Harris hawks and lost eyebrows

Tuesday 6th April 2004.

Good day, terrible day today.

Let's do the good first. The phone rang while I was still in bed this
morning. It was eldest offspring asking what my plans were for the day.
I told him that I only had plans to get some editing done, so he said
he'd come through to spend the day with me. Lovely, I like it when he
comes but it meant another day with no writing achieved.

He brought our Candy with him, oh, and Sandy, his girlfriend who is
wonderful too. Candy is his three year old female Harris Hawk. What a
magnificent bird. She stands at well over a foot tall and her flying
weight is two fifteen. She's in moult so isn't very cuddly but she
didn't object to being stroked a bit and leans into your body
affectionately. What a character she's got. She's very alert and
inquisitive and was perfectly happy sitting on her bow perch in the
middle of my living room. She's in excellent health and Col has done a
cracking job of manning her. She's bonded with him extremely well in
just three weeks.

Sandy prepared four, five day old, chicks by removing the yolk sac but
leaving them whole. She's a greedy feeder (the bird, not Sandy) and you
have to be careful when thumbing the chicks because she tends to fly
for them before you're ready. Col fed her the first three and she made
short work of them flying from her bow each time. I tried to feed her
the fourth. I held my arm high. She has a five foot wingspan and needs
plenty of clearance. I whistled her and clicked. She was inquisitive
and sighted the chick. Nobody else has fed her since Col got her. Each
time I whistled she looked from the chick to me and then straight to
Col, talk about daddies girl. She wanted it. Several times she gave her
high pitched feeding cry. Finally she decided to go for it. But, she
flew straight past me, trying to take the chick on the wing rather than
coming onto the gauntlet for it as she does with Col. I held on tight
and she made a failed strike. She returned to her bow and eyed me with
malevolence. She gave her feeding cry again and kept looking at Col.
She still wanted it but didn't trust me enough to take it from me. I
tried to coax her for another five minutes but after one failed attempt
she wasn't for having another go. Col took the glove and thumbed the
chick and she was on his arm before he even called her. I told Col he
should feel very proud of himself for manning her so well, so quickly.
After she'd eaten she stayed on his arm cleaning herself and talking to
him. This is a totally different sound from her feeding cry. Anyone who
didn't know hawks would swear the two cry's had come from different
species. Her 'talking' voice is deep and throaty. It sounds almost like
a growl and she leans into his chest and makes it every time he handles
her. It was lovely to see. She did tolerate me stroking her and even
hopped onto my arm when I nudged her chest. Col was worried that I let
her on my arm without wearing the gauntlet. She has a hundred and
twenty pounds of pressure in her feet. She sat on my arm as gentle as
anything for a minute and then lost her balance and pierced me in
several places. Believe me, I felt the pressure and strength through
her talons. I didn't mind though chick gut infested sores should heal
quickly. I did clean them with antiseptic when I'd finished holding
her. He's going to bring Boo-bo the European Eagle owl to see me next
week. Apparently he makes Candy look like a pigeon. Boo has been a bit
neglected. Typical scenario, someone has had him, not had the time or
expertise to devote to him and left him in a pen for years. His anklets
(which should be pliable soft leather) have become so stiff and
weathered that Boo-bo's leg bones have imprinted into the leather. Col
says he's a temperamental beast and given to aggression and tantrums.
All he needs to make a good bird is a lot of love and attention. They
are the biggest of the owl family and he stands t over three foot in
height.

Col and Sandy stayed all ay. I had to keep going up to Mary's with
meals and her drugs. My great nieces, Nyki and Emily called for a
couple of hours, and Martha came for her usual milky coffee after work.
All I seem to have done today is cook, make brews and wash up. I did
lamb steaks, new potatoes, broccoli, leek and gravy for lunch and
homemade Spaghetti and meatballs for tea. I had a little bit both times
and took my vitamins half way through lunch. They didn't make me feel
sick at all. They seem to be going down fine now as long as I take them
with food. Mind, the weight loss has been really good the last few
weeks. If it stops with this eating lark, then I stop too.

Okay the bad news.

I lay wake all last night worrying about things. The thought of my next
phone bill is terrifying. I've been buying silly things lately. I swore
faithfully to myself that I wouldn't by a thing in the way of new
clothes until I made a size fourteen.

