8 of 8

Lastly a wee story then a bit of a sum up about what I think I've been doing here.

So let me tell you about two ladies who helped me at a really important time in life.

You learn who you are when you leave all that is familiar and start out on your own.

At the time it was just a big adventure, it felt to me like we were going to the big smokes so we could make our fortune.

The house we rented when we arrived in Selby

Well, it was Selby, it wasn't big and there was no smoke.  We also had a large rent, lots of expenses and one wage!  But it was still our adventure and actually turned out better than the one I'd imagined, but I had a rocky start.

Our boy was 4 months old, I had decided already I'd give up work to stay home with him.  I didn't at that time realise we'd move to England and I'd be giving up my support network and all that was familiar, as well as work.

It was tough at first, lonely, but also the making of me.

Motherhood came naturally in lots of ways and not so much in others.  I remember one day calling a woman from church and asking if she wanted to go for a walk- I just needed adult company.  I kept it casual and made her feel it was no big deal.  She said she didn't feel like it that day as she had to clean out a cupboard.  I came off the phone and cried, no in fact sobbed.   I realised then just how lonely I was and that I needed to do something about it.

We went to every mother and baby group the small village had to offer, tumble tots, tiny tunes, baby swimming lessons (which in my now less socially isolated opinion are a waste of money by the way). I think we went to 3 different churches mother and toddler groups per week.  In time thing's got easier,  less desperate.  Once a rhythm of life was established I felt happier and actually began to enjoy the time I had with just my boy and I very much. Looking back I appreciate that tough start to motherhood and all it brought out of me.  Those memories of his early years are treasured and precious.

At that time I met two ladies I hold on pedestals to this day.  So forgive me if I get a bit flowery here, I may go over the top! Beth and Kathryn.

Kathryn and I with our first borns.

Kathryn was accomplished and capable. She had a maths degree and played piano well.  Her personality was a great balance of creativity, sensitivity, intuition and straight forward practical realism.  She had wit and wisdom too.  The girl next door who you felt could achieve anything she set her mind to.

Beth was gentle and generous.  Self-contained and independent but always willing to share, whether it was lunch, her time or her listening ears.  She was wholesome and easy going.  She was Mary in the nativity play one Christmas.  She played it perfectly and to me embodied qualities of womanhood that made her the perfect choice for the part.  She was and is a superlative mother.

These ladies showed me what good friends look like.  Caring not competitive, the kind that were as happy for your success as they were for their own.  The kind of women who talked to people not about them.

In case you can't tell I love both of them very much.

There are so many I haven't mentioned.  I'm sorry if thats you, this was never meant to be a tribute to individuals.  I'm not sure I knew what it was meant to be when I started but if you feel left out I've no doubt you're important to me too.

So this is how this blog series ends.

It's funny,  as I say I'm not sure why I started this it wasn't intentionally to share my life story although I kind of have haven't I?  (Minus the gory details).  I just sat up one night and wrote a handful of posts that seemed to be about friendship.

I am obviously trying to make sense of my past and figure out what it means for me today.  I have been for a while now.

Something about this reflection makes me feel grateful for the present and excited for the future.  Once you get past the shame and vulnerability it's actually quite a nice feeling as you piece it all together and a picture of who you are emerges.  Kinda like what I'd imagine group therapy to be:)

As I've shared stories of my history it has begged the question for me, what next?  And I don't mean in terms of blog posts.  I've come up with one or two things and felt the motivation to restart other things.  I am always interested in growth, change and challenge.  All in all I am glad I have done this despite some early misgivings and false starts!

This whole thing has helped me feel whole.  Maybe my version of the velveteen rabbit.

Thank you for being part of it and for your kind comments and acknowledging likes.  It has felt important to feel heard for some reason.

I'll close with this.

This week I talked at an event linked to some voluntary work I am part of.  It's to do with child protection.  A friend asked if I recognised the old Lynne I was speaking about, my answer was "yes I do, she is still in there".  Alive and well actually.

In fact this journey of openness and discovery has helped me embrace her instead of hiding her away.   I also realise she didn't have it all wrong either and there is a lot I liked about her that the present me could learn from.  I was far less judgmental for a start, she'd also have called me out on any pretentious snobbery that has crept in over the years.  I feel like keeping her close makes me a better version of myself.

