MadgeMahoney in the morning

Madge had woken with thoughts of her uncles. Two brothers who had been a huge presence in her childhood and indeed, all through life. They were the sons of her nan’s older sister who herself had died before Madge was ten. Aunty Kathleen had been a glamorous, rebellious woman who was very beautiful and very distant. She wore lipstick and had a streak of grey hair that gave her a film star look. Madge didn’t remember her clearly but her own mother had adored the glamorous aunty and Madge could still recall her mother’s anguish at the death of her darling aunt. She had died not long after Madge’s grandfather and looking back, Madge wondered just how the adults had coped with so much loss. Yet of course, now she was an adult who had experienced losses of her own, she understood that coping was what people did. What people do. We cope with the worst of things because, quite simply, it’s a case of having to.

Madge thought back to the summer two years ago when she had received a call from her cousin to say their uncle Mike had died suddenly. He lived in Canada and Madge didn’t see him often but whenever he came back to the UK, he made sure to call her and get her round to visit. He was a tall man with a huge laugh and a loud voice and he could fill a room in a moment. He was full of love and laughter and mischief and the family all loved him dearly. It was shocking that he was gone.

The shock continued that summer because uncle Mike’s brother, Don also died. He had travelled from Australia to Canada for his brother’s funeral and had suddenly collapsed and, just like that, he was also gone. Madge had been in Ireland when she got the second call. It was as devastating as the first. Possibly more so because the idea that both the brothers were gone was so shocking. In a world of shocks and sorrows, their sudden departures were still being felt. Funerals on zoom had meant there had been no sense of actual coming together at the end of a life and this was, Madge felt, one of the saddest aspects of the new world order. The continued separation, even after death reminds us to live.

Madge thought about her widowed aunties, navigating a world without the men they had known and loved for more than fifty years. Uncle Mike had been the loud, funny guy who was the life and soul of the party. A proud grandad and huge Spurs fan. Uncle Don was quieter, a more sensitive soul who wore big rings and had jet black hair. He loved music and he adored his wife. They had four sons but Madge did not know them well because they had moved from London to Australia many decades ago. Yet, they were family and they shared blood and they had all loved the huge man who seemed to have been there forever and now wasn’t. Neither of them were here anymore and Madge could feel the space they had left. In truth, she’d never thought of them dying, but she could feel it.

She could feel it because of course, her own widowhood had given her an insight into the abyss that is left when giants fall. The huge love, the huge loss, the huge battle to regrow and continue after they’ve gone. We’re like forests really thought Madge. Trees fall and for a while, there is silence as the shock reverberates. Then life, slowly, slowly, begins to grow again. It happens almost without us realising.

Shoots of hope, moments of relief, the fading of the scars. Nothing is ever quite the same again and the rest of life is a new way of being. Without the giants, we can feel very small thought Madge. At least, that had been her experience. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone after fifty, sixty, even 70 years as some people had. There was no way of measuring love and loss of course. Yet there was something about the sheer scale of time together that must be so monumental when it is over. She was grateful for the 20 years she’d had with her own giant. She couldn’t imagine how she would have managed loss after half a century together.

Now of course it was the present day. This day in August, two years after the two giants had fallen. The wider world was feeling a bit wild. The inner world was perhaps quieter for the people who had loved the two magnificent men and Madge knew that her aunts, strong as they were, would be feeling the loss for always. It’s the whole human experience thought Madge. Be born, be raised, be loved, find love, create a life of love, die, leave behind a legacy of love and repeat. It sounded a bit straightforward and of course, it isn’t and yet, in its simplest form, it is. Life is love and this was how Madge was raised. Her nan had raised her uncles and their loss and the love they left behind was testimony to that commitment. A life committed to loving.

With a deep gratitude that she had been loved by men who knew love, Madge thought about whether she wanted broth yet. Some days, it was just a little early. Perhaps more decaff and some hahalala wishes. Cosmic hugs and big love. xx

It had been a lovely weekend at home, hanging out with her beloved and their lovely friend who had come to stay for a couple of days. The three women got on extraordinarily well and they had found it easy to relax, eat, chat, unwind and catch up with lives that were always busy. It had felt like a mini summer holiday with a trip to the theatre, meals out in the sunshine and a general feeling of friendship and freedom. Just lovely.

The play was in the West End and Madge had been happy to sit in the back of her new car and be driven about on a Saturday night. It was another of the wonderful things about her beloved. She was great with maps, directions, driving and keeping her cool. She organised trips, sorted out parking and held Madge’s hand as they made their way through the crowds. It was good to be able to relax and not do it all oneself and Madge was always grateful for the gentle woman at her side.

The play was the second part of a trilogy called The Death of England. A monologue. The first had been a white working class man talking about his life and the death of his father and the England he had known. The second was the perspective of his best friend, a black man growing up alongside him in that same England. Both pieces were powerful and packed in a great deal that was still taking time to digest. Racism of course was key.