I broke my promise.

A couple of weeks ago I bought some new underwear and a few bits. That
opened the flood gates and since then I've bought quite a bit of new
gear. It's such a novelty. I've had no interest in buying clothes or
shoes for a couple of years now. The whole idea left me cold. I hated
it and found the experience demoralising and depressing. Now, when I
buy things, I buy two of everything. One in a size sixteen or eighteen
and one in a much smaller size for later. I haven't gone *very* mad.
I'm so euphoric at the thought of buying clothes I could quite happily
up my credit limits and buy out entire shops. I feel so good about the
way things are going. I have been gently restrained. But it's still
money that I shouldn't have spent and on things that I didn't really
need.

Soooooooo.

I've had to do the inevitable.

I have a meeting with my boss tomorrow at eleven to work out my FULL
TIME rota for the next few weeks. I have been living a full time life
on part time wages while I was playing at being a writer. It worked
okay for twelve months because I didn't really have a life. I didn't
socialise or go anywhere. I didn't buy much apart from stuff the lads
wanted and I found that we could live on a meagre amount. Now, I have a
social lie and a romantic life and a, getting better, body life. I have
a little lad who is getting his old mum back and there are lots of
things I want to do with him. Though I've cancelled the night at the
pictures I had planned for him this week because of recent
behaviour.

I feel sad about going back to work again. I'm disappointed in
myself.

It's a little girl dream isn't it? like wanting to be a pop star,
believing that you can make a comfortable living from being an author.
Many of us would like it but not many of us can. I've given it a second
twelve month shot and failed. I'm not giving up because, rightly or
wrongly, I still think I can do it. I don't think I'll ever completely
give up on the dream and will die a frustrated writer. For now, I've
had to shelve it again. Just until I get straight. I'm not an author,
I'm a nurse. It's something I used to be so proud of but now I just
hate the thought of going back to it full time. It's not what I want to
do anymore.

It also means that I'm going to have to give up a lot of my school
work. I can juggle some round my days off but I can't take on week
blocks anymore. I love going into schools and teaching creative writing
to the kids. I always felt a fraud when the teachers introduced me as
an author. I have four books published, they are all selling in
dribbles but I'm not a real author ? not yet. One day maybe ? one
day.

So tomorrow, when I put on my uniform, it's not as a casual worker,
it's as a full time nurse again. Writing has robbed me of my love of
what I do well.

J wants me to go back on a proper salary. I've refused. That is the
final cut. I could sign a contract tomorrow and be several grand a year
better off. But that would mean a long term commitment to something I
don't want to do.

Something happy to end on? A week on Friday a full weeks wages will
deposit themselves into my bank account. Now that's GOOD!

This isn't a major setback it's just a little glitch. I'm happy. In
fact, I don't remember being this happy and content for long time. And
who knows, a week back on the job proper and all the old enthusiasm
might come back again. I'm as flighty as a Harris hawk with an
unfamiliar feeder, I might decide I don't want to be a writer.

Politician? Yeah Sue Simpson MP has a nice ring to it.

Sunday 11th April 2004.

By the age of forty most people have gained, through learning and
experience, a certain level of intelligence and common sense.

I have a question. How many forty year olds do you know who allow
themselves to be led astray by a fifteen year old girl?

Let me explain.

My girls have taken to paying surprise visits. This is wonderful, even
if sometimes their timing stinks. I love my great nieces. Nyki and I
have had to reach an understanding. I am the black sheep of my family.
It's a role I take very seriously and do my best to uphold in a manner
befitting dark mutton. When Kerry, the girls' mother, was a teenager,
my brother, after seeing the way I had turned out, inflicted upon my
niece a strict monastic type existence. He came down hard and tried to
keep her hostage until she matured through, 'those difficult teenage
years'.

I have always been held responsible for my niece's moral decline in
those informative years. I refute the accusations and maintain, to this
day, that I wasn't that bad an influence on her. She used to come to me
to borrow clothes and make-up, in those days, she looked up to me as
being the slim pretty one. Oh, if you'd have seen the bowl haircut my
brother gave the poor cow, you'd understand. I used to buy her fags and
booze and covered up many a misdemeanour for her. I took her to local
gigs when she should have been studying and I have to shamefully admit
that, on at least one occasion I used her as an alibi to get out
myself. So getting to the point, eldest great niece, on hearing these
stories about 'cool' aunty Sooz, decides to play me for a soft
touch.

