Every year, a group (say 30 plus in number) of women loosely connected through midwifery and some, random strangers in real life, embark in a pilgrimage to Scotland where they then proceed to spend the weekend together in a youth hostel all to themselves. For the organiser, lovingly known as Chief F***ing Arsehole, it’s a year’s worth of planning, negotiating, setting up a matrix of phone numbers and setting up an Asda food delivery order (this year, our order filled the entire van).
And I am ready to lay it to rest. This year has been bittersweet, seeing us giddy and nauseous from the roller coaster ride that 2010 had presented us. Steeling our bellies, and struggling to regain equilibrium and initiate some momentum into our lives as a family.
Blogging has been a release. A channel where I could focus on harnessing the ever-decreasing circle which had inhabited my mind for the past to years. It has also made me take up writing creatively as i am a passionate believer that everrything hinges on the telling, not the tale itself.
Baking was an exercise in re-learning that some things are just a process, that you could mess up one component of a process and slow down its completion but these components are fixable, replaceable and afterall, part of the process. I sort of like to apply this concept to life itself, that rather than short, brief moments defining you forever, you’re actually involved in a process and that there is no race. You can see no one chasing you in the wing mirror. All you have is this unreaching horizon of what is the future and all you have tangible in your hands is the now.
Roller derby was a way to make peace with my physical self which at some deep rooted level, I felt had failed me when I was pregnant of the 7th Wonder. My physical self and I can look each other in the eyes now.