My Dissociative Life. Amazing. And Amazingly Shit.

Yesterday:

Do amazing things. See amazing things. Be with amazing people.

Get home. Burst into tears. Yet again. As the voices and parts say and shout so much.

Today:

Do amazing things. See amazing things. Be with amazing people.

Get home. Burst into tears. Yet again. As the voices and parts say and shout so much and I have to argue even to have a cup of tea because one of them has been seeking to impose a 9pm curfew on it.

....

Some things I laugh about. The banana argument two of them had this week is funny to me even though it resulted in my head hurting quite a bit from being hit. But what's now been recognised as this complex dissociative disorder is pretty damn shit. I would not wish this on anyone. I laugh because what's the alternative? I might be able to do some kind of stand up comedy about it but it's mostly horrible to live with and I do have to hold back or the comedy would get very dark indeed. (Very fortunate to meet someone this year with an equally dark and macabre mental health comedy streak.)

...

I wrote a rant about something today. I wasn't going to post it but Beth says that I should. She supports and understands and has endured twenty-five years of my mental health with the highs and lows. I've been bloody fortunate to be married to someone who stuck by me through so much and for so long.

And this rant is where a few things get very honest. You ain't seen nothing yet! Some people won't like it one little bit.

They don't matter. The people I nearly cried on massively earlier this evening about it supported it. Probably because every one of them knows me - we've met together for quite a while - and has seen at least some of what it's taken to be a part of that group. It's taken a lot for all of that group to be there.

I'll post the rant tomorrow. It'll be extended. With more honesty about childhood, family, dissociation, and so on.

But there will also be gratitude. For all the people, groups, and organisations around me at different times that have stood by me in my struggles to not only stay alive and exist but to push myself (sometimes rather too far for me) into recovery (with set backs - it's only a couple of weeks since I very, very, very nearly committed suicide - I can perform some kind of theatre show but I am far from being well) and a live that's more than worth living and is filled with things beyond anything I dreamed would ever be possible for me.

Without all those other people I would not have made it through this year. I am incredibly fortunate to have all those people. On the other hand I only have them due to years of sodding hard work to get to the places where I've met them and done amazing things with them, often being enabled by their own wonder.

Being incredibly fortunate is one thing. But DID - or DDNOS - is crap. Very crap. Clarity isn't bringing peace. The beginnings of clarity is making things many times harder. In the short term. No, as I said, I would not wish this on anyone even though I were filled with infinite hatred for them. Nobody deserves this.

How Solfeggio Frequencies Are Leading Me Into The Deepest Of Rabbit Holes

Thoughts about a rabbit hole I've found myself exploring:

Friends of mine are very into solfeggio frequencies / Fibonacci frequencies. You know, the kind of thing that says 528Hz sorts your heart and heals your DNA. Sounds far-fetched, yes?  But they're my friends and I love them.  They say the frequencies add something good to their lives.  I'm happy for them.  What harm can it possibly do to them, to me, or to anyone else?

 

639Hz - It'll Sort Any Relationship Problems You May Have

I was very involved with new age people and learned a lot in courses 30 years ago (before rejecting it all for fundamentalist Christianity for too many years!) but nobody ever mentioned such frequencies. Not even the sound and colour healing practitioners I knew. Somehow in the intervening years they've become very popular. And I have to admit that some (some) of the music I've heard based on it is quite relaxing and good to fall asleep to.  I wanted to know why the idea was so prominent and how this development had occurred.

So I thought, "Why don't I look into this. See if there's ANY evidence outside of New Age sources and sites like Natural News. Some actual science. And find out the history of the idea. Let's not reject the whole thing out of hand but apply some very basic critical thinking to the theories and history."

That seemed a sensible thought.

And that's when an idea that sounds far-fetched became more crazy. And then I fell down a rabbit hole and crazy became bad-shit crazy. It just gets more and more bonkers.

I've learned interesting things about the history of musical notation and the reasons why the frequency of that A is mostly set at 440Hz. That's really very fascinating.

But my wandering in the rabbit hole has gone through selling snake oil remedies (to heal cancer and undo vaccine damage), vaccines causing autism, the US government inventing AIDS, Nazi conspiracies to move music frequencies and so muck us all up psychologically, the Illuminati, Tesla, The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, mad codes derived from the Bible, symatics, Kenneth Copeland (honestly!), young earth creationism, secret laser guns and so many other things related by the guy who promoted the theory of the frequencies. His name is Leonard Horowitz. Research him at your own risk!  His official biography page claims he's a Levitical priest and co-creator of "The World's Most Powerful CD."