She started by asking me to buy her cigarettes. Kerry knows she smokes
and is trying her best to discourage her. I admit, the first time I
bought ten fags, not for Nyki, but for her friend who was with her. I
felt terrible and decided then and there that it wouldn't happen again.
The next week she came with a whole gang of them asking me to buy them
some booze for a party they were having. I bought them enough to have
some fun, but not enough to land anyone in hospital on the proviso that
I WOULD be telling Kez what I'd done. Nyki said this was fine and after
clearing it with Kez, who doesn't mind her drinking in moderation, I
was okay with that. Since then, she's been down twice asking me to get
her cigarettes and I've refused. I will not go behind Kez's back even
to win the Cool Aunty of the Year award. I hate the thought of Nyki
smoking too.

None of this is how my girl led me astray though.

Nyki and Emily, her sister, came down last week. They are both growing
into fine young women and always look so fresh and pretty. I commented
that Nyki looked stunning. She had done her make-up really well and
knows how to make the most of herself. She's a pretty girl. She asked
me what I thought of her eyebrows.

They were fantastic. She'd done them in a high arch and they looked
very professional and sophisticated.

Now, I have never plucked my eyebrows in my life. I had them done once
for a photograph for my book covers but it's always seemed like a lot
of effort for a limited result. I am very dark haired and my eyebrows
have always been two hirsute beasts with their own personality and
temperament. They were not merely bushy, but grew like orchards under a
harvest moon. People have passed comment on my eyebrows but with as
many hang-ups as I already had, there just wasn't the room for another
one. I let them grow wild and free. I had something to play with when
I'm concentrating and never really gave them much thought from one year
to the next.

Nyki explained that she hadn't plucked them. She had done them with
Immac and it only took five minutes. Now, that's my kind of grooming
regime. Even I can spare five minutes to have eyebrows like that!

It took me an age to find the immac at Tesco's. For anyone else
looking, it doesn't exist anymore. Like Marathon and Opal Fruits it has
undergone a radical name change and now hides itself under the title of
Zeet, Peet,Teet or something like that. I know it's got two E's. I
wanted shapely eyebrows. I had been given a labour saving way of
getting nice eyebrows... but, oh my Lord, the price!

The ordinary 'melts metal in thirty seconds' stuff came in at just
under five quid. Five pounds! Just for a tube of cream. The 'super
dooper lanolin and extract of yak with deer droppings' substitute, for
sensitive skin, would cost me an extra pound. I was already almost
wilting with shock at the price of the bog standard stuff, there was no
way I was going to pay another pound on top of that.

I got the, 'melts metal' stuff home and couldn't wait to try it. I
didn't even stop to put the shopping away. I was going to have me some
sexy eyebrows just like our Nyki.

I didn't waste time reading the instructions, after all, how difficult
could it be? But, while I was throwing the box away some words printed
in red lettering on the side of the carton sprung out at me. NOT TO BE
USED ON FACIAL HAIR. Yeah, but that meant lady moustaches and stuff
didn't it? And, I know it said to, KEEP AWAY FROM THE EYES but eyebrows
aren't really that close to the actual eyes are they?

I know you can all see disaster looming. Truth is, I did too, but I was
too far along the sexy eyebrows track to turn back.

I smeared the stuff on, good and thick. It started to burn almost
immediately. No pain, no gain, that's what they always say isn't it? It
was a long five minutes. I had cold water on stand-by in case of
spontaneous combustion, I knew I was going to need it. Finally, it was
time to take it off. You have to use a spatula and scrape all the
murdered hair follicles from their bedding plots. Yowee that stung.
When I checked the debris on the spatula, I half expected to see my
eyelids sticking out in a bloody mess on the top.

The results were dramatic though. The spatula was thick with stubby
bits of black hair. I looked in the mirror. Okay, it could have been
worse. But! where our Nyki had a delicate arc tapering along her
eyeline in a slender 'question mark' of lengthy sophistication. I had
half a stubby eyebrow. The other half had somehow come off when I
slipped with the cream ? twice, once on each eye. There was no denying
though, the half that remained was thinner. It wasn't exactly, 'Styled'
so much as hacked off in its prime. I need to get some practise on the
shaping bit of the operation.

