EXPECTATIONS VS REALITY (or why the hell does nothing I expect ever happen).

It's a week out of my 49th birthday and I'm not overly enthusiastic about the whole notion. Truth be known it's been a while since I was excited about any birthday, but less so this one. My mother would say " Pfft it's just a number" and yes that's quite true. But to me a birthday is a lot more. It's a yearly self assessment time. It's a taking " stock on where I'm at in life" time. It doesn't have to be, but to me there is no getting out of it because I like accountability. And a year out of 50, I think everyone needs accountability.

But where does one start and how does one work out "accountability"?

I'm a big fan of those letters that celebrities write to their sixteen year old selves. I find them amusing to say the least, because they show a clear division between expectation and reality. So...let's give this a go.

At age 16 I was just finishing school. Due to my "smart bum" migrant status I was the youngest in the year. I had a small set of good friends  who would drop everything to help me, if I needed it, even now. I wasn't popular but everyone knew me. I was the girl with the very long wog surname, which they all used to sing to the tune of the Mexican hat dance. I was loud and very naive with a reputation for sneezing 60 times in a row. I was a school goody goody, and was rewarded accordingly at valedictory with a prestigious school goody goody award. This earned me a place on the honour boards, and the right to tease my nieces about their need to aspire to my lofty heights.

Being the first child is always hard because parents are unskilled and learn parenting through you. I had a limited social life but somehow still managed to get my heart broken. I was self conscious, overweight and European hairy. When I look back on my photos at that age, I actually looked better than I thought I did. At my school one did not wear makeup. You could have tried, but the nuns and my mother would have scraped it off me, if I had money to buy it in the first place. I remember looking on in awe when a new girl in our final year, blatantly broke all the rules and wore a fully made up face every day. I ached to have her spunk.

Because it was expected of me and in reality I knew nothing else, I did my homework and a 16 year old's version of studying. I equated hard work with success and learnt a hard lesson when my leaving score was just above average. There would be no medicine for me, but I still got into a prestigious university and developed new ambitions which varied from the male sort to an actual career. I think deep down I assumed I would be a kept, rich woman, so it came as a shock to realise that in the real world, out of the security of an educational establishment, one has to work in a job of some description.

Jokingly I would wonder if I would be a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker? I toyed with scientist, dentist and finally ( dismayed that my mega rich husband was yet to find me), settled on teacher. For the first time in my life I started achieving excellence. I was hooked but confused. Me...a teacher? I never saw myself as being a teacher.

I also never saw myself leaving the city and never for a moment thought my overly strict parents would allow it. But they did. Hell, they even drove me to my new home four and a half hours away and kicked me out of the nest. It felt odd but I was officially grown up and fending for myself.

Fast forward to today and my title of expectations versus reality.

I never expected to be a teacher but I did and I became a good one. I taught for 25 years and loved every minute of it. I never expected to continue to live in the country, but I did and 27 years later still call it home. I was brought up to believe I'd marry a doctor, a lawyer, a professional like my Dad. I was sort of right. I married a professional nice guy with a big heart and oodles of patience. He is an ex farmer still working in an industry related to farming. Me married to an ex farmer? Who would have thought it....I used to think all agriculture students at uni were closet weirdos and yet I married
one born and bred on the land, and love him to bits.

The one expectation that became reality was having children - two girls. For a while I was sad that I had no son. My husband being the only boy out of seven, needed a son. He needed to do boy things. I felt I had let him down and his family down as the family name would die out with my ineptitude. Such is life. You don't get to choose your kids unless you're operating out of a laboratory. They choose you.

While my children were growing up, I was accused by some of placing too high expectations on my children. Yes, apparently expecting kids to do well at school, finish extra courses you've paid for, have a conscience and an awareness of social justice AND have a life that did not involve drugs and alcohol was too harsh. ( insert loud raspberry noises).

Let's get back to the accountability part.

One of the few things I remember from university is Maslow's hierarchy of needs. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a diagram someone prepared earlier.

Here is the link if you are interested in pursuing this further . It's really interesting.

(http://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html

You can have expectations in life and you can work your way up Maslow's triangle, satisfying need after need. But reality has a habit of messing with this - illness, divorce, job loss etc can cause fluctuation between levels. 

My forties have been the worst years of my life due to severe health issues, career disruption and financial strain. Too say this was not on the expectation list as a naive 16 year old or a bumbling " what shall I do with my life" uni student is an understatement. Do I then put a cross on my accountability list? At the ripe old age of almost 49 my health is ****, my career is in tatters and money is a precious resource we are learning to stretch. Well I could load up on the crosses, but what's the point?