On a hunch I googled "Leonard Horowitz Andrew Wakefield."  Wakefield is the disgraced doctor behind the totally debunked study that claimed to have found a link between the MMR vaccine and autism.  There's no link.  And Wakefield wasn't just wrong.  He was fraudulent too.  People believed him thought and the take-up for the MMR vaccine fell with the unfortunate result that we've seen an increase in measles outbreaks leading to deaths and life-long health consequences for children in Europe and the USA.  I place at least part of the blame for that directly on the shoulders of Wakefield.

I wasn't surprised by the results of my google search.  Horowitz and Wakefield are pals.  Look up the ConspiraSea Cruise if you dare.  It's a whole deeper level of rabbit hole than the one I've been exploring.  Enjoy yourself there.  Here's one person's experience of the 2016 cruise.  Here's another person, relating their experiences of the 2015 cruise.  Both pages are very entertaining - at least for someone with my special interests.  Horowitz's relationship with Wakefield's Vaxxed movie is also of interest.

 

One of his books. I want a copy.

I'm very happy in my rabbit hole. It's a wonderful surprise. The only sadness is that I haven't found any aliens in the hole. Yet.  They might be coming.  Horowitz's four hour talk is on YouTube posted by UFO TV: The Disclosure Network.  So there may yet be aliens.  If you're as obsessive as I am about crazy spiritual things, mainstream and fringe, take a look at his talk.  Or as much of it as you can bear.  I'm only 70 minutes into the talk and have taken long breaks from it.

 

Horowitz is currently discussing how the frequencies were discovered encoded into the book of Numbers in the Old Testament - because offerings were made by representatives of the twelve tribes of Israel on twelve successive days and each day's offering is described in much the same way in six verses.  (In a verse structure that didn't exist until thousands of years later but Horowitz doesn't seem worried about that).  The conclusions raised by this six verse interval are far further than far fetched.  My own conclusions when I used to read through the Bible regularly and got to that chapter were that I was quite bored with it and that I looked forward to getting ahead a few chapters to Balaam and his talking ass.

I just wish my friends weren't into any aspect of this total junk, some of which isn't just daft it's dangerous. I wish there was something I could say that would convince them it was junk. Because all those friends are very lovely people. And some of this is very dangerous and damaging.

 

That's all I wish.  People can believe whatever helps them.  As long as they don't look down on those who disagree or claim that their belief is an essential for some kind of salvation.  But when that belief becomes dangerous and when it arises from and is connected when the kinds of things solfeggio frequency theories are linked to then that becomes a matter of great concern.

Believe a wafer is the body and blood, soul and divinity of Jesus.  Fine.  I believed that.
Believe your gurus inhabit a particular place in a temple because a book is there.  Fine.

Be helped by making an offering to Krishna, ancestors, God, guru, Buddha, or whoever else.  Fine.

But when belief becomes a danger I will be worried for you and equally worried for anyone you may influence through your dangerous beliefs.

If it wasn't for the dangers I'd say to my friends to believe whatever they wanted about the power inherent in these frequencies (which are only 440Hz or 528Hz or some other number of Hertz because we relate them to an arbitrary time period that in English is called a second.  639Hz in the picture at the top wouldn't be 639Hz if Hertz wasn't based on that particular time period so making anything about it being multiples of three - as Horowitz does - is without common sense.)

But with the dangers?  I'd love them to stop.  I'd love them to walk away from such nonsense.

You may say I'm over-thinking all this - rather than my friends under-thinking it.  You may be right of course.  Just in case, I'd better close by watching this video and listening to the sounds through my headphones.  That'll solve my problem.  One of the comments tells me to heal the world by listening to this while holding my crystals.  Yeah, that might work.  It's quite relaxing.  I admitted that right at the start.  I still freely admit it.

Days of Gratitude - Joy In The Big Performance And The Big Composition

Five more days as the end of the year approaches.

These were excellent days, not to be spoiled by impending anxiety and panic.  The decision half made on one of these days is now fully made and I'm looking forward to indulging myself in the results of that.

Pressing on.  Life is good.  Sometimes autism and mental health combine to make it very difficult indeed.  But it's a wonderful life really and I plan to make it more wonderful in 2017.  This year I've made more discoveries about myself.  Pleasing discoveries.  Next year I will live them as fully as I can on each day.

Is that a brilliant plan?

6^th December

Grateful to see a certain friend for the first time in ages.

Also grateful for Snowdog memories and for them raising a quarter of a million pounds in the auction.

Blob and Winefride watched most of the auction online although Winefride did get bored near the end and wandered off.

7^th December

Grateful to learn friend will be returning very soon.

And grateful to have achieved choir in spite of major anxiety nearly scuppering the journey.

Our first little performance is on Saturday. It'll be great.

8^th December

Grateful for a decision more than half made to join the Lit & Phil and to spend time there next year writing in a pretty distraction free environment.

