The Childhood Stories

Over the past month or so I had had a collection of stories published up on Life with my Little Duck starting off during my teenage years, moving into my 20's and then ending today. It was a really interesting trip through thoughts and memories so I thought I would provide a little recap here and link them all in one place for anyone who would like to take a little journey through a few decades and a few countries... Five years ago I started to write a book loosely based on my life/experiences, but I gave up because it was both too close to home and because I didn't think anyone would be interested. I am now putting together several collections of essays which I think will be easier for me to work on and actually finish. In any case, here are the links to all of the stories... Thanks to Ally for publishing all of these stories, as well as many other wonderful and heartbreaking ones. You can see all of the stories from her Childhood Series up on her blog here. 

The Invisibility Cloak - wrap yourself in it as soon as you leave the house...

Survival Modes - high school is a real minefield.

Run, Run Away - everything is just too much and there is no escape.

Young Heart, Old Soul - a different life in different places.

Never Let Go of the Rainbow - a decade in a city that never sleeps.

Everything will be alright
Everything will turn out fine
Some nights I still can't sleep
And the voices pass with time
The Sisters of Mercy - Time To Cry

Ramblings: Daytime Thoughts

This started as one thought, evolved into about four others and kind of made it's way back to the first thought. Some real ramblings for you today...

I fully believe that it's important to never make a judgment based on appearances. But we always do, no matter how hard we try. Some of us try and some just don't really give a shit anyway and spend their lives judging others based on their religion, skin colour, language, background, clothing, whatever. I always hope that I'm in the first group, and that I have learnt from any mistake I may have made in the past, making sure that I never do it again.

If you don't really know me, then you probably don't know how shy and how anxious I am. I've spent many a year hiding it beneath layers and layers of toughened up skin and bone, but it always finds a way to pop up when I least expect it. I've worked on myself over the years, using alcohol to find a way to hide my shyness, then sobriety to find a way to accept my shyness and to get past it. I've learnt to get over my fear of calling people I don't know and accomplishing tasks over the phone. I've managed to get past my utter fear of putting my writing into the public eye and I've traveled to places and talked to people even though I often felt like I was crippled with anxiety inside. I've even forced myself to speak in public, although I don't really think I want to do that again. I'm actually quite happy working from behind my screen now, with my children playing in the background (or hitting each other or screaming at me, whatever happens to be occurring at that moment).

With motherhood also came a dip in the confidence that I had slowly built up over the years, and then, after the first few months went by, came an actual gain in well-being, confidence and strength. For the first time in my life I felt like I had actually finally become the person I was always supposed to be. So those days when my confidence takes a beating I seem to feel it even more. It is kind of like climbing a mountain and instead of falling a few steps right near the top you tumble a quarter of a mile down again. Even the stupidest of things can make me feel like I've fallen down the mountain, just as the smallest of things can often bring me right back up again immediately afterwards. It’s a strange feeling, trying to keep that middle ground of stability while your emotions are pulling you both up and down!

I've always been a good loner. I love my close friends from the bottom of my heart and miss them all terribly now that I have moved away, but I've always been good at creating and fully using my alone time. Books and walks and words and photos, lunches by myself watching the world go by and long trips to places where I didn't know a soul. None of those things ever fazed me. Put me in a room full of people completely sober and ask me to make myself heard, now that would give me anxious shakes and a desire to create a hole for myself to curl up in. I know, being a bartender and working in an extremely busy restaurant don't really seem to be the best jobs for an introvert from the outside, but that is actually wrong. Many of my fellow service industry workers are complete introverts. Many of my musician and actor friends are the same. That face that smiles at you and serves you your drink while chatting about the latest gossip is all an act, part of the job. An act that is pretty easy to sustain, a uniform that you mentally put on every time you walk into work. They are just jobs. Jobs that I absolutely adored before I became a mother, and would do again in a heartbeat if I didn't have two little children. I DO have tons of confidence, but only when I feel in control of my environment and comfortable in my place. It’s a bit of a two-pronged sword being both confident and shy at the same time, because sometimes you end up creating a role for yourself which kind of portrays how people want to see you rather than how you actually want to be seen. Sometimes it leads to a lot of bitterness and sadness when you can’t make your real self seen or heard when you really need to. And sometimes it makes it harder to explain that you need space and silence once in a while, time away from everyone and everything.

I'm still not confident as a writer, after all these years. I still hesitate every time I submit an article or deliver a job. I'm still always surprised when I receive great feedback and always a little hurt when something gets rejected. I kick myself when I read something similar to what I have written and hidden deep in my laptop's memory and wonder why I don't dare send these things out to others to read and love. Why do I watch others do it and sit back and wish that I had the confidence to put myself out there like that? Why do I hide behind my screen waiting for something that will never happen if I don’t “put myself out there” so to speak?