In light of the very modern racist riots that had been taking place over the weekend, Madge was sitting with the discomfort of the conned, diseased mindset of the modern world. When they had seen the first part of the trilogy a few years back, the world of violent racism had seemed a thing of the past, even though life did seem to be more aggressive. Now, post covid and all the political chicanery, it had become very very real. It was hideous on every level and Madge had been so appalled by the setting fire of a hotel, as she assumed most people would be, that she was almost despairing. Almost.

For Madge, it was the idea that a person could get up in the morning and think to themselves, “I know, I’m going to go out and do some good hating today. I’m going to take my child perhaps and show him how to throw things at people who look different.” It was mindblowing to Madge. There were things that people got caught up in and there were deliberate intentions to hate and harm. The Reformation of the nation didn’t look good.

What bothered Madge, amongst the many bothering about the whole situation was what the long term impact would be on lives and on community relationships. Teenage boys getting caught up in the excitement of a riot were easily directed to mayhem in Madge’s experience. They have no concept of consequence at that age and she thought about the lad she had seen in the papers who had looted a Greggs and was pictured carrying a way a tray of sausage rolls. He could well end up in prison for years because of that and it struck Madge as being such an appalling waste. So many lives would be ruined because they decided to riot and this was what felt really quite sinister.

The media and the language of the past decade had done so much to create such divisions. Giving a platform to a millionaire ‘man of the people’ to spout his rhetoric and sow seeds of derision and division had led the nation to even greater confusion. Who really represented the poor and the vulnerable in a Neo liberal world where all that mattered was profit? no one seemed to know and that was perhaps the danger. Handing over personal agency to corporations for consumption. It was a lot. They had taken a lot.

It had also been a lot to consider the complexities of the recent boxing match and subsequent controversy. Madge had, like so many, been very sure of her opinions the moment she had seen the headlines. It had been a salutary lesson in assumptions and integrity. It was no less complex because although the winner had certainly been shown to have been born and lived as a woman, there was nonetheless the physical advantage of having higher levels of certain hormones. Jeez, thought Madge. It’s a good thing to remain open to the wider picture. It doesn’t make it less complex though.

It was now Monday morning and Madge hadn’t yet seen whether there had been more riots or whether anyone had worked out an agreed definition of what a woman is. Would anyone ever agree she wondered? With a shrug of resignation, acknowledging that these were issues beyond her comprehension, Madge considered the day ahead. More tea, a couple of calls, a lift to the station and an afternoon to decide who to visit. It was as good a plan as any for easing into the week and with an eye on the kettle, Madge sent out cosmic hugs and hahalala wishes. It was grim times but cool heads and open hearts would see us through she thought. Big love. xx

It was already clear that it was going to be a hot day. A scorcher as it was sometimes called in the sensational red tops. “Whew wot a scorcher” she recalled seeing years ago. It was always the same, rather stupid point being made by the daily rags and Madge had woken with gratitude for the sun and apprehension about the heat. Stupid was a tough way to describe things or even people and it wasn’t especially helpful but it was nonetheless there, in Madge’s mind. The sheer stupidity of humankind.

Well that’s not very hahalala is it she thought to herself and it was true, there’s not much happiness in feeling that the world is full of stupidity but there was no denying it. She was contemplating whether she would look at the news after she had emptied her head a little. She thought probably best not and yet, that itself seemed as if she were turning away in fear. The day before had been horrific for the families who had been attacked by a madman. A mad boy by all accounts because apparently he was only 17. There could be no ignoring what had happened and in light of the weekend’s events and calls for uniting the kingdom, things were not looking good for the public mood about the people on boats.

What Madge was wondering about, amongst all of the other wonderings, was what people thought constituted a ‘mental health’ aspect to such behaviour. It seemed evident from initial reports that some people were disparaging of the term ‘mental health’ being ascribed to the alleged attacker and there were of course calls for the usual responses. “Lock ‘em up and throw away the key.” “Deportation for all of them now” “Bring back hanging.” All hideous in a hideous situation. Yet Madge wanted to understand more than the immediate reactions. Surely, all these incidents and horrors were signs of a society that was mentally unwell? A collective sickness that was being expressed in hatred and violence. It was too much to comprehend really but she could feel the tension.

She took a moment. A sigh. There really did seem to be a worsening in behaviours, in responses, in the reporting of such things. Perhaps that was part of the problem. People had become so immersed in the news, they had begun to believe it all and act and live within those beliefs. It had been shocking to see the adoration being directed at a man who had changed his name, lives in another country and yet, is able to stir and lead enough people to cause deep concern amongst those of us with brown skin. Bizarre.

For balance, Madge knew she would have to spend less time looking out and more time looking in. Meditation allowed for a deep settling of the senses and Madge was pleased to have restarted her twice daily transcendental meditation that she had learned some 13 years previously. It was the discipline of practice that she found most challenging but it had helped her to be less reactive, less inclined to be irritable. In these times, with such blatant exploitation of people’s fears taking place, a balanced. settled centre certainly made life easier.

She thought again about the families whose lives had been destroyed the day before. There could be no words. Only the clarity that we simply never know what lies ahead and in any moment, all of life could be changed forever. This in itself was pretty terrifying thought Madge and it was why, after all the years of change and turbulence in her own life, she had needed to find a way to settle her nerves. Only meditation truly did that.