This may be my new second home, already home to books such as this.

9^th December

Amanda gave me a writing prompt a while back because I asked her for half a sentence. The prompt was this:

"He saw the Christmas lights had been up for months, and he thought to himself"

Grateful that I just finished writing the draft of a story from that prompt and I am shocked at how it managed to top 15,000 words.

Grateful to be writing and for my loose writing plans for next year and the fact that there is no pressure beyond writing because it's good for me, having as much fun with it as possible, and not worrying about where the process will take me.

A year ago I wouldn't have dreamed of writing as much as I've written this year and wouldn't have thought that 15,000 words could flow relatively easily.

I wonder whether they are any good!

10^th December

Grateful for an utterly awesome afternoon at the Bicycle Garden in Fenham.

I was there for a final quick rehearsal before performing with SHE Choir at the event there.

But there were also the joys of eating stunning homemade and garden cooked food, being with excellent people, and getting smoky from the fire.

An added unexpected extra: Making my first ever Christmas wreath. Several of us made a wreath, weaving our rings out of willow and adding all kinds of good things to them.

Very happy times.

Days Of Gratitude - Sexism, Acceptance And A Farewell To Snowdogs

December.  The final month begins.

It's getting much colder.  Except when it isn't.  The last few days were much warmer than average.  On average we can I suppose expect warmer than average days since 2016 is globally the warmest year since records began, beating 2015 which was the warmest year and which beat 2014 which was also the warmest year.  Climate change is real and 2016 saw the election of a man to be President of the USA who has stated that climate change is a Chinese hoax.  There is much to be worried about environmentally - are we all doomed already?

There is also much to be worried about economically and socially.  In the UK there are increasing reports of malnutrition, one million people now are forced to rely on food banks to feed themselves, homelessness is rising and laws to persecute homeless people are being introduced.  Disabled people are losing out under government policy and the rich poor divide continues to increase.

Across the world there are wars - often fought using the weapons sold by the UK and USA - with all the human suffering that war brings, and the civilian suffering and fallout is perhaps greater than ever with so much fighting taking place not on the battle field but in the cities and towns.  The refugee crisis is increasing rather than declining and across Europe refugees face another winter.  I saw a video a couple of days ago about the situation in Greece, posted by a local woman who I've met but don't know.  Maybe next year that will change.  Her Facebook feed has lots about the crisis, about human rights, and about the humanitarian work she is involved with both here and overseas.  Since much of it is publicly shared I'll share it here.  It's under this link.  If you would like to look at the video I mentioned, Ruhi's post is here.

December.  The final month begins.

So it's not the final month is it?  It's only the final months of one particular version of a yearly calendar.

Though there is much to be worried about and much that I'd like to find a way to become more involved with in 2017 there is also much to smile about.  I've been trying to smile and be thankful each day this year.  Sometimes it's been very difficult indeed and my mental health has been wildly changeable.  But I'm glad I've done it.  I'm glad I've kept up this diary.  In another month I think I'll have stopped and will be finding another way to be thankful or to channel positivity and passion.

The final month begins.  You'll see that it's not all roses and sparkles.  But so far the month has been pretty frabjous.

Just wait until the next gratitude post.  You'll see some very joyful frabjousness.  Or should that word be frabjosity?

1^st December

Grateful for time spent with a Sunday Assembly person. Good times.

Grateful to hear Laura Bates who started the Everyday Sexism Project.

Grateful to have so much good in my life and to have written about some of it last night.

Picture is some wise graffiti seen under a bridge. Sometimes it can be easy to forget it and to want to give up.

2^nd December

Grateful for Snowdogs!

The elusive Patchwork Northumberland

I was able to take my soft toy friends to the farewell event. Really good to see the dogs again.

Bye bye dogs. We enjoyed you.

Newcastle and Sunderland Football Club Dogs

And you will raise lots of money for a good cause.

3^rd December

Very hard day.

Grateful for silly computer games.

And grateful to have spent 20p when out, on a new little friend.

This is Merghost. He's a merghost.

4^th December

Grateful for the choir. An extra rehearsal today for a couple of hours.

Great to sing with great people. And fantastic to be totally accepted as a woman within a women only space. It's the first time I've deliberately joined a women's group.

Photo was taken on a dark street afterwards.

5^th December

Grateful that I managed to get to the Sunderland autism drop in for the first time in a year.

Pictures: A sky on the way there, a light tree there, and a hopefully not to be returned to piece of the past on the way back.

The Special 250th Post: The Way Things Are Now. Seven Joys.

This is the 250th post.  That's an important milestone for me though, objectively, it's just another number.  I decided a while ago that I wanted to write something more out of the ordinary for this post.  Or at least more out of the ordinary for my blog.  I didn't want it just to be some days from my gratitude diary.  I didn't want it just to be some photos from an enjoyable day out.  I love both of those things and they're going to get another mention later.  I wanted something more.

