Pangs

Today is Thanksgiving in America.

Being neither American nor resident in America perhaps it is not my place to comment on their cultural practices but given ongoing world events it seems kind of relevant, so please read the whole thing - especially the paragraph in red.

And as the title might indicate to you I am basing this post around some Buffy The Vampire Slayer quotes from the Thanksgiving episode "Pangs"...so, to start with, as Anya put it: "To commemorate a past event, you kill and eat an animal. It's a ritual sacrifice. With pie." Certainly it is normal enough for us to have such a 'ritual sacrifice' - any past event is commemorated with feasting (with or without pie) such as birthdays, weddings, anniversaries and funerals...but is this a past event which should be commemorated with a 'celebratory' meal or with a service of sombre remembrance like (to use the American term) Veteran's Day? Well, I know which I personally think is more appropriate and my feelings on the subject mesh with Willow's: "Thanksgiving isn't about the blending of two cultures. It's about one culture wiping out another. And then they make animated specials about the part where [becoming flustered with anger] with the maize and the big, big belt buckles. They don't show you the next scene where all the bison die and Squanto (?) takes a musket ball to the stomach."

And I can totally see that Willow is right...the whole thing is sanitised in popular culture (like the above Snoopy and Woodstock cartoon) and whitewashed because people can't face the unpalatable truths of history. That said, feeling bad about history can be just as damaging as whitewashing though. What if the events weren't commemorated at all because of guilt?! In the words of Spike: "You won; all right? You came in and you killed them and you took their land. That's what conquering nations do. It's what Caesar did, and he's not going around saying "I came, I conquered, I feel really bad about it." The history of the world is not people making friends. You had better weapons and you massacred them. End of story." There is a lot of truth in that statement. History is brutal, we remember it because we need to - to avoid repeating our mistakes. Feeling bad about it achieves nothing, except creates a desire for the events to be forgotten.

And this is SO relevant to the current world situation. American states are closing their borders to Syrian refugees because a small proportion of them might be terrorists in disguse...this from a nation largely founded on those escaping persecution in Europe. So much anti Islamic propaganda and hatred...this from a nation which supposedly prides itself on diversity. And a Presidential candidate who, amongst many other appalling things, has said he would seriously consider forcing Muslims to carry 'special ID' in a move that screams of Jewish ghettos in Nazi Poland. 
And this is not just the case in America - I don't want this to come off as anti American at all - this is just as true here in the UK where our newspapers feed the (appallingly ignorant) masses a diet of ill-disguised propaganda. Our nation's attitude to migrants, refugees and our Islamic community is an absolute disgrace. People the whole world over are still as ignorant / racist / xenophobic as they ever were. It makes me beyond sad that humanity is anything but humane and that the lessons of history have been so blatantly ignored.

We all NEED to commemorate past events to avoid repeating them...but we do it anyway and what's worse is the PROXIMITY. We've just had Remembrance / Veteran's Day when Nazi atrocities are clear in our minds along with other terrible actions made under the guise of war. Today is Thanksgiving...yet we turn against people in need. 
And finally...

Planning Ahead

Okay, so this is pretty much insane (as am I) but I am moving house...in a year and a half. For a multitude of reasons (including work being done on the house I'm moving to, my OU work and my daughter's college) it can't happen sooner but it is all set up and definite.

Gradually I am working my way through the attic, cupboards and assorted hidey-holes trying to decide what, of the crap accumulated since I arrived here in January 1998, is going to go with me and what will go in the bin. Yes, I know it's a *bit* early but at my level of procrastination I am going to need the time!

I have already made decisions about bathroom tiles and decorating...I'm being horribly unimaginative and having it done very much like my current house because I finally got it how I like it!

This above, for example, is a painting I own (not one of mine) and it hangs on my living room wall (which is painted Dulux Grecian Spa 4)...at the new house the living and dining rooms are conjoined, both will be this colour and the painting will go on the dining room side. This in turn will pick up a poppy / red theme through both rooms including vintage tableware to match stuff I'm hoping to steal off my dad ;)

Vintage tableware is my big passion at the moment - not least cos my first year in the new house I am planning to have my 1st ever big family Christmas (presuming everyone is still alive!) - where I am now is too far away from people and part of the intent of moving is to keep an eye on my ageing father. So far I have an inordinate number of avocado-green 1960s soup bowls and a slowly growing collection of 1970s Hornsea in (as photos) Saffron, Bronte and Heirloom.

