The beauty of #deartuesday is that it makes you look for the good. Whether the Tuesday that you choose to write about has been the most tremendously-tippity-top twenty-four hours of your life in quite some time, or the kind of day when all you wanted to do was run and hide, Tuesday makes you look for the lesson you gained to share in your own distinct way. It’s been a place made great by sad stories, declarations of determination, and recollections of the ridiculous; it’s been a simple and effective space for so many to express their feelings and, send messages out into the world in their own special way.
Sadly, for quite a while, #deartuesday went away. It took a time-out from tales of trial and triumph, and took, probably, a much-needed breather... I missed the personal and perfectly-poised posts of people getting on and getting by delivered by the #deartuesday posty. I missed learning a little more about how other people were doing and the ways in which they’re growing. I missed the spark I’d get after I’d had a tricksy Tuesday and I’d have to stop myself from emailing Steve aka #deartuesday’s daddy to convince him that I had another great anecdote to share about how I’d ballsed up again, been surprised by a friend, or how my parents, who now consider themselves to be celebrities due to the musings I’ve shared about them on #deartuesday, had amazed me with their views on life and their selves once again:
Mama: You do know, dear, that you can write about me any time you like? I’m ever so inspiring for many... But as it’s you, I’m willing to let you have me as your muse.”
Pops: They still bloody love that piece about me down the pub. I’ve lived a life, y’see? I’ll have to give you my writing and thoughts to do something with one day...One day... It’ll be a best-seller, that.
Now #deartuesday is back, and Steve, ever generous-hearted and gracefully-acknowledging of my recent excitement at discovering that he’d relaunched #deartuesday, invited me to share a post straight away. Of course I said “YES!” Of course I’ve been massively late with working out exactly what I needed and wanted to say about the recent Tuesdays gone by. And, of course, Steve has been brilliantly patient and accepting because #deartuesday doesn’t concern itself with precious deadlines and ideas of trying to be clever, it just provides a warm, kindly, comfy chair of sorts for people to snuggle in and share, and makes them feel that little bit less alone in the world when it’s probably- no, definitely, needed the most. So, finally, after much flapping and wailing of “I’m busy!” and darting between health appointments and furiously charging through To Do lists which I keep allowing to grow, I’ve back-tracked through my recent Tuesdays to find the gifts they gave. And it turns out that there were quite a few:
Tuesday 18th December 2012:
#deartuesday, today the printed edition of What the Dickens? magazine was delivered. Predictably I was running late so Vic had to lug twenty back-bustingly heavy boxes into the house herself (I pulled a rib and my boob carrying 3/4 of one box back home. And I broke a nail. Is this what they meant by “Suffering for your art”?), but we set to work straight away and started posting the magazine out. Vic was a hard-ass business lioness doing all the postal forms but I made all the packaging look very neat and was the entertainment cub. And I managed to turn a glue-blob discovery in one of the magazines into a brilliant jizz gag. SUCCESS. Thank you for helping our little magazine wing its way out further into the world. Fly #WTDzine fly! Oh, and thank you for the meal my lovely students gave me. This was unexpected. Tuesday, you did good!
Tuesday 25th December 2012:
It’s Christmas! And I’m the grinch. Sort of. I’m very tired, but for the first time in ages I watched LOADS of TV. Unfortunately, father ruined part of this by continually talking over Bill Murray and declaring he shouldn’t be allowed to touch Dickens. “Pops,” I said, “Bill, baby, can touch whatever the hell he likes...” He looked at me baffled. I stopped breathing. He swigged his whiskey. And then I realised his baffled face is actually his hearing-impaired face too, and that he hadn’t actually heard what I’d just said. Bless the aged. But not their clothes sense. Mother is beyond furious that he’s refused to wear trousers on Christmas day. “He’s in his shorts. He’s happy!” I try. “Well, my eyes aren’t happy at seeing those milk-bottles,” Mama huffed, mid Solitaire marathon, “So help him if he doesn’t wear trousers tomorrow for the family day...” So, Christmas day/Tuesday you were pretty nice. I have, however, gone off Bill slightly now. Odd. Maybe I’m growing? Did make a cracking list of guest actors that I’d love to see in Doctor Who. Moffat should call me pronto. It is a delicious dramatic dream. And fairly clean too.
Tuesday 1st January 2013:
New Year’s Day! Beach! Walking ALL day! Sun! Dogs! Writing! Drawing! That’s it. That’s enough. Best start to the new year ever. In a completely non-predictable-and-non-cliché way, I’ve got a feeling that 2013 will be a marvellous year. Just got to get through a few more challenges, probes and scans and then I’ll be winning.
Tuesday 8th January 2013:
I am on holiday (kind of) in the middle of nowhere and staying with one of my best friends in her little cottage. I’m here to help Jo out but of course she’s helping me more. In between discussing how I can entertain and look after her three year old daughter, she informed me that she’s “casually stumbled upon some information” about a recent health problem that’s cropped up for me. I watched her, smiling, as she chopped up vegetables for her famous home-made soup, and danced around her daughter, and I know that she must have done her research as soon as I updated her days ago, and that she’s been itching to share.
“Thank you,” I offered
“Oh, no problem. Now show me this magazine you’ve been going on about...” Jo flicked through What the Dickens while operating a sewing machine on which she’s been knocking up a complicated-looking “quick gift” for her sister. “I’m just not creative like you, Sandy,” she sighed, machine thrumming and soup bubbling. “It looks lovely...I think I’ll make some chocolate shortbread. Darling, give me that slipper to mend!” Jo called, already pulling cooking ingredients from the cupboard. “What?”
“No, you’re not creative at all,” I smiled, glancing around at various Jo-made creations that adorn the room, “Not a bit...”
“Are you taking my daughter to the woods or not?”
“I am.”
“Now, tell Aunty Sandy what you need to do when you’re in the woods, please.”
A mini-Jo, all gentle honey-coloured curls and dark intense brown eyes looked at me very seriously, “The dragons, Aunty Sandy.” She so so Jo, that it scares me a bit.
“Dragons?”
“Yes,” she continues, her arms crossed, “I need to slay the dragons. But you must stand back and I... I will get them.” “With a sword?” Jo gasped (she’s quite the children’s entertainer now). “No, Mummy! With a magical spell of course...”
And she did just that. Leading me through a boggy, muddy woodland of fallen twigs and straw, this little girl charged and took on all the dragons with the same fire and gusto that Jo has for everything. Dogs were barking all around and birds were crowing and mini-Jo laughed delightedly, gracefully, embracing all that she saw, heard and felt. And when we returned home, Jo shook her head completely bemused that I’d managed to cover her daughter and myself in so much mud when we “just went for a walk!”. We changed, we chatted, we laughed, we remembered, we looked forward, and Jo said this to me: “You are a dickhead sometimes. But you’re running a different race to the rest of us. And that’s fine. That is as it should be...” It was a beautiful Tuesday (and a beautiful week), #deartuesday. It was one of your very best yet. And it was magical too.
Looking back on all these Tuesdays (and the ones that followed) I realise just how many people I want, need and have to say thank you to for their time, their support, their love, for giving me a space to stay, and, sometimes, hide away, and for the truths they’ve shared. And so thank you, #deartuesday, for being there when a few dreams came true, for giving me what I needed, for that wonderful time with Jo, who is, in fact, one of the very best most graceful human beings you’re ever likely to meet...
But most of all, THANK YOU, #deartuesday for offering me, and so many a way of saying thanks. Welcome back, #deartuesday, this one’s for you.
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