When I look at the triangle I am reminded that in reality I HAVE been to the top. I have accepted my 
life's challenges and I know I have skills to solve my problems. I may feel bad that my life feels so crappy, but it really isn't all bad.

So here's my accountability list:

• Physiological needs - mostly met. Sleep could be better but that's why God gave us doctors who prescribe drugs.

• Safety - apart from morality and property... in tatters.

• Rest of levels - not bad.

Real state of flux happening here! Time to get back to basics and concentrate on those safety issues. 

Moral of my story - I'm 49 and I grew up with expectations placed on me by others and by myself. Not many of those expectations have been met AND THAT'S OK because reality presented other situations I couldn't possibly have envisaged. Ten years ago this would have been the end of me, but at the ripe old age of almost 49, I've resigned myself to the fact that expectations and reality do not necessarily go hand in hand.

And I THINK I'm OK with that.

Till next time...xxx

Me - age 48 and 51 weeks

Article written for Blusky Collective, a fabulous new website which went live this week. Please check them out!
https://bluskycollective.wordpress.com/2015/06/26/459/

PLOT TWIST

In the middle of the night while I was wide awake staring at a dark ceiling, I remembered the above saying. It may have been brought on by a conversation I had with a friend who knows first hand what life is like with Cowdens syndrome. Or it may have been brought on by reaching saturation point in the last week. Whatever the reason, at 4am this morning I suddenly realised that I was at a plot twist.

Ashton came through her procedure well but only with minimal success. Does that even make sense? It's time to realise that with her condition it's two steps forward and one step back ...all the time. It's time to accept that's how it's going to be possibly forever. And it's time to put up with the plot twist and move on.

It's now been two years since she was first diagnosed. It seems like yesterday to me but it's not. Sixteen procedures down. Who would have thought that was on the cards but that's how it's been. The doctor is now going for a three monthly check. Each time he will decide what is next to do depending on how she presents. It's the medical version of being in limbo. I can't do limbo so it's time for a plot twist.

I have to admit that in the last two years I've waited for this all to be over and for life to get back to normal. I imagined going back to work at my school, in my old job with my colleagues and friends. I've imagined visiting my daughters in Perth for catch ups and social reasons. I've imagined earning my old salary again. 

But it's time to realise that part of my life is gone for good. Life as I knew it has changed and it's time for a plot twist. My psychologist will be so happy that I've finally come up with this all by myself ( sarcasm). She's only been telling me this for ages.

My friend said I need to re-invent myself. So at 4am realising she was right, I couldn't stop thinking...as what????

Surely this is my big chance. I need a job which is flexible hours where if I need to drop what I'm doing when my health or my daughter's health requires it, I can. I don't want community service because like everyone we have bills. So I need a job which earns money.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa the frustration of it all. What to do?

So, ideas please folks. Here is what I have to offer...

• I have good oral and written skills and I have good ideas.
•  I'm organised
• I'm reasonably computer savvy
•  I have a personality and good communication skills

Surely, there is something out there for me to re- invent myself as.

Ideas appreciated. 

Till next time...xxx

IF YOU TRULY TRY, THEN THAT'S ENOUGH

        

So, after sitting for some time,once again looking for inspiration to pour out of my computer screen, I decided it wasn't happening and I was ready to go without a blog post this week. Within one minute of this thought and decision, the above quote appeared on Google plus. Some might say its coincidence, others divine intervention. Me I think its a kick in the butt to keep trying.

Now if the husband was here he would say I'm very "trying", so I just want to make it quite clear that the trying I am talking about has to do with effort and "carrying on" , not the one where someone is gritting their teeth at you in exasperation.

As I type, my FED (favourite eldest daughter) is sitting a university statistics exam. This is an important exam, because it is a compulsory unit and therefore can not be swapped out of. There is no way out of this except forward, which is a problem if you're not mathematically inclined and it all feels like mumbo jumbo. I know that Ashton has been very worried about this exam and has done her best to prepare for it, even deactivating her facebook account to minimise disruptions!

So, once you've done  your best to prepare, all you can do is get into the exam and give it a " red hot go". Try as hard as you can! Do your best and when its over walk out!

That is all anyone can expect of you - try your best! That doesn't always equate with success but it allows you to look yourself in the eye (use a mirror for best results) and say " I couldn't have done anything more. I tried my hardest". "After event" guilt only sets in when you know you haven't tried your hardest and that you haven't used the potential you have. That's my theory anyway and I'm sticking to it.

