A letter to my friend

Dear beautiful friend,

You've gone. It's finally sinking in.

I'm sitting here surrounded by work, we have bid you farewell and then it strikes me - there's no more texting.

I've realised this is when I'm going to miss you most - on the stupid, small, insignificant moments when I would text you to see if you're in for a brew, for a skive, to have a whinge, to talk about the new beau in my life.

It's those small moments that made our friendship - there weren't any big holidays, we didn't even go on that many mental nights out, but you were part of the fabric of my life, the day to day intertwined happenings of the small stuff.

The moments where we simply sat and chewed the cud, talked about nonsense - and as it turns out I can't even remember half the conversations.

What it has made me realise is what makes a friend (well to be honest I sort of knew that already) - and your illness and passing - has also made me realise how lucky and blessed I am.

In this quagmire of grief, there's also so much to smile about. Turns out grief ricochets likes ripples in the pond, in the epicentre is your hub and two small things and then as the ripples span out like skimming stones there's a support network of people for every ripple in that pond. As I tried to help you and yours, people were helping me and mine, making me thankful for all the beautiful friends (and family) I have in my own life.

So while I sit here - missing you in this moment, in a week where I have also been grateful for the extra time I suddenly have in my life - instead of texting you, I've text other beautiful friends and got replies that have made me smile and made me grateful for all my blessings.

There's a saying - don't sweat the small stuff - but it's the small stuff that counts. It's the small stuff that grows into the big things - and frankly I like the small stuff.

The small moments that make you belly laugh in life, the stupid notes the small things write, walking the dog in the rain and looking up to be slapped in the face by a great big fat leaf, going to the gym and getting a random hug from a spin girl because no words are needed.

It's these things that frame our life, that become our constants and our stories. And it's the small things I will mainly try and remember - if my memory wasn't so pants.

Yours,

Me.

Yoga and me

A  yoga move or two...

People do yoga for many reasons. 

Some do it for serenity of the mind. 
Some to destress. 
Some to make sure they are supple. 

My yoga teacher tells me it's all about the breath.

People exercise for many reasons. I run because it gives me sanity. I go to the gym mainly because it provides me with the beautiful sight of the Lancashire County Cricket Club working out before my very eyes.

BUT...

I have started to do yoga for one reason and one reason only.

I intend to win at the Weetabix game.

It started in the summer. Eighteen friends converged at a house in Wales to celebrate a 40th birthday. It was a great weekend in so many ways except one - I failed at the Weetabix game. A game I had rocked in the past.

At some point during the evening, after the small things had gone to bed and before the fancy dress box had been discovered, it was decided we should all play the Weetabix game. (I don't need to point out there was wine involved in this decision making process.)

To the non-initiated amongst you, the premise of the Weetabix game is simple. One box of Weetabix (with the contents removed). Weetabix box placed in the centre of the floor. Players take it in turn to pick up the box with their teeth. Only the feet are allowed to touch the floor. Easy. Until everyone has tried to pick the box up - and then an inch strip is torn from the top making the box shorter and thus harder to pick up. Meaning the more bendy you are, the better you are at the game.

So there we were. A room full of friends. Some limbering up and a gradually reducing box of Weetabix. (To be fair we played with a box of Coco Pops, I think this had something to do with my ruin.)

I was quite successful with the lunge approach and then my legs just wouldn't bend anymore. Leaving in those smug, willowy bendy yoga types...

They flowed to the floor. They reached for the scrap of paper that was the Weetabix/Coco Pop box and then they picked it up. Effortlessly. With not one click of an old bone.

That will be me. Next time. That box is mine.

When I am breathing in on a Thursday night, when I am giving myself calm and serenity through the power of my breath, I am really only thinking one thing.

Next year I am going to rock that Weetabix game*.

*practices yoga moves whilst typing in the downward dog.