And then I realize that I do. I do it every day. And maybe there are many, many things that I will not publish on here, just because they may be too personal or involve others or just don't belong here, they still belong somewhere, and some day I will find a proper home for them. I still have trouble with social media, with being more pragmatic and less involved in making friends and actually considering people humans rather than just one more person to read my blog, but I know there are others out there like that, who are trying to promote their work while making friends at the same time, and I'm happy to know these people, sometimes work with them, but mostly because their photos and comments make me smile, their thoughts are similar to mine and because they are all inspiring, funny and most likely have the exact same worries and thoughts and self-confidence dips as I do. I do admire those people who have been able to create a “brand” out of themselves, but I cannot do that, and at the same time I don’t know anybody personally who has. Anyone I have actually “met” on social media is like me, just another person using words and thoughts and images to touch others. The whole “brand” thing is really not me at all. And that’s fine, I don’t need to do that, I just need to work on what I really want in a better way. (Sometimes I regret not being so proactive in my 20’s and instead of writing a blog at that time that made no sense to anyone but me I could have actually created something a little more meaningful!). I think this is why I continue to refuse to make my blog into something more “streamlined” – it was always meant to be a platform for me to “publish” my creations, before I became a mother and after, and I don’t want to change it. I may possibly set up something else in the future with some friends, I don’t know, I would need to be more focused on one thing rather than letting myself be pulled in all types of directions.

Years ago I took all of my "things" that I had left with my mother for safe keeping back, including journals dating back to my first at 9 years old. There was however one missing, quite an important one, from my late teens in the late 90's. This past weekend my mother came back from her storage unit with a box with my name on it, and amidst my Cure 45s, some Ted Hughes and Shelley books was that journal. I'm not ready to go down multiple rabbit holes just yet, but I read a few pages of it and see myself, 20 years ago, so shy but so exuberant, angry and happy, and I'm glad I've lead the life that I have. And while I will always regret a few things, mostly those moments when I couldn't tell people how I felt, those moments when I couldn't explain how uncomfortable I was or even those moments when I didn't dare speak up and voice my opinions. But I can catch up on that now. And one day all of those stories that I have written along the way and all of the essays and the thoughts and the poems that I have jotted down will find their own place too.

I suppose all these words came about over the weekend when I was feeling a little down, seeing photos of my friends at the Rockaways, my favourite beach in the world, or at the Stone Roses concert in NYC and missing them, reading nasty comments posted by ignorant and bigoted people from all over the world on internet articles, and with just the sheer amount of utter shit that is going on in the world all the time, every time I look at my phone or check out my social media feeds. Some days it is very hard to live with having both a hurting heart and an overflowing heart. In the end we all bleed the same; I just wish I could stop the unnecessary loss of blood and life with my own hands.

So maybe, next time we look at someone and start to judge them based on something about them, maybe, maybe we should take a step back and remember that they are people just like us, with hearts and minds and souls and worries and stories and families and feelings. And maybe we all stand up and talk about everything that hurts and destroys us as a community, a nation and a world and bring about real change instead of just looking the other way. And when someone is trying to express themselves stop and listen to what they have to say, because it may be a moment to learn and grow, you never know.

And maybe I will remember to tell myself that despite everything I put in my own way my words will be heard by some, and in the end that is all that matters to a writer.

Ramblings: Speech as a Milestone

Speech. Such a short word with huge connotations. We use speech every single day, a way to communicate, to express ourselves, to show emotion. So simple, but often so difficult. Before I had a child I would often consider speech a tough companion, because sometimes he was so easy to access, sometimes so hard, hanging out a few yards away waiting for me to stumble and wobble over, avoiding deep potholes that were always trying to trip me up. I would be so jealous of those who had no issues talking in public, or getting their point across to others.

Once I had my first child speech became a milestone, beginning in those little babbles that turned to “mama” and “dada” around 8 months, moving along to full words and then phrases a little bit later down the line. I spent my days talking and reading to a little baby who could only communicate with cries and babbles, hoping that it would all sink in and eventually turn into words flowing naturally from her mouth. I still talk and read to my kids all day long, a habit that I won't break until they demand me to.

When Luna turned one year old I expected to start hearing more than just mama, dada and "dat" (cat or dog depending on the animal, sometimes bird or squirrel). Instead we started to hear more and more tantrums, colourful moments of high pitched screams and streams of tears, snotty noses and sometimes so far as crying-induced vomit. A vocabulary that initially seemed so promising stalled and the eardrum piercing scream was perfected to a tee.

