Amazing how simple it is.  How simple it is to suddenly appreciate something so much when you no longer have it.

 

My daily gratitude book is filled with how thankful I am for so much, the little things as well as the big things.  The big shake up of our life, sifting out what is important and what is less so.  And even for that, as hard, painful, devastating as it has been to uncover, I am grateful for a way to look at life with a new perspective.

 

Perhaps that is why a trip to Antarctica next year is so appealing.  To sift out more of what is just cosmetic.

 

Today as I lay crippled in pain with back muscles in hard spasm from stupid solo manoeuvres with a large oak bed to please a small boy with a ‘new’ bedroom, I am reminded to be grateful of mobility and pain free living.

 

The pain and the lack of mobility played tricks on me;  causing frustration and friction between my head and heart, my usual technique of running to clear my head or getting out to distract myself not possible and so my head took over.  My temper raging and my fuse short.

 

Just when I had re-found my energy to get up and get on and do things, continue breaking my bad habits formed from traumatic stress fatigue, the universe plays a cruel trick, causing me to slow down, take it easy.  And I don’t want to.  I want to get on with living!  I want to carry on wiping that slate clean and rebuilding a new existence in this new chapter that has presented itself to me.  But life has a different plan, throwing me back in to the previous one, stalling my progress.

 

I thought that reading my new book ‘Brave enough’ by Cheryl Strayed would help but the next quote after my book mark enraged me…

 

“It is the plight of every monogamous person at one time or another to love X but want to f*ck Z.   

We all love X but want to f*ck Z.  Z is so gleaming, so crystalline, so unlikely to bitch at you for neglecting to take out the recycling.  Nobody has to haggle with Z.  Z doesn’t even wear a watch.

Z is like a motorcycle with no one on it.  Beautiful.  Going nowhere.”

 

Perhaps if I had been in less pain, I would have interpreted that in a positive light, that ‘Z’ has been sent on her way, going nowhere, with no one, no plans, no life.  In her messages, all she wanted to do was talk about me.  Was she trying to live my life?  Have my life?  Jealous of my life?  I have always thought motorcycles were pretty insecure.

 

But in my state of pain, all I envisaged was me, alone eternally taking out the bins, taking out the washing, taking out the clean plates from the dishwasher, while the motorbike was doing donuts around me, laughing at me, invisible in the dust it threw up behind it.

 

My imagination is amazing, yet crippling.   I need to lasso my mind, harness it;  for it is currently the motorcycle, beautiful, but going nowhere and not serving any purpose at all in the healing process.  It needs to return to love and get back to being X.

 

The next quote helped.

 

“Do not reach the era of child-rearing and real jobs with a guitar case full of crushing regret for all the things you wished you’d done in your youth.  People who didn’t do those things risk becoming mingy, addled, shrink-wrapped versions of the people they intended to be.”

 

And I go back to being grateful, dare I say it, for the motorcycle, for Z.  Because if that hadn’t happened, I would be turning in to a shrink-wrapped version of X.

 

And I take it as a sign that all roads lead to Antarctica.

 

 

 

There were little bits of magic in the small things today.  Little bits of magic to help turn the dark image stream fade; fade back in to the grey peripheral of my consciousness.

 

Magic in the dancing sun rays and the warmth of the welcome spring sun on my face.

 

Magic in the sound of the music blasting from the old boom box as we made the first pass of a clear out of the garage –  6 week countdown ‘til moving day.

 

Magic in Willy’s inquisitive innocence – “just checking if the tadpoles have grown legs yet!” – having just pulled the frogspawn out of the pond into a bowl.

 

Magic in the fresh smelling white washing fluttering in the breeze on the line.

 

Magic in the first barbecue of the year, smokey, succulent rare steaks, bowls of raw crunchy salads.

 

Magic in the soft, downy skin of Willy’s cheeks just in front of his ear and the silky, fuzz of the nape of Tom’s neck as they both drape themselves over me on the sofa.

 

The magic wand of the little gratitudes to extricate the gloom and grim from my brain.

 

 

Last night I lay clock watching.  11.30.  12.30.  1.30. 2.30… the hours passed by in moments.  I was in my head.  Something had triggered open the black box and the blood and guts of the explosive opening were all over me, my ceiling, the air around me; floating images, words, messages scrolling and scrolling and scrolling.