Today I am very sad because a big box of mixed Hornsea Bronte and Heirloom brown and Heirloom green arrived at my house smashed to smithereens. Such priorities I have, I know. But elsewhere in my life I have worries about losing one of my jobs, uni work and the crushing weight of being forever alone so I'll continue my mid-life crisis obsessing about cute boys far too young for me and cry over cups that are older than I am getting broken.

One of my themes through the whole house is vintage - I thought of a whole bunch of things (I'm already a good six months into the planning phase) but I didn't want it to be 'dated' so not up to the current trends or limited to one particular time period. The house itself is a modern build but no particular features other than a bit 90s...and no, quite simply! Also, it's a bungalow and despite the fact that I'll be moving in aged 39 I feel the need to make it slightly little-old-ladyish ;) I know, I'm weird.

In Defense Of The Teen Mom

Yesterday I saw a retweet on my timeline...a tweet that made me f***ing furious. A tweet about how a guy would proudly not give up a seat on a bus for a pregnant 16 year old because she ought to stand there and think about her life choices.

Let me start by saying that I am hopelessly biased on this topic because I was a teenage mother. To be honest, for all I'm nearly 37, I still AM a teenage mother - it's not exactly something you stop being...you get older, your kids grow up but the facts remain the same.

I first got pregnant at 16. My parents kicked me out and refused to let me come home unless I had an abortion. Like I even wanted to go home! But after two weeks of being homeless I allowed myself to be bullied into it... Twenty years on I still don't know what I could have done differently. I had a miscarriage whilst on the pill a few months later. My ex partner, father in all my pregnancies, used my guilt against me...you can imagine what my mental state was.

I moved out of home just after I turned 17. My home life wasn't THAT bad but it was definitely something I was desperate to get away from. That definitely coloured my decisions. I didn't even want kids but my ex *said* he did and he was going to be a house-husband cos I had the better earning potential. I got pregnant again.

I had a HORRIBLE time of it. I was sick throughout - hospitalised for Hyperemisis Gravidarum, constant infections, every ache pain and niggle. People don't know you're pregnant. They see a teenage girl throwing up in a gutter at 8am and they abuse you for being drunk. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything. I couldn't work. I couldn't even clean our tiny studio flat. I won't deny that I was impossible to live with. We split up just after it was too late to have another termination, I've always suspected that was deliberate on his part. Not that I could have done that again.

I spent most of the rest of my pregnancy in a homeless hostel. A girl was being beaten nightly in the room down the hall, I swear the people downstairs were dealing drugs. I'm a middle-class girl from the suburbs...I was terrified to leave my cell-like room.

I wanted my baby adopted. I couldn't cope. I had no money, no home - it was terrifying. I couldn't afford maternity clothes or bras let alone all the crap you need for a baby. A £100 maternity payment covers next to nothing. My mum bought everything from car boot sales and collected hand-me-downs from co-workers. I appreciated it - don't get me wrong, I couldn't have managed at all without it - but it was largely tat and I was terrified of the long term. I did not want to be a single mother. Everyone said I'd feel differently after the birth. I didn't. I begged and pleaded, I went to Social Services...I was ignored.

Unless you have "been there done that and got the t-shirt" you can't hope to understand what it's like. Trying to live on £30 a week, no friends, no partner, precious little family support...just trapped staring at 4 walls 24/7 with a screaming poop machine.

Eventually my ex reappeared...if it had just been me I probably would've told him to go to hell but I was desperate...to not be alone, for my daughter to have a father (it is not true that a child doesn't miss what they have never had)...history repeated itself and at 20 I had my 2nd daughter and found myself alone for good. People seem to think that if you're a teen mom you're easy, that you have an endless string of boyfriends. My own grandmother thought that of me! If only she'd known...that was it for me. End of my f***ing life. Too broke to go out and meet people for one thing.