So I guess I'm saying maybe this whole thing has been about me taking my inner child and teenage self by the hand, leading her out and telling her to stop hiding.  There is no reason to hide.

If I could, I'd say to her, come sit here right beside me.  You have so much to look forward to, it will all be ok,  you are worthy, you belong and you will soon have a wonderful life full of very good friends........then I'd hope she didn't punch me in the face for sounding like a pretentious snob;)

7 of 8

Sister Ranucci -The beautiful singing Italian.

I wasn't sure if I liked her at first if I am honest.  She was very pretty and self-assured.  She sang like an angel and made me feel like that was only one of the ways she outshone me.  Like so many of them did in the beginning, she intimidated me. But I was interested to talk to an Italian since I'd loved so much about the place when I had visited, so I told her so and we started a conversation.

She said she had always wanted to visit Scotland, especially since her boyfriend had met someone from Scotland in the missionary training centre.  Apparently they had gotten on well and made plans to visit each other when their missions were over.  This pricked my interest, surely I would know this Scot?  Soon the coincidence was revealed.  The boy he had met was Gary!

The more we talked the more we had in common.  So much so that when I wrote Gary that week I told him we had met our Italian twins!  Honestly there was so much about us that was similar it was downright spooky!  It was strange to think of them living their lives in another country, with a different culture, speaking a different language and here we now were together in another part of the world and so were our boyfriends! It was hard not to feel we were always meant to meet.  Finding the commonality between us felt comforting for lots of reasons.

And so it was that my mission taught me this lesson over and over again.  "You are these girls equal, you are not better but you are no worse. You are enough!"

My mission has had a massive impact on me and did me immeasurable good.

I'm one of those black suited dots! Can you tell which is me?

There were all kinds of young women there, those who's backgrounds would make mine look like a walk in the park to those who had been afforded every privilege this world could give them, and there was also everthing in between.  I know this because I heard many of their stories.  Despite others willingness to be open with me I can count on one hand the times I shared fully or even in part, the journey I'd been on to get there.  This was my choice, I think, and a little instinctive but I realise now the feeling that it should be a secret was also unhealthy.

There I met hundreds of young women of my own age who came from all over the world.

There were instant friends among them and inevitably those that challenged your ability to offer friendship too, it wasn't Stepford!  But generally the work was unifying and a feeling of sincere sorority existed.

It is often said that you get far more than you give on a mission, and for me I'd agree that's how it was.  The work was demanding in every way work can be.

I gave my every effort and worked hard, I stood shoulder to shoulder amongst those I served alongside.  This taught me a great lesson and began to ease my feelings of inferiority.  I grew in confidence and self- esteem.

I enjoy hearing about how life is going for those women I met and through our connections on social media their friendship continues to be important to me.

I could go on and on, but thats not why I have extended my 7 out of 7.  I have a theory on what all this has been about and thought I might share.....

Friends 6 of 7

Would you like a tour of my bus?

I'm weak at the knees just thinking about it;) I mean who wouldn't be?  These are obviously the words of a 16 year old who knows he has just met the woman he will spend the rest of his life with.....and maybe even all eternity....if he's lucky.

To be honest the Dundee bus was actually quite cool, it had curtains.  Way better than the bus Dunfermline had for the trip to the London Temple-bit of a sore point in some quarters, the kind if thing that's still not laughed about:)

I always liked Gary from the first time I met him, I found him so easy to be around and was instantly comfortable with him.  He was the perfect balance of deep and silly.  I also thought he was very handsome!

We met and dated at 16 a little, then I left school after 5th year and went to University.  Since Gary is a year younger than me that meant he was a 5th year at High School and I was a big grown up 1st year at Uni....not cool...so I dumped him.

He took it well and went on to bigger and better things he tells me.  I'll give him the bigger;)

Truth was Gary was a bit of a catch and I knew it.  He had some very pretty girlfriends.   I still liked him and always kept track of the latest on his love life.  We'd stayed good friends.  I remember him asking me to dance at a ceilidh we were at despite being there with his current girlfriend.  We laughed and laughed through our dance and I was quite content in the knowledge that one day we'd be together again.

