When We Were Young

I was having a conversation with my younger brother about the good old days of cassettes and suddenly remembered the time when they meant so much to me. Then I stumbled upon these cassettes and it all came back. How I used to have a small, but at the time very valuable, collection of cassettes that I stacked up in my black plastic stand that curved like a filing box, holding 15 tapes exactly. It was probably bought from Argos-the place where they had the 'laminated book of dreams'-with saved up pocket money. I remember very clearly the following artists and their cassette albums that filled little slots: Spice Girls (Spice), Louise (Naked-just after she left Eternal), No Mercy (Where Do You Go-single). 

 

What were the rest? Well, here's where it got interesting and a little sad in hindsight. Twelve other slots were filled with tapes made lovingly and most time consumingly by recording my favourite songs from the radio. I would spend hours listening to the radio, waiting to hear my favourite song like the Carpenters used to sing, and hastily press record as soon as I hear the first beats or in most cases when the host would announce their order of playlist and I would wait patiently. Or sometimes when an ad would play and then suddenly jump straight into the track. If a song is really good I would press record at the end of the ads just so I don't miss anything. In the end I had tapes full of songs with random ads in front and back, or people's requests in the middle. And the most tragic thing would be when the tape would run its course and THAT song would get cut in half. To this day there are songs that I'd listen to now but internally listen to them the way it was recorded on my tapes-the ad that follows it straight away, the DJ's stupid jokes, the sudden halting of the tape in the middle of that chorus that I always anticipate. Only in such imperfect times do you hold onto such perfect memories of when we were young(er). And now music is digital, and most young peole grow up thinking of their favourite songs as mere texts on their computers or phones that you tap to hear a perfectly tuned, edited and cut packages with names, album titles, year of recording and who produced it. Surely the fun can be found in trying to guess the name of the song, or the artist and associating it with memories, events and emotions? Music now sounds more like what we know about it rather than how we feel about it. There's no mystery to it. We only acquire it. I wonder what my son would listen to when he has his own tastes, and would I be able to share it with him?

Anyway, looking up the images for the post has naturally lead me to this, and then ofcourse this. Most fun singing along to this in spanish! And to my surprise I found this little gem-where was I when this happened?! Apologies for all the this and that but I suddenly want to sing along to lots of 90s pop music. The last time I felt this giddy was at the Spice Girl Reunion tour, where I went with my best friends, sang our hearts out and bought the t-shirt to prove it! 

Lovely how a little rainbow of cassettes take you on a journey-how much can we say about a digital file?

[Photos: Dulguun Batkhishig]

Re-Nesting Interests

When you're pregnant and nearing the end of your term, it's said that the nesting instinct settles in. Cleaning, cooking, rearranging, organising, fussing and general OCD limited to the inside of your dwelling. Suffice to say, it struck me too, a little over 6 months ago. Since then interiors have been the very very last of my thoughts-so far away and in the dark that I forgot what colour my bedroom walls are.

But recently, with the plan to relocate to a higher altitude come April where dusting is a new chore and popping into IKEA is a fantasy, I've suddenly grown the inescapable urge to trawl through the internet for 'small kitchen solutions' and 'wall decals' and 'living with a baby' inspirations.

Needles to say, I'm behind in all the new designs and trends for interiors, just like all the other interests in my life: fashion, news, books, movies, opening hours, and apparently expiry dates on produce in my cupboards.

I'm obssessed with shiny but aged oak wood flooring, rich and inbetween colours for walls, quirky little hanging things for children's bedrooms, and utterly hellbent on redoing the kitchen when I get back to our UB flat. There's already a design we've talked about and agreed on in general but the final decisions are of course made once I get back, otherwise there'll be hell to pay. If all goes well I'll be a proud photographer and blogger of our new kitchen. Hoping my photography skills haven't left me yet. But before that I'm sure there'll be some strategic negotiations with the hubby and well managed trips to random interiors shops with imports from South Korea to pick up random and cute things that'll be artfully placed to create a nonchalant look. Pfff.

In the meantime, here are all the lovely things I've found online in the middle of the night, these past few days-inspirations, eureka moments and more ways to get depressed about the things I can't source from Mongolia-whilst Arvis is asleep next to me, not knowing that a GodzillaMum will be unleashed very soon.

(Photos: Hither and Thither, DesignMom, Sunbutter and Jelly, Scraphacker, the rest I can't remember or have been lost but let's say Google? Apologies.)

Out of love not fear

I read a long way back, somewhere I can't remember, that people only ever do things for two reasons. Either out of love or out of fear. If this is true then there's a lot of loving I need to do. I always wished that I did something creative with my life, but I chose to study and work in a field that's all about mending and lending. I feared that I won't be good at anything creative or feared that it might fail. So something sturdy and dependable was what I was going to do with my llife. I'm ofcourse referring to the time when I was a 17 year old girl with no idea.

There's a book called WHAT I KNOW NOW-Letters to My Younger Self (http://www.letterstomyyoungerself.com/books/what-i-know-now) which I read in 2 days, whilst looking after my little baby (it's short) and it just rang so close to me that I often think back to all the bits of everyone's letters that I find comforting. If only I read this then, at 17, or had someone to tell me it'll be alright and just do your best but only if you love it... Yes, this is very American and we're all brought up to mock the Americans right? But it's still lifting and the book came to me at a time I needed it most. I think that's the best reason for writing a book, isn't it? Macy Gray's letter was especially close to my heart.