Of course, there was no amount of anything that would get those families through their nightmare and Madge imagined that the whole country was feeling the awfulness. Whatever the wider labels, the bottom line was that it was male violence, yet again, that had ended female lives and this was the true modern day epidemic. There had to be a way forward but Madge felt it really was now time for the men to step up and into the space that women need them to be in. A place of protection from the madness and badness of other men. It was heavy duty thinking on a Tuesday morning when the sun was due to hit 30 degrees but Madge was feeling a need for honesty. Men had much to answer for.

Having got some of the bothering off her chest, Madge resolved to have a gentle day putting together some writing and using A.I. to see if she could create an ebook. She had faith that people could be better versions of themselves but she only had herself to work on so that’s what she would do. Best to look first at oneself before having too much to say about others eh? With the mixed thoughts of a messy land, Madge wished her friends a harmonious day filled with cosmic hugs and big love. The broth was calling and she needed the strength. Hahalala xx

It was the first Monday of the school holidays and although she was no longer connected with schools, Madge was still aware of the rhythm. The traffic would be quieter for a few weeks, there would be more children in the market hall and hopefully there would be a general air of school’s out. There was a definite semblance of sun predicted for the next few days and after a sunny weekend that had meant a bit of tidying in the garden, Madge was feeling that it might be a good summer. Or at least, a good day. Important not to go too far ahead.

She was also feeling perturbed by the weekend’s events in London. She’d made the decision to follow what was going on with the Unite the Kingdom gathering in central London. On the face of things, it looked like reasonable people who wanted ‘their country back’ and Madge was prepared to hear what was really being said. From the bits she followed, she was alarmed. Thousands of people marching and shouting about another group of people and what they could do with their own religion was, quite frankly, alarming and Madge was concerned that the voices were being ignored at our peril.

Who did she mean by ‘our’? Well, she meant everyone really because the rise in hatred and extremism could not be kept separate from its impact on the wider world. Madge had watched people being asked why they were following a person who had such strong views about who should be allowed to be in the country and what struck her most was the sense of being failed by politicians and feeling like no one else was listening. Dangerous.

She hadn’t intended to wake up and write about dangerous mindsets but she had been so bothered by just how easily some people would be influenced because they themselves felt voiceless. It was nothing new of course and perhaps there were people in her own social group who would think that these were reasonable views. She hoped not.

It felt to Madge that in the face of such challenges and divisions, it was going to be more important than ever to strengthen one’s mind and open one’s heart. Blanket hatred was going to get us nowhere and she found herself wanting to speak to the people that she didn’t know to find out if they really were that full of hatred and anger. She wasn’t sure what she would actually say but she was becoming increasingly clear in herself that these were the spiritual challenges of our times. To not believe the hatred and to not be cowed in fear. Hmm, you don’t sound very summery Madge she thought to herself. Time to change it up and think of other things.

There were many good things to think about amongst the grimness and a sunny start was one of them. She’d already been out into the garden, scowled at a cat that was looking threateningly at a bird, picked a couple of slugs off a plant and thought about whether to put a white wash on. It looked to be a good washing day. She had a brand new car to play out in and this was like having fresh legs. Her own legs were doing quite well, she had a couple of errands to do and no need to make dinner because the weekend’s leftovers would make a good Monday meal. There was something satisfying about old fashioned housewifery. Madge thought she was quite good at it after all these years at home.

Madge hadn’t expected to enjoy such simplicities when she was younger. Domestics always seemed dull and there were always more exciting things to imagine were taking place. It had contributed to what was now called FOMO…fear of missing out… and this was something Madge had certainly felt when she was growing up. It’s an odd thing isn’t it she thought. To be so fixed on what you might be missing that you miss what you are actually doing. You miss being present when you think you want to be somewhere else.

These days, perhaps because she had to concentrate on each step in order not to fall over, she was far more present than she’d ever been. Aware of what was around her, aware of her thoughts. Aware of when those thoughts began to spin and needed to be brought back to what matters. It mattered to Madge that she understood people and why they were the way they were. Not the smoothest of sentences but she figured friends would know what she meant.

A weekend of being with real people and reading about people she’d never met didn’t do anything to separate her thoughts but rather, got her to thinking about just how much all of us had been manipulated by media, politics and global corporations. Madge refused to write people off as idiots and she was glad of this but she also had to admit that some people had her baffled. Perhaps that would be the focus of her day. Sitting in the silence of the sunshine and hoping that somehow, sense would prevail. Would she watch any of the olympics? She thought not. Nothing had compared to the sense of optimism and pride she had felt in the UK in 2012 and so she’d look for other places to focus her energy.