The trouble was, I didn't know what that more should be.

Should I give a rundown of everything that's happened in the three years since I began posting?

Should I give a rundown just of this year?

Should I state some of the things that are important to me?

Should I list the things that bring me joy, the things that are providing meaning and centre and direction to me at this point?

I didn't know.   I'd written the 249th post - one of those with photos from an enjoyable day out.  And I didn't know what the 250th post should be.  Not yet.

Tonight something happened.  Something that only filled a few seconds of my life.  Literally.  A few seconds.  And now I know.

This evening I attended a free event at the Literary and Philosophical Library in Newcastle.  The second I've attended this week and the third I've attended ever.

I was pleased to be at this one, a talk by Laura Bates, who started the Everyday Sexism Project and wrote and compiled the excellent book Everyday Sexism.  If you haven't got a copy of that book then get one and read it.  It's worthwhile.  It doesn't matter whether the book is a real eye opener for you or whether you know it all already.  Either way it's worthwhile.

Yeah, I was pleased.  She spoke at Newcastle University a while back and I missed hearing her and was glad to be free to hear her tonight.  She spoke well.  It was clear, eloquent and highlighted many of the things that the project has expressed both through hard evidence in print, and in soft evidence of anecdotes - evidence that becomes very hard when the anecdotes are piled on top of each other, thousands upon thousands upon thousands upon thousands.

Laura Bates is great.  She is.  The project is great.  And the work that she's found herself doing since the project began is great.  I don't think she could ever have predicted it when she started what was planned as a tiny thing.  I am glad I attended her talk.

But something happened.

And it happened less than fifteen seconds before entering the library to hear the talk.

It was this:

Two women passed by me in the street.
One of them pointed at me.
She said "What the fuck is that?" (exact quote)
And they walked on.

I was surprised.  That kind of thing doesn't happen much to me.  Not recently.  But more than anything I was amused to receive such a transphobic comment when almost at the door of a talk about sexism.

Now.  I could write this 250th blog post about this incident.  About transphobia.  About the pressures on transgender people to look a certain way.  About the quest - which I confess I followed somewhat - to pass.  About the privileges a transgender person gets if they pass.  About the privileges they lack if they don't pass:  Namely the privilege to be able to walk down a street without being abused for being transgender.  I could write a lot about the meaning of this kind of abuse, about how those women were saying in effect, "I believe that a woman has to look and be like this and you don't fit the picture in my head and so, as a lesser human being, it is acceptable to insult you."

I could write about how all that fits in with sexism.  With gender stereotyping.  With sexual stereotyping.  How women are pressured to look a certain way.   How men are expected to look a certain way.  How trans women and trans men are expected even more so to look a certain way.  How non-binary people get stuck in the middle of all this and how that in itself raises a whole load more issues.

I could.  I could write lots of thoughts that are in my head - thoughts that have been developed over the past three and a half years since I realised that I absolutely needed to transition and started to tell people and live as the woman I am.

I'm not going to write all that.  Not today.  I'm not.  Because all those things are out there for you to read already.  Some of them are in posts on this blog expressed with a greater or lesser sense of clarity or coherent development.   But mainly because this is my 250th post on this blog.  And I want it to be a happy one.

I thought back to three years ago.  Three years ago my life was different.  Three years ago such verbal abuse was almost a constant in my life.  Because I didn't pass.  (And had worse dress sense and less confidence)  For a while, almost every single time I left the house alone I would receive verbal abuse of some kind.  It was really very bloody horrible.  At times I didn't know how I would be able to do this transition thing.  Perhaps without the support I had - from family, friends, Metropolitan Community Church, and the local transgender support group - I would have backed out and said it's too hard for me.

That was three years ago.  Abuse.  Abuse.  Abuse.  When alone in the street, abuse.

Things are very different now.  Abuse is rare.  I was talking with someone about this today.  About how far I have come along this path of being me.

Things are very different now.  Mostly, any abuse doesn't affect me.  Water off a duck's back.  I was feeding ducks today.

So.  My 250th blog post.  Isn't about abuse.  It's not really about the three years since starting this blog.  A blog I started in order to write about being transgender, about transition and which hardly turned out to be about that part of my life at all because, let's face it, it's actually quite dull!

My 250th blog post.  Is about some of the things that help me.  Right now.  Things that have developed during the last twelve months.  I have found this year very difficult at times.  But I am blessed in so many different ways.  These are a few of them.  Not all of them.

One year ago none of these things were in my life.

Three years ago I hadn't really thought about the possibility of these things ever being in my life.

