Of funerals and stormtroopers

There’s nothing like a funeral to focus your mind on the home truth that we aren’t around on this earth for very long.  My Auntie Daphne, whose funeral I attended today, was lucky enough to live past her 83^rd birthday but unlucky as she had Parkinson’s Disease for several years of her life.  She was a keen gardener, flower arranger and loved to sew and the disease robbed her of the chance to enjoy these hobbies. Despite the difficulties, she still maintained her sense of humour and I will forever remember her fruity laugh and generous heart.

Daphne was a planner, like me and the service had largely been devised by her.  She wrote a beautiful prayer and helped to put together the details of her life that made up the tribute.  She’s a woman after my own heart; I am keen on the idea of having a hand in my own memorial service (a control freak till the very end).  I can’t, however, shake the thought that planning my funeral could tempt fate and I know as I type that sentence, that the idea sounds barmy but that doesn’t make the feeling go away.

I’ve noticed a lot of comment recently on social media about Growing Up – there are the classic phrases – “Don’t grow up; it’s a trap” and “Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional”. I think that however grown-up we feel, there is always that kid inside us. It’s just a question of how much we are prepared to show that kid to the outside world.

I am the very proud owner of a Stormtrooper door poster but it has stayed, curled up in its tube until this weekend. I couldn’t reconcile the grown-up in me that said having a door poster that visitors to your house would see is childish and silly.  And the kid that was saying “Put it up now!”.

This weekend the kid and the grown-up had a conversation and agreed a compromise. So now as I sit at my computer, my Stormtrooper poster is up on the wall next me.  And it’s SO cool J

May the force be with you…till next time.

Jane

What’s in a name?

This weekend, I embarked on my next writing project – a play about the realities of friendship. I had a rough idea of what was going to happen in each act but the time came yesterday when I needed to turn the ideas into reality and I began to make some notes on the characters.

Creating a character is one of the most wonderful activities a writer undertakes. For me, it all starts with the name. Before I have decided on someone’s name, I can’t picture that person in my head. Once they have a name, it opens the door to their inner soul. Once they are christened, I can describe them, both physically and emotionally.

Then comes the fun part of getting to know them. Putting them in situations to see how they react. Hearing their responses to questions they’re asked. Watching their faces when their loved one lets them down.  It makes me smile just thinking about it.

When I’m choosing a name, I search the websites set up to help parents choose baby names. I trawl through the lists, open-mouthed at some of the monickers that people thrust onto their offspring, until I find the right one for the individual I’m sculpting. Sometimes it takes a minute, sometimes an hour. But there’s a warm feeling of satisfaction when I find the name that fits.

As I look at the lists of names, I know I bring an entirely personal set of prejudices and misconceptions along with me – titular baggage, I suppose. I know I dislike certain names because I knew someone at school who had that name and was horrid. Or maybe it’s a celebrity that I can’t stand. If it’s the name of someone I know, then I tend to shy away from it, as I might imbue the character with some of my friend’s traits. I’d also feel bad about using a close friend’s name for a character who is less than lovely.

I’m sure we all do it. So now I’m wondering what other people think of the name Jane….

Till next week.

Jane

The same but different

It’s amazing how sometimes life’s lens can make something that you thought was similar different.

A couple of weekends ago, I went for a walk with my husband. It was an 8 mile circular walk in the Hampshire countryside. We parked in an idyllic village and walked up hills, across fields and past cottages before returning to the same spot. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. By the end, my feet were aching but it felt good, sitting on a bench overlooking a village green, eating a guilt-free flapjack.

This weekend, I went for another walk with my husband.  It was an 8 mile, circular walk, this time in the Surrey countryside. We parked in a National Trust carpark, took a steep walk up Leith Hill (the highest point in Surrey) and then proceeded through woods, along a common, over stiles and past some lovely properties before returning to Leith Hill and enjoying the now cloud-free view and a guilt-free flapjack.  

