In my last post, I wrote about the Italian Chapel at Lambholm in Orkney, but didn't post a photo. This is what it looks like...





It's such a beautiful, humbling place.

Current Mood: calm

I haven't posted anything on LJ for months, and didn't even read it for ages. I'm not entirely sure why. The summer holidays from uni were long and rainy and I felt a bit lost, to be honest. I had lots of plans and hardly anything came of them. My girl went off to live in Orkney and remains there. She has applied for countless jobs but has, so far, been unsuccessful. Apparently...I was told this by an Orcadian, it isn't an outsider's supposition...that most places prefer to employ local, Orcadian people. I think she should apply to college somewhere. She's a clever girl and full of potential.
I went with my mum to visit her a couple of months ago. It was a difficult experience in many ways. I met her boyfriend's parents and his children. The children are lovely...well mannered and funny and gorgeous. It was a cautious experience, meeting his very religious parents. They seem like nice enough people, but there is something strange about them, an air of slight superiority that didn't sit all that well with me.
Orkney itself was a dream place. The air was delicious. I found myself standing outside, taking deep, nourishing gulps and feeling invigorated by it. We saw the Ring of Brodgar, the Standing Stones of Stenness, Skara Brae...all the things people go to Orkney to see. But the highlight for me (apart from spending time with my beautiful girl ) was visiting the Italian Chapel at Lambholm. It was made from two Nissen huts during WW2 by Italian prisoners of war, who also decorated it . I first read about it in the Sunday Post when I was eight years old and have read lots of things about it in the intervening 35 years. It is astonishingly beautiful and an incredible achievement . It says much about the power of faith. I am not a religious person myself, but it feels "godly", if that makes any sense. I was deeply and truly moved by it.
Sometimes now, if I feel a bit stressed, I remember sitting there, looking up at the beautiful hanging lanterns, made by men a long time ago, far from home, out of bully beef tins. It's a truly calming place.

Current Mood: contemplative

Well, I'm more than sure that people are heartsick of the story of my daughter leaving home to live in Orkney with her much older boyfriend. But. It's finally happened.
I've been quite ill all week, feeling her departure looming on the horizon. I've had palpitations and headaches and a desire to curl up in my bed all day and night, hoping to ward off my goodbye to her. I know that grown up children leave home all the time. I know that, for many, it's even a time of celebration. The circumstances of it, and the feeling that this may be a big mistake ( and, as her mum, wishing I could protect her from it ) have made this feel like a heavy weight indeed.
I saw her a lot last week. She was here a lot of the time, just breezing in with her enormous smile and the curls  ( which started off as a single curl on the top of her baby head ) framing her precious, happy face. Her arms would sweep around me and her brothers and the dog and cat and then she'd sit down, limbs stretched all over the sofa. ""Anything to eat, Mum ?"
After feeding her, she'd place her feet in my lap, like she always has, and I rubbed them and we laughed at their straightness and her funny big toes.
On Friday, I bought her a heart shaped necklace, made from dried, dyed and polished heather stems. It sounds a bit odd, but it was lovely, and she was visibly delighted with it. Seeing it round her pretty neck, against her olive skin, I felt so sad that I had to go into the kitchen. She'll wear it and think of us here, but she'll be far away. Still, I was glad that she liked it so much. "You don't need to buy me anything, mum. I know you love me." I smiled at her from the kitchen.
On Saturday, she came here with her boyfriend, who had driven down from Orkney on the Friday, to pick up some of her things. She rummaged in the cupboard, exclaiming over her remote control skateboarder and Ker-Plunk. She sounded as if she was about 10 years old. She finally decided to take her snake board, her keyboard, an old post office toy kit and some of her thousand scarves. Everything else she threw back into the cupboard saying she'd get them another time. I don't think she'll take them next time she's here.
We all went for a walk in Princes Street Gardens, except Matthew, who wouldn't answer his phone, and we sat in the sun with cups of tea, and then Amy ran about with Joseph. She laughed with Joe a lot all day. He's going to miss her terribly. I don't know if she realises how much she'll miss him.
We came back to the house and then, all of a sudden ( or so it seemed ), she was saying her goodbyes. I took her through to my bedroom and just looked at her. Her pale blue eyes looked back, steady and sad. I smiled at her and we just held on to each other. I could feel her tears dripping onto my shoulder. We cried for a wee while and I said a lot of mum type things. And then, she was gone.
The sadness will lessen, I'm sure. For now, it doesn't feel as if it will ever lift, but I know it will.
They say that, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. I'm not sure if that's true but I do know that, when your children leave home, your life together flashes by as you hold them before they leave ;  from the first moment you see their little face, through hilarious toddlerhood, Christmasses, first day at school, first day at high school, exams, holidays...all of it thunders through your heart in a matter of minutes.
I'd like Amy and her brothers to know that, despite never having any money and not being able to go on lots of holidays and sometimes getting exasperated by all three of them, these years of bringing them up have been the time of my life.

