One Word: 2019 Edition

Have you ever heard of the one word or intention for the year thing? Yes? No? Love it? Loathe it? Couldn't care less? Move along then. There's nothing here for you. Unless I can convert you.

You see. I'm a convert. I previously scoffed at such a thing. Seemed like a load of hippy drippy bullocks to me. However, I had an epiphany of sorts. It occurred to me that I was being a sour old cynical negative Nellie. The process is helpful to many, and if it doesn't work out well, no harm done. Besides, I quite like words in general. I like reading them, I like writing them, so why not choose one of them for the year?

Look, clearly I'll never be one of those positive Polly's, but I don't have a cynical b!+$h all the time either.

So with that in mind, I resolved to embrace the concept. The results have been tenuous to say the least.

My word for 2017 was MOVE.  I was hoping to form a strong exercise habit, like I have in the past. However,  I proceeded to take this word as more of a light suggestion. Oops. There was some movement but not quite as much as there could have been.  

For 2018 I decided to address my inner mean girl with some self-compassion. Therefore my word was COMPASSION. Mixed results yet again. I have made some strides in being kinder to myself, however I consider it to be still a work in progress.

I find myself in the interesting quandary or dichotomy of needing to be kinder to myself, yet also needing to require more of myself. See above. Self-compassion and self-care isn't just about eating cake and being indulgent. And...erm... not moving. Dammit.

So yeah, still working on it, as I mentioned. This brings me to the current year.

I mulled over what word to choose for 2019. There are so many frightfully good words.  In the end I decided to keep it simple.  

My word for 2018 is...  drum roll, please (you have to imagine it...):

LOVE

Basic old love. Here's why:

• It segues nicely from my 2018 word COMPASSION.
• I  still need a reminder to be more loving and kinder to myself.
• I am lucky and blessed to have so much love in my life even when I am not very lovable.
• Some folk think you cannot be loved until you completely love yourself. I am living proof that's not true. See above. 
• What the world needs now is love, sweet love. It's the only thing that there's just too little of. OK, that's a Burt Bacharach song, but still. Relevant.
• Like I said, I love words. I love books. I love my family.  And yes, I DO love cake. Anything wrong with that? 
• The overriding theme of most Carpenters songs is love.
• Ditto Montgomery books.
• I suspect I'm a softie and incurable romantic at heart despite all my surface cynicism. Yeah, I'm not fooling anyone with all that. I know.
• Love is a groovy thing. It knows how to make you sing. And it fills up your life with sunshine and joy. OK, that's the words to a little known Carpenters song, but again. Relevant. See above.

• I'm not setting myself up to fail but choosing such a delightful word. And you never know, I may just learn to love moving again anyway. Perhaps not as much as cake, but anything is better than nothing. 
• I think this process is supposed to be an intention not a just a word.  So celebrating love and being loving to myself and others seems like a pretty good thing to me. 
• Ultimately this seems like a much more beneficial thing that a new year's resolution, which always seem to be about weight loss. And, if you're like me, always always seem to be to broken. Usually on January 1st. Forgeddaboutit. (Totally a word - maybe that should be my word?!!).

So there you have it. My word and intention for 2019 is all about LURRRRVE.  

And now it's back to some Burt Bacharach to fade out.  Again, you have to imagine it, or clink on the link below. As sung by Dionne Warwick. Because as brilliant a composer as Burt is, he ain't no singer. 

Sing it with me! What the world needs now....!!!

Do you have a word or intention? 

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Mrs Picklebottom Is Properly Horrified

Well hello, groovers and shakers. Or shakers and groovers, either way works. I'm back to talk all about LUURRRRVE.

Today is the 13th of February. See how sharp I am? This means that tomorrow is the 14th (razor sharp!), and you know what that means?!!

Yep, it's just another day. Well, it is to me. But for some folk, it's the most romantic day of the year: Valentine's Day. 

This means that Mickey Blue Eyes will be getting some very special treatment tomorrow. I might even make him a sandwich. And, when I serve up the burnt sausages and veg for dinner, I'll even do a little tomato sauce love heart. I'm thoughtful like that. 

