Testing the Long Hand of the Law

Day 81 - 22 March 2019

One of the local community police officers has come to Cubs tonight to help with their personal safety and home safety badges. Little Master, eager as ever and without the ability to self-filter, has his hand up continually. Having let him spout a few times, I gently bring his hand down and tell him to wait. It is often a balancing act between letting him express what is going on in his head and not letting it derail the rest of the group. When the officer gives them the opportunity to ask questions, I let him go for it. 

"Do you like donoughts?" he asks. "Err, no." The policeman has missed The Simpsons reference and is now answering questions as to how many times he has used his baton and handcuffs, and what a dead body looks like. Little Master is happy and moves on. The policeman remains good humoured throughout, patiently answering every question and handcuffing every one of them. He even leads them in a game of cops and robbers. They are better at being robbers than cops, mainly because it takes two cops to make an arrest. Despite hearing it from us, they don't twig that if they stick with their partner, it is much easier to arrest someone than their preferred method of going it solo and then calling for back up once they have half-apprehended someone. We stop the game just as one over-enthusiastic cop tries to rugby tackle an offender to the floor, with this partner hanging on for dear life on the other side. Messy, but strangely realistic, the real policeman decrees.

Better the Balance

Day 67 - 08:09am, 8 March 2019

It's International Women's Day. And this year's theme is #BalanceforBetter and women around the world are being asked to post selfies on social media of them striking a "hands out" balance pose. It's supposed to be a strong call to action. The problem is though that the pictures I see look less Lady Justice and more shrugging shoulders indifference. 

Surely, it's not about striking a pose - you can hardly get more passive - but about taking action. Take a picture of yourself doing something positive, write about how you are going to redress the balance. Whatever you are going to do, don't just stand there like a statue waiting for it to happen.

Catch Your Breath

Day 66 - 5:26pm, 7 March 2019

The renewed force of the water has churned up the mud, turning the river a rusty brown. I wonder what effect this has on the animals that make their home in and around the river. Later, I make the mistake of Googling, "Are fish affected by muddy water." It seems they are: if there is a lot of silt in the water, it can make it difficult for them to breathe. Let's hope the fish in the Water of Leith can hold their breath, metaphorically at least.

The Downpour Ensues

Day 65 - 09:02am, 6 March 2019

Wednesday is wet, on and off, during the day. As a result, the river is swollen and the water is flowing much faster than it has been. Life seems very much the same way at the moment - bloated with all that's in it and with everything moving too fast. I have grand plans to start clearing out the house and extinguishing the clutter, but I fight it for an hour or two, and then retreat. My only hope is that the rain stops soon, in both senses.

A Single Swan a Swimming

Day 64 - 2:43pm, 5 March 2019

The cygnets on Craiglockhart Pond are growing up fast. Most of their downy feathers have gone and they must be close to the point where Mummy and Daddy Swan will be chasing them out the nest to find homes of their own. But not as yet, the pod is in a guddle half-way along the pond as I make my way to the leisure centre. They are still there as I return home from my fitness class. As I approach the canal bridge, I am treated to the sight of a solitary swan processing on the water.

It is swimming dead centre in the water, and the water streaks out in gentle waves behind it, rippling out lightly to the banks. I am mesmerised by this silent creature, who despite the lack of fanfare, exudes sovereignty. I pause to watch it pass under the bridge and wonder why it has chosen to be alone.

When I pass the same spot with the kids later, there are no swans to be seen. Instead, the surface of the water is being stirred up by the boat club canoes that have since colonised the canal. Fittingly, given the battle cries the canoeists and their instructors are emitting, this time the backwash is frenetic. Let's hope peace returns soon.

Be Happy Now

Day 63 - 08:22am, 4 March 2019

I don't need to worry. At least not according to today's training session at work - Don't Worry, Be Happy - I can be happier by following four simple steps - be grateful, connect with others, be kind and try something new. The trainer begins by asking us what makes us happy and when we are happiest. They are fairly easy to answer. It becomes a lot harder when we get to the kindness section.

She advocates undertaking a random act of kindness every day and ask us to write down what RAK we can do today, this week and this month. The thought of being kind is not the issue, it's having to schedule them in that rather goes against the grain. My mind goes blank because I can't get over the thought that it's hardly random if you have to plan them in advance! After all, it's easy to be kind with forethought, harder though to do it in the moment. Being able to act spontaneously, to remain kind and compassionate when things are tense and the pressure is on, that is where the real worth lies.