I'm sure many people have written themselves a letter to their younger self-I want to and will, when I get the time. But this entry is mostly about why I'm taking the time to do this blog, and you guessed it, it's in the title. Now that my Arvis is nearing 6 months and we've gotten to know each other quite well, I'm slowling peeling myself away from him so that some form of my self can be re-shaped. And I want to do so much! 

It must be true when people say that you've got to go there to come back. I feel that I've gone all the way over to the edge, on all levels in the last few months, and amidst all the fog I lost myself. And then, suddenly it all became so clear and so bright. I wouldn't say it was the book alone (it's not the Bible!) but it was combinations of reading more, going outside more, the sun shining for the first time in weeks, being able to put Arvis to sleep like a pro, having a little envy of all the things I'm missing out on (blame Facebook!), missing my friends, realising that I had become so cynical and self destructive, all of which have made me want to do something a little creative, a little selfish and a lot more fun than watching CBeebies. Also, this blog let's me fulfil my new year's resolution number 10-write, create, produce. And number 7-stay in touch with friends (or at least I can type at 3am and they can read, and vice versa).

The baby's still small but everything I do for him and everyone else is out of love and not fear, except for going to Spin class because I fear that I'll not fit into my and very tight trousers!

Here's what fills me with love and joy.

Live joyously, love fearlessly and work tirelessly. 

Credit credit baby!

Yesterday my shiny new credit card came in the post-my very first! Now I feel like a grown up. Not when I was pushing a baby out of myself or when buying my first anti ageing cream. Apparently one must begin early and be prepared-the anti ageing cream I mean. As for the baby, it kind of grows on you anyway.

Credit cards have always scared me because of the possibility of so much joy and an instant downfall almost simultaneously. However, in order to improve your credit scoring and start the long journey up the maturity ladder, they are the first essential step. At least that's what I was advised by a close friend, studying law and working in a bank! So here I am, after several attempts at online applications and rejections, careful and maybe some sly form filling has given me my worst fear. Ofcourse I was immensely happy to get a shiny card on the post (who isn't?) and immediately started plotting my next purchase online-all fear of debt, depression and marital failure that would surely ensue when you take a step too far with greed, out of the window. Daytime TV is a joy, isn't it?

My shiny new credit card is from M&S. Yes, I like collecting points and spending it on 4 for £12 panties or stupidly expensive strawberries from Devon. I thought, since I'm putting myself in the firing ring, might as well have some perks. Plus, I like to think it makes me look properly grown up. Looking grown up. I must say the idea has swayed me to its side. As much as I'd like to refuse to believe I'm grown up or should be grown up or try to be grown up, when you get letters from the NHS to go for cervical cancer check-ups because it's your time there's no hiding. As Samantha from Sex and the City would say, I'm now in the next age box, a target group for anti-ageing serums and should immediately proceed to get a mortgage. Meh. Which reminds me, this is what I've been using for about a month now, from Superdrug and smells lovely and does make you look like you had a good 4 hours, at least in my case. 

But why the sway? I'm not so keen on being called young or the new generation because the excuses that we see on the street and on the TV for 'young people', 'the disgruntled youth', 'the abandoned social group' makes me want to crawl back into bed and pretend to be a pensioner. Who wants to be a kid when the kids on the streets are all yobs anyway?

So, credit credit baby! At least I can buy a nice book rather than loot some trainers. And yes Marks and Sparks isn't exactly Net-A-Porter but Ryan Reynolds as their new face and body...mmmm.

Karma

Why is it that the minute you think to yourself, not even say out loud, that thank goodness I haven't got my annual and reoccurring cold sore come spring time, you feel a tingling sensation on your upper lip? Or when you've silently thought to yourself that when I have a baby, he/she will have my eyes, daddy's nose and lips and a perfectly formed shapely head (unlike so and so's child...) it's the total opposite? When you mock or ridicule other's and their children especially it makes sense for the mystical forces of karma to say 'aha! i know how to get you back!'
I almost make a deal with myself every time I hear the oncoming of a karma teasing thought about the misfortunes of another-that I will not say 'it'll never happen to me' or 'I will do so and so..' because it's tempting it, daring it to show you otherwise. Instead I will make a milder form of thought and opinion and soften the tone to something like 'I hope that I'll not end up like my mum' (because we all know that there's always a high probability of that happening). It's all a bit like that joke: 'How do you make God laugh? By telling him your plans.' By announcing certain things so boldly, you're more or less prophesying your own doom.
However, boldly making statements in the opposite meaning in the hope of getting what you really want doesn't seem to work either. For example: 'I'm sure I'll get enormously fat after giving birth.' Because it actually happens.
Maybe it's a cosmic way of bringing you back down to earth, for being too cocky and all. But shouldn't we have a choice in all this? A choice to opt out of the karma service because it doesn't fit with someone's lifestyle? We can have access to the service on a pay was you go scheme from time to time, or for the really karma-phobics, how about a Karma Shield 24/7. It'll never find you. Like going off the karma radar. We're living in a supposed democratic and capitalist society surely there's a way to fix this. but then again, are we really? Maybe Karma's just stepping in when there's trouble on earth, to sort out the (bank) balances. Yes, I'm loosely and poorly referring to the EU and recession crises.
I bet this man can't fix it all alone.