 

I try shutting my eyes.  But they are there.  As clear as they were the first time I saw them.

 

I try opening my eyes.  But they are there.  Slightly dulled by the darkness.

 

I try to mindfully be aware of them and let them go.  But as each one goes, the next one appears. My home, my mirror with her image, my plates with her food, my bedroom with her silver stilettos, my husband with her smiles.

 

I am lying here, spooning while he sleeps peacefully and wondering what the f*ck I am doing here. But these moments, I now know are all part of post traumatic shock, triggered by the subconscious.  I am getting better at letting them in without the anger, and show them and myself compassion.

 

But if it weren’t for our boys I would have left.  And yet if it weren’t for our boys I would never have given him the opportunity to show me his pain, his sorrow, his overwhelming remorse and love for me.

 

And as I lay there, I am frightened of that love. I am frightened of becoming too reliant, too needy of it and therefore, of losing it again.

 

I am still so confused. I love him. I can’t say it out loud yet, to him directly. But I know I do. And I know I want to build a future together for our boys and for us and for our individual selves..

 

But I also want to do something that is just a little piece of life for me. Just me.  And do it before I have to go back to tidying up to the standard of his OCD, doing his laundry, ironing his shirts.

 

Why I have chosen to go to Antarctica I don’t know. Because I was asked by a friend from the very distant past, tempting me with the word ‘challenge’?  Because it isn’t somewhere I would typically choose, not featuring in the glossy brochures that arrive in my mailbox.  I mean I can’t even remember if it is the North Pole or the South.  I think the South.  The bottom of the earth.  The underneath.  The underworld.  I can feel myself hanging upside down already… Maybe I feel this will turn me the right way?  Metaphorically speaking.

 

It’s hardly going to be Scott Dunn. 8 on small sail boat. No 4 course meal with wine, amouse bouches and a digestif. No pressure shower for the girl who showers twice a day and sometimes has a bath in addition.  Where the bollocks am I going to charge my electric toothbrush let alone wash my delicates? And god forbid the mono brow returning … no lights no mirrors no tweezers…

 

What am I doing lying here?

 

What am I doing going to Antarctica on a quest I don’t fully understand yet?

 

Why? Because it is so scary? I thought one of the most frightening thing would be to lose the love of the man I loved.  But I survived it. I lived without it. So is this my confidence and desire to do more of what I thought I could never do?

 

Or is this a distraction?  Or a goal?  Or a dream to write about such an experience? Or pipedream given my reality and responsibilities? Or escapism from the very same?

 

All I know, and what I know for sure (nod to Oprah), that doing the hard things makes you stronger, more resilient, more grateful, more spiritual… just more.

 

Leaning in to doing what frightens you the most makes you grow on many levels. Facing your worst nightmare means you have no choice but to step out of your comfort zone, ask of yourself to be enough; strong enough, bold enough, brave enough, big enough to walk through the nightmare as a graceful, dignified warrior, aware enough to take on the lessons and the armour given to you as you fight and to keep it, safeguard it, use it and then share it with those who walk alongside you in the battle of daily life.

 

But still.  I lay there.  … clock watching. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The hardest part is going to be telling the Big Man I am leaving him.

 

The signs are all so obvious now.  Some people may call it a ‘calling’ and I suppose, in a way, the Universe has been ‘calling’ me for a while.  My obsession with Eat Pray Love, the book, the film, the writer…. The same with Wild, the book, the film, the writer, her latest book arriving on my doorstep yesterday shouting up at me ‘BRAVE ENOUGH’.

 

I have to be brave enough to tell him.  And my boys.

 

If it weren’t for my beautiful boys, I would have left 4 months, 13 days, 1 hour and 10 minutes ago.

 

And today as I sat in traffic outside the hotel where they frequented, I listened to chapter 13 of the Unthethered Soul.  “You don’t want your world to collapse.”

 

No I didn’t.  It was all out of my control.

 

And as the author says, my world was so shaken to the core that my relationship to everyone and everything around me, including myself began to fall apart.  My ‘model life’, Our ‘model life’ the one I had built in my head, the same one we had built together in reality was crumbling and now I see myself scrabbling to fit everything back in to that model, the way it was.  To find a new family home, to re-marry, to start again but now I question whether that is the right thing to do – to rebuild it back up again in accordance with the same mental model as I /  we had before, albeit a stronger one?