A trip to London pre-missions

Then he went to America to work for a few months and I travelled around Europe, we got back at roughly the same time.  He asked his ex-girlfirend back out she said no, so he called me again!  He actually called me by her name when he asked me-honestly he did!

We dated for a few months but knew that a long separation was on the horizon.  Hours after the bells rang in the millennium we kissed and told each other we loved each other for the first time and then broached the topic of "waiting".

Gary-just after being set apart.  What I love about this photo is that it demonstrates how clearly comfortable I was with Gary.   So much so that I didn't feel the need to do my blinking hair despite knowing this was the last time we'd see each other for over two years!

You see Gary and I are mormons and mormons serve missions.  I knew I would too, I'd decided that as a 16 year old, and for Gary it was a decision that was a given.  It meant we'd be on different continents for over 2 years and would only correspond through letter.  For every week we were apart we wrote and sent each other tapes we had recorded on dictaphones.

Typical of Gary he still found imaginative ways to surprise me.

While we had dated we once had a big row-it was his fault, obviously.  We were babysitting for my sister and I refused to talk to him.  He kept saying sorry then said is there anything I can do for you.  Rather flippantly I said "I'd like a crunchie".  He didnt say a word he got up and put his coat on.  The shop was miles away-I didn't stop him.

When he eventually got back he had a bag of crunchies, still neither of us said a word as he laid out on the floor the exact number of crunchies he had calculated it would take to spell out "I love you".

He was forgiven.

Crunchie-The Food of Love

It gets better....so on Temple Square as a missionary twice it happened that I was randomly approached by a stranger who handed me a crunchie and said this is from Gary!

By the time my mission to Temple Square, SLC, Utah ended Gary had been home from France for a few months.  I stayed on in America with my family for a week or so and Gary and I talked on the phone for the third time in 2 and half years.  We spoke for 7 hours.

So when I finally saw him again, I already knew.

Like the cat that got the cream!

We were married 6months later, 13 years ago in April.

Gary is the love of my life, he knows all my stories and keeps me steady and grounded.  He is my very best friend.


No eastenders ending here, I could happily finish the series of blogs with this but there are one or two others I'd like to mention and a few things more to say.....

Friends part 5 of 7

The tears streamed down my face, I had seen this movie before but this time it had a meaning just for me.

With my face still wet I pressed the teletext button and looked up the flights to California again.  I called the number there and then and went ahead and booked my flight.

How could I not go to my best friends wedding?

I'm not sure which characters each of us were.  Beth had such beautiful dark hair that made her look more like Hillary Whitney, but she was also more adventurous than Hillary and I, making her more like CC Bloom.

So I am not sure who was who but the fact was we were them and they were us in my mind.  And if my friend was going to die in a beach house by golly I would be there in my bridesmaid dress to be with her!   Oops mixing film with reality a bit there.

So that is the story of how I watched beaches and accepted the invitation to be a bridesmaid in California.

I had actually prayed for a friend like Beth, that is not just a turn of phrase, I mean like an actual prayer.  I had long since given up on the girls at church.  It had gotten a lot better but I never felt I had a kindred spirit amongst them.  They felt it too, I'm sure.

Then one after the other I found my tribe.

Laura had made her way back to church too, prodical style.  Which gave us lots to talk about and much common ground.

Gillian was older, wiser, smarter and made she helped me realise I had a good sense of humour (a thing until then I thought I'd swapped for morminism).

And Beth the girl from Kelty, who was in the world but not off it and showed me how it was done.  We'd dance all night at Century 2000 or the Liquid Rooms, modestly clad and stone cold sober.  We back packed around Europe and planned our futures as we took in the sights.  Futures that pretty much came to pass just as we'd envisioned.

So it was a blow when she said she was leaving Scotland to marry an American.  Of course I was happy for her and hoped that we could stay close, despite my intentions our lives have sadly drifted apart.  I should do something about that.

This was the first of two Beth's whose friendship would have a lasting impact on me.....but none more than my very best friend........

Friends part 4 of 7

I hadn't really had to worry about friends before now, not in this way at least.

This was a new kind of worry.

Why did I even care if these girls liked me?  Part of me dismissed their lack of friendliness as silly, immature and petty...the other part of me realised in fact here in this place they did have power to hurt my feelings.

