressed in a way that says, "I am good parenting material", and listened to all the information and long and complicated processes that lead to adopting a child from another country. And it was indeed momentous and exciting.
JB met an old student of his, who got her degree in horticulture with him. The coordinator was explaining that we would all need to get police clearance from any country we had lived in for more than 6 months. She made everyone laugh when she said "What if someone was in the USA illegally? Hypothetically, like?" She (I call her "she" because the JB can't exactly remember her actual name. Possibly Orla, he said) - PossiblyOrla gave us a lift into town afterwards. She was full of stories and fun. She is going to be 40 this year and since her relationship broke up last year, has decided that she will go it alone, that she could have a child and a house and a career. Fair play to her, I say. I hope we can travel the road together - one day our children, the children we will be the parents of, could play together. One day I could look back to this Ballyf*rmot visit and say "look how far we have come."

old slides

I discovered this among the dusty old slides.
It's 1969 and I appear to be planning my departure from the family home in Killin*y.

at last

I have finished the long and tedious process of importing my old blog. I saw my life over these nearly 2 years, as filtered through my poor addled brain, flash before me and I thought, despite the twaddle, the repetition and inconsistencies, it was nice to see it again and remember things. Like when Spike was a little baby, or when we got married. Or things I saw on the way.. so I have decided that, yes, this blogging can have merit and so I'll stick with it. I will try to up the quality of the blathering though. (Better blathering in 07 - 08. I hereby make it my solemn intention to live by that motto.)
It's been a few months, and in those a few things of interest (to me) have happened.
Allow me to list them, if you will:

Work on house has commenced (THE EXCITEMENT)
Spike's mum (my brother's partner) is pregnant (THE EXCITEMENT!)
Spike can now shriek in an earsplitting way, and does. He can also say Gorbachov.
My cousin got married. I don't know her very well, so it was nice to be invited, and to see London Cousin (everytime I write cousin it comes out as cousing. ?  Apparently I believe a cousing is an activity)
Seem to have fallen out with Enrico, Italian ex.
Am back to college. Enjoying it greatly. Will be building a bike machine with Coffey's Not Really Cousing.

And now I will upload some photos of this time - a fragrant nosegay of Sept - Nov 07 (as I can't remember anything else of note at the moment. Hmm. Solemn oath as above not really working out so far. Better luck next time).

a foreign body

On Friday, a foreign body was found in the daily soup. A phone call from Enrico, my former-fella from Italy.
Allow me to bore you, bots, with the (translated) transcription of the conversation:

Foreign Body: Ello, Mrs Geeko is there please?

E, resignedly: Si, ciao Enrico.

(It is not worth telling him Mrs Geeko is my mother. That lesson has fallen on his deaf deaf ears too many times already. Well, in a way, poor old E. His parents are so critical and controlling with him that, out of sheer self-protection, he has grown both a Rhino-hide as thick as a tree trunk that prevents the assimilation of any new instruction, no matter what it might be, and a frightening ability to tell lies. The only drawback to this arrangement is how hard it makes it for him to learn anything at all. It's left him stranded in a kind of perfidious double-world where he can suspend truth as easy as other people pour milk.
This urked me. You could not pin him down on anything. It was as if he believed if he never admitted to anything, he could skim along free of the consequences. He treated me shoddily, what with the lying, the hitting on of my friends, the cheating, and the mother. Jeepers, she was The Worst Manipulator Known To Man.
Huh, the whole scenario reminds me a bit of Demented Millionaire Boss + Mother, now I think of it. Although I hasten to add that I never was involved that way with DMB).

FB, (in Italian): Happy BIRTHday!

E, (confused pause). Err..

FB: two days ago I mean!

E, flummoxed: No-

FB: Wait, isn't your birthday the 27th?

E: It's the 28th..

FB: Right, the 28th! Oh sorry!

E: ..of April

FB: (almost offended by my insistence on this): No, I was convinced it was 2 days after mine.. (and as penny drops) oh yeah, of course! you are Taurus..

E: (I am INFJ I tell you! Me and Nelson.) Says, flatly: No, yes, April.

FB: So how ARE you? Long time no hear!

E: err, yes, indeed. Very well thanks..

FB: Married?

E: (What's it got to do with you?) Last July, yes. We bought a house recently and blah blah blah.

FB: Children?