 

His thought provoking words on ‘going beyond’ my model, ‘going beyond’ my beliefs, ‘going beyond’ the boundaries of my mind and going for infinite possibility struck a chord in my heart.  And to learn the lesson in the collapse is to change your belief, change your views, change your world and break free of the finite and let go of control.

 

I am scared.  I am totally and utterly petrified.

 

Of telling him.  Of telling the boys.

 

I have a year to get strong.  I have a year to prepare myself to live a life of a completely different model, without him, without my boys, without mod cons, without friends, family, wifi, phone lines, without a bed on land.

 

I have a year to get us all strong.  For me to be able to live without them, seeing them and touching them every day and for them to live without me.

 

I am ‘going beyond’ for 3 weeks, 2 days and possibly longer…. 

 

Post script:  the easiest part was telling the Big Man I am leaving him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today I was asked a very interesting question.  “If I were still working in industry, in a corporate capacity, or even in my old job and if I had a blank sheet of paper, how would I rewrite the way I worked.”

 

At first, I felt myself limit myself to ‘more flexible working’.  But that is just adapting the way we work now, still in the confines of traditional and current ways and hours of working.  I recall one of the final interviews I had, after being asked to go and discuss returning to one of the big consulting firms so that they could increase and fulfil their quota and percentage of female leaders.  A way to encourage and inspire other younger woman climbing their way up the corporate ladder to consider staying on after becoming a parent.  In my interview (for my benefit as much as theirs) I asked about ‘flexible working’ to the interviewer / ex-colleague and how it could apply to me being the primary carer of two small pre-schoolers.

 

I remember his reply so clearly.  I could work a normal day, starting early and then finish so I got home in time to bath and say goodnight to my children and then, do I what he did – get the laptop out again and carry on.

 

I knew in that moment, corporate life in that industry was no longer for me.  Not until there were radical changes in the workforce to cater for the career girl in me, but also the 50’s housewife expected of me who not only bathes her children, but feeds them, keeps on top of all household chores and provides a home cooked, wholefood supper, passes the pipe and slippers to the man of the house.  Trying to do and be both, almost killed me.  Potentially my own fault, as I wouldn’t accept help or didn’t like spending money on help if I could do it myself.  But getting my laptop out at 8 or 9pm after having done the dishes just didn’t appeal to me;  it didn’t feel like living.  It filled me with a dread that felt like dying slowly.

 

So I turned the question around.  What on earth would make me reconsider re-entering the blue chip world?

 

And it was a simple answer.  When it all slows the fuck down and when men and women are not only treated as equals in the boardroom but also in the bedroom, kitchen, nursery, laundry room and all the other rooms.   Maybe more than that, so there is no distinction between male and female, pink and blue jobs, primary childcarer or primary earner.  And that is the next huge culture change.

 

But it has to slow down first.  Technology has sped everything up to a ridiculous pace.  As a student I worked in a solicitors – I remember fax machines were the new revolution, but the majority would go in the snail mail or DX (directory exchange!). It took days or a week for communication and messages to happen, decisions made.  There was no rush, no panic; and there was consideration and time to think, rather than react.   People didn’t have to make ‘living in the moment’ a thing, because they had time to do that anyway without mindfully and consciously doing so.  They connected with people, face to face rather than blanket, faceless communication.  I took lunch, went for a walk in the fresh air.

 

If we continue to go at this pace and increase the pace at the same speed, I fear for a society burnt out.  I fear for my boys and their future.

 

If it slowed down, perhaps I wouldn’t feel the guilt and fear that I did when I had my non-corporate working days but ‘worked’ at looking after my family.  I wouldn’t feel the guilt and fear when I would return to work to find decisions I disagreed with had been made while I was out of the office.

 

If it slowed down, perhaps there would be more of a focus on flow of work, rather than hours of work and more consideration would be made for people and for decisions and both parents could be present in the lives of their offspring.

 

I don’t know.  Who knows? It was an interesting question.  I did love what I did for a long time, but then it stopped working for me.  And I still feel shame that I didn’t carry on, a little guilty perhaps.  But I am also glad I had the courage to leave and do something different, try new things, add flavour and diversity to the patchwork of my life.

 

I know my friend is embarking on a journey to help all the disenfranchised women still living and fighting in a corporate world, whether that be through choice, ego, financial requirement or other.