No matter how many talks we had, books we read or educational TV shows we watched, nothing changed. We used the excuse of being a bilingual family for a while, every time that people asked us why she wasn't talking, and were met with a few nods and a “ah ok that makes sense”. I told myself that my brother didn't start speaking properly until well past his second birthday and now he's studying towards his PhD, so there was nothing to worry about. I thought about how I am much more eloquent in writing than speech and that maybe it would all click into place for Luna one day.

Luna hit 18 months and then 21 and there still wasn't any improvement. The tantrums got worse, especially as she couldn't communicate all the mixed emotions that were running around her heart and mind, sharing her mummy with another baby, having to wait in turn to be nursed instead of just cuddling whenever she wanted. I found myself having to curb my frustration with her more and more frequently, and began to wonder if we should start seeing a speech therapist to help her through this. I began to feel completely inadequate as a parent, on the one hand wondering what I could have done differently or better, on the other thinking that maybe I was making too big of a deal out of it. Luna has always been strong willed and demanding, emotional and caring, maybe she would find her own way with our gentle guidance, one step at a time. I stopped reading milestone blogs and started just trying to communicate differently with her, calming her down before another tantrum would break out.

And then it happened. Not long before her second birthday she started to repeat words to us, and every day she says one, two or three more new words. At 26 months she can now string two or three words together, tell me she is hungry, tired, sick or thirsty, ask me for a hug or for milk, tell me she wants to read a book or watch Peppa or Elmo, say please and thank you, tell me she loves me, name her teddy bears and tell me what she wants to eat. She can count to five and say all of her colours (usually to the delight of everyone in the supermarket), and even surprises me by picking up one of her foam letters and telling me what it is. While she still has her tantrums and she's still as demanding as ever, we have noticed a significant drop in the screaming and a much higher willingness to take the time to express herself clearly. Every day she will say a new word out of the blue and it blows my mind - she WAS absorbing everything all along, just waiting for the right time.

So yes, I suppose speech is a milestone for a child, but Luna has taught me, in more ways than just speech, that patience is also a milestone to achieve at any age. Communication is not only the ability to speak but also the patience to listen and absorb. Language can often be a tricky thing, and when somebody has a big voice but no words to release it, other ways of expression need to be used. There are other ways of helping a child express themselves; you just need to find out which one, for some it may be sign language, others it may be through pointing or pictures. I realize how much more laid back and "go with the flow" I am now that I have a second child, but at the same time I really hope that she won't find it as difficult as Luna did... There were so many times that we were both in tears out of frustration and it hurts my heart still to think how hard it must have been for her. In the end I shouldn’t have worried so much about it, but it was hard not to when having to deal with upwards of 8 tantrums a day!

Ramblings: My Clan

Ever since I became a mother I have come across articles and social media posts where women talk about finding their “tribe”. For a while, during those first few months of motherhood, feeling so insecure and alone, I wondered if I was supposed to find my own tribe; maybe one would miraculously appear in my life, surround me with warmth and hugs and reassuring phrases, telling me that I would be OK. Motherhood came easily to me, the love, the nurturing, the happiness, but adapting to all of the changes was a little harder. I would continue to read about women describing their tribe, see beautiful pictures on social media of women and their friends, all their children playing together happily and hope that one day I could do the same.

And then suddenly I realised… This “tribe” I was thinking of is no other than my best friends. I already have my tribe; there was no need to find a new one. Just because certain things shift when you have a child (or two in my case), doesn’t mean that everything changes. Sometimes you just need to crawl through the fog to realize this. Just because you become a mother doesn’t automatically mean you need to find a group of “mummy friends”. You will make some along the way, most certainly, but those who have been with you through thick and thin still “get” you, or they do in my case anyway!

I’ve lived in many places, travelled to many countries, settled and then uprooted myself time and time again, and in every place I have left a group of friends behind. Some friends are there for life, an intricate bond that cannot be broken by time or distance, others are friends for a time, and with distance you lose touch. Some friends appear out of the blue and stay there for life; some come and go, weaving in and out of your path. Hearts are broken and sometimes healed again, friends are forgiven and forgotten; friends forgive and move on. Friendship is a give and take and there are always those where the give and the take are easy and seamless, and then there are others where it demands work, sometimes too much. I’ve always been a little wary of female friendships, having been burnt in the past by people, but those that I have really let in have my heart forever.