By the time my daughter reads this post, it will be all over and life will go on. That's a definite. Pass or fail, life goes on and sometimes it just needs to be all put into perspective. Tomorrow will come, the day after will too. When you've given your all, if its meant to be, it will be. Otherwise its a fork in the road and we change direction.

I hope not, because she loves this course apart from this one unit! Come on Ashton, you can do it!

I had a similar experience in my university years. I was studying to be a dentist (I think I've written about that before), but found the practical work to be too challenging. Looking back that's about the time my hand tremor was starting off. I tried my hardest but it wasn't to be. Two weeks after most people had completed their practical work, I was still sitting there and I snapped. Enough was enough. Effort does not always equate with success and that is a big life lesson to learn. Was I disappointed? Of course. But I had arrived at a fork in the road and had to change direction. Some things are not meant to be.

“Defeat is not the worst of failures. Not to have tried is the true failure.”
― George E. Woodberry

Another "trying" event is taking place this Friday, when Ashton's medical team once again attempt to remove the fistula from her neck and to make sure that the place were the one in the brain was, is still behaving. For those who are new to our story, Ashton has had two serious AVM's ( arteriovenous malformations), which doctors have been trying (there's that word again) to tame for almost two years. This is a serious condition and one which has tried to control our lives for two years now.

My daughter is strong and feisty and she will beat this. At the very least she will get to a stage where it is manageable.

The last time Ashton had surgery, I asked for a circle of prayers worldwide. It gave me comfort to know that the arms of prayer were encircled around my daughter.  Could I please ask for this again this Friday 12th June? Please at some time during the day thank the good Lord for what he has done for us so far and for blessings on Ashton's doctors to further their work. Her father, sister and I together with our extended family would really appreciate this.

If you could just leave your country in the comments, I will enjoy telling Ashton how far and wide her prayer circle has extended.

Thank you in advance and may God bless you all xx

Till next time...xxx

MY JOB IS MUM

 I will never get used to the following dialogue and I seem to have it with someone on a regular basis:

You have a day off, do you?
No, I haven't worked for almost two years.
Oh...

That "oh" speaks volumes to me. It makes me feel like I am lazy, that I should be at work, that I should be giving back and that I am a dependent leech. So usually because I don't want people to think badly of me, I end up giving people who have no right to information the reason while I am off work. And then when they are gone, I feel really angry with myself.

Why do I keep doing that? Why do I feel that I have to justify my situation? I do work - my job is Mum.

I suppose its because despite all the health dramas, all the counselling, all the everything, I know that people only judge what they see in front of them. And that's what I felt happened today.

The power at home was off today  for local maintenance, so this morning I got up early to do some essential chores and then headed into town to kill a bit of time, have a coffee and a spot of lunch. I knew that the power would not be on for a while, so I decided to do something I rarely do - I went to see a movie. And that's where the conversation above took place. What was I doing in the middle of the school day at the cinema?

This person is someone I used to socialise with when my eldest daughter was born 21 years ago.We have not kept in touch so I assumed  she did not know my current situation. At least I thought so. When I gave her the reason I wasn't at work she said, " oh yes, I heard about that. Is she better?"  I muttered something vague and took off in a little bit of a huff!

I spent my first few minutes staring at the adverts on before the movie,  feeling a little cross and put out. Then I got over it and stopped making mountains out of molehills. I need to stop assuming that people understand or will ever get, that Cowden's syndrome has no end. It is not a condition my daughter and I will get over. There is no cure. There is only learning to live with it and making the most out of life with it...and teaching people about it.

And at the moment for me that means not working in a job where you have set hours and you get paid. God I miss the getting paid bit. It means dealing with my health issues while supporting my daughter. Believe me, between bill paying, scheduling appointments, attending appointments and often having to research and plan for my own treatment, there is no time for anything else.

For the record, the movie ( Pitch Perfect 2) was OK. Just OK not great. Quite corny really and downright condescending and degrading to women in places. I'm not sure why in 2015 this is actually acceptable. I thought society had become better than that.

Next week my Mum job really  goes up a notch, because its surgery week.

Next week everything will once again stop and specialists will once again attempt to remove the second fistula in Ashton's head. It will be her 16th procedure in almost two years. Her father, sister and I together with an extended prayer army world wide, will sit and wait and pray and hope for good news. Its a reality check of the worst type. This is my job - I'm a Mum.