My kids are 16 and 19 now...they're doing great but it's been tough every damn inch of the way. My youngest took being fatherless very hard and cried herself to sleep over it more times than I can count. I was full time at home until early 2010 - I hated it but I worked really hard to be a good mum, throwing parties, activities throughout the school holidays, all the day trips I could manage, even home-schooling them at times. Being a full-time mum IS a full time job, not just sitting around watching TV all day. I've redecorated my house, taken IT / Admin courses, grown my own veg, made my own jam...loads of stuff. My kids are intelligent young women...don't you dare suggest they should never have been born.

My ex has never paid a penny of child support. With a history of violence and crime I was told I would be putting my kids at risk if I gave consent to the CSA. My parents have done a helluva lot for us (although I still haven't got over things), it could have been so much worse. The only reason Erin is able to be at Uni is because of them - for one thing I'm not eligible to sign as guarantor on her tenancy as my income is peanuts! She literally couldn't stay in Uni if it wasn't for them.

I had to go *back* to work part-time when my kids were 11 and 14. I say *back* because I had only ever worked for 4 1/2 months when I was 16...it hardly counts! I have been working as a cleaner for very nearly 5 years. I desperately need to get a full time job but with a 15 year gap on my CV and no useful employment experience it's next to impossible. I'm under qualified to be a shelf stacker for heaven's sake! The first 18 months I was working it was a split shift arrangement - I hardly saw my kids and my eldest had to do everything.

I have qualifications; just cos I was a teenage mum does not mean I am stupid. I got my GCSEs, I have a respectable 137 IQ, I am midway through a degree with the Open University. Yes, by a lot of people's standards (including my own) I made some seriously bad decisions...but who hasn't?! Society has decided to be sympathetic to people who choose to put alcohol or drugs into their bodies but condemn those who overeat or have babies cos wow, eating food and having sex are so unnatural and much more of a choice compared to shooting up heroin...

People judge teen mums so harshly yet hardly anyone gives consideration to condemning the boys / men who are 50% of the responsibility and who, more often than not, walk away...or the families that turn their backs on their daughters. No one thinks what a bloody hard thing it is to do, to have a child when you're little more than a child yourself. A pregnant teenager has all the aches and pains and potential complications of pregnancy as an older mother AND is more likely statistically to have a premature or underweight baby (yeah, I went overdue and my eldest was 9lbs 11oz) but this little bastard on Twitter thinks he has moral superiority for not giving up his seat on a bus?! It makes me sick.

One last word: one story that has stuck in my mind for years is that of Beckie Williamson - pregnant at 12, a mother at 13, diagnosed with bone cancer at 14, terminal at 15, died in September 2004 just weeks after she turned 16. There isn't always a 'later' to be having children in. Sometimes one brief chance is all you get and you just have to deal with stuff when it happens. In my own instance, Benign Mature Cystic Teratomas of the ovaries (big cysts, basically) damaged my fertility at 20 and pretty much ruled out more kids when I was 29. At 36/7 some of my old school friends are just starting their families. If I'd waited it would have been too late.

My choices were my choices, my mistakes were my mistakes - I'm still paying for them and always will be. Quit f***ing judging me and those like me. No one has the right.

Cause and Effect

*disclaimer: I am a trifle tipsy - not a good state for blogging*

So I was just tweeting...nowt new there (I'm up to 66,954 tweets) obviously but a certain train of thought came up so here's the extended version.

20 Dec 2012 - I first heard of FVK, looked 'em up though "cute...bet they sound like crap then", looked up Palace in Flames and got hooked good and proper! Started thinking about seeing 'em live...

13 Apr 2013 - 1st FVK gig (which also led to me being currently down 98.5 lbs) which entailed much fuckupery on my part. I had decided to go to Oxford being not so far from Reading where liveth my mother...only I cocked it up cos there were no bleedin' trains.

Dilemma: do I go and have to book a room or do I give up?

Answer: I book a room. Really nervewracking cos I'd never done that before. Even worse as due to misunderstanding of chap with limited English I double booked...but the experience was survived and utterly amazeballs so more gigs were booked and a monster was created ;)

Skip ahead nearly a year. I'd decided I'd quite like to see Fall Out Boy but the London date was un-do-able. "Pity I can't go to Glasgow on my birthday" I thought...followed by the thought WHY CAN'T I??? Yep, went to Glasgow. Booked my 2nd and 3rd hotel rooms AND my first flights in the process.