Thing the First

This autumn I joined a choir.  Not just any choir.  A brand new choir in Newcastle.  This is SHE Choir, something that already exists in London and Manchester.

It's a women's choir.  A women only space.  And it's the very first time that I've managed to be brave and confident enough to put myself forward to be in a women only space and part of a women only organisation.  The first time.  That's massive for me.  Massive.

A friend who has never got to the choir - a friend from another singing group I attend sometimes - posted about the first rehearsal on Facebook.  I thought it sounded good but normally I might have scrolled over it.  A designated, explicitly women only space.  I'm not ready.  For some reason, probably relating to wanting to sing some more, I clicked on the group and took a look.

The group description began like this: A community choir for women, anyone who identifies as a woman, or anyone who identifies as gender fluid/gender queer.

Yes!  Yes!  That's the reason why I felt able to get to that first rehearsal.  A group description that was specifically trans inclusive.  Without that sentence I would probably have stayed away.  Afraid of not being accepted.  Afraid too of the perceived horror of possibly having to drop an octave sometimes when I sang.

I got there and found that I was completely accepted into that space as a woman.  And I cannot tell you what a relief that was, how good it felt, and how much it meant to me.  I am crying a bit while typing this paragraph because it has meant so much.  To have such a welcome and warm acceptance as a woman among a group of woman none of whom I had ever met before that evening.  It blew me away.

I've loved having that choir in my life and seeing those people each week I've been able to be there.  I love that I'll see them again this weekend and during next week and that we'll be having a little performance very soon.  I love that there is never even the slightest sense that anyone might be looking at me a bit weird for being transgender.  I love that.  Because I looked at myself a lot weird - and much worse than weird - for most of my life.

Yeah.  SHE Choir has helped me a lot.  Every week.  Plus singing is fun and I need to do more of it next year as my mental health continues to improve.  Plus there's the added bonus that I am singing the lowest of the three women's parts without yet having to drop down an octave.  Not once!  It's a push sometimes but I've hit every note without even switching to head voice.  Does that make me happy?  God yes!

I'm not the only one the choir has helped.  Someone at the rehearsal this week was saying just what it had meant to her to be there.  And there are others too who have found something that satisfies a real need they have, whatever that need might be.  It's been a force for good for all of us.

Thing the Second

I quit church this year.  After twenty-six years.  That's been very good for me.  Not because my church was a bad place filled with bad people.  Far from it, and I've already mentioned how I might not have made it through to this point without the support I found there from the moment I first walked in the door and happened to be greeted by the then pastor who within three short sentences let me know that I was in a safe space to be myself.

I officially joined that church.  Two years and a few days ago.  Much to my own surprise.

I officially left again this year.  Which was also much to my own surprise.

I am very glad I did.  Quitting, putting a definitive stop to my church going, has given me a great deal of freedom to explore more about who I am, what I believe, how I want to live and so on and so on.  I'm still exploring.  That will never end I hope.  And in the exploration I am finally learning what it truly means to live as myself and finally learning what it is that I can be passionate about without it being a self-destructive passion.

Thing the Third

I have a bus pass.  An autism diagnosis may not have brought me many practical, physical benefits.  But it's brought me this one.  A bus pass.

And it has changed my life.  In a staggeringly big way.  Especially once I got it through my thick head what having it could mean.  That didn't happen until April 22nd - a date I've written about in this blog.

I can now go places and not worry about us not having spare money to afford to go places.  Today I went to Morpeth - a Metro ride and a bus ride away.  I wouldn't have done that without the bus pass because of the cost of getting there.  Last week it was Woodhorn museum and a park.  Since April I have been out exploring and visiting places more than I have for the previous five years put together.

The bus pass has removed a worry and enabled a better life.  Which leads me on to 

Thing the Fourth

Photography!  I had taken photos before this year of course.  But I've taken far more this year and developed a love for it that may develop further as the next year progresses.

I have quite a cheap phone and it's the source of all the photos I've taken since replacing an even cheaper phone.  I'm counting the new phone as thing the fourth even though that's slightly cheating.  Oh well.  It's my blog and I make the rules!

Photos have brought me joy.   Taking them.  Posting them.  Remembering them.  A record of all the places that bus pass enables me to go and of the places I'd have gone to anyway.

Thing the Fifth

Blob Thing.  Yes.  My small pink soft toy has unexpectedly helped me.  He was made on New Year's Eve last year and I didn't know what to do with him.  The way he has become an important part of my life has astonished me.  His blog currently contains 119 posts.  And that way that's developed has astonished me too.  I love my soft toy dearly.  And I love his sister too who was added to the soft toy family in July.