Then following surgery I will be there for support as long as she needs me. Her father will return home, 425km away. One of us has to earn money so his support will be from afar. I thank God our relationship is strong because constant separation is hard on a marriage.

Last weekend on one of my regular visits, my daughter gave me a big hug and said thank you for everything I had done for her and her sister over that weekend.  She told me how grateful she is that I am always there to support them. I hugged her back and told her that it was my pleasure and that one day when she had her own kids , she would pay it forward and look after my grandchildren.She will never know the depth of a mother's love until she is a mother herself.

I do have a job.
The hours are tough - 24 hours a day.
The job gives me a wide range of emotions - happiness, anger, love, impatience to name a few.
Its a hard job but I wouldn't change it for the world...(well if I could I suppose I'd remove Cowden's)
My job is MUM.

Till next time...xxx

Me with my Mum and Dad 1966 - UK

I AM NOT A CHOCOLATE BALL

There are times when I don't care about any of the statistics linked to this blog and there are times when my interest is piqued. Yesterday having nothing much to do except lie around nursing a cold,  was one of those days.

Now, before I carry on, let me share a bit of my background. I was born in the UK. I spent some of my childhood living in Malta ( my parents are Maltese) and since the age of 9 have lived in Australia. I am a naturalised Australian but the husband calls me  a " Pommy Maltese" or " a highly strung wog", depending on the conversation.

In reality therefore I can identify with three countries - Australia, Malta and the UK - and have always considered myself to be a blend of Australian, Maltese and English. There are some problems of course but these are easily fixed. If Australia plays England in the cricket, I'm Australian. If Australians talk about getting rid of the monarchy, I am outraged on behalf of the royal family and I have spent three quarters of my life advocating for Malta. I am not a Malteser (see picture above), no its not the country where Maltesers are made and yes IT IS  a real country even though it still doesn't show up on many maps.

So being loyal to all three countries ( as it suits me of course), is it so much to ask for that loyalty back? I THINK NOT (fist smacked on table in indignation).

Which is where we get back to the blog statistics. Take a look at my top ten counties in all the time since I started blogging:

Entry	Pageviews
Australia	27789
United States	15745
United Kingdom	1976
France	1935
Germany	1554
Ukraine	817
Russia	613
India	536
Malta	442
Canada	416

Australia first. UK third.
Notice something Malta???????
What's going on Malta???? NUMBER 9?????

Now firstly I would like to thanks my aunts who have obviously looked at my page 442 times. Good job ladies, well done. Love you lots.

But considering my readership is full of Maltese names, I expected better support from my native country. Here are my reasons why you should support me:

1. As I said I've spent my whole life convincing Australians that you are more than chocolate balls and that by default I AM NOT A CHOCOLATE BALL.
2. I would have voted for the Maltese song if it had made the finals in Eurovision. I would...promise.
3. I make figolla for Easter.
4. I have loyally suffered through countless projects on Malta by my children. (Sorry, did I say suffered - I meant enjoyed every minute).Look at all the free advertising you've received. Honestly, how many Australians would really know where Malta is if it hadn't been for my efforts?
5. I read my uncle's blog in Maltese - ha! That's loyalty for you. It's in Maltese. It takes me ages but I do it....ha!
6. I am slowly training these Australians that if you want to serve shop bought pastizzi, they need to be cooked till they're crispy brown. I also engage in many conversations with them about how chicken in pastizzi is a national disgrace.
7. I drove on your roads with my family and after ten years, therapy is ending soon.
8. I didn't do anything nasty to the shop assistant in Malta who ignored me and kept talking to her boyfriend on her mobile OR to the tourist guide who told the tour I was on, that he was taking us to see the statue of the fat lady and then pointed to me and said " not this fat lady...another".
9. I constantly encourage friends to make Malta part of their Europe itinerary.
10. There will always be a part of my heart that is just Maltese.

Sliema, Malta by night

So, consider yourself warned Malta. You have hurt my feelings but you have time to fix this all up. Top five next time OR ELSE!!!

Till next time....xxx

The Blue Grotto

I think I remember walking through here on the way to school

Just beautiful!

SWEET AS SUGAR

Every woman in my husband's side of the family is a good cook. So gatherings such as the one we had for Mother's Day are a gastronomic delight and it's so easy to lose yourself in sugary delights if you are not careful.

The husband is in heaven on these occasions. Born with a seemingly sweet tooth, he dives head first into the table of goodies only to surface eventually with a glazed look of pleasure on his sugary, comatose face.