There is the one who became a mother at the same time as me, our children rolling, crawling and walking together. The one who knew I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that I hadn’t slept in three months. We would nurse our children for hours on the couch for hours, chatting about life, motherhood, or just bathing in silence. She is one who I can talk to at any time of the day or the night, who would come visit us in our apartment in Queens and bring treats and who I now miss terribly since we moved across the country.

There is the one who I met in a bar all those years ago and who I call my best friend. We’ve been through so much together and through so much separately. We have traveled through time together, angered each other, unintentionally hurt each other, held each other and laughed through too many wonderful, silly and exciting moments. She is still the first person I tell anything to, the one person who I know will always have a proper opinion or advice on something that I am struggling with and who will always write the best cards, be they for me or my children. Cards that I save and cherish. And she also happens to be the most wonderful baby shower organizer.

There is the one who I worked with, so much younger than me, but at times so much older than her years. A real free spirit, never to be held down by anything, that beautiful smile always raining down on you, making you feel so important and worthy. She will come crashing into your life like a bolt of lightning and wraps you in her relentless energy, ready to jump into any adventure that you are planning. She’s the one I want to nurture and protect but at the same time need to let fly free as she has everything to discover and no boundaries will stop her. She was my Sunday afternoon partner, bringing food and stories, while let her rest her weary feet before her next adventure into the unknown. My little fiery wild child, so similar to myself at her age, but with all of the confidence that I lacked.

There are the two ladies who were my friends way before I was a mother, and mothers way before I even imagined having a child. At one point we were all thousands of miles apart, but that didn’t stop them giving me advice and comfort when I needed it. One of them has the knack of calling whenever I most need to chat, and always making me feel like I am not going insane, and that everything is completely normal.

There are my Irish and English beauties, and even though we haven’t lived on the same continent for well over a decade, we still communicate regularly, see each other when we can and support each other in our endeavours. We’ve known each other at our best and at our worst, we’ve partied together and been sober together, drank tea and eaten brunch, watched each other grow and shine and move forward and sometimes backwards. Sister from another mister and best friend, all three of us “met” online and became friends in person all those years ago.

Then there are the ladies that I have befriended through my writing and my thoughts, the kind and helpful ladies, the ones that encourage each other to persevere with their work and creativity, who always seem to appear when the going gets tough and you hit a wall. Kind of like an online cheerleading team, but one that cheers each other on, constantly. I never really feel alone anymore, even at 3am when everyone is sleeping and those silly thoughts of failure kick in.

And last, but not least, my sister, the one whose head I tried to pull off when she was a baby, whose obsession with Elvis lasted until well into adulthood and with whom I can have the most epic arguments and still talk to as if nothing happened five minutes later. I don’t always believe that you have to be friends with your family no matter what, but I do believe in my sister as much as she believes in me. I hope that my girls will be able to love each other as much as we do.

My tribe, my “family”, those people who never let you go, even when you push them away, and in return, who you will never let go either. I think back to those days when I thought I was supposed to do it alone, sitting there nursing endlessly through the night, wishing I had someone to talk to, and then feeling silly in the morning. I always had someone to talk to; my tribe was always there for me, just as I am always there for them. I had to learn that it was OK to reach out and say “I need you”. No one is really superwoman, but we are all superwomen together.

Ramblings: Words from a journal in Barcelona

I found these entries in one of my journals just after I wrote my Barcelona blog post last week. They transported me right back there, sunny, hazy days full of decisions and thoughts. I do love reading back and remembering the person I was then and how she hasn’t changed all that much.

Friday 24th July 2009

Barcelona…

You smell like Europe. You feel like Europe. You act like Europe. You are Europe. The Europe I know so well but you just speak a different language, one that I understand a little. If I shut off my hearing you could be France. Home? Dirty, humid, hot, old, colourful, voices, noisy, awake, asleep, bare feet, balconies, ice cream, terrasses, stars, warm breeze, fountains, cathedrals, peace, hills, espresso, winding streets in the city, mountains.

I can see the big star, my star, my planet, my Venus, watching over me. Always there, waiting for me to look up and smile. I can breathe again. This is so wonderful, I don’t know how it all got lost, I can’t believe it all just came back to me. My Europe, sanctuary, push you away, stay away, leave you, use you, love you, hate you, make you the basis of my nostalgia and my pain, but you save me once again.

I just needed a breath of yours to be revived from this plateau I have been hiding behind. You will always be part of me and I need to start remembering that. Oh! I finally feel again. Emotion, love, hatred, pain, joy, warmth, cold, hot, heat, wet, dry, elation, despair. I want to climb to the rooftop and watch my star watch me.

I won’t break again. I am whole again. Thank you.

