Autumn Wedding

The leaves are gradually turning golden. I watch as the breeze lightly disturbs the branches, making the drying leaves rustle. It is only September, but already the Autumn is here.

A lone piper stands to attention in the sunshine, his brightly coloured plaid moving with the breeze. The sound of his bagpipes drifts across the old churchyard as guests begin to assemble. The men are in morning dress today – an unusual sight in this part of the world where the kilt is practically compulsory for all occasions. The female guests are more exotically clad in many different hues, looking like birds of paradise in their colourful outfits topped with feathered and brightly plumed headgear.

As I sit in a coffee shop opposite the Cathedral, I listen to the murmur of local voices as I linger over my sandwich and enjoy a strong cup of good coffee. At a table close by, a group of women have come to the conclusion that the wedding couple cannot be locals – an accurate guess I imagine, given the decidedly un-Scottish attire of the male guests. The ladies continue to discuss whether there might be a local family connection, and surmise that there is not since they have not recognised any of the guests.

There is a flurry of excitement outside as a beribboned limousine arrives. She’s here! There is silence in the coffee shop as all eyes turn to the large front window to watch the bride emerge from the car, the many fragile layers of her gown unfolding like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. She looks so young, so nervous, so heart-stoppingly beautiful. As her attendants bend to rearrange her dress in preparation for the photographs, the ladies who lunch begin discussing her dress, deciding whether they prefer it to the one worn by last week’s bride. The general consensus seems to be that this week’s bride is the winner, although disapproval is expressed because of the Sassenach attire worn by the gentlemen in attendance.

The photographer seems to take an age, arranging and rearranging the bride and her maids in various poses before consenting to the start of the ceremony.The piper strikes up with Highland Cathedral, the young bride takes her father’s arm and, squaring her shoulders, enters the ancient building to begin her new life.

The ladies in the coffee shop are silent amongst their own thoughts for a few moments before the soft murmur of chatter resumes and they begin to discuss the scandalous antics of one of their neighbours. I finish my coffee, pay my bill and step out into the crisp autumn sunshine.

Technorati Tags: autumn,scotland,wedding,bagpipes

Nature’s Highlights…

Technorati Tags: Going grey,Middle age,Kids

Now I hope you don’t think that this is going to be a blog about the Great Outdoors……. in fact it is a post about a very sensitive subject…….  going grey.

I have been colouring my hair since my early 30s, when the mere sight of a grey hair was enough to depress me for the rest of the day. As the years have passed, I have gone through so many colours that I find it difficult to remember what shade my hair was when I started out. (Actually, it was darkest brown).

Now in my mid-40s, I have grown tired of the routine – and expense - of sitting in the hairdresser’s for over 3 hours every month in a vain and seemingly pointless attempt to hold back time. At dinner a few months ago with my handsome husband, who is a year younger than me, I looked at his hair. Thick and wavy, with patches of silver appearing above his ears. It suits him, I think. He’s got that slightly craggy “could’ve been a rock star” thing going on, and he’s still in good shape. So here’s the thing. If he can go grey and be a “silver fox”, then why can’t I be a silver vixen? Or a platinum fox-ette?  Hmmmmmmm.

So I spent a week or so looking online for women who have faced this dilemma, and saw some seriously cool women who had already taken the plunge. Helen Mirren? Meryl Streep? Jamie Lee Curtis? Well, my mind was made up. Then I hit a snag….. Child no. 1 was dismayed when I told her that I was going to let my grey through. She is 13, and worried that her friends won’t think I am cool any more. It’s a sort-of compliment I suppose….. I didn’t realise they thought I was cool in the first place! Husband was much more philosophical when he found out, saying that I could join him in the grey club! But the worst reaction I got was from child no. 2, who burst into floods of tears, sobbing that if I went grey it meant that I was old and would die soon. Oh dear….. I hope not!

So far, it’s been 10 weeks since I hit the bottle….. of dye! My hairdresser is in despair, and child no. 1 keeps shaking her head and rolling her eyes in disbelief whenever she looks at my multi-hued barnet.

Me? I’m loving it. Almost makes me feel like a grown-up. Signing off now, I’ll let you know how I get on in the weeks to come…

Domestic bliss... or is it?

So here I am.....

Mid-40s, husband, 2 kids, 2 dogs.

Nice house, lovely part of the world, good job.

Lucky me.......

I'm going to let you into a secret..... everything isn't perfect. I've always got a huge pile of ironing waiting for me in the utility room, and the washing baskets are never empty, no matter how much washing I do. And don't even get me started on the state of the kids' bedrooms.... mums of the world, I'm sure you know where I'm coming from. Untidy? Health hazard, more like.

But over the last year I  experienced a revelation. A moment of clarity, a blinding flash of reality.  Now I know that it doesn't have to be perfect, that perfection only exists in glossy magazines with the assistance of stylists and countless other assistants. Some might call that cheating. Me? I would say they are lying.

Ladies, why do we beat ourselves up trying to aspire to a completely false illusion of perfection? Are your kids happier if the living room looks like the pages of a Sunday supplement? Do you feel a better person if your kitchen gleams with the help of the latest miracle cleaning product? Tell me, just how white are your whites? Bright enough for the neighbours to see?

I was thinking about this as I dashed round the supermarket last night, after a busy day at work. It was no.2 child's birthday, and I needed to buy a birthday cake. Too busy to make one, of course..... more guilt... anyway there I was down the bakery aisle. I also needed some bread rolls - but there were so many, it gave me a headache just choosing one type over another. So I bought 2 types...... then felt rubbish because I couldn't choose between 2 bread rolls. Then it was the shampoo aisle.... aaaargh, too much stress!!!!

WHY? Why do we need 25 different shampoos in one shop? More than a dozen types of bread roll? 14 washing up liquids, 9 different dry dog foods, even nearly a dozen types of toilet paper for goodness' sake!!! On the way home, I started to think about choice. Is too much choice a bad thing? I'm still thinking about it today.

Oh well, time to sign off. I need to go and put the washing on. I hope it's white enough to hang outside.....