Thing the Sixth

Writing.  Yes, that's new too.  It's not that I wasn't writing a year ago.  I was.  Sometimes.  It's that my whole relationship with writing has changed in the past twelve months.  I want to write about that more at some point.  A year ago I would write a blog post.  Every now and again.  I'd written a few not-good poems in the previous couple of years.  This year it took off.

After an enthusiastic beginning in December 2013, between 2014 and 2015 I wrote 57 posts on this blog.  This one will be the 176th this year.  That doesn't include the 119 posts on Blob Thing's blog.  That's 295 posts so far.  In 336 days.

But that's not all.  This year I've found the confidence to go along to something called The Writers' Cafe, a regular meeting for writers that takes place in a cafe.  The clue was in the name.  I've known about it for ages but would never attend myself because hey, I'm not a proper writer.  How could I ever hope to fit in among all those other people who must be proper writers because they go to The Writers' Cafe?

Just before the summer break I plucked up courage.  And why?  Largely because that friend who had clicked "Interested" about the first She Choir rehearsal clicked "Interested" on a Writers' Cafe session.  It sounded interesting and seeing her interest was enough to spur me to be brave and attend.  Was she there?  No she wasn't.  And I have never seen her there.  She's a very busy person and can't be everywhere she wants to be but has greatly improved my life through not turning up for things!

I found a warm welcome from the "proper" writers and was amazed to find that I did fit in, that the free written exercises we did were good for me and that what I wrote didn't seem to be total crap compared to everyone else.  In fact nothing I heard that day sounded like total crap.  We produced very different results to each other and some other people were also worried about sounding like total crap.  Aren't we a strange bunch of people.

So I went back and when time and mental health have allowed I've kept going back.  I've met good people and hope to get to know them all more next year and to meet more people connected with the many writing events that happen here.

The blog.  The cafe.  But that's not all.  I've written more at home too.  Stories.  Little bits of prose.  I wrote a 9,500 word story for Amanda's birthday and will one day return to it, improve it, and extend it.  I've written shorter stories, quite a few short pieces from prompts, things that won't ever see the light of day too.  I've written a 7,500 word monologue from an unrepentant killer.  I have nearly finished the draft of a Christmas story that will head towards 10,000 words.

In short I have written far, far more this year than I ever have before.  And I have loved it.

And that's not all.  Last month I had a moment of total clarity and as a result of that moment I gave up something in my life that could have been very good.  I gave it up and gave it away.  Because I knew that it wasn't what I was meant to be doing.  What am I meant to be doing?  Yep.  Writing.

I am very excited for next year because I know that I will allow myself to write more.  My skill will improve and I'll learn new writing skills.  I'll work through a course or two too.  I'll meet people and share the writing experience.  Perhaps I'll even find the bravery to get up and read things I've written, to perform.  And if I see something that looks exciting perhaps I'll even submit writing to publications or competitions, without caring much whether it is every published or prize winning because I'm writing it for my own joy.

Yeah.  Writing is big in my life right now.  And as I head into 2017 perhaps it's the thing that is bringing me most excitement and meaning.  I am loving it.  I find I am gradually releasing a passion into being.  I believe that writing will take me somewhere.  Somewhen.  Those unknowns are exciting too.  But if writing just leads me to my own joy and satisfaction then that's fine too.

Thing the Seventh

The Sunday Assembly.  Especially the Sunday Assembly Newcastle Gratitude Group on Facebook.  If you read this blog with any regularity or irregularity you'll have seen it and seen how I got a bit obsessive about trying to post in that group every day.

Thing the seventh is really this: Gratitude.  It's finding the joy every day.  Even on the days that are pretty crappy, the days on which I want to give up.  It's trying to look past all the rubbish bits and find that blessing in everything.  The group has encouraged me to do that and I've only missed nine days in eleven months - most of them because I was too busy doing good things and forgot to post.

Gratitude has helped me greatly this year.  As the song by Tankus the Henge says, "Smiling makes the day go quicker."  I could link that into another of the good and unexpected things this year has contained for the first time.  There's been a lot of crap in the last twelve months.  A lot of crap.  But it's been a great year.

Seven things.  That's enough.  A 250th blog post filled with happiness.  My closest friends and family might point to my list and say "What about this?"  "Isn't this thing new and important?"  My list of six isn't exhaustive.  I know full well that this year has contained many other brilliant things, some of which will come round and hit me with their meaning next year. 

The list is joyful.  It's positive.  And it all looks to my future with confidence.  This is part of me.  Now.

This is my life.  It's not quite what I expected.  But it's mine.




[3292 words]

Challenged To Take A Photograph 2: A Tree. With A Rainbow Ribbon Tied Round It

I was flushed with success.  I'd been challenged to take a picture of a real life unicorn with wings and I had managed to do it, albeit through the method of adding home made card wings to a toy unicorn.  It's a light up unicorn.  In a dark room it will light up the whole ceiling with stars.