Saturday 25th July 2009

There is something really lovely about walking around an unknown city all by yourself. I am literally wandering with no real direction. What is it that paralyzes me? It’s like a took a few steps back, back into that zone of anxiety that I thought I had left behind when I got off the plane in Tel Aviv.

This morning was lovely. I walked all around Barri Gòtic and El Raval taking random pictures. I lit a candle for Daddy in a church as I always do in every city I go to.

Tuesday 28th July 2009 On the balcony

Yes. THE balcony. I think it’s my favourite place here. I have been working SO much it’s not even funny. I can’t even focus on what is the most urgent because everything is. I really, really want to go home. I never wanted this to be my life. I feel trapped in something I never ever wanted. I wish I could drink now too. Drink myself into an oblivion of NOTHING.

I wonder if I will move back to Europe.

Wednesday 29th July 2009

HALF MOON HALF SUN.

I see her straight in front of me, half smile, eyes cast straight ahead, no haste, no speed, rambling with precise direction. Never stalling but always there. I see her watching me as I watch her, watching me when I lose my way. Picking me up with her eyes and pointing me towards the next hill to climb, sea to swim, bridge to build. I love her with all my emotions but she always remains too far to touch, to access, to curl up with. My protectoress, my savior, my guide forever up there looking down, looking down, looking down.

My moon.

Thursday 30th July 2009

She’s in the same place as last night,

Even brighter.

Time for me to go, to say goodbye

Yet another place to be nostalgic about

Yet another moment to stow away,

To remember next year and the one after.

Beautiful statues, I hope you see them too.

I probably won’t ever sit here again

But I will keep this spot in my memory,

The place where I was inspired

To wake up and feel again.

Hope, freedom, love, pain, angst

Tears, laughter, worry, happiness

Time to cry, time to laugh

Thank you special place

I will see you again in a different time.

Ramblings: Let All the Children Boogie

I wrote this on Monday and sat on it for a few days, but decided after a round of editing to leave as is. There are so many memories that I could have added, but it would have most likely resulted in a memoir of sorts, so I shall post it now so that it can find its place amongst all of the other stories about this special man who became a legend and a hero for so many.

I was 7 or 8 years old and we were practicing our (Christmas?) play at school when our hip new teacher (Mr. Adams, I still remember his name), decided we should add a choreography to the first act. He chose Bowie’s Space Oddity, and we all had to dance around like robots. I was so happy about it because I knew my dad was coming and I hoped that he would like us doing something a little less boring than the usual kids’ songs. I was also very familiar with Bowie, hearing him played at home all the time, so it felt really great for home and school to collide a little. I don’t have many memories of being excited to show or tell my dad something as he died when I was so young, so I will always see him sitting there, dark glasses and mohawk, completely and wonderfully out of place amidst the other parents. I’ve since thought how painfully perfect that was, Space Oddity and being out of place amongst others. I think it’s something that was passed along the line somehow.

Another young memory involves Bowie and Mick Jagger and that terribly happy and fantastic video for Dancing in the Street. I remember it being on the telly all the time and I just loved seeing these two artists singing together and literally dancing their feet off in the streets. I remember already admiring both artists at the time, but I don’t know if that is just because my parents listened to them a lot, or if I really just loved them (I was also in love with George Michael at the ripe old age of 6 so I wasn’t all that cool, and that was in no shape or form due to my parents). I really owe my music roots to my parents, that gift of great music is one that will never, ever be forgotten. Anyway, Dancing in the Street just pulls you up on your feet and makes you dance around with abandon, letting loose and letting go. 31 years after its release and it still has the same effect on me. Incredible.

I still have a tape with Bowie’s earlier hits on it that would be played on a loop during my last few years at university (along with Marilyn Manson’s Mechanical Animals, Tim Buckley’s Greatest Hits, Tom Waits’ Used Songs and Bob Dylan’s Desire). Life on Mars? is still and always will be my favourite Bowie song. There are so many possible interpretations but I love the underlying sadness battling with the need to escape, rebel, and evolve. Look at the bigger picture and follow your own dream. And I’ve always loved the Lennon/Lenin reference for some reason. Maybe just the working class reference, I don’t know. I won’t ever forget where I came from, and I think Bowie is a fabulous example of what you can make of yourself when you create new limits. (Oh and I am keeping all of my tapes for my kids to use – I loved inheriting all of my parents LPs, so maybe they will like my tapes and CDs).

New York City has always been full of Bowie for me. From demanding China Girl at Darkroom, to dancing away to Suffragette City at The Annex, to guest DJing the Rebel Rebel party at Lit, as well as walking all the way down Park Avenue listening to the entirety of Let’s Dance ju