It sounds a similar experience but as soon as we got out of the car to walk up Leith Hill, it started raining.  Light drizzle was forecast.  Pouring rain was not.  By the half-way point, I was sodden and my feet were sore. I was not in the best of moods and the last 4 miles were grim. I resorted to walking to music (in my head) – my chosen song being Stout-hearted men (the Hinge and Bracket version).  Dr Hinge is thumping the piano and Dame Hilda is giving it all she’s got and I march along in my own little world (husband – being a foot taller – has yomped off into the middle distance so at least he can’t see me stomping along like a red-headed Ewok). I have to say the view from Leith Hill was breath-taking but it has taken 48 hours for me to shake the memory of how hard that walk was compared to the previous one.

Life does that to you sometimes – you think something is going to be the same but it’s not. I guess it makes the world more interesting, that you never really know what you’ll get, even if you put the same money in the slot machine of life.

After my feet had recovered from their soggy walk, I took a decision (after consulting with a fellow writer) to rename my book trilogy. Having found out that the website for the trilogy was considered unsafe because it has the letters S, E and X in succession, it made me realise that people looking at the name might get the wrong impression of its content.  The story is more Jilly Cooper than Fifty Shades so Retrosexual has become Tales of a Modern Woman.  It’s wearing a different coat but it’s the same body underneath. The website has now become janesleight.com as I realised it was better to use my name not a book’s name for the website – then I’ll only need one website for anything I write. Doh!

It surprises me how much I learn on a daily basis, even at 49¼. It’s like I’ve never left school. The teachers have gone but life is still chucking daily lessons at me; some are because I’m doing new things like writing and publishing books and I’m a relative beginner at it. Other lessons come from being in a more senior position at work – with responsibility comes some difficult situations.

There aren’t any exams to take in the school of life but some of the tests can be tough, as friends of mine have found out to the cost of their health and wellbeing (hugs to you). I'm just glad I've got Hinge and Bracket to get me through.

Till next time.

Jane

JanesWorld

Welcome to JanesWorld – where I look up the trouser leg of world events from my five foot two vantage point.

To plan or not to plan….that is the question

Having had a brilliant weekend, where a major focus was on where we might retire to, it struck me that one of the hardest judgements to make is about how far to plan in advance. We all plan (or at least dream) of the future – be it one where we win some money and retire to a sun-kissed beach, disappear in a mountain lodge or shut the gates of our mansion in the country – but that’s just a fun way to liven up the mediocrity of everyday living. Retirement is one of those things that people look forward to and fear in equal measure. To some, retirement means you’re past it, over the hill and devalued because you are no longer defined by your career. To others (and I’m in this camp) it’s a new beginning, one where there’ll be time to learn new things and spend time doing more of what I love doing (writing and spending time with special people). For me, it can’t come soon enough and anything I can do now to expedite its onset is worth it.

 

But there’s the rub. If you spend a lot of time thinking about a future life, it’s too easy to let the life you have slip away. You dismiss today because you’re thinking about tomorrow. And the problem with tomorrow (or next year or the next decade) is that you don’t know what your situation will be. Will you be affected by illness, divorce, death or economic changes? Will the country you live in still be sufficiently familiar to you that you want to retire in it? Or will another country change either its way of life or its rules to entry so that you’d rather be there?

 

From a monetary perspective, you have to assume you will live to old age and need the funds to cover whatever you want to do. But it pays(!) not to think too much about being older. Human nature means we focus on the negatives (dementia, arthritis, poverty) rather than the positive (time to enjoy nature, golf or whatever is your passion).

 

Having studied a course about ageing, I know that attitude is a significant factor in how you age. So now I try and think about being older, not old. Once you start to think of yourself as old, you believe there are things you can no longer do. And ageing is as much about disuse as misuse of your capabilities.

 

So I’m planning for the retirement I would like to have, but doing it at arm’s length so I don’t stop focusing on today being the best it can be.

 

And I’m assuming that I’ll be able to do anything I want to do. For me, that’ll mean terrorising my retirement neighbourhood by wearing bright colours and being utterly outrageous.  I can’t wait J

 

Till next time.

 

Jane