So I decided to go for it.

I asked her, "What shall I take a picture of tomorrow?"

She replied, "A tree."

"Hey, that's easy," I thought.

A tree.  Yes.  And immediately I began to plan which tree I would take a picture of intentionally and whether I might stray off my planned route of visiting the charity shops of Chester-le-Street and Durham in search of pretty trees.  I do like trees.  I take pictures of many trees.  I should probably learn some tree identification skills so I can say "Hello you wonderful silver birch" rather than just "Hello you wonderful tree."

A tree.  Easy.  I wasn't worried by her challenge at all.

But that's when she extended her request.  In reality only a few seconds had passed.  The time it took her to type six words on her phone.  But in those seconds I had planned my triumph in detail.

My plans fell apart.  The next words appeared on my phone.

"With a rainbow ribbon round it."

A tree.  With a rainbow ribbon round it.

How was I going to do this?  I don't have a rainbow ribbon.  And what are the chances of accidentally encountering a tree with a rainbow ribbon round it?  I suspect they are low.  I was initially flummoxed.  But I didn't allow myself to lose sleep over this perplexing quandary.

I woke up with a plan in my head.  I would just have to cheat.

I would do my own tying.

What I would use wouldn't be a ribbon though.

And it wouldn't be a rainbow either.

It would be this:

It is, you will not, a colourful item.  And it is a nice sparkly item.  But it's a scarf not a ribbon.  And the colours, though they are many, are not a rainbow.

Nevertheless it would have to do.  I packed my scarf and set off to Durham, knowing that contained within the city there are such things as trees.

She would just have to cope with a photograph of a tree with a colourful, sparkly scarf tied round it rather than a rainbow ribbon.  And if that wasn't good enough then I lived long enough as a too-hard-on-myself Catholic to know how to put in a good performance at repenting of my own shortcomings.

So we set off to Durham.  Blob Thing and Winefride were pleased to be going out for the day.  They were so pleased that they didn't even point out that the printing on the back of their seat was on backwards.

We delayed ourselves on the way to Durham, tempted by the possibilities of the charity shops of Chester-le-Street.  Blob Thing started telling Winefride about the time he and I got off the bus there and walked to Durham and what an excellent day that had been.  I think she would enjoy that walk too - especially Finchale Priory - and Blob Thing says he wants to go back and have pictures of himself taken with all the bridges we see.  He does like pictures of himself with bridges.

And so, suitably delayed - and having bought some Christian books by nice Christians (ones other nice Christians point to as good examples) - it was lunchtime by the time we reached Durham.

All thoughts of trees and ribbons passed from my mind, being replaced by that all conquering desire of the flesh:  I want some lunch.

We made our way to a place called Alington House and were fortunate to find the cafe open - an event that is not a guarantee by any means.  We ate very well indeed.

The homemade pumpkin soup was followed by a cheese and onion toasted sandwich.  And then Blob was very excited because I went and bought us a piece of a Polish cake too. Just look at the enjoyment on his face.

And that was followed up with a question from the woman serving us the food - a volunteer like everyone else there.  "Would you like some more soup for free?"  And so we ate more bread and soup and were very satisfied.

Our bellies were happy but my mind went back to the question of trees and the realisation that I had not even begun to complete the challenge.

We walked up the hill and I did my very best.

That one had a hexagonal Victorian postbox in it.  And they're rare.

The next two have a Durham Cathedral in them.  And that's even more rare than a hexagonal Victorian postbox.  Several of those remain.  But there's only one of Durham Cathedral.

I thought, "Maybe that's good enough.  Maybe she'll accept my attempt.  Maybe a tree with a sparkly, colourful scarf will put a smile on her face.  It won't be as good as Winefride flying on a winged unicorn but she'll see the effort I put in."

And that might have been the end of the challenge.

Except that as I walked down the hill I couldn't let the challenge go.  I had to do better.  I had to find, at the very least, a tree with a ribbon tied round it.  There had to be one.

I couldn't shake off the demands of the near impossible quest as we walked further around the centre of Durham.  She deserved better.  Not a sparkly scarf.

And then the answer came to me.  I knew where I could find lots of trees with ribbons.  They weren't rainbow ribbons.  But they were ribbons.  And maybe some of the trees would have more than one ribbon.

I knew what I had to do.

So with a sense of wild urgency we returned back to Durham bus station and caught the bus back as far as Gateshead.  There we caught a Metro back to Newcastle and got off at a stop known as West Jesmond, named as such because it's on the West side of Jesmond.  From there we had to walk.  Or at least I did.  I was in such a hurry and Blob and Winefride aren't the fastest of walkers [or bouncers] so I carried them in my special bag.

As I reached our destination I could only smile.