Placing the Pieces

Day 62 - 11;16am, 3 March 2019

We walk to the top of Wester Craiglockhart hill and the kids are excited to see their school from this angle. It looks surprisingly close. I try to work out if I can see my parents' house from here too. I'm not sure that I can, but it's amazing how difficult it is to get your bearings when you are looking at things from a different perspective; everything is new and unfamiliar, a scrambled jigsaw puzzle that I have to begin rebuilding from scratch, piece by piece. Or maybe it is just that I am spatially challenged, the epitome of the Women are from Venus stereotype, which I fear I am. 

A Big Drip

Day 61 - 09:50am, 2 March 2019

It seemed a good idea at the time. The rain had stopped and Little Miss' friend's house is only two streets away, so we decide to walk it rather than phone home and then have to wait for a lift. I say walk, but as the kids have scooters, I am hobbling along, doubled up behind them trying to keep hold of the three sets of crafts I am balancing on my arms. (Note to self, next time remember to take a tote bag to bring stuff home.) We make it half way there before the heavens open and we are pelted. The water is dripping off my glasses and I cannot raise my eyes to see where we are going. I drop one of the tins/drums but dare not pick it up for fear of dropping the rest. Little Master picks it up for me and we push on. And then, as quickly as it has started, it stops. We arrive a minute or two later, four drowned rats and some very soggy crafts. Little Master makes me smile with how quick he is to say yes to a lift. From the sunshine of this morning to the pouring rain of the evening, mediated by this afternoon's rainbow, the lift for me is not in a car, but its the lift that friendship brings.

Ducks, ducks, ducks

Day 60 - 07:48am, 1 March 2019

I have an early start at work today and so am down at the Water of Leith earlier than normal. I am rewarded by my first wildlife sighting on the river - and no, it's not rabbits, as would have been wonderfully befitting this being the first of the month, but four ducks, three in the river and one on the bank. As wildlife sightings go, it is not exactly spotting a tiger in the undergrowth, but it makes me smile nonetheless. Given its proximity to a busy road and the almost constant footfall of dog-walkers, cyclists and recreational walkers along the walkway, it is reassuring to know that we can share the space. The ducks seem blissfully unaware of me, or if they register me, they choose to ignore me. And I can't help feeling that that is the way it's meant to be.

Rewriting History, DNA Style

Day 59 - 07:25am, 28 February 2019

I fell asleep last night watching a TV programme about grown-up ‘foundlings’ - babies who are abandoned by their families, left on doorstops etc. to be found by others, and so have no idea of who their families are or how they came to be found where they were. The premise of the programme is that they would try to fill in that back story for them, using specialist search agencies and DNA sampling. I have to admit to being deeply uneasy about the use of genetics in this regard.

The problem is that, by and large, the people that are currently having their DNA sampled are doing so out of curiosity, they are looking to trace who their ancestors are. It’s about creating their own history, but the matches that are being made are being made in the present, so they are potentially rewriting not just their own, but others’ stories in the here and now. It's no longer history.

I was adopted as a baby. I had a back story, but it felt like the preface was missing. It bothered me less as a  child, but more so when I went off to university and in my twenties. Maybe part of me finding myself as an adult was in first filling in the gaps for that baby. The good thing isyou aren’t just handed over your adoption papers, you have to speak with someone so that they can help you process it and talk you through the options open to you for trying to contact your parents. Dinosaur that I am, DNA sampling was not one of them.

I am conscious that if one of my children ever decides to have their DNA sampled, it may reveal the half of the back story I do not know. Given that he actively walked away from us, it seems unlikely that my biological father's family is aware of us. They say that blood is thicker than water, but personally, I think sometimes it is better to let sleeping dogs lie.

Letting the Spider Go

Day 58, 09:10am, 27 February 2019

Little Miss and I are walking to Brownies, when we spot a large bush bursting with white blossom. I clock it and think that's pretty, and carry on without so much as diluting my walking pace. But when it catches Little Miss' attention, it grabs her full attention. Her response is to stop, reach out and touch it. She pulls her face in tight toward it and exclaims at its beauty. It is a brief stop, but for that moment, she directs every piece of her focus and all of her senses onto that blossom. She really experiences it, ingests it and moves on, not my cursory nod.

She is a little worrier. There is a spider at Brownies. She gets upset. And when I meet her, it is the first thing she tells me about. I get her freaking out at spiders. I have to fight it myself, but time has taught me to supress my fears because my cold, logical brain tells me they are irrational. She has yet to develop that capacity, if it is a capacity. Her emotional heart is the victor. So she ruminates about the little blighter on the way, despite the fact, as I remind her, there is now a distance of two streets between us and the spider. 

I tell her about mindfulness and suggest that rather than continuing to think about the spider, she acknowledge she is frightened of it, be curious about how that makes her feel and then say to herself it is okay and let the thought go. She goes quiet, before she ventures, "Do we still have the thing that you put your hand in and all your worries go away?" I nod. "Good," she says wholeheartedly, "That is all I need."