 

I strongly believe her work will change the shape of today, tomorrow and the future.

 

I’m curious.  Is there an International Men’s Day too?  Or is IWD just another day another thing like ‘work life balance’ for women, mothers, girls to beat themselves up about?  Especially if they feel like they have under achieved, or feel worthless, not enough or just have PMT today?  Do men not need one?  Is that because they believe in themselves, their in-built greatness radar developed already, or simply just don’t need to publicise how much they have done for society and the world already?  If the female race want to be equals in society, why do they / we continue to come up with events or ways to differentiate ourselves on such a grand scale?

 

Those were the unhelpful, derogatory, pissy thoughts I was thinking as I lay under my 10 tog duvet and comforter at 1pm this afternoon.  Feeling like crap because I hadn’t been able to accomplish #breakingbadhabits today.  The weight of the black box heavy in my heart, like an anchor, tugging, reminding me it is still there.  The mental strain and exhaustion to not open it, not relook through the photographic memories filed away under ‘danger – do not open’.  The emotional turmoil and concerns for someone I love very much going through her own emotional rollercoaster, and feeling helpless, wordless, hopeless and distant.

 

But.  But that was then.  And I had set my alarm.  My self pity alarm, my 54321 launch alarm. When I felt the pull of the bad habit, I was kind to myself. I know this is still early days.  I gave myself permission to grieve, to feel the pain, the sadness, the tiredness, anger, frustration, loss, heaviness, unworthiness, etc etc.

 

Just as I was allowing myself those negative thoughts about IWD my alarm went off.  And it was launch time!

 

It was time to ‘G’ up. It was time to get up, be grateful, grow, get my game plan in play and connect with someone in my trusted group of people who will support me.

 

And it was time to be gracious.

 

To show my respects to the women, celebrate and recognise the countless generations who stood up for progressive thinking, liberation, equality and ultimately gave me the ability to have the career I am proud of, rubbing shoulders in the board rooms and corridors of male and other female leaders in industry; the ability to start my own business alongside other entrepreneurs; the freedom to look after my children in my own way, to my values.  To be grateful for the many men (and women) who have accepted me and treated me not as equals, but as an individual, with my own character, own thoughts and beliefs and passions, and listened and truly heard.  And let me take action in my own way.

 

But more importantly, so much more importantly, to those women (and men) who have now given me the choice to do what I want, be who I am, without the pressure of society or tradition deciding for me and dictating my fate.

 

Thank you for allowing me to be a ‘Goddess’.  The definition of which I found in the first page of my new book.  To me this is International Goddess Day and in the theme of 2017’s theme of boldness, I fully embrace it.

 

And International God Day is Sunday 19^th November 2017 (according to Google).

 

 

 

 

 

In the project of #breakingbadhabits, I continue to step out of my usual routine and cycles.

 

Today’s opportunity wasn’t really breaking a bad habit at all, but more of an experiment to do something different.  Practice on the small things, un-scary things and it becomes a habit to be brave.. that’s my thought process anyway.  Rather than listen to recorded tinkling on my phone, I listened to real life birds singing outside my window as I appreciated the sun warming my face, was grateful for life, health, love and family, did a body scan and practiced exercising my mind muscle.

 

Not only was it beautifully different, it reminded me of how far I have come.  The music and the tinkling water or bells previously a distraction from my dark and busy mind.

 

I heard a beautiful quote recently that really sums up the experience, a quote by Cheryl Strayed (my new favourite author and speaker) explaining what her mother used to say to her and her siblings if they had had a bad day or if they were complaining.

 

“Life will be a struggle but you don’t have to stay there.  You can put yourself in the way of beauty.”

 

Just before I decided to break my mindfulness routine, I was feeling rather overwhelmed.

 

Overwhelmed by the feeling of and receiving of love, attention, appreciation, gentleness, kindness and desire bringing forth a magnifying glass and making it all rather apparent that it had been lacking for so long;  I just hadn’t realised it slowly seeping away, almost drying up, only the odd oasis I know question as perhaps a mirage.

 

And the little voice of my current high healed saboteur, clicking her heals and tormenting me with her swishy hair, and coquettish question, ‘where do you think it was being channelled instead?’

 

But with the flick of the volume nob and a freeze frame, she is gone.