Why am a such a cynical little soul? I mean, considering I love the Carpenters who usually sung about love. Birds suddenly appearing, sharing horizons and all that shit.  I guess I'm a weird mass of contradictions. 

The thing is, I don't really need a bunch of over priced roses to know that  my husband loves me. After all, why would he put up with my Carpenters addiction. That shit must be maddening.  Poor bastard. 

I will, however, take a million dollars and a life time supply of chocolate. I'm not greedy. 

Truthfully, I did fall in love for the first time at the tender age of around seven or eight. As soon as we touched I was besotted. My eyes met with the object of my affection and it was love at first sight.

I couldn't wait to meet with my new love for our daily trysts. We were together all the time. In bed. At school. Under the desk. In the playground. Parting was always heartbreaking. It was like leaving a piece of me behind whenever I forgot my books. Yes, books. What did YOU think I was talking about?

Forget about playing kiss/chasey in the playground, when you can sit in the corner with a book! Besides, fictional boys are better. Case in point: Gilbert Blythe. Swoooon. I wouldn't have minded if he'd called ME carrots! 

Books were definitely the first love of my life. This continued into my teens. When I was in Year 9, I had this English teacher. As you do. Honestly, I can't even remember her name, so I should probably make something up.

Let's just call her Mrs Picklebottom. Because if you're going to make up a name, it might as well be something ridiculous.  Now, since this blog is just me repeating myself ad nauseam, there's a good chance I've told this story before. But it's a good one, so here it is again...

It was during this particular time in my life that I enjoyed reading Mills & Boon romances.  Before you judge me, bear in mind that we didn't have the internet in 1985, so I had to find out about sex somewhere. I certainly wasn't the type to be off 'pashing' and being fingered behind the demountables. No judgement whatsoever if you were. I certainly hope you enjoyed it. Just wasn't my thing. So I stuck to the books. 

Mrs Picklebottom was completely horrified by my choice of reading material. So much so, that she immediately contacted my mother and demanded a meeting. The next thing you know, my bewildered mother was being informed by Mrs Picklebottom that allowing girls to read these type of novels would make them grow up to think that if they have sex and have an orgasm, they're in love! 

As my late aunt pointed out when Mum told her, you can have an orgasm masturbating, and it doesn't mean you're in love with your hand! I wish mum had sent my aunt to the meeting. Would have been interesting. 

At this point, I must apologise to my mother, some thirty odd years later. I certainly cannot imagine having to have such a conversation with a teacher. Mum replied that she disagreed. She thought it was just a phase I'd grow out of.

This proved to be true, as I no longer read Mills & Boon  novels. Enid Blyton and LM Montgomery on the other hand... 

Shhhhhhhh, don't tell anyone! 

I can't help thinking that if Mrs Picklebottom is still out there teaching high school English, she would have imploded at the Fifty Shades series. Not to mentions teens ready access to internet porn these days. 

However, maybe Mrs Picklebottom had a point. It was just a clumsy delivery. It's entirely possible that romance novels DO set people up for unrealistic expectations about love. 

That is my whole problem with Valentine's Day. It's so phoney and commercial.  Personally we don't celebrate it. We prefer to leave it for our wedding anniversary which has more personal meaning to us. We'll celebrate our 22nd wedding anniversary in November instead. 

One other thing, if you're single and feeling a bit crap because it's Valentine's Day and everyone is posting all their loved up stuff on Facey. Don't. Or, at least, don't feel crap for longer than five minutes. Feel the crappy stuff, then move on.  

Those couples enjoying a romantic meal near the beach will be the same ones who'll be pissed off with each other the next day for forgetting to replace the toilet roll. Incidentally, it's me who always forgets to replace the toilet roll in this house, not Mickey Blue Eyes. Oops. Sorry! 

So I think I finally understand what Mrs Picklebottom was saying. Love isn't about hearts and flowers on one arbitrary commercial day. There is so much more to it than that. It's all the little things your partner does every day.  And the HUGE things; like supporting each other through cancer. (That's a whole other blog post...) It's been a wild 22 years, that's all I can say...

And tomato sauce love hearts are cute sometimes, too.

Maybe I'm a romantic after all? 

What are your thoughts about love, Valentine's Day and Mills & Boon novels? 

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