Wry Vita - Marion Ryan's personal blog - blog designer, business coach, lawyer of attraction and good-enough mum

Terry's Chocolate Orange - For Life or Just for Christmas?

Nothing less important to share this Good Friday lunchtime than an international conspiracy that I am right at the centre of and note that I have less than 48 hours to get this sorted.  So syringe your ears, put your specs on and pluck away any stray nasal hairs that could prove detrimental in the olfactory department because what I'm talking about today is something that deserves the attention of all your senses.

 

Look, I'm not even an NLP practitioner yet all my senses are tingling as I gaze upon its loveliness:

• I see that perfect chocolate orb, that symmetrical orange ball of loveliness; its curves in all the right places

• I feel the weight of that silky chocolate sphere that begs to be enclosed in the palm of my hand.  We were made for each other, surely

• I hear the muted sound as I unwrap its protective foil and the sudden thud as it hits the table as I attempt to cleanly separate the segments

• I smell its tart orangeness mingling with the warmth of the cocoa beans

• And I say... Terrys Chocolate Oranges - Are they for life or just for Christmas?

Because I don't really go in for Easter eggs, me, but this year, having dramatically reduced my chocolate intake in recent weeks, I decided that I would give myself a treat on Sunday.  And when I thought about it, I realised there was only one thing I wanted.

A Terry's Chocolate Orange.

So I popped out shopping yesterday to make sure I had a couple of Eggs for My Boy on Easter Sunday and decided to get myself a TCO.  Up aisle and round carousel I went but could I find one?  The answer begins with N and ends with a hissy fit.

Doggedly I ran the gauntlet of the Easter shoppers, most of whom had carts heaving with booze, because in Ireland you know, the pubs shut for one entire complete 24 hour day on Good Friday and some people think they might die without the security of 3 dozen cans of Bud
and a bottle of rough whiskey.

I mean - how ridiculous?  Anyone knows that the only thing you can die of is the lack of a Chocolate Orange.

Learning to Love a Teenager

It is really not all that long ago (or so it seems) that that title would have meant something quite different.  Though I was never particularly attracted to younger men, it's true that when finding myself single at age 34 I jumped into a delicious fling with an 18 yr old.

Roger and I had nothing at all in common but after ten years with a wild and unpredictable bloke, Rog came into my life like a gentle breeze, wanting nothing more than to make me happy.  He would find me a seat in the most crowded pub, gaze adoringly into my eyes and hang on my every word.  Of course he did.  He loved me as only an 18 yr old bloke can love an old bird of 34.  Truly.  Madly.  Deeply.

Our relationship lasted a full ten days before I woke up, came to my senses and told him it was time for him to go.  I suspect he was inconsolable for a very long time - possibly as much as 48 hours - before finding himself a 16 yr old to love.

But today the teenager I'm learning to love is quite a different matter. 

Lovely Cows and Old Cows

Almost involved in a multi-cow pile-up today.

Do you know I have developed a little soft spot for cows?  I know, I know,they don't appear to have that much going for them.  Less cute than a sheep, less graceful than a horse, less quirky than a pot-bellied pig.  But they have an accepting placidity about them that makes me want them to know they are loved all the same.

I live slap bang in the middle of two farms.  The farmer to the left maintains a cow from the other side attacked him earlier this year and tossed him into the air but that hasn't put me off.  One has to wonder what his business was in someone else's field.  No witnesses either, beyond the largely silent ones who are saying nothing.  Just an occasional moo.

Anyway, the school run involves a fifteen minute drive along empty country roads and the school adjoins a large dairy farm with around 200 cows.  I know the number because they take a very long slow walk from the milking sheds to the fields, then back, at least twice a day. 

To do this, their path takes them across the lane that leads up past the lake and the swans to the back of the school.  And often, if my journey coincides with theirs, I have to sit and watch a very very long line of them slowly make their way in one direction or the other.  One is always looking for a gap in the cows, much like looking for the gap in the traffic in any urban rush hour - just without the 'rush' bit.

Friday, however I suffered my first incident of bovine rage - only this bovine had two legs.

Playing Headlight Chicken

You know it's September when  you see once gloomy, slump-shouldered parents looking cheerful once more, whistling a chirpy tune and bouncing along with a spring in their step.

Not that we don't enjoy the end of summer term -- knowing that for several weeks we are freed from the misery of early wake-up calls, locker key search parties and Sunday night uniform washes.  But come September, we are more than ready to kiss their sweet-smelling cheeks goodbye (metaphorical kisses for some of our 13 yr olds) and pack them off for five whole days each week to wrestle with Caesar, the Irish language and their classmates.

There are two types of parents.  Wry Vita now operates an equal opportunities policy and anti-paternal propaganda is no longer tolerated otherwise we would be saying what we mean - There are two types of Mothers:  Those who are out buying the new school uniforms before the old year has even broken up and those who are dashing into town the afternoon before the new term begins to pick up a replacement school tie and to wander hopelessly through bedraggled racks of trousers, vainly hoping to pick up even one pair of trousers that might almost be the right size and colour.