In April I had a city break in Cardiff. In May I had my first ever solo hotel stay in Birmingham. In August I had a summer holiday I organised myself for the first time ever (at age 36) - flights to and from Belfast, three nights in Belfast, three in Dublin, transfers, Titanic Experience, Guinness Storehouse, museums, expedition to the Giant's Causeway...
Then another city break in Bristol, a night in a hotel in Reading in October, a night in a b&b in London in November...heaven knows where it'll end!!!

And if I hadn't decided to see FVK in Oxford the ball would never got rolling. It's weird how hindsight works...the decisions we make leading to goodness, badness, mediocreness...
But decision making is what it's all about. That's what my 'Espantapajaros' tattoo is all about - not letting fear hold you back, not watching life pass you by. Make a decision, do something, drag yourself (kicking and screaming if necessary) out of that comfort zone. I couldn't have done it without the proper motivation...LOOK for your motivation. Find something you want to do or see, something you will get off your arse for. AND DO IT! You have no idea where it will lead but it's all good. Stop overthinking the 'what ifs'...better to have a drama / trauma than a nothing-at-all.

Okay, I know that at my age I should be over this fan girl thing but without FVK my life would be so different. The weight loss is enough to be a lifesaver but the *confidence* to go places and do stuff is a game changer too. Heaven knows what else they've done for me or where any of it will lead me. All I can say is I thank the Lord I did actually look them up!!!

Faith and Philosophy and Erni

I am currently working through the second of six text books on my current Open University course: A222 Exploring Philosophy. Book 2 is entitled 'The Philosophy of Religion' and it's giving me issues so I decided to write a blog entry on my issues of faith.

I was raised by agnostic parents. Both had been raised Church of England Christian but both had rejected organised religion. I don't think my dad ever cared for it but I recall attending church as a VERY small child - most likely no more than 3 years old. Religion - specifically Christianity - had very little place in my upbringing. I was sent to Girls Brigade (associated with a Methodist church) because there were no available places at Brownies; I attended a Church of England primary school for less than 2 years after I was pulled out of my previous school due to bullying (and left to go to secondary)...that was about it. Christmas wasn't a big deal in my family and what there was of it was definitely non-religious.

I remember being fascinated by religion - Cathedrals, temples, religious art, ancient faiths...but I never believed in the possibility of a God or Gods. I was most decidedly an atheist although in the 19 years since my epiphany my thinking on the subject has been somewhat forgotten.

Epiphany.The experience of sudden and striking realisation. Yes, that's the right word.

Today I had one of the most positive Twitter interactions in my 5 years on the site. It began with a comment I posted in relation to my OU materials:
I used to be an atheist. But listening to these atheists makes me cringe...such dumbarsery.
The atheists on the audio file may have had good and valid beliefs but the arguments presented were pure dumbarsery. Taken out of context I would have understood an atheist being quite pissed off with that tweet but a tweeter whose bio reads:

#Secularist #Humanist #Atheist #Skeptic #Libertarian

replied most politely:

What convinced you God exists?

and when I replied with "Personal experience, specifically of a miracle." responded:
Cool. Thanks for the response. Take care. :)

Given that I am quite used to my views (on any number of topics) being ridiculed or attacked I was dead chuffed that this was so positive. In the 21st century miracles are rather frowned upon but to me that's what happened. Someone else may rationalise it any way they want but it won't shake my belief that some higher power - which I shall call God - was at work.

My Miracle

On January 12th 1996 my daughter Erin was born. Many people consider 'the miracle of birth' to be a profound moment in their lives but my experience was a tad more literal perhaps.

A little background: I was a 17 year old single mother. I was not a happy bunny. I had never wanted children but following an unplanned pregnancy and trauma around a period of homeless and subsequent abortion...well, stuff happened. I was in no way, shape or form ready to be a parent. I was broke and living in a shelter. Life was hell enough. Add to this a pregnancy with repeated infections, hyperemesis gravidarum throughout (extreme morning sickness) and any ache, pain or niggle known to womankind I had really had enough. I had planned my suicide for after the birth due to depression over my abortion, my ex leaving me and my general situation.