The sun was definitely out, the kids were off school and her own beloved would soon be finished for the summer. There was a trip to Norfolk to look forward to, a friend coming for the weekend and myriad mini adventures lined up in the new, big black car. Perturbations aside, it was the hahalala mindset that would override all else and with that sense of relief that she was back in writing mode, Madge sent out cosmic hugs and heaps of love to her beautiful friends. Have a lovely day. Hahalala. xx

The thing about writing first thing every morning and then sharing those words was in its power to connect. Connecting with one’s own early thoughts allowed a connection with friends and loved ones and this was something that Madge was still seeking to explore. She hadn’t written for a full week and though it was good to have a break, by Sunday, she could feel that the thoughts were piling up in her head and she needed an outlet. This was it and she figured that even if she decided not to share much, it would still be good to get it out.

The previous day had been a delightful one. An early start with her beloved and her daughter, they had gone for a haircut and lunch. Celebrating their hairdresser’s birthday with love and halva, the four women had chatted about the deep stuff and cackled at their own madnesses. It had been hugely nourishing. The whole week had been like that. Fun, light, new things happening. Madge had managed to get new glasses, have two chipped teeth fixed and had picked up her brand new car. That had been pretty special.

Not everyone gets to drive a brand new car thought Madge and she found herself once again considering her good luck and fortune. When she had passed her driving test in the late 1980’s, she had been a sales rep for a company that rented out tvs and videos. Imagine that now she thought. We are used to being able watch it all in our hands with a phone but back then, people still rented televisions and satellite tv was brand new.

Madge had first worked in a bank when she left school but a friend had a friend who was looking for staff in a new job. Madge had leapt at the chance, having already become rather bored with banking. She had mainly been on customer enquiries and filing and on the one day she was allowed to be a cashier, she had mis-counted one deposit so badly, it had left a lunch time queue that went out of the door. She’d been mortified and when a chance came to do something else, she took it. A sales rep selling satellite tv.

Madge had always had the gift of the gab and she’d done well immediately. Looking back, it really was so simple and yet, she hadn’t realised. Hadn’t relaxed enough to really enjoy the simplicity. Perhaps we aren’t relaxed at 20. Maybe we are meant to have that restless drive to push us forward and find out more. She was now 55 and still not sure but she knew she liked driving a brand new car and being a sales rep was where it started.

Her boss had promised that if she passed her test, she’d be promoted to ‘Area Manager'.’ It had sounded very important and Madge passed her test. Second time. She was indeed promoted and was given a fully insured car, a petrol allowance and the freedom to go where she wanted outside of work hours. It was a stunning introduction to being a driver and Madge had the best of times. Of course, it was likely a pretty irresponsible way to do business but that was the 80s. It was all about money, image and excess. Madge had embraced it entirely as she did with all new experiences.

She had the suits, the heels, the executive briefcase and the car with all the trimmings. A perfect way to start your 20s. Of course, it wasn’t long before technology made rental a bit of a waste because everyone wanted to be owners and the company collapsed. Being used to a car, Madge needed another sales rep job and the next opportunity came with a cigarette company. Selling fags from the boot of her car to all the newsagents and off licences in her designated area. Sound like Only Fools and Horses she thought but at the time, it was a legit business model.

All the reps would go to the cash and carry in Twickenham on a Monday, choose the brands that their shops would most likely sell and then spend the week convincing shop owners to display their choices more prominently. The main brand was Camel with some low cost ones called Dorchester and a minty flavoured one that she couldn’t recall. There was no google or Waze or personalised sat nav to help with directions. Just area, a list of addresses and an A-z. Each rep got 400 free fags a week to use as examples, incentives and for personal use and would ring in with the week’s sales figures on a Friday. Insane.

That had been Madge’s second brand new car. When it got stolen because she’d left it outside a shop with the engine running whilst she popped in to see if they wanted any fags, the boss hadn’t been happy. Madge had talked her way out, been given a second chance, repeated the error the following fortnight and been sacked. It was a stressy time because being sacked meant no reference and no access to unemployment support. The only option was university and that’s what she did. Ironically, fags had brought freedom.

Now it was 30 years after graduating and somehow, she was still picking up a brand new car every few years. This time. it wasn’t a perk of the job but rather, a replacement for legs that no longer worked as they should. It would be easy to be despondent and of course, it would always be better to have good legs but in their absence, Madge was still able to feel a deep gratitude for living in a country that, with all its prevails, was still able to support those in need. The Motorbility scheme, in Madge’s view, was invaluable and once again, she gave thanks. It was her fifth Mini and each one was somehow bigger than the last. This one was black, not green like the last two and the woman in the showroom had chosen a plate that contained L A A. “I thought it would suit your hahalala’” she’d said.

Always the hahalala. It wasn’t what she thought she’d be doing 30 years ago but that’s life isn’t it? Always full of adventures and surprises. Madge was surprised that she’d written about cars this morning. She had intended to write about the day’s events in London the day before and all that was being stirred up in the search for patriotic belonging but perhaps that needed a bit of time to digest anyway. With thoughts of digestion and the prospect of a sunny day in the garden, Madge wished her friends a happy Sunday and considered the possibility of broth before 8am. It looked to be a good day to have a good day. Cosmic hugs and big love. xx

It had been a fortnight since the Dreadfuls had been elected out of government and Madge had woken with a sense of wonderment. How had a country been run into the ground so badly and how was it going to be rebuilt? It was of course a huge issue and she didn’t want to imagine she could provide any answers but she was curious. Did people still feel that the country could ‘go back’ to normal? How does one describe normal?

