Bright copper kettles.

July 2012.  Not an Afghanistan one.  Well.  Not much.

I'm 40. I still feel "sixteen, going on seventeen" but the reality is, somewhat, different.  I have crested my mountain, and rather like Maria, am now careering downhill towards the churchyard with unseemly haste. (I'm reluctant to do too much spinning as it tends to leave me dizzy and confused - To be honest, an all too common state of affairs these days).  I may be exaggerating a little here, for dramatic effect of course, but the simple fact is, and I will say it again, I'm 40. I knew it was inevitable.  I knew it was coming, yet, I must confess, it did take me a little by surprise, like the dirty Nazis, sneaking up and "Anschluss"-ing me when I wasn't looking. Perhaps that's the reason for all the introspection and broodiness that some people have commented characterise my recent musings.  Or, perhaps now I'm 40 I just accept that life isn't all raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.  The reality is a lot more dog barks and bee stings. 

As I hit forty, I think it is inevitable that I look back and take some sort of stock.  I feel I have experienced things that make me look at life with a more pragmatic perspective.  Things I thought mattered don't.  Things that seemed insignificant aren't.  I haven't changed, but I'm different.  For the first time in my life I am feeling liberated enough to talk openly about what I feel, without consequently feeling foolish.  For the first time in my life I am confident enough to want to be different, to stand out, to not accept what is and to want more.  I'm not sure what that means, and I'm not sure how I achieve it.  What I am sure of however, is that old Maria had it right you know.  You can't have one without the other.  It's a great big Yin and Yang thing.  What seem like polar opposites, separated by a world of experience are in fact different sides of the same coin, interdependent and interconnected. You can't have the light without the dark, and there is a little bit of each in the other.

I was lying on my bed the other day with my five year old son next to me.  He was reading to me.  He has been at school for less than a year and he can now read.  Such a small, simple thing, but I had a sudden, indescribable feeling of overwhelming love for him I had to physically choke back the tears. This boy, who was born so small I was scared to hold him for fear of hurting him.  My son.  So innocent, so inquisitive, so simple and unaffected.  I missed him so much when I was in Afghanistan, the pain was actually physical.  He literally lights up my life and I would gladly give it for him.  Conversely, I would tear apart with my bare hands anyone who hurt him.  I have seen the suffering of children, in Africa and in Afghanistan.  I have seen first hand the misery of AIDS and war.  I have seen the darkness and I am thankful for the light.

You can forget your cream coloured ponies and crisp apple strudels,  your doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles.  These are the sugar-coated lies people seem to want to eat and I view brown paper packages tied up with string with suspicion.  Maria was simply attempting to cauterize.  To block out the temporary bad with memories of the good,  by remembering her favourite things. I too have trembled before the thunder.  I have heard the dogs barking and felt the bees stinging, but it is the memories of these that make my favourite things so much more real and valuable, so much more vibrant and tangible.

I am 40.  I am sure I have not yet climbed every mountain and I am equally sure that I will have my fair share of bad times to come, but I too have my favourite things.  So, for now, So long. Farewell.  Auf wiedersehen.  Adieu.