Previously I'd have known how to deal with this but without swearing, brashness and the subtle threat of violence I suddenly had nothing, I was left facing the truth that it just hurt my feelings.

I was on their territory now.

Had they ever ventured into what had previously been mine they'd have been eaten alive.

We would sit together in our dresses and listen to the lessons, hold our hymn books and pray together.

In the toilets they'd smile sideways at me and continue their conversations, laugh at stories that you really had to have been there for.

I had swiftly cut ties with my previous associates now though and put all my eggs in this mormon basket, I was all in.

Everything had changed for me, except for the fact that I was trying my best to fit in again, just differently this time.

I had never up until that point in my young life, struggled for a friend.

I wasn't there for them, I told myself, it wasn't going to stop me coming, I decided.  A lot was at stake here I'd decided this was important, so I tried to take it on the chin and put it down to that new thing I'd heard about.  It was meant to be good for you.  A humbling experience I think they called it.

Worst was when the adults noticed and tried to fix it.  No-one wants to be assigned a friend. That was excruciatingly embarrassing!

One such time was after church one day, in the hall.  We stood round talking to a handsome 20 something.  One of the tallest girls decided she wanted to talk to him instead, so she stepped in front of me cutting me off mid sentence as if I wasn't even there.  Hot tears pricked my eyes, not only by what she did but more by the response of the 20 something, who called her on it.  He was scathing and precise, his sympathy humiliated me and brought my problem into sharp focus.

So now I hung out in school playgrounds on Saturday afternoons painting the shelters as an act of service-by gosh had things changed!

I soon got a job as a waitress which conveniently kept me away from the Tuesday night youth group. So that first summer as a Mormon (again) I worked a lot and tried hard to find reasons not to find some old or new friends (I wasn't picky) to get drunk with.  The feeling that I was missing out stayed for a long time actually.

In time it got better with the girls at church.

It took a while but I also tried to see things from their perspective.

They'd heard stories about me of course and had grown up with a strong narrative warning them about influences from "the world".  Perhaps they were just being cautious.

I was also likely sickeningly self-righteous, having resolutely turned my back on all that was just now turning their heads.  Who wants to be lectured to by a repentant 15 year old.

I was like the fat girl who got skinny and and started telling everyone to eat right and go to the gym.....you might not have been my friend either;)

So those first few years at church were kind of lonely and for the first time I just wanted a "good friend."

Thankfully some came along.....

Friends part 3 of 7

Teenage life ebbed and flowed depending on the agenda of my friends.

School attendance ebbed and flowed depending on the schedules of my friends.

Rules were kept and broken depending on the goals of my friends.

Alright angry girl-wind yer neck in will you?  I think this photo is hilarious and makes me feel utterly ridiculous!

You get the idea.

Ok wait,  I'll revise that....

I mean we've all heard it "if your friends asked you to jump off of a bridge would you do it?"  

Maybe not, but back then I'd likely have walked to the bridge taken any suggested detour and spent an awfully long time debating with them about it as we stood together at the edge.

If I were to chronicle the most reckless periods of my teenage years the chapters could easily be given the name of a girl.  A like minded, lost and equally up for it girl.  Like magnets we would find each other and then the adventure would begin.  

My friends were more important to me than my family.....by far.

I had friends I would fight with just as hard as I'd fight for, a strange sisterly, love-hate loyalty, a twisted kind of false loyalty.

Sisterly in all the ways except lasting.  

Soon we'd part ways for whatever reason.  

The periods of chaos would temporarily give way to another attempt at settling in the current home situation.  I was less talented finding mischief alone, maybe they were too.  I'd try my  hand at school attendance, coming home at night you know all the good stuff.

One of the High School's I attended 

I hope I was never a bully, but I think I could certainly be brash.  At school that is, not so much in other circles.  I was aware of my place in the pecking order and in some circles, it was good to know your place.

Sometimes I used my brashness to be a defender too, but just as the fancy took me, I couldn't be relied on to always help you out.

I had no idea who I was, I was lost.

But the pattern continued and it was as if I'd pick up where I left off, dropping in and out of groups previously known and unknown.  Stability of a sort, to instability.  Back and forth, back and forth.  With each relapse an upping of the ante.

I wonder how this would have played out had it not been abruptly halted by a final and secure home and of course the church which changed it all and finally broke the cycle.