It was the usual thing of waking up after a somewhat disrupted night, with a head full of questions. the first question being, ‘how long does menopause actually last?’ It was another of those impossible to answer questions because it was entirely personal to each woman. Her physiology, her lifestyle, her family history. All combine somewhere between the 4th and 5th decades of life to transform a woman from one state to another. Maiden to Mother to Crone. The three stages apparently.

Madge felt she hadn’t even realised she was in the first two states of being young until they passed. Then suddenly, two years previously, she had been catapulted into the world of ‘the change’. Menopause. The word didn’t do justice to the reality. It felt like the epitome of not ‘going back to normal.’ She didn’t want to scare people though, especially younger women in her life. They had already started to look a bit concerned when she spoke of just how radically different she felt and indeed, sometimes looked. Scare-hair and heat flushes did not constitute a carefully cultivated look of cool. Madge sighed. She no longer cared about looking cool and in the middle of the night, felt she would offer a kidney for some cool. Not literally of course.

We really can’t imagine getting older can we she thought. The day before, the lovely anniversary of Jumping the Broom with her late beloved, Madge had been visited by two young woman who lived locally. Now 20, one of the youngsters had moved into the area with her parents some two years previously. She had been a ‘troubled teen’ who had periodically needed an extra pair of ears to listen to the troubles and who often forgot her door keys and needed to pick up the spares. She was a sweetheart with a harsh view and Madge had been glad to be the extra ears. It was important to listen. She could see the youngster had softened. Nice to see.

What Madge now noticed was that since menopause, she simply didn’t have the same patience or perspective. She still found young people interesting in their self interestedness and she could see just how much of her own youth was spent being preoccupied with what was essentially nonsense. This was what Madge was now sitting with. Is youth there to be wasted? Is that the actual beauty of being young? You simply can’t imagine you’ll ever be old. It was good to tread the line of hope and Madge would not have wanted to know that this was how she would feel some days when she got older. Yet, there was a niggly part that still wished she had known that the bounce and ease of being young would in fact ebb away. Would she have made more use of it if she had known? Does anyway really realise?

It was the age old thing she thought. They do say that youth is wasted on the young. She smiled. So is good advice. No one ever really listens when we are young…we have to find out ourselves and that was the whole point and joy of life in Madge’s view. To explore and discover, to make what feel like mistakes only to find out years later that this was exactly what we were meant to be doing. This was the conversation that Madge had been having with one of the Petites as they were called. The children of the woman who was as a daughter to Madge. A gaggle of youngsters who were now all nearly grown, facing a world that offered no guarantees. It never had.

Madge had sat with the 18 year old who was on the cusp of starting university. Full of excitement and terror at what she might have to do, who she might meet, whether she would manage it all, what if , what if, what if. All the usuals that we have all been through and yet, before you’ve been through it, you can’t imagine how it’ll work. That’s life really isn’t it, Madge had said to the youngster. You give it a go, sometimes it works, sometimes not, you have to cry, talk about it, cry a bit more, laugh at the ridiculousness, take a breath and keep it moving. Whatever it is. It was a lesson for all of us, whatever our age and Madge felt grateful that at least she didn’t have all of those insecurities that come with youth. On the other hand, she’d love some of that youthful bounce. Who wouldn’t?

She thought about the day ahead and the people she would see. Osteopath, close friends, young ones in the tribe. All booked in before midday. Lovely. She still wasn’t reading the papers or listening to the news and it had been like a fortnight’s holiday. A good way to start the weekend. It was also good to give her friends the heads up that Madge would be taking a few days off from writing but would be very happy to hear from those who wanted to share their own thoughts. Morning or evening. Meantime, it was cosmic hugs , hahalala wishes and an early broth. It was hair washing day and that always needed a little extra oomph. Big love. xx

It was the 18th of July and Madge had woken with memories of a day 20 years ago. It had been a bright sunny Sunday, 2004, and Madge and her late wife had ‘jumped the broom’ in front of 150 friends and family, in the magical garden that Madge still viewed as her sanctuary. At the time, it wasn’t yet legal for lesbians to ‘marry’ and civil partnerships were still a couple of years away. It seems so strange now thought Madge. To think we were not allowed to be legally bound in the eyes of the law. It was important to note progress. Important too to note that sometimes, the law is indeed, an ass.

The idea of jumping the broom had begun with a writing class. Her late wife had been a prolific writer. One day, the theme of the assignment had been romance and a woman in the class had said, “oh, well you won’t be able to do that will you? What with you being a you know, a (hushed voice) lesbian.” Her girlfriend (as she still was then), had come home and laughed like a drain about the women’s ignorance. The woman had literally moved her chair away when it was clear she was sitting next to a deviant. Idiot.

She had then written a beautiful story about two women in love, who, because it was not legal to marry, had instead followed an old tradition from the times of slavery. Slaves too were not allowed to marry and apparently had shown their love and lifetime commitment to one another by placing a broom across the door way and holding hands. They would jump over it, signifying their unity. It was a beautiful story which then was published in a book of stories by lesbians. Madge and her girlfriend had been delighted. The woman in the writing class, less so.