No clues for guessing what type I am.  I'm proud to be a member of the second group.  Just-in-time parenting -- just-in-time living actually -- suits me fine.  Or it would if I could rely on my pack to keep their part of the bargain.

My Life Story. Volume 27, Section B, Chapter 51

I decided this evening I'm going to write my life story and be damned.  My life is far too rich, varied and bedazzling to keep it to myself any longer. 

When my book is written I shall have to give away two or three chapters to whet the world's appetite and the events of today will probably be one of the teaser passages.  Such a lot has happened:

• I had a cheese and onion sandwich for lunch.  No ordinary onion.  This one was plucked from the rich Kildare earth of one of my best pals and I think it must honestly have been the most outstanding onion I've ever eaten in my life.  I'm cursing myself I didn't take a picture of it as I take pictures of everything.  You don't believe me so here's a recent photo to demonstrate that no object is too banal for my lens.  What we have here is a section of my wheelie bin with a rain-bejewelled spider's web decorating the side.

  When I write the book I'll explain what made the onion so extraordinary but for now I have to move straight onto the next event of the day.
  

Early Morning Joy

It's another beautiful August morning, dark and rainy, wet and clean.  I'm inside, drinking my favourite coffee out of my favourite mug.  Does it get better than this?  I suspect it does and I'm ready and waiting.

I jumped out of bed this morning, I mean literally.

I was lying in bed marvelling that my tooth (or rather the hole where my tooth used to live) was no longer aching.  I had self-diagnosed "dry socket", a condition I'd never heard of till last Saturday and which, thanks to the internet, I am now one of the world's leading experts in.

I did loads of tapping yesterday for the pain, remembering how Maria Huntsman had tapped away an entire abscess, a success she might never have experienced had she not been holidaying in the US at the time and without access to several thousand dollars for dental treatment.

So there I am, minding my own business when I became aware...

I was not alone.

Big Pants and Almond Slices

I had a lovely email from Bee of 50 Plus Life Design yesterday morning telling me I'd won their 'book of the month' competition.  Ironically it's called "Unbelievably Good Deals and Great Adventures that you Absolutely Can't Get Unless You're Over 50" so I'm afraid it's many great adventures I absolutely can't get for aeons and ages and at least 9 months anyway.

But you get what you focus on and I have been doing a lot of focussing on Life After 50 this year because I shall in fact pass that milestone in exactement 40 weeks today.  The main thrust of my focus has been on getting myself into great shape before the big 5-0h. 

Only last week I got a call from my gym, Curves asking me if I realised it was the guts of two months since I'd popped my lumpy little backside on their machines. 

If I'd recognised their number of course, I wouldn't have picked up but it was a fair cop and I went quietly. I figured two months on the run (contra-pun not intended) was more than I could have expected and it was time to complete my sentence, er membership.

Happy Baarthday, Berni

Happy birthday to my favourite sister-in-law who is celebrating her 70th birthday today.  No, come to think of it, she's not quite 70 yet but she will be soon.  Today in fact she is 48 so you could say she's staring 70 in the face.

Not like that poor lamb.  I met Berni for lunch today and she gave me this story about how she was driving along the road and found this lamb wandering down the road on his own so scooped him up and returned him to his mum.

I expect he was simply on the way to the baarber, perhaps his Baa Mitzvah is coming up. 
I've not seen said lamb so can't confirm his present whereabouts but Berni is skipping round, collecting mint from the garden with a large grin on her face.

When she's not being incredibly annoying, I quite like her actually.  But please, please don't tell her I said that. 

Happy 70th, Berni.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

I indulged in a nice spontaneous spot of self care today.  One minute I was sitting working at my laptop, the next I checked out the cinema listings online and made a quick decision to go and watch a movie on a wet Wednesday afternoon. 

It had to be a quick decision because the movie was starting in 45 minutes and the cinema is 45 minutes away.  I grabbed some fruit and popcorn (lunch) and my gym bag (my gym bag - did you notice that?), waved goodbye to the cats and dog and jumped in the car.

I spent the journey listening to The Secret which coincidentally was all about putting yourself first and got to the cinema on time.  The ticket lady was standing at the door smoking a ciggy and when I went inside, the place was deserted.

Why Did the Chicken go to the Seaside?

Happy New Year!

I've had a very nice few days away, first spending Christmas with my folks in London and then visiting in-laws in Dublin and Drogheda.  Though officially the adults don't exchange presents we tend to cave in at the last minute and so have a few prezzies each to unwrap on Christmas day.

He who must not be named bought me not one but two diaries, a veritable abundance for someone like me who only uses an online calendar but I'm sure I can use them to jot down useful daily snippets of information like... oh, I don't know what.

Of course, the two diaries aren't his best effort.  That was the year he bought me SIX books about Princess Diana.  I hadn't realised I was such a fan of hers till then.

Anyway, our holiday travelling out of the way we now have a week to chill at home.  Well, I'm getting straight back to getting my work organised but Jake is enjoying doing as much nothing as possible before he goes back to school on Monday.  We sat down earlier to play one of the games I bought him for Christmas.