At church I would find a different kind of friend all together....

Friendship Part 1 of 7

I've been thinking of friendship and what it has meant in my life.  The kind I've had and the kind I've been.  But it's more the former I am blogging about-how they have influenced me.  A few stories came out in 5 posts I wrote late last night.  They happened to fall in a kind of chronological order.

So here's how I'm going to do this.  7 posts covering  7 periods of friendships from birth till now.   My first post last night started at age 11 with a key memory so I have come back to fill in a gap and make this the start instead. I'll then post them in order.  This one may be a bit haphazard, I'm trying to cram a lot in here because to be honest I've lost interest now:).   Ok here goes.

I'll begin with my earliest recollections.  

We lived out in the countryside in a house we referred to as "the cottage" and my early childhood was very free and ididlic in some ways.  

That grey patch used to be the front door, the cottage has been extended now and is bigger than when we lived there.

The view from the old front door.

A lot of adventures started by going down this lane.

I spent lots of time outdoors in the garden and neighbouring fields.  Hours and hours were spent exploring or making perfume from petals or creating fairy dens out of twigs, moss and leaves.  I picked flowers, jumped streams, ate berries that maybe I shouldn't have till I was directed to the ones I should.  I have lots of flashes of memories of being alone but utterly content.

We had two houses "The Cottage"  out by Knockhill and a flat in Townhill.  We moved back and forth between them over the years, no pattern that I can make out but I have memories of both of those places.  

Our flat was on the bottom left of this street.

That white window was the old corner shop where we got our sweets from.

When in Townhill it was much like "The Cottage", except there were street-fulls of children.  We spent hours together in the woods, making dens, or crop circles in the fields.  We invented games and played all day long.

In the village we exchanged juice bottles obtained from behind the pub for mix ups at the corner shop.   All the other children in the village gathered outside the church when there was a wedding for any sign of a "rushie".  This was a tradition where handfuls of coins were thrown to the children as part of the celebration.  My knees were constantly bruised and scabbed over, I was likely pretty dirty too but for me these were very happy memories.  I was probably lucky to enjoy the freedoms and innocence more common to childhoods of the generations before me, before parents became over scheduled and fearful.

I didn't have one particular friend that I remember, I'd have been very young pre school and primary one.  These are among some of my earliest memories.   I was probably as happy playing alone as in a group at that age from what I remember. 

Early school...hmm I had a few special friends.  I probably was introduced to the fallings in and falling outs that a threesome of girls can create.  But nothing stands out as being too worrisome.

I moved house a lot by the time I went to high school I had lived in over 10 houses, lived in England twice and moved between some of the houses more than once.  Kind of chaotic, you get the picture.  

So inevtiably I also attended a lot of different schools,  wait let me count....ok 6 primary schools, but 9-10 moves I went between the same school a couple of times. 

Since this post is about friends, I'll stick to that topic.  Through each of those phases I can always  think of friends I made and enjoyed being around.  When I moved schools I don't remember feeling lonely for too long, maybe I did at times but my overall sense was that I'd always found someone to play with.  From a making friends point of views I think the moves probably helped me learn to make friends.  It wasn't all good but I like looking on the bright side so we'll stick with that.

Like you there are hundreds of stories I could write about my memories of childhood friends good bad and lets face it just plain boring stories.  So I will spare you.  Let's hope I haven't put you off reading parts 2-7:) 

Friends part 2 of 7

When I was 11 I moved to a pretty rough area.  It was kind of a shock.  To me it was a neglected and depressing place.  It felt like it had sucked the hope out of many of it's residents too, or maybe that was just me.

I met some new friends at the park one day, they were older.

We would sit on the swings or go to one of the girls houses whenever her mum was at work, I think her mum might have been a nurse who worked shifts .

In her kitchen a handful of us listened to UB40 and made fimo key-rings.

One night when we left her house a huge group of boys and girls my age and older were at the end of her street.

They were too far away to make out faces.  It was dark and everything visible had taken on an orange glow from the street lamps overhead.  I thought I recognised one or two from their distinctive clothes, which were much more fashionable than mine.  Later I'd learn the more fashionable people had social workers.  These two facts seemed to be linked and made me want a social worker.

