Rant, rave and get it off my chest (id est, post randomly)

The hour is late, and my window cracked open just enough to let in the slow, gentle clonking of the neighbours’ wooden wind chimes.

I’ve just come back from spending a long weekend away, in a very lovely place. Beautiful buildings and countryside, delicious food and wonderful wines… the only thing that took the shine off the experience somewhat, was the passive-aggressive behaviour displayed by two members of the group.

Sheesh.

Moods that changed from hot to ice-cold within minutes… snarky, bitchy comments… so juvenile (not to mention, unstable) that it felt as though we were travelling with a couple of hormonal, manipulative teenagers.

_{(My instinctive reaction in these sorts of situations is to start wondering what it is I’ve done to cause such upset… taking the blame squarely on my own shoulders. I’m discovering more often than not, when I talk to other people, that they’ve suffered the same treatment… and noticed the same odd behaviours. So, I’m working on trying to take a step back and assess the situation, rather than immediately pointing the finger at myself. If it’s my fault, I’ll accept that and make amends… but I’m over being the fall-guy.)}

The rest of us would have been more than happy to have been left out of the games. Thank goodness it was only for a weekend. Luckily, it also enlightened me as to the folly of organising Matty and myself a trip away with these people. Nothing was set in concrete, so it’s easy enough to back out at this point. No way would I want to spend my precious Matty-time dealing with that sort of stress.

However, despite the drama-queen antics, the trip itself was worthwhile. We had some lovely sunshine from time to time, and I got to catch up with some good friends. On balance it was great, and I’m pleased I went along.

Bugger it… I noticed that Matty had jumped online, made a quick mental calculation, and decided that now would be a good time to phone.

Unfortunately, my arithmetic skills are not what they once were… it’s actually only about 7:30am, not 8:30am. On Saturday morning. Which means that everyone is probably still asleep. (Or at least, they were.)

At least it’s not quite so bad as my effort last year, when I mistakenly phoned my parents at 3:30am their time. Gotta love my mum though… she was just happy to hear from me, so she was able to ignore the rudeness of the hour.

It seems that more and more people are going through this all the time. It’s not always easy. In fact, sometimes it’s downright hard. Particularly when you start trying to figure out how to be in the same country permanently.

Sometime soon, we’ll begin the visa process. We can’t at the moment, because there’s been a delay with the marriage certificate. The lawyer made two rather serious mistakes in filling out the registration form (which we weren’t shown on the day). Firstly, she listed me as a USA citizen… even though she got my country of origin correct. Secondly, she listed the same person as having been divorced from both myself and Matty. Apparently we both have the same ex-husband. Lucky us. She’s now corrected the mistakes, but it means that we have to wait another couple of months for it to go through the Costa Rican registry. (I was incredibly stressed about this at first, but now have accepted it’s just a part of the journey, and only means a slight adjustment to plans.)

(I have to confess, though… I’m a little concerned about what US immigration might be thinking about me. I was flagged for extra security checks on the way out… I always thought those things were mostly random, but there was a note on my boarding passes to “check ID”. Perhaps my multiple entries are causing them concern. Makes the day interesting, that’s for sure.)

Last Sunday was particularly sad. We both cried at the airport when we said our goodbyes. It was all so emotional… Matt’s brother and SIL cried as well. I sat in my seat on the plane, alternating between crying, and laughing at something funny we’d shared. The guy in the seat across the aisle kept staring. I think he was a little concerned about my apparent emotional lability.

Right now we’re adjusting to (temporarily) being apart again. This time it’s more difficult, because we’ve spent the last four months together… and it was really wonderful. Not so much in a ‘honeymoon’ kinda way… rather, ‘this is our life together, and it’s real, and it’s good’. At the same time, it’s slightly easier, because we know that eventually there’s an end to the time apart. We come back together. There’s no doubt about that. In the mean time, it’s all about making the best of the circumstances. Taking each day passing as one day closer to seeing each other again. Enjoying every communication, in whatever form it eventuates. Appreciating just how deeply and openly you learn to share as a result of the distance.