 

And there is just the sunlight, the birds and the moment.  I put myself in the way of a moment of beauty.  And the cloak of mental struggle, darkness slipped away and I am left wrapped in the warmth of a blanket of peace.

 

‘Midlife crisis’ was the theme running through today.  From the heartbreaking conversations I had on the phone, the uplifting conversations I had in person and the podcast I listened to on my run.

 

I am no stranger to the midlife crisis, having had one myself (perhaps two) and openly bearing the scars of the rebellious midlife crisis of someone else.

 

I loved the way it was compared to giving birth by JP Sears, something along the lines of the midlife crisis being the birth canal for enlightenment, bursting through the membrane for something more beautiful.  (I was running, I couldn’t write it down… so that is how I remember it.)

 

I don’t remember actually being born, but I do remember distinctly the giving birth part to my sons.  I remember my belly growing to an unbelievably enormous size, becoming so uncomfortable in my own skin, my own body.  I can only imagine that the boys were feeling the same on the inside, constrained, unable to move, uncomfortable, frustrated so that between the two of us, we decided to break out, break free from the restricted, unpleasant environment we both found ourselves in.

 

And yes, it was scary and yes it was mightily painful, but the light at the end of it was worth it in the end and definitely far better than staying the way we were.

 

If I then related the experience to my own ‘midlife crisis’ 4 years ago, it was very similar.  I was trapped, I couldn’t turn, I was suffocated in a corporate environment, my family life, my personal life getting too big to ‘fit’ in the time and space I had to work with.  I had to reassess my surroundings, re-determine my priorities and found that breathing was top of that list.

 

It took a while, the first signs of needing to ‘break free’ started as ‘contractions’, moments of intense pressure and stress, guiding me and pushing me further down the route of the ‘birth canal’ and towards the light.

 

And after my reassessment of life, at that stage, I did see the light.  The grass was greener and I was able to breathe freely, be creative and live.

 

I feel like I am going through another mini reassessment, yet this time slightly different.  More like Tom’s very long drawn out labour and complications, he came out not breathing, exhausted and for a while, there was no light.  Until he was brought back round with warmth, love, gentle and urgent care.  And just like this one, while Tom’s labour was induced with powerful external influences, so have mine.

 

Again, the parallels interestingly similar.  The powerful external influences being the death of my Mumbo, the realisation that life is finite; the unknowing fool in a marriage, the feelings of unworthiness and not being enough.  All enough to question – ‘is this it? Is this what my life boils down to?  is this my legacy?’

 

JP goes on to say that he advocates pro-action towards a ‘midlife crisis’, or the reassessment of life, rather than react to life.  I took that to mean we should continually reflect, continually improve so that it never gets so bad that you are left alone, in the darkness, confined and unable to breathe.  Instead, consistently look to improve yourself, your environment so that you stay in the light and so that you never feel the pressure or stress to liberate yourself from a stifled existence.

 

But that is easier said than done.  I know I became ‘comfortable’ in my corporate roles and in my marriage.  It was easier to be what everyone else expected me to be and to stay comfortable rather than realise the walls were closing in.

 

In both cases, I have been lucky.  Even though I was afraid to go down that narrow, uncertain birth canal, feel the pain, feel the fear and do it anyway – I have been lucky.  I have found new avenues of personal fulfilment and mental satisfaction, and continue to make exciting plans.  And I strongly believe, my marriage, our marriage and future life as a family and a couple will be brighter for the applied pressure to reassess our commitment, our love and our life.

 

Today, we definitely applied the Super Sunday formula, but this evening I am feeling a little pent up, frustrated, on edge rather than chilled and relaxed.  Despite full on attention, connection, compassion and lots of quality time together, if it wasn’t one child it seemed to be the other who was playing out.  One screaming and shouting if something didn’t quite go his way or the other with ‘teenage’ back chat, sullen sulks.

 

Today, patience had to play a key part.  Fuelling the fire with mirrored back chat or angry shouting, just made everything worse.

 

Today, patience held that anger and frustration in.  And now I can feel it.

 

Today, I wasn’t sure how I was going to release the unhealthy emotions healthily.  I don’t feel like a bath, too wired for mindfulness, too late and dark for a run.  And then Lewis Litt from Suits and his eccentricity makes me laugh.

 

Today, the only way to find release is with laughter and happiness.