E: (No, really, what's it got to do with you?) No, not yet.

FB: Well you told me you were getting married and then I heard nothing else about it..

E (hackles up, thinking: yeah, I remember that conversation, you didn't even congratulate me, but what? You think I should have invited you to my family-only wedding? Hmm, I can see that conversation with JB. "Darling, I know we said we'd have a really small family only wedding, but I thought we'd slip my old boyfriend in the back? you know, the one who rings me every two years? that cheated on me? Mm, I'd really like him to be there and I'm sure you feel the same")
Says (as neutrally as possible): We kept it small, just the family..

FB: So tell me about yourself?

E, (what an awful question): e blah, and blah, and Masters, and work and blah.

FB: (now having jumped the boundary of correctitude, is now crashing about obliviously, disturbing the wildlife): How do you have your hair now? Is it long or short?

E: (spluttering, says the long awaited): WHAT HAS IT GOT TO DO WITH YOU?

FB: What do you mean? Of course I care! you were one of the most important stories of my life and of course I care!

E: could have said many things, amongst which: FB, you are developmentally arrested if to you the important thing here is the length of my hair.

But why bother eh? Waste of breath. Some people are from Mars, some are from Venus, and some are from Just Don't Get It Planet.

His parting note was that he and his mother are coming to Ireland, and he'll be back on looking for guidance.

Oh joyful, joyful day that will be.

summer of 2005

These photos are from 2005, when JB and I were only "seeing" each other, (if you look closely you can discern my delight and relief: S*X! again, after 2 YEARS, be the living HOKey, no wonder I was happy) I was convinced Smokey was going to die, he looked so bad, and there was a yellow orb in the sky which must have fallen down since then.
I wish I could reach into the photos to take the 37 year old e by the shoulders and say, lookit, Nelly, Smokey just needs more food. Grass. Don't feel bad. Soon, while in Denver on your honeymoon, you'll find a very helpful book, The Portable Therapist, and realise that is a waste of time. Your parents will help you, it's okay. You are not a deadbeat Mom. He's going to look fine again and not die in the next 2 years. There's rain ahead, sure, but there's also excitement, and learning, (in the shape of a MA at NC*D) and romance. So let's bite the bullet and dance.

being mammy

The Horse Show has for a long time been a regular August haunt for me and my family, going back to the ponylove days where I and my cousins would fantasize passionately about how a "bee" would sting Eddie Macken and one of us would be asked to ride Boomerang in the Aga Khan Nations Cup. Oh, the elaborate and endless games we'd play in the garden, jumping over poles and slapping our sides as we galloped around the grass. Later on, we'd get our own ponies and although that was tremendous fun, that longing and dreaming was gone, and with it a entire chapter of our youth was closed.
Today I and the JB had our stroll around the RDS, on a crowded family Sunday. To me the old magic was there, if in a dilute, moderate, adult form. As for J, who can know how it might have been to step into that foreign world? At first I was slightly disappointed that he didn't seem to enjoy it as much as I did, but I think I am learning something about how his separateness from me - how I am not responsible for him, for his entertainment, or his diet or his behaviour. I feel better for it too. It was a bit of an epiphany in a way. One minute, I was investing huge energy in trying to bend him my way, be ready on time, not wear his sandals (in my defence, they are orthopedic) or put on the fan or behave in a certain e-approved way, when it dawned slowly on me there was no reason for it, and I was just wearing myself out and distracting myself when it was me I should be working on.
And so I put down the (self-inflicted) burden of being The Mammy.
Hurray.

     
     

Speaking of Mammies, last night we had dinner with OldFriend (she of the many children). Honestly. How. Exhausting. That. Was. You sit at the table marvelling at the many, many variations of type, pitch and frequency of Noise that can be generated by small children, and the squabbles, and the playing, and the games, as the Mammy (OF) and Daddy (husband of OF) talk (rather bossily) to you as if you are a late addition to the family, just another (rather overgrown) son/daughter. It is like a very benign dictatorship, their parenting style. It's become an unbreakable habit, they've been at it so long, it's like their natural form of discourse.
We ran away from home in the end, to Dublin.
Phew.

I am praticising yoga a little these days, trying to get a bit of strength up before I go back to class. It does take a long time. My arms were water-strength. Now, they are more like a weak tonic. Working towards a stinging G+T...