That had all been before Madge’s sudden diagnosis of MS. When that came, they had gone to Kenya, spent two weeks in a state of shocked devastation and Madge was forever grateful that when she suggested that they have their own broom jumping ceremony, her girfried had agreed. Mainly, she said afterwards, to give Madge something nice to think about amongst all the madness of a world turned upside down by disease. She hadn’t expected Madge to pull it off.

As it was, five months later, with much help from friends, a huge party was gathered, a gorgeous broom was decorated and presented and the two women, at 3 o clock on the sunniest of days, had held hands and jumped the broom together. Forever united. No laws needed. A friend had sung a song she’d written years ago. The same friend whose song would be played at her late wife’s funeral some 11 years later. One cannot underestimate the power of songs written for love. Or the loss of that love. Except, it’s never really lost.

On that perfect day, another friend sang ‘angels’ by Robbie Williams, his own nerves overcome by his commitment to friendship. Madge had always loved him. There had been the friend who had catered for all 150 people, serving smoothly from the kitchen. The friend who had made the cakes. People were lined up on the stairs, in the kitchen, in the garden, people everywhere. It was the most glorious of days with people from all walks and every continent. Madge recalled one friend, quite drunk, very happily standing against a wall and declaring that if aliens came to earth, this is what they should see. It was a lovely thought.

Now she thought of all the people who had been there, some of whom were still very much in her life. Some had passed on, taking up the stardust trail. Others had become part of the pasts that we make up along the way to our own exit. There were young ones then who had children of their own now. Indeed, today Madge would be having brunch with one of the petites, herself only just turned 18, her own mother like a daughter to Madge. Later in the day, she would be having dinner with her now beloved and her two daughters. She hadn’t known any of them 20 years ago and yet it seemed entirely natural that she knew them now. Life is like that when you live in a circle of love thought Madge.

The circle of life. It really was that. We are born, we have experiences along the way, we meet people, they shape our experiences, we face trials and tribulations, we do it alone or with others, we grapple, we grasp, we gallivant and we grow, we learn, we love, we live, we die and so it goes on. Memories of moments making it all make sense. Hmm, nice alliteration there Madge she thought. It felt to be a gorgeous day. If she did not much, she could still have an entirely fulfilling day thinking about her rich life. As it was, she would likely bask in the beauty of the broom and all that it represented. It was still in the hallway.

Of course it was ridiculous that prejudice could prevent so much and in the past 20 years, Madge had seen the increases in ignorance and the subsequent madness that was clear to everyone. Yet there was more openness and acceptance too. Love is the only answer and finding it underneath all the fear and foolishness was definitely a lifetime’s pursuit and passion. Madge was blessed and could feel it deep in her bones. For the people she had known then, she would always have a soft spot. For the people she knew now, she hoped she conveyed just how much they meant. For the people who had been there the whole way, she could only say, “ wow, what a ride it’s been eh?”

Madge hoped there would be more, whilst understanding that we just never know. It was why it was important to be present she supposed. With a sense of gratitude that seemed to be growing daily, Madge sent out cosmic hugs and hahalala wishes. Each person who had ever been in her life, even for a moment, was part of the whole. What a lovely feeling. Big love. xx

Although it was Sunday, Madge still got up at 6am. She didn’t need to, had no particular reason to get up but there was something about routine and ritual that, after many years of resistance, Madge was now very settled with. It was helpful for a body to know what was coming. As much as a body ever could of course. There was a hopeful possibility of sun because the sky wasn’t fully cloaked in clouds and the early chirping suggested that the birds too were hopeful. It might actually be sunny today. A lone pigeon sitting in the tree looked less hopeful but perhaps that was just the way of pigeons. They don’t exude hope thought Madge. What does hope look like in a bird though? Another random thought. That was the spaciousness of Sundays. Time to think about birds and whether they had hopes. Madge supposed that at the very least, all birds hoped to survive. Was that hope though or just instinct? Too early. Way too early to think about bird aspirations.

She turned instead to a reflection of the week that had just passed. Somehow, very gently and unexpectedly, she had spent time with people who brought great joy to her life but who she didn’t see often enough. It had been deeply nourishing to be around the babies, to hear tales of transformation and triumph and last night, to see a friend, even briefly, who had become so much a part of her life. Her friend’s mother had recently died and Madge had seen the struggles of the past years. She had witnessed her friend navigate the waters of a new and unexpected landscape and arrive at a shore of independence. She now stood in her own immense magnificence and Madge hoped that in time, the awareness of how much she was loved and respected would permeate. Not everyone knows how much they are loved thought Madge. This was something she felt very strongly that people needed to know. That they are loved.

It had long been Madge’s way of life to promote that sense of being loved and being lovable. There had been too many ways, in her opinion, in which peopled had been made to feel unlovable, unwanted, un-included. Was that a word? Should it be excluded? No, that felt too deliberate. Un-included was worse in some ways. It suggested not even being thought of and this too could leave people feel less than their worth. Why did it matter?