Erin was born at 40 weeks +11. I had been induced as I was overdue and my labour had been horribly mismanaged...it lasted, by my reckoning, 27 hours. I was so out of it from exhaustion anaemia and blood loss that I wasn't aware of much at the time but later my mum (who was with me throughout) told me the truth of Erin's delivery. What she told me changed my life.

Erin's heart rate, monitored throughout, kept dropping off with every contraction but the midwife brushed it off...she should have been delivered by emergency Caesarian. The delivery took way longer than it ought to anyway - but they never tried ventouse or forceps either - I was just left to struggle to deliver a 9lb 11oz baby naturally. As it turned out the cord was twice around her neck and once around her body - she had been strangled and oxygen starved with every contraction for HOURS.

My mother described the delivery. Erin was blue and jelly like. She lay on the bed - no movement, no cry, nothing. The midwife DID NOTHING. My mother thought Erin was dead and threw herself on top of me so I wouldn't see.

My mother doesn't do emotion much. I thought it was weird her suddenly hugging me but I thought maybe she was acting the part for the midwife's benefit. In all honesty - if Erin had been dead, at that moment I was far too shattered to give a fuck about absolutely anything. Soz Erni!

Anyhoo, the way my mother told the story is that Erin started going pink. She'd just been left there, the midwife had done absolutely nothing to help or resuscitate her - didn't even check for a pulse. Then, as my mother was on top of me she'd called to my mum to hit the alarm button. People came running and there was a good bit of fuss...eventually I held Erin and there were photos and the usual stuff. But she was not given any particular treatment. They *might* have puffed some oxygen at her but absolutely nothing else.

My mother told me all this later due to concern about brain damage. Erin's father's sister had a baby boy who'd stopped breathing just after he was born - he was subsequently diagnosed with cerebral palsy. So there I am - 17, broke, in a shelter, new baby, stressed, traumatised, broken hearted from my partner's desertion...and now I find out that my baby damn near died at delivery - which to me was the defining moment of realisation that there was a God - and might well be brain damaged.

I'm not entirely sure WHY Erin's survival meant there had to be a God...it just DID, if you see what I mean. She was somehow meant to be here. I felt like I had been given a second chance to be a mother; particularly after my earlier abortion and a subsequent early miscarriage. I forgot about my planned suicide and stepped up to being a parent.

Over the years I watched Erin like a hawk and worried endlessly about her development. Was she deaf? Autistic? She was misdiagnosed as dyslexic at one point... She left school with 11 GCSEs (9 A*-C), passed her A-levels and this September started university. If anything could strengthen my belief that a miracle happened at her birth it would be that. For all that oxygen starvation the only possible indication of damage is that she is colour-blind...however, as her younger sister (full-blood, I was reunited with their father for a time) is also colour-blind and suffered no birth trauma it seems Erin was actually completely unscathed. If that's not a miracle I don't know what is! You might say it's chance or luck or that it wasn't that severe...but simply I can never believe it.

How I define God and what my faith is are topics for another time or never.

Future Plans

Further adventures of the appallingly bad blogger...
Last month we went to Cardiff for a couple of nights to see FVK and visit the Doctor Who Experience.  The kids had been to Cardiff a couple of years ago but I got left behind as I was horribly ill.  It was kind of important to me cos I was supposed to have arranged the original trip to Cardiff but my mother ended up taking over the plans.  It all went without a hitch and FVK were amazeballs as ever.
Kathleen came up with a really good (if expensive and terrifying) idea a while back...as we went to Scotland in March and Wales in April wouldn't it be cool if we could go to Northern Ireland this year too?  Well, buoyed up by the success of a two night stay in Cardiff I have only ruddy gone and booked it for August!  We're flying to Belfast, spending three nights there, then (as it's so close) taking the train down to Dublin and spending three nights in the Republic of Ireland too.  Then it'll be train back to Belfast and fly home.  And, because I have more money than sense, we're going to spend a couple of nights in Bristol the following week.  We're going to see Ashestoangels / Bad Pollyanna / William Control at The Fleece...we've been for gigs several times but never visited Bristol itself so now we're going to.
Time is dragging me ever closer to the end of A219 Exploring the Classical World and I am at -17% enthusiasm for revision.  I've signed up for A222 Exploring Philosophy next, to start in October.  At least I'll get my first decent break since February 2012!  Hoping that goes better or my entire degree is in jeopardy.