Current Mood: sad

It was Amy's prom night on Wednesday, and there was a champagne reception for the parents, who were invited to see their "children" walk up the red carpet in the school hall to collect their graduation scrolls from the headmaster. It was quite a moving experience...much more so than I had expected.  The headmaster is a wonderful man who has a brilliant rapport with the kids. He lost his wife earlier in the year and the 6th year students were apparently hugely supportive to him through his loss. He thanked them all in his fairly emotional and inspirational...and quite funny...speech, and I was not the only one who had to get my hanky out.
The students were all dressed up for the meal and ball  at the New Balmoral Hotel, which were taking place after the ceremony. It was really lovely to see them look so wonderful and so grown up. I have known some of these children since nursery days, and I had to concentrate very hard on trying not to cry the whole way through.
Next Sunday, my beautiful daughter is going to live in Orkney, so it was extra emotional for me. I'm going to miss her so much.
Here are a couple of photos of her on her special night.

Current Mood: thoughtful

Just over a week ago, I went to the funeral of a guy who went through the Access course with me and had just finished his first year at uni. He sat beside me in my English Literature class and we became friends...not deeply close friends, but still friends. He was doing Sociology and I would sit beside him sometimes in the lectures. He was always really diligent and well prepared...much more so than I was. He was really clever and funny. After the exams were over, he went to Egypt with his friend. They went snorkelling and the really cold water caused him to have a fatal heart attack. It really shook me. The Access students who got into Edinburgh uni all feel like we are on a kind of journey together and we all want each other to do well, so it was really upsetting news.

On a brighter note, I passed all my exams. No resits for me after all.

I posted a photo of my oldest son when he was the ring bearer at a wedding when he was 11. This is my youngest son at the same wedding. He was 5 . They are very different characters !

Current Mood: amused

I developed a huge crush on my art teacher at school. From the age of 15, I was completely smitten by him. He wasn't incredible looking or anything. He wasn't very tall, was balding and Glaswegian. If you knew Michael, you'd smile.
Today, on my way back from the shop across the road, I saw him. He is a bit greyer, has a natty and very well groomed little beard, looks a tiny bit rounder in the face and still wears his trousers too short. I was about to speak to him when I was filled with a really deep sad feeling. I just felt really old and so removed from the girl I was then. I didn't speak. And then he was gone and I regretted it. I would love to have asked how things are going with him these days.

Tags: he wasn't very ta
Current Mood: sad

Michael was a DJ, amongst other things, when I first met him. He did a club in Glasgow called the Slow Club. It lasted a couple of years.
Well, he is starting it again on Sunday. It's at The Flying Duck in Renfield Street, Glasgow, from 8pm. If any of you are in Glasgow and like slow music and candlelight, you should go along.

Also, I did pass my Linguistics exam. No Linguistics resit after all. Still waiting for the other two results though...

Current Mood: relieved

My daughter, Amy, is 18 on Monday. I can hardly believe it. It doesn't feel like 18 years since I was rushed to the operating theatre for an emergency caesarian and felt the doctors tugging her out of my body.  As the doctors were stitching me up...sorry if this sounds a bit graphic !...she lay in a little plastic cot, staring at me with wide eyes. Her eyes were a deep navy blue for the first month, then paled to the same colour as my own. She was such a good baby, rarely crying, feeding well and sleeping soundly through the night almost from the word go. She was smiley and loving and clever and quick to learn. She was also fiercely independent, insisting on trying to dress herself in the mornings, without having a clue how to actually do it. She is still all of those things.
The past couple of years have been a bit difficult. She is super bright, but lost interest in school, claiming to be sick of education. She has developed the relationship with the Orkney man and seems to be very happy with him, despite my misgivings. In fact, she has decided to move to Orkney "for a while" next month. She loves being there. She always liked being outside and she likes the fact that there is a lot of space up there. She feels a sense of freedom up there with him that she has, I believe, been seeking for a long time.
I am devastated that she is going away. She thinks she's very grown up, but I know her vulnerable side. I won't try to stop her though. I know she has to do it. I was headstrong too at her age.
I'm meeting the man in question on Friday and again on Monday. Michael won't meet him. He is quite an unforgiving person. I know that by refusing to meet him, I would be alienating myself from my daughter, and I won't let that happen. But I can't say I'm looking forward to it very much.

Current Mood: thoughtful

It's a bit unnerving having all this time off before going back to uni for second year. I am waking up at 6am every morning with a sense of having to fill my days. I lie in bed for ten minutes working out a plan for the day and then get up and start ticking things off my list. I have never functioned like this before and hope it wears off soon, because it is making my life feel like work.
I had a publisher interested in a book I wrote years ago, but I was stupid and let the opportunity slip away. I am thinking of trying to do some writing between now and September because I have an idea which won't give me peace.
I am horrified to find out that there are going to be major cuts to foreign language courses at lots of universities, including Edinburgh. My Russian course will be one of the first affected. It may not be scrapped until we have finished in 2012, but most of the staff, who are native Russian speakers employed by the university and classed as teaching assistants, will probably not have their contracts renewed. I am not sure what it will mean for the quality of teaching on the course, but it won't be good. The Russian ladies who teach us are wonderfully eccentric, full of enthusiasm and feed us little bits of information we could not possibly pick up elsewhere. I feel really sad. Russian is why I went back to university. The Linguistics was just an afterthought really, though it's fascinating ( if difficult ! ).
I was at a demonstration about it on Monday. Lots of people have gone home already after their exams, so it wasn't as busy as I'd hoped. The enthusiasm of the youngsters was infectious. They turned up with flags painted on their faces and with home made banners and chanted things like "eins, zwei, drei, vier, no language cuts here !". It made me feel my age a bit, I have to say.
Well, sitting here at the computer wasn't on my list this morning, so I better get moving.

Current Mood: worried