It mattered, thought Madge, because if we don’t feel included and involved, then we cannot so easily commit to our communities. Whatever those communities are. Her mind wandered back to the previous day when she and her beloved had made the most of the Saturday space and gone for a lovely brunch up the road. They had passed a group of young women, perhaps in their late teens, all dressed as if they were on their way for a night out. Or perhaps coming back from a night out.

Either way, what struck Madge was how unhappy they all looked. They looked cold – unsurprising given the skimpiness of the semi-frocks and mini shorts but that was quite usual for young people when observed through older eyes. Everyone looked cold to Madge if they weren’t wearing a proper coat and she’d accepted this was her projection. These young ones just looked so unhappy. As if they had been made to wear the requisite wardrobe and walk the walk in the ill fitting shoes but without any joy. Along the way, they had taken the obligatory selfie with pouted lips and two-finger peace sign but no-where was there a real smile. Just a social media moment for the ‘gram and on they went, shivering and barely speaking. Very, very sad. Sad to not realise how gorgeous youth makes us without the need for all the conformity and control. She sighed and hoped they’d grow out of it. She was certainly glad that she had grown and that she could see the beauty of ageing. It was actually about grace and the young gaggle had a way to go yet.

There was also some way to go until the football came home and along with much of the country she supposed, she had woken with some sense of anticipation. She didn’t want to get over excited and overwhelmed because it really was just football but there was no denying the mood of a nation that had been battered for a while and yet was still hopeful that 90 minutes could transform everything. She hoped so too.

Madge had realised over the months of writing every morning that there was liberation in creating first and consuming second. An empty head for as long as possible was a mighty help to Madge. Now though, the 25 minutes was nearly up, the decaf and broth were both lined up and it wasn’t yet 6.45. The sun too was looking a little stronger and that was good enough for Madge. Gratefully, she sent out huge cosmic hugs, wished the world a hahalala day and congratulated herself once again on her extraordinary good taste. Her friends were all truly fabulous. Oh, and some had also started writing and thinking about putting together their own books. It doesn’t get better than that eh? Big love. xx

May Day and Miracles

It was May Day and Madge had had a really good night's sleep. It was a reason for celebration in itself, so rarely could she say she had really slept well. She put it largely down to the latest attempt at the restoration of her body to its factory settings of good health and strength. Part one had been the broth. Part two was a grounding sheet. A fabulous bit of modern tech that meant one could sleep as if sleeping on the ground, the Earth's magnetic force bringing balance to a world full of random electric forces. As one who had always been a bit of a live wire, being grounded was a real comfort.

The other comfort was knowing that at least some of her friends would be getting a day off for May Day. The traditional worker's holiday that had its roots in revolution. Or did it? She realised that she didn't know enough about the history of May Day and indeed, had only been aware of it when she went to university all those years ago. Before that, she'd had no idea. No clue about politics beyond the lyrics of The Jam. She smiled at the memory of getting her 7 inch copy of A Town Called Malice in the early 80s. She had felt terribly cool and loved the song without truly understanding its meaning. “You better cut down on beer or the kid's school gear, its a big decision in a Town Called Malice...yeaaahh”

It felt that in many ways, not much had changed in those 40 years, even though the world had changed beyond recognition. It was the same class warfare that it had always been she supposed. Some have more, others have less. It was ever thus. She thought back to her first May Day event, back in 1992 when she had only just met the woman who, three years later would become the lover who became the wife. Life was full of surprises she thought. Surprises and miracles.

That year, still in her first year at uni, juggling the transition from sales rep to student, she had been invited by the SWP to attend the rally for May Day. Oblivious to the Socialist Worker Party and all they stood for, she had gone along because she had a crush on the cool woman she had met in the canteen some months before hand. It was held at Ally Pally and was an open, free event full of tents and speakers and people milling about on the grass. Madge had been utterly transfixed but still contained within herself. She had never seen so many people in scruffy t-shirts sipping warm beer and giving out pamphlets. Up the workers. And so on and so on.

She recalled the woman from the SWP who she had once heard telling a comrade that she was going to America for the summer but that her friend should ring her ' if the revolution started.' Madge had always found this an odd thought. What would the revolution look like that one could fly back for it? As it was, the woman had gone to America and returned for the rest of the course and no tangible revolution had taken place. Perhaps that's how it is with revolutions thought Madge. They happen quietly. Certainly, Madge had been through a number of quiet revolutions within herself. She thought back to that sunny day, students sprawled on the grass exchanging radical ideas.

“One day, you'll stop wearing all that shit on your face, stop shaving your armpits and stop wearing those dainty shoes. Then you'll be free.” The radical revolutionary from the SWP had declared her prediction to Madge in front of a small group of, frankly, quite grungy looking people and Madge had been horrified. She had cultivated a power look from the late 80s and had yet to discover the freedom of fully flat shoes. It still made her smile to think how long she spent each day applying make up and making sure her hair was just right. In corporate world, it mattered to wear a mask. University and meeting people from everywhere had changed that.