 

And as I realise that, I find a little book that was given to us as an engagement present, ‘The Pig of Happiness’ by Ed Monkton.  The story of a little pig, unhappy with the grumpy pigs around him, so he makes himself so happy, by seeing all the good, undoing all the nasty things, that he explodes with happiness!  The explosion spreads the happiness far and wide to all pigs, all sheep and even the hen.

 

A lovely reminder.  Laughter and happiness is the medicine.

 

So day 3 on #breakingbadhabits is still going well, but I will admit to sneaking back to bed (just a short power nap, the aftermath from the emotional impact and mental stress to return to the higher vibrational frequency).  Not straight after getting the boys to school, for it was a day of future planning:  house hunting and car research.

 

The car side bores me.  I grew up learning in a Volvo 240, perfectly symmetrical in shape and in deepest darkest poo brown with beige seats.  I was grateful just to have the use of a car to get from A to B, home to pub, home to friends.  What I looked like and the fact that everyone called it the ‘poo on wheels’, didn’t bother me.  It fit 10 friends in (in the days before seat belts in the back…  am I really that old?!) and that gave me kudos.  To me, a car is a vehicle, that’s all and the Volvo was safe, secure and solid.

 

The houses interest me more.  And the 2 today, couldn’t have been more different. One steeped in history from the 15^th century, complete with hand carved oak panelling, hand modelled cornicing’s of individual flowers, pomegranates, mermaids and mermen and even a secret tunnel from the pantry to the church!  And the second, as though it had jumped straight out of the pages of the latest ‘Home and Garden’ magazine, pristine, polished, stunning and trendy and I was scared to touch anything it was so beautiful.

 

While they were both so different, interesting or stunning, neither had the feeling of ‘home’ that I felt when I walked in through the doors of my dream house, the home we still hope to live in.

 

And I guess that’s just like relationships.  Just as you know your ‘home’ as you walk in from the ambience, the feng shui, the atmosphere, regardless of décor, you know ‘the one’;  the one person you could spend the rest of your life with, make home with, grow a family with, laugh in front of the fire in matching armchairs, grey hair, hot water bottles and hot toddy’s.

 

A friend recently posted a wonderful article which collated responses from married, divorced and cohabiting couples on how relationships stay successful, or why they don’t.  To me it is required reading for anyone considering a new relationship, in a relationship or considering leaving a relationship. (https://qz.com/884448/every-successful-relationship-is-successful-for-the-same-exact-reasons/?utm_source=parHuffPo&ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000063)

 

The last passage is from Margo and her words of wisdom and as she suggests, I have done so and printed it off and read daily.  One piece of advice is to write down why you fell in love in the first place.  That was simple to do, scribbled notes in the badger book.

 

I fell in love with the Big Man for the way he made me feel;  safe, secure and that I need not worry about anything, he had it in hand, his generosity and kindness abundant;  protected, yet needed;  respected, admired for what I did and what I had to say;  loved and adored from the quiet look in his eye in a crowded room, the discrete touch in the small of my back to know he had my back; and oh so special, like I was actually the only person in that room, the world, that mattered; and for his sense of fun, that allowed me to let down my serious guard and become alive in safety.

 

I am not sure where I am going with this.

 

Safety and security is obviously a big think for me;  the car – a Volvo, the safest thing on the road;  the dream house, providing solid foundations and a fortress for our family;  the Big Man and why I fell in love with him.  And perhaps that is why this explosion in our relationship had such an impact, shattering my inner feelings of safety, security and surety about us and moreso, myself.  Yet also perhaps why after only 4 short months, I am healing because of the actions, not words, hard work and effort he is putting in to our relationship to make me feel that certainty that the foundations are being re-laid stronger, that I can rely on my future being safe and that I am once again the only person in a room that matters, that will ever matter.

 

So the houses made me think; everything is about feeling, who you are with, where you are, where you live, where you drink your coffee, where you send your children to school, what car your drive.  And just like the houses, they can be interesting or stunning, but they may not be ‘the one’ for you;  ‘the one’ will stir up the emotions most important to you and you will feel ‘at home’.

 

And now I am off out to celebrate a 46th wedding anniversary to a couple I owe a lot to, for their patience, their love, their support and because they make me feel loved, safe and secure;  a couple who I can learn a lot from, marriage yes but especially about houses and cars!