Some things you wish were genetic

My mamma is one talented and gifted woman. She might not have the education of most women but there's no denying when it comes to creative talent she's at the top of the class!

Creative wise I'm average: possess a good eye for colour, have strong ideas, can make up stories very easily (ask me about the canary in the pelican doing reconnaissant work for taking over Torrance's water supply) and I can manage the basics in sewing. I can't draw or paint at all, in fact I'm still at the stick people level. My doodles are okay, nothing impressive though.

My mamma...she's a different story. She made this:

It's fully lined, handmade and a one off. This is a man's Christmas stocking and she makes a more feminine one for women too. I think they and she are amazing. This one is for a friend, who has asked for their child's name to be embroidered on it. My friend liked it so much she's ordered another for her daughter and possibly some bunting after Christmas.

I wish I had half my mum's talent and patience when it comes to things like this. I wish we lived closer so that I could watch her and soak in the know-how to make things like these.

I hope her creative talent is genetic.

Metamorphosis

This evening I watched UFC165 Jones v Gustaffson. Wow. A truly amazing fight, although a little disappointed there wasn't as much grappling and wrestling as I'd have liked, it was an amazing fight. I think Gustaffson was robbed and deserved to win...but I imagine there are a few of us arm chair referees who hold the same opinion.

Jones seemed to favour his legs and kicking, indeed he seemed to be using his legs and feet to do his utmost to avoid Gustaffson's anvil-like fists. That said, there were a few comical moments in which Gustaffson used his height and long legged advantage to 'run' away from Jones.

I have no idea what it is about UFC that brings out my more, shall we say, passionate side but there is no denying that it does. If I had been worried about turning into my grandmother whilst watching UFC - The Ultimate Fighter - this evening my worst fears were realised: I was on the edge of my seat, eyes glued to the screen, shouting various things at the tv. A full metamorphosis took place this evening and it happened quite naturally without me noticing it at all, I was punching a pillow and shouting 'Hit him! Hit him!'

Nanna, this little caterpillar has morphed into a fully fledged impassioned UFC butterfly...I can feel you laughing and smiling at me. Merde I hope you're proud.

Wishes and Genes and other Hopeless Causes

I used to be very close to my extended family growing up. There were a lot of us 'cousins' running around, getting into trouble, laughing, playing, swapping clothes, having sleep overs, shopping, making hideouts and camps together, and generally growing up together.

But over the years as our lives have gone in different directions...we've grown apart and the occasions in which we get together or talk have become restricted to marriages, christenings and unfortunately funerals. it happens to us all and its something I repeatedly berate myself for and often vow to change with good intention but...life somehow gets in the way and yet another year passes by.

That said I finally got my act together and called my cousin D - I am Godmother to her daughter J - to catch up. We happily filled each other in on what's going on in our lives for the better part of nearly 45 minutes before she passed on some incredibly distressing ... I don't know what to call it...a bit of gossip, information, a rumour... about my father.

I don't talk to him and nor do I have any contact with his side of the family; they are not people that I care about or love and I don't have any interest in their lives, so there is a part of me that questions whether this topic is even worthy of blogging about...BUT I am sickened by what she's told me and I have to talk to someone. I want if off my chest, out of head before I sleep and banished to somewhere where I never have to face it or deal with it again. I want it gone.

I am not going to repeat what she told me, I can't bring myself to say it out loud out of a mixture of horror and shame. I know only bad things and have bad memories of my father so I have nothing good or complimentary to say about him. To be brutally honest - and this isn't my anger, or hurt, or even my hatred of him talking but a plain fact - I don't know of a single soul who has anything nice or good to say about him. I do not know of a single person who would or could utter a word in his defence.

Regardless, what she told me reeks of 'he said - she said' and there hasn't been any mention of proof. I'm inclined toward impassioned disinterest which makes me scoff in contempt and disbelief at the drama of it. On the outside. On the inside its a great deal more complicated than just a reaction of mocking contempt. I really don't want to believe that someone that sick, that disgusting, that twisted is my father. I don't want to be related, to have been fathered by someone ... that repulsive, that degenerate, that odious, that ...wrong on so many levels. I feel tainted and sullied by my genes.

I've spent years attempting to distance myself from my childhood. From him. Yet at moments like this I feel like there is no escape. No matter how hard I try to cut him, to cauterise him and anything associated with him from my life I discover its impossible.

I don't know what is worse...that I have heard spoken out loud - true or not - yet another of his ... I really don't know that to call it, I am totally at a loss ...or that I am not in any way surprised and can quite easily believe it of him.

Hearing her tell me has raised so many questions...can he really be that sick and twisted?...why would someone lie about it?...what does it say that so many are said to believe he is guilty?

I wish I'd never heard and I wish it didn't matter to me either which way.