I had seen some of them around but had never spoken to any of them.  This was the first time I'd seen them all together en masse like this.

They were loud and managed to look both dangerously purposeful.... and completely aimless.

Many of them were smoking and bottles were being passed between them.

I couldn't help staring, I had the feeling something was about to happen.  I liked that feeling.

I was scared and interested but mostly interested.

One of them noticed us and called to my friend to ask who I was.

"She's with us" shouted my more street wise friend as she turned her back to them and motioned for me to do the same.

She had already decided they were to be avoided.

I hadn't.

"My name's Lynne" I shouted reflexively.

"What are you doing?"she cautioned with more than a hint of alarm in her voice.

The crowd had taken notice now that they had a name to play with.

After a short tug of war with whispered warnings on one side and determined appeals on the other, I made my way toward the crowd.

This is the exact street except this is a photo of the other side of the street.

I remember the exact words of this prophetic friend spoken to my back.

I hear them like an echo as I recall the words now, and maybe that is how I heard them that night too.

"Fine, it's your funeral......"

Cleanliness is Next To Godliness

Cleanliness is next to Godliness or say they say......

I just spent part of my Friday evening cleaning our church building.  

Earlier today I messaged the other couple who were on the rota with us.

Pretty much sums up my feelings about it.

So does this picture.

The reply made me smile at least.

I'm not the only one who gets shirty about it.  It's not uncommon for a not so passive aggressive comment on the church's closed Facebook page after someone's taken their turn.  Usually along the lines of "you bunch of mingers clean up after yourself."  Not those exact words but that's the general gist.  It's a real heart warmer, great for unity.

As I hoovered I worded my own imaginary post. 

Finding this crumpled, used tissue wedged into the corner of a pew didn't help.  

The imaginary post included expletives at that part.  It took all my will power not to leave it sitting there.  Unreasonable of me I know, I mean that tissue could have been needed to wipe away tears of joy or sadness or for reasons more pressing than the need to find a bin.  

I get it, I do.  No-one purposefully makes a mess, its a well-used public building, and as it goes it probably isn't too bad.  I could have a better attitude about this, but somehow when our turn comes round I never do.  I mean I like the idea of it, in theory I'm in, in practice not so much.

So why do it? Trust me I struggled to find a good reason tonight.  I really did try though. 

I reminded myself of the 50th anniversary of the church building in Dundee I'd attended the week before.  I'd had no idea what went into that building.  It was kind of amazing actually.  Built with largely unskilled, unpaid labour, against all odds in difficult circumstances. The first hand stories of personal sacrifice were numerous and inspiring.  There was story after story:

   We heard about the one skilled builder who moved his family over from Canada to live in squalid conditions while he directed the build, and organised the inexperienced and unskilled workers.  

The stories of personal sacrifice of the local members who fed and provided a very modest stipend for the few full-time workers.

The letter of complaint was read that had been sent to the council describing the work going on at all hours which described a "rabble of men, women and children".

Above are the "rabble" putting the tiles on the roof conveyor belt style.

The stories of camaraderie and unity were heart felt and moving.  The video links and messages from the workers assured us that these days were still firmly etched in their memories and were numbered among the happiest of their lives.

And amazingly the building is still standing!

So have we gone soft?  Yeah probably.  Because I still think we should employ a cleaner!

I like happy endings though....so I'll try....it might not be convincing....did I mention I hate cleaning the building?  Well I still do but bear with me and I'll try for that happy ending. 

Look at this boy.  Half hearted? Yup. Effective? Nope.  Smiling? Most of the time.

Here he is supposedly hoovering the upstairs corridor.  I even caught him singing.  Singing?! What's there to sing about?!

Then just before we left we saw these guys.  Now if you think cleaning the toilets of a church on a Friday night is bad you should look at their schedule. 

They are just so blooming wholesome!

Ok so that's it that's all I can come up with.....

It's possibly a good example to my boy.
There are folks who have had a lot more expected of them than me in the past and present and somehow they seem/ed happy about it. 
Hopefully its character building....although that's debatable after this evening.  

So if you've read to the end and are looking for a point to this post I'm not sure I've got one.  Except to reveal my mean spiritedness and say the building is now clean and ready for Sunday after all cleanliness is next to godliness...so they say.  



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