Oh, but the pain. Over the next hour my eyelids swelled up to horrific
proportions and two massive water-filed blisters covered my eyelids. It
hurt. I am allergic to everything from ALL metal through Codeine and
the dye in tights and stockings to semen. Of course I was going to
react to this stuff. It stands to reason. I do like the way it works so
well though. So next week I'm going to invest another six quid in the
stuff for sensitive skin see if that makes a difference.

And on to more serious stuff.

I've had to re-evaluate my relationship with Rick this week. Last week,
I felt so sure that it was going to be okay. Now, I don't know where
we're going, or even if there is anywhere for us to go. We've talked
things through. The good thing we have going for us is the ability to
talk about things honestly. We want different things from the
relationship.

He is enjoying his freedom. He's only been separated a few months. He
said that he wants to keep me at arms length and separate from his,
none Friday night, life. He likes seeing me on a Friday and says that
is enough for him. It leaves him free to get done what he wants to do
the rest of the week. He admits to being, 'cautious'.

I did some soul searching this week and came to the conclusion that
it's not what I want. I feel like his mistress, like a dirty secret
that he doesn't want anyone to know about. I want to be more than just
Friday night entertainment. I want someone who will let me into his
life as much as I'll let him into mine. Rick isn't that man.

I can't see a future for us. I don't want to live with him, or marry
him, or get into anything too heavy either. But I do want more than
seeing him once a week. I want some sort of commitment because I want
to feel secure. I don't feel that with him.

But ? The time we spend together is good. I like his humour, his
thoughtfulness and the way he treats me. All my instincts tell me to
call it a day now before I get hurt again. His wife has suddenly
decided to start ringing him up for cosy chats and inviting him to the
pictures with their daughter. Martha said that she thought that Rick
wanted to finish it but was waiting for me to make the move. That would
have been Paul all over again. I wasn't having it again, so I rang Rick
and asked if that was the case. He said it isn't and that he loves me.
He said he was happy with what we have but doesn't want to loose his
independence to me. He said that to give me anymore of his weekends
would be to give that up.

I've been putting too much pressure on him. I've invited him to my
cousin's wedding, to a dinner at my auntie's house, to come to London
with me and for a night out on Saturday. He said, "Sooz, you keep
laying all these things on me."

I've put myself in his place and can see that, as usual, I've gone in
all guns blazing. I need to give him more space. Perhaps being with
someone sixty miles away was a mistake. I need someone local. But, I
knew it wouldn't be easy. I think Rick likes the distance. It draws a
neat line between his real life and his time with me. I'm going to have
to try and be more understanding.

It's not perfect, but it is okay.

I don't think it's permanent.

And now, all we have is Friday night. That means that I can't go to his
house anymore. I commented that maybe he preferred it that way. He
didn't say anything in reply. So I just let it go. I told work that I
need Friday nights off. But that's all I'll get off. I'm going to have
to give up the line dancing. It's a shame, I enjoy that. But, I only
did it for exercise and I'll probably get more of a workout from
working those two hours a week, my job is quite physical so it doesn't
matter.

The way we work is, three on and three off. In reality, I never get my
three days off because they are always on the phone asking me to take
on extra cover. With needing to get some money in fast, I've agreed
(reluctantly) to take on a permanent double shift. That means that I'm
working my shift and what would have been my oppo's shift too. So, I do
my three days, and then someone else's three days and then back to my
three days again. Seven days a week for as long as I can stand it this
time. I hate it.

Marty is partly to blame for me taking the work on. He's certainly
given me the deciding factor with the phone usage behind my back. After
a couple of weeks, I'll start on the, 'I'm a crap mother' self
flagellation thing again. He hates me working full time.

It's Easter and Marty and I have spent it the way we spend every
holiday and event, alone! I expected Col and Sandy to come for dinner
but they didn't show.

Good news from the man who is supporting me with my writing. He's had
word from the latest agent. She's interested and will be in touch more
fully on Tuesday to talk over how the diaries will work as a book. Pity
this news didn't come last week. Now that I'm committed to work I'm
going to struggle to find the time to do whatever work needs doing on
them. It's still good news though, well, it's not a rejection.

I can feel my steady life unravelling again.