But even I (his wife of 24 years) was astounded by his achievements on Mothers Day. Obviously celebrating his role as a mother ( or maybe paying homage to his mother and the mother of his children) he took longer than usual to re-enter the stratosphere. He was a guts.

Having been lately bombarded about the dangers of sugar ( wasn't it fat last week?), my concern for his love of all things sweet, the hidden sugar in our food and the associated risk of sugar diabetes was at an all time high. Let's face it, neither of us is getting any younger. I decided an intervention was needed...URGENTLY.

Now don't get me wrong. I like the odd bit of dark chocolate, the odd cupcake, the occasional tim tam or two. But I'm nowhere in my husband's league. He eats dessert every day. He can sniff out lollies and chocolate even when well hidden. If cake is frozen, not a problem, he'll eat it frozen and don't buy cooking chocolate for future projects before going away, because it sure as hell won't be there when you get home. He is a sugar addict, who will even go on late night " trips" to satisfy an icecream craving.

Yes...definitely intervention time. In fact long overdue.

He looked horrified when I told him that there was over a teaspoon of sugar in each muesli bar. Add that to three pieces of fruit and anything else his human shovel mouth devoured and I think I made my point. I threw out the remaining Anzac biscuits and hid the remaining chocolate slice from mother's day at the very back of the freezer. In retrospect I should have thrown that out too. But it cost me so much money, I just couldn't throw it out and just hoped he wouldn't find it!

Now to keep my part of the deal.

A week later I flew to Perth leaving him to his own devices. My mother, ever the cynic said he would cheat at every opportunity without me around. I could only shrug my shoulders and say "probably", because she is more than likely right. But, he's a grown man and I'm his wife not his mother and he could take responsibility or get diabetes. Choice was his. I had my own "lack of sugar" problems to deal with.

Why is it when you deny yourself anything, it suddenly seems so appealing? Biscuits develop a voice ( eat me, eat me). Lollies cry out " buy me, buy me" and icecream...do not mention Ben and Jerry's and Perth and available in one sentence PLEASE.

OF COURSE on the plane to Perth my coffee came with a chocolate fudge cookie. In all the years I've caught that damn flight there have never been chocolate fudge cookies. It's a conspiracy I tell you. I said "no thank you" to the air hostess and she looked perplexed. It's as if she was thinking " but all fat people like chocolate fudge cookies". She asked me if I wanted it for later. I felt quite smug saying "no thank you"again and choosing instead the dry spinach and ricotta something that notaste.com specially made for this flight.

The next few days were easy. I said no to cake with a girlfriend. I made her order hers and watched her eat it, so I could develop my inner strength.She thought I was nuts. I said no to Greek biscuits at my sister's house ( that was hard cos I love them) and I watched my kids eat chocolate, without indulging in it myself. I did however have one small fail. My sisters mother in law made white chocolate slice and cut such a small piece for me it really didn't count. In fact they were so small, I ate two. Besides she has come all the way from the UK. It would have been rude to say no. OK, excuses, excuses -fail!

The following day some germ riddled person passed me their bugs and I was struck down with gastro. Not only was sugar not interesting, neither was any food whatsoever. As I recovered I ate plain food like bananas and toasted sandwiches but I craved lemonade.Gastro needs lemonade for

Lemonade and lemons = no connection

recovery. We all know that...right? So, as I type this I admit to failure number 2. I am sipping lemonade and I'm horrified to find that there are 61g of sugar in my bottle of lemonade. Half way through the bottle a headache strikes. Wow that's a powerful message. I haven't had any headaches since cutting back on sugar. My skin has been blemish free and I've been sleeping like a baby.

So, as I sit in the airport waiting to fly home, I hang my head in shame at my second lack of personal strength but then raise it in pride as I throw a half drunk bottle of lemonade in the bin. I feel like yelling, " did you all see what I just did! I threw the sugar drink out. It doesn't even taste good."

The flight home is another conspiracy this time involving choc chip cookies. Ok God you can stop testing me. Recovered from my lemonade slip up I don't even react or touch the pack. Even when they asked nicely for me to open them I pretended not to hear. Who needs those little round pieces of chocolatey goodness in their lives?