Now it was May Day in a post pandemic world and she had no idea where the woman from the SWP might be but she would have loved to have seen her just once to show her how right she had been. Madge had long ditched the make up and heels and indeed, those who knew her know would probably struggle to imagine how the journey of liberation had started. Today she was without makeup, often without shoes and rarely did she reveal the nest that was her hair. Her nails were short because hands were for working, though not today.

She wondered what her friends would be doing and hoped they would get some rest, however that might look. She knew it unlikely that all would have time off in the 24 hour availability expected in the modern world but she had learned that people found their space where they could. Certainly, she had found the space over the years to find her freedom. It was in the mind. She had a free mind and a free day to celebrate the freedom of love. She had fallen in love with her girlfriend some years ago and today, they celebrated an anniversary. It was a good day to send out love, cosmic hugs and wishes for a hahalala revolution. Time for broth and a bit more bird watching before the world woke in earnest. Binoculars really were a great gift. xx

Madge had spent the weekend in a contemplative mood, enjoying the space to do not very much. She had finished her book, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and she had been so thoroughly immersed in it, she had managed to keep away from the screens. It felt liberating to finally be able to read properly again. Losing her memory all those years ago had played havoc with reading but it seemed that she was rebuilding the skill. She was chuffed. The lovely daughter had now gifted her with a beautiful copy of Pride and Prejudice and though it didn’t promise quite such a feminist slant as far as she could tell so far, it was nonetheless a beautiful book. Gorgeously bound with gold edged pages.

In between reading and cooking, she had been thinking much of her grandmother. The next day would mark 8 years since she had died and it still seemed like only yesterday. She couldn’t believe how much life had changed since that dreadful time and she was glad that her darling Nan had not had to see it all. She would have been devastated by the news, the reports of wars and children dying. She would have been unimpressed with the government, respectful though she was about those in charge. The woman recalled a time years ago when the then Prime Minister Gordon Brown was being mocked in the media. “They shouldn’t say such bad things darling. After all, he is the prime minister.” There had been an innocence about her Nan, experienced in life as she was. Madge missed that a lot.

She missed so much about her grandmother that it was rarely possible to put it into words. She spoke of her daily, spoke to her often and she knew that all of her friends felt that they knew the tiny woman, even if they hadn’t met her. She was Dot and she was fab.

The woman allowed herself the luxury of really sitting with the memory of her nan as the sun rose and the week began. Mondays were always for what she would call her ‘post office work.’ She had been a highly organised woman who lived within her means and kept in touch by airmail with friends and family all around the world. In the old days, she would make all her calls on a Sunday, taking it in turns with relatives to make the call. Dot could talk all day on a Sunday after she had been to church and said her prayers. She had connections mainly in India, Australia, Canada and America and over the years, until she reached her 70s, she would travel to visit as often as possible. The loss of Dot had been huge, despite how diminutive she had been. Madge knew the whole family missed her.

She imagined that like herself, they missed the early morning birthday calls, and the knowledge that Dot would always remember. She remembered everyone’s birthday and it was only now that Madge could really see how that had instilled a sense of worth in people. It was important that you had been born and it was a reason to be celebrated. Madge loved that and hoped that she now conveyed some of that to her loved ones on their birthdays. She didn’t dare do a 6am rendition of happy birthday but she aimed to send messages that told people that they mattered. People do matter she thought. It’s just that sometimes, we think we don’t and therein lies the trouble. Even more trouble comes when we think we matter more than others and again, Madge thought about her Nan.

Dot had been a very steady person, keeping to her routines, eating simply and enjoying a flutter on the horses before Saturday bingo. It was one of those oddities that Madge still smiled about. Deeply devout, committed to Catholicism, always willing to place a little 25p bet on the Saturday horses. Her late wife had also loved a flutter and it was one of the connecting points between the radical feminist lesbian from an Irish family and a devout, tiny Indian woman with grey hair and a permanent set of Saints medals pinned to her jacket.

They had been sweet together and the day they had taken Dot to the casino in Leicester Square had been a highlight of their adventures. Dot had loved the experience of the casino although she had been a little confused around the roulette table as she watched people play with piles of cash chips. “What happened to the credit crunch darling?” she had asked in her Anglo Indian lilt. Madge had laughed as she so often had when she had been with her Nan. She missed that so very much.

When her late wife was given an OBE by the Queen, they had taken Dot to Buckingham Palace and it had been a dream come true. Madge had loved her wife for making that happen for her. They had laughed together that Dot kept her anorak on the whole way through the ceremony. “Lovely house darling but little chilly.” Afterwards, they had visited the Diana memorial because Dot had loved the Princess as if she had known her all her life. Now both Nan and wife were gone and life was very different for all of the world. Madge thought about them both, hanging out somewhere in the stardust. She wasn’t sure about heaven and hell and all that it entailed to believe in such, but she did like the notion of the two fabulous women who had loved her and who she had loved, sitting together, feet dangling over a cloud as they swapped tips for which horses they fancied for the race and drinking tea together. Tea had always been important.

Remembering the tea, the adventures, the smiles, the absolute love and the lessons in moderation, Madge smiled, her heart warmