Things Left Behind

The Legacy of A Tricky Childhood

I stopped smoking about forty-five years ago, although I would say I was a not smoking at the moment, rather than claim to be a non-smoker. I quit by just stopping, which possibly speaks volumes about my level of self-control.

I stopped eating meat and fish five years later and found that easier, despite the alternatives being lentils and Sous-mix. The latter was dehydrated flakes of indeterminate original that were reconstituted with boiling water and shaped into patties or 'sausages' and then fried. As you can tell, I became a vegetarian long before plant-based foods became readily available.

I don't usually eat eggs, although I do eat quiche occasionally, despite me usually finding it doesn't live up to expectations and leaving most of it. Sometimes, my dad used to make me a flat, burnt 'omelette' when I was a child if I couldn't think of anything I wanted to eat. My mum used to complain that I was fussy about food, but I really wasn't very interested and I didn't find her cooking tempting most of the time.

I suppose this was typical of interactions with my mother. She found me difficult, which I don't believe I was, since no other adult found me anything but quiet and biddable and I found her unpredictable, cold and critical. It was only much later that I realised that me mother was 'troubled'.

My chief fault that was that I wasn't a boy, which wasn't something that I thought needed addressing. However, mother used it as an indication as to how I was a disappointment from birth. It made my childhood a tricky road to navigate. My father was away a lot for work and tried not to notice mother's moods and erratic behaviour when he was home. In hindsight, I think he was probably trying to navigate the tricky road of his marriage.

My mother was finally made aware that all was not well with me when she took to to the family doctor aged around seven, because I was pale and tired. He diagnosed malnutrition, which my mother took as a slight on her ability as a parent. The GP advised that I was fed things that tempted my appetite, rather than sticking to the extant routine of me either being force fed until I vomited or being given the previous meal's leftovers (or stave). My mother was born during World War Two and was very aware that food was precious and should not be wasted. So, from the beginning, we were always travelling with different perspectives.

It would be nice to say that every thing was resolved and we lived happily ever after, once I became an adult, but we were not living a fairy tale. The reality is that I the relationship remained challenging for both of us until she died.

I was reminded of at least one positive outcome of this difficulty yesterday. I support women in whatever way is necessary. I see myself as a channel to enable them to find their own path and I do that wherever I can to be of service. So yesterday, I arrived at the gym and my Personal Trainer said that she was going to give me a hug (I always expect a warning about hugs, as it isn't something I am comfortable with). She said it was for all the practical advice and support I had given her since her husband died. I can't say I enjoyed being hugged, but it was nice to be appreciated.

My reluctance to be hugged made we wonder if trees really enjoyed being hugged or they just have to put up with it, because humanity has deemed it acceptable....

My poem this week is in appreciation of the generosity of trees. It comes from my fifth collection of poetry, called Elusive Reversals, which was published just before Easter this year:

WIND IN THE ORCHARD

The breeze rustled
through the leaves
of the fruit trees,
as more clouds slid over
the face of the sun.

This time, it didn't fade away
its power increasing
as the gusts turned
into a steady wind,
gathering greater velocity.

The ripe fruit trembled
on dry, fragile stalks
as the wind pushed
against them... until they
dropped to the ground.