Home and time to compare notes. Mum was right. He did well for a couple of days and then discovered the left over chocolate slice. I knew I should have chucked it in the bin. It just seemed such a waste of money. He did have one victory though. He realised that he felt a lot better the first week than the second, so as of today we are back on deck

Just before signing off here are excellent articles on sugar you may wish to read. It makes perfect sense when written like this. Off to put the remaining chocolate slice in the bin

Till next time...xxx

http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-17122/the-7-deadly-truths-of-sugar.html


http://www.stuff.co.nz/life-style/well-good/motivate-me/68691969/21-reasons-to-eat-less-sugar-that-have-nothing-to-do-with-losing-weight

#1000 SPEAK FOR COMPASSION - CONNECTION

The theme for this month's #1000 SPEAK FOR COMPASSION is CONNECTION. And already like last month, when challenged with a topic somebody else chose, I find myself staring at a blank computer screen, willing the ideas to flow. All I can think of is that in my youth there was a gay nightclub called Connections and I don't quite think that knowledge is going to help me fill a post!

So, once again I check out the writing prompts (no...I'm not cheating) and there it is - staying connected with children, with family, with friends. Now we're talking!

Me and the princesses - rare occasion all together. I must have been paying!

Some days I feel that somewhere along the way I won a lead role as a yo-yo, because that's what my life feels like. I yo-yo from one place to another. One moment I'm in Perth with the children and my

extended family, next I'm in Geraldton with my husband and his family. Occasionally if I can make it happen I catch up with friends. That's a hard one because schedules often don't match( especially if you have children), and it's easy for weeks, months and years to suddenly pass.

There are many meanings for the word " connection" including apparently a supplier of narcotics if you're North American! The words I like however are bond and link. So, the question for me is to think about what I do to stay linked to people I want to remain connected to.

First thing is that staying connected is a two way task. I have had friendships I valued, where often I realised that I was the only one putting in the effort. In reality there was no value in those friendships. People who want to stay connected to you do. They make space in their busy schedule and make it happen - a text here, a call there, a quick coffee or drink. I have learnt to let some people "go". By that I mean I might make occasional contact but I no longer feel the need to be connected or feel upset if they don't reciprocate. Its just not worth it.

I have to admit social media helps in most other situations.

For example, there are times when if it wasn't for Facebook and text messaging, I wouldn't connect with my younger daughter at all, such is the busy life she leads. But its all I need when we're not in the same place. The phone is better. Herself in person is even better. BUT staying connected via social media with her helps and I am ever so grateful for the technology. I just want to know how she is doing. She might be 18 but to me that's still so young and I worry.

Mum with youngest grandchild

Staying connected with parents involves more effort because often they don't use the social media we have become accustomed to. Take my mother for example - she hates Facebook. I've never really worked out why, but I do understand that for her if she can't see me in person, its my voice she wants to hear. Funnily enough though, she is competent with e-mails and texts so that's an option. But real connection with my mother does not involve technology unless it's a kettle and of course coffee and cake.My father does occasionally venture into Facebook but even after many years has no idea how it or "his stupid phone, not his smart phone" work. Technology and social media are great but not the best for staying connected with all people. Dad, I'll visit soon I promise!

Staying connected with my husband when I'm away is the hardest job of all. His texts are usually one word when I'm wanting sentences, paragraphs, essays even. The odd " I love you" or " I miss you" never hurts either instead of:

Me: Good morning
Him: Morning.
Me: How are you?
Him: Good
Me: What are you doing today?
Him: Working

There are also long pauses on the phone. Eg he will watch TV, with me on the other end of the phone
waiting for him to speak. He is so frustrating especially when I know how much he can chatter on the phone,when its to someone else. He is slightly better when he can see you. Thank you Skype and Facetime because I would probably have done something bad to him by now. Life is definitely more connected when we are in the same house together, but circumstances (long story) mean we are often apart and that makes me sad. Sometimes when I'm home we go out on date night ( dinner and movie)
and I always sit and have a cup of tea with him when he gets home every day. It takes effort and commitment to stay connected to your partner. I don't think a lot of people get that.

The hardest connection of all is with myself. 

Those who are regular readers of my blog " Chronicles of a Lumpy Person" will know the hard times I've been through and the never ending struggle to stay on top of things. Learning to connect with myself involves maintaining strong beliefs and faith, learning to self care without guilt and for me blogging! These are all ongoing works in progress and focus on my strengths not weaknesses.

So, I suppose the link between compassion and connection is really quite simple. Compassion comes from Italian "con passione" meaning with love. Connection is an act of love. How you link the two may vary from situation to situation. Its not always easy to stay connected.

Till next time when WE connect...xxx

ST