So yes, it’s not easy. But, it’s worth it in the end. Completely, utterly worth it.

I’ve been doing a little volunteer work at the children’s centre, where Matt’s mum works. It’s great fun… and having worked mostly with school-age children the last few years, I forget sometimes just what it’s like to be with the littlies.

One day, we were sitting down to lunch. (These kiddies are lucky… all the food is fresh, yummy and organic.) One of the young fellows, E (about three years of age) asked for a piece of bread. I asked, “do you want some butter on your bread?”

E stared at me for all of about two seconds, and then he said, “it’s not buttah, it’s butterrrr.”

I stifled a giggle, and replied, “well, where I come from, sometimes people say buttah. Would you like some buttah?“

His mum tells me that E’s dad has an accent (which E corrects all the time), and that they just recently had some Aussie friends staying with them, which probably explains why he’s so aware. Bright kid, that’s for sure.

was a funny old day. Matty was feeling unwell with a funny tummy, and I woke feeling nauseous with a tension headache (my muscles were tight all down my back, right down through my legs). Some aspirin took care of the headache, and we got through the most of the day feeling rather ordinary, but made the best of it.

That evening, I ended up getting stroppy and emotional over something quite ridiculous. Matty was cranky, too. Nothing had actually gone wrong. I just couldn’t quite get my head around what was going around in my head. It didn’t help that we were both tired, and couldn’t seem to figure out what was happening.

Tuesday morning, we felt better… although we still couldn’t work out what we’d been so snappy about the previous evening. Not very like us at all.

Matty had organised a massage for that afternoon, as part of my birthday pressie. I was in dire need, and very much looking forward to it. I had a wonderful 1.5 hour massage from C, who is a woman with an incredibly calming energy about her… and she really knows her stuff.

As I lay on the massage table with C working on my multitude of knots, I began to realise what had been upsetting me (and was without a doubt, the cause of the tension). This weekend I begin my journey back to the UK, where I’ll be for a few months (it’s related to visa stuff, but that’s another story). The both of us had each silently made the decision not to mention it, so as not to upset the other. Which, in hindsight, was just plain silly. We need to talk about this stuff. On top of that, I’d been stressing about all of the ‘jobs’ I felt I needed to complete before leaving… and I hadn’t been talking much about that, either.

After C had left, Matty and I sat down on the couch, and talked about all the things that had been kept unsaid. I burst into tears when I talked about how much I was going to miss him… and I don’t cry that often, so it’s a big thing when I do. Turns out I needed the physical release, to trigger the emotional release, to further assist the physical release.

As sad as we are about being apart for another few months, we’re so much better off for talking about it. We know that… but it seems we just needed a little reminder.

You know how sometimes nerves start twitching? Well, right now I can feel a nerve twitching somewhere in my right ear. Not sure if it’s in the ear canal, or deeper inside… but it’s driving me slightly batty. Not the first time it’s happened, but usually it doesn’t go on for so long.

A “Busted Heart Pendant”.

Mostly because of the conversation value when people discover what it’s made of…

_{... can you pick it?}

;-D

Or, perhaps I should say, ‘the things I get myself out of’. Of course, it’s all about me doing things I shouldn’t.

I was driving home late last night, along the motorway. I’d had a really lovely evening, and was chatting to Matty about it as I drove. (I know… bad me.)

Anyhoo, just as we were finishing up our conversation, I noticed the cars in front of me slowing down as they passed a police car on the side of the road. It had some big red lights flashing on top, which looked like some sort of ‘look out, I’m here so don’t crash into me’ kind of warning device.

I continued past, and said goodbye to Matthew. As I was putting down my phone, I noticed the police car overtake me. He sped up, and took off ahead, so I figured he must have been after someone. Not much further up the road, he turned on his red light, and pulled over to the side again. ‘Odd,’ I thought, ‘he hasn’t actually pulled anyone over.’