I was right.  There was a tree.  With ribbons.  Not a full rainbow.  But ribbons.  Of several colours.

This was excellent.

And then there were more trees with ribbons.

And more trees.

 

But still no rainbow ribbon.  I had done well though I thought.

No!  My head would not accept this partial victory.  A tree.  A ribbon.  No rainbow.  Only two out of three.  I wanted a rainbow ribbon.

I hunted all the trees in this ribbon tree area.  Oh yes, I hunted.  I had to make sure.

And bliss, rapture, ecstasy and deep joy!

I found not one but two trees that brought a triumph and the peal of trumpets as angels played them in celebration of the glorious news.

Here's the first:

And on it, a sign.  The reason for the ribbons.

For these ribboned trees are all destined to be destroyed if plans with the planning office are approved.  They are incredibly stupid plans.  A roundabout in Gosforth, where at peak times people may have to queue for a couple of minutes in their cars, would be replaced by a road system of a size more suitable to the junction between two busy motorways.  Those plans are being redesigned but the future of all the trees is still in jeopardy.

Here's the other tree.

And here it is, the source of my success.  Success brought to me through the hands of one of the people who tied ribbons to all the trees in danger of being destroyed.  Thank you kind protestor!

Yes.  I succeeded again.

Two challenges.  Two successes.

I wonder what the third challenge will be.  I haven't asked her yet.

I bet it will be terrifyingly difficult.

Challenged To Take A Photograph 1: A Real Life Unicorn With Wings

I asked her "What should I photograph tomorrow?"

I had expected a request for something easy.  Something that I might possibly see when out and snap a picture of.  Something to look out for.

She said, "A real life unicorn.  With wings."

Not just a real life unicorn.  Oh no.  That would have been hard enough.  But one with wings.  And that kind are even rarer than the unicorns without wings.

Nevertheless I accepted the challenge and went out the next morning determined to achieve success.

I wandered the streets of Newcastle city centre.  And wandered more.  I knew that somewhere, once, I had seen a picture of a unicorn on a lamp post.  Maybe it would have wings.  Whether it would qualify as real life or not was another matter.  It certainly wasn't ideal.  But it might have to do.  I hunted.  But couldn't find that unicorn again no matter how I tried.  Maybe it had retreated back into legend.

I decided that I might find a unicorn dwelling in a particular building.  I should hunt there.  But there was no unicorn.  There was a piece of collaborative art I contributed to, still on a wall.  There was a mental health organisation that runs courses and has all kinds of groups.  And I signed up for an induction into that - something which I've wondered about doing for the past year.  And there was this gadget.

Okay.  So it's not a unicorn.  There's no way that anyone would ever mistake it for a unicorn.  And it hasn't got wings.  But it's a gadget and it's of interest.

I left the building knowing that I would return.  Knowing, in fact, that I would be returning there several times in the following week and could easily find reasons to return there more.

I was dejected.  I hadn't found a unicorn.  I wandered the streets again.  Sad because I wasn't able to meet the photographic challenge.

And then, joy of joys, I spotted a unicorn.  A real unicorn.  Or at least a real toy unicorn.

But he didn't have wings.  This unicorn didn't meet the challenge.

There was only one things for it and I formed a cunning plan in my mind.  [Honesty time: I formed the plan the previous night as a fallback solution.]

I would just have to take one of my real life (toy) unicorn friends at home and photograph that.

And since none of my unicorn friends have wings I would just have to work some magic, call out some enchantments, and use sorcery [and some card and some pens] to create out of thin air a pair of wings.

Pretty soon I had sweated over some dangerous ritual magic [involving marker pens and a pair of scissors] and before me sat the most wonderful winged unicorn.

Then Blob Thing and Winefride appeared and Winefride got very excited.  Blob said he thought that his sister wanted to ride on top of the winged unicorn.

So she climbed on.  The unicorn seemed happy about that too.  I fixed her securely with her safety reins [and some unfolded paperclips] and she was ready to go.

They took off and the unicorn flew round and round the room.  It was lucky that the window was closed because otherwise it might have flown away entirely and I might never have seen Winefride again.  The unicorn was joyous at its new freedom.

I took lots of photos and Winefride was having such a lot of fun.

She was making such happy noises that I had to make videos too.  Here's one of them - I hope it works okay, otherwise I'll have to add it in some other way.  I might have to add a flying unicorn to YouTube and add to the range of videos nobody will ever see.  My first ever YouTube video.

Pretty soon it was time to stop and the unicorn was getting tired.  He landed safely and smiled the biggest smile he's ever seen.

I think Winefride wants to ride on the unicorn again sometime.

So I succeeded in my photographic challenge.

And the challenger was suitably impressed and laughed a lot.

Her laughter made my efforts worth everything.