Epic March and an Awesome Anniversary

I am such a lazy blogger it's pathetic.  Anyway, a fair bit has been happening in the life of this humble Heg so let's get on with it...

Last month was pretty damn epic.  And exhausting!

On March 10th I got to see my darling Fearless Vampire Killers for the 5th time (in Bristol again).  The morning of the gig I hit the exact weight that indicated a 25% weight loss from my 1st time seeing them which was all kinds of important to me as it was the hideous first photo with Laurence (below, left) that triggered the whole thing off.  I was fortunate enough to get to mark the occasion with a new and finally acceptable photo (below, right) and, being the epic sweetheart he is, Laurence even said I was looking good!

April 13th 2013; July 17th 2013; March 10th 2014

The gig line up was Beyond Recall, Ashestoangels (who played How To Tell The Truth) and Fearless Vampire Killers so naturally I had an awesome time.  It was only myself and Erin though as Kathleen has become really paranoid about losing her 100% attendance record at school.

Less than a week later all three of us were off to Brixton to see All Time Low.  The night did not get off to an auspicious start.  We were standing and we made the humungous mistake of getting into the middle of the crowd.  I thought I was going to die.  It took the shine off my enjoyment of support acts Only Rivals and Tonight Alive (who I really rather liked) but at the start of ATL's set it got even worse and, elbows deployed, I got myself outta there post-haste!  Finding a far better spot to the far side I managed to calm down and get into the show.  ATL are fab and I ended up having a blast.

Because public transport is appalling nowadays and the National Rail Enquiry Service is CRAP getting home proved...interesting.  Here I am enjoying a midnight snack from Burger King whilst uncomfortably ensconced in the luggage rack of the last train from Paddington to Maidenhead:

On the way home from Reading the next day I bought myself an early birthday pressie from Build-A-Bear...his name is Pawrence and he's a lil playmate for Heggo Kitty...pictured here with the tickets for my upcoming 6th FVK gig! 

 A week after All Time Low was my 36th birthday...and I celebrated by getting on a plane without my mum for the first time ever (does this make me a real grown up?!).  We flew up to Glasgow for a single night...to see Fall Out Boy at the Hydro!  It was another incredible night.  New Politics were great; they had loads of energy and got a great crowd reaction... The Pretty Reckless somewhat less so.  Maybe TPR were good, I don't know.  Their sound didn't fit the line-up for one thing but they were also painfully loud although it was the excessive use of very bright strobe lighting that finished me off.  Fall Out Boy were fab as expected.  We had chips on the way back to the hotel and miniatures of single malt whisky as a nightcap to celebrate my flying visit to Scotland.

The next day we visited the Glasgow Necropolis and the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum for a bit of local flavour and culture before flying back to Bristol where we had another night in a hotel, heading home insanely early.  Kathleen went to school but Erin had a cold so she took time off sick.  I'd booked a week's holiday which was a good thing as not only was I utterly shattered but I caught Erin's cold which became my 4th cough of the winter!

 April 14th 2013; April 14th 2014

On April 14th I marked the first anniversary of seeing FVK and meeting Laurence with a celebration of the most life-changing aspect of that event...  Above are our before and after photos; same outfits, same pose, 365 days apart.  Kathleen has gone from an 18-20 to a 14; Erin has gone from a 16-18 to a 14; I have gone from a 24 to an 18 (depending on sizes in different stores, obviously).

Modelling my old size 24 'skinny' jeans...

Note: a year ago I couldn't get into a 2XL band t-shirt comfortably; the FVK tee above is an L. Currently 75lbs down on my start weight.

"Look Ma, no hands!"

Kathleen (age 15) has been exhibiting super-strength for a while now - she could lift me BEFORE the weightloss...seriously disturbing...  The day was rounded off with the ceremonial burning of the outfit from my 1st FVK gig.  I'm keeping the humungous jeans for the giggles.

Working towards the end of my current Open University course (which I will be all kinds of happy to see the back of; gonna sign up for Philosophy next time!) and off to Cardiff this coming weekend...we're visiting the Doctor Who Experience and (surprise, surprise) seeing FVK yet again.