I soon realised what was going on. As I drove past him, he took off again and turned on his blue flashing lights. Well, I know what those mean. I indicated, and pulled over.

When he approached my car, I said, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea that was for me.” Well, I didn’t. Australian police don’t have those red lights… only the blue flashing ones.

“I pulled you over, because you were using your mobile phone.”

Ohhhh… crap.

“Where are you from?”

I told him. Probably a little too much. I don’t think he really wanted to know the ins and outs of my being here on a working visa, or that I’d be out of the country over Winter, but back again in March. He then went on to explain the rules to me.

“You realise it’s illegal to hold your phone your hand whilst you’re driving, even if you’re using it on speaker phone?”

I hadn’t.

“I’m assuming that’s what you were doing?”

It dawned on me that I was being offered a ‘get out of jail free’ card. I nodded.

“I’m not going to take your details this time. Just make sure that if you need to use your phone, you pull off the motorway and stop somewhere safe before doing so.”

He gave me instructions on how best to rejoin the motorway traffic. I shook his hand, thanked him, and continued on my way. Feeling relieved, and very lucky.

_{(I’d like to point out here, that I waited until I arrived home before calling to tell Matty this story…)}

I had one such encounter this evening, on the train from Birmingham to Manchester.

I spent the weekend visiting with good friends in Birmingham (we went to the Guy Fawkes festivities last night, which was very smokey, but lots of fun). I was due to catch the 4:48pm train, but we arrived at the station to discover it had been cancelled. There was another train due to leave at 5:03pm, but I was advised that the 5:48pm train would arrive in Manchester only 6 minutes later, and I decided I’d rather spend the extra time in a cafe. I bid farewell to my friends (I wasn’t about to make them wait there with me in the cold station), and occupied my time with a peppermint tea.

When it came time to board the train, the platform was quite crowded. I filed onboard with everyone else… and suddenly we came to a stop. There was one guy in front of me, and three people facing us. Everyone just stood there. I asked the first lady facing us if they were trying to disembark… they were. There were very few empty seats, and none next to us, so there was nowhere to go. I turned around to the people behind us and said, “Sorry guys, can we all back up? There are some people trying to get off.” Slowly people shuffled backward. To make more room (they still couldn’t get off), I and the guy who’d been in front of me moved into the little area between the carriages. (What is that called, anyway? A vestibule?)

Eventually everyone who needed to get off was able to do so, and we all began moving forward again. I helped a gentleman who was trying to get his case into the luggage rack (offered a suggestion as to how he could fit his case in), and we exchanged a few friendly comments in passing. There weren’t enough seats for everyone, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt me to stand for a while… after all, I’m usually pretty lucky in managing to secure a seat.

After a few stops, a number of seats became free, and I found myself seated at a table, opposite the gentleman with the case. I made a small joke, then we started chatting about my cancelled train, and where we were each headed.

He asked me what work I did that had brought me to the area, and I enquired the same of him. Part of his work is very corporate-type stuff. He’s also involved in sports coaching. But then, as he put it, there’s the really interesting part of his work, related to the coaching and training he does. The conversation quickly grew from exchanging pleasantries and small-talk, to an engaging and enlightening discussion on Emotional Freedom Techniques, Neuro-Linguistic Programming, Spiral Dynamics, and physics, amongst other topics. (I couldn’t help thinking that Malc or Abs probably would have enjoyed it thoroughly.) There was so much to the conversation, but to explain it all would take far too long.

By the time we’d reached his destination, we’d exchanged email addresses, and we both commented upon how glad we were that my train had been cancelled. As he disembarked, I was left marvelling at this profoundly positive experience.

It’s funny how seemingly insignificant choices (for me, choosing a particular replacement train, or deciding to stand instead of changing carriages to find a seat), can lead to wonderful experiences. As my new friend had pointed out, sometimes you just have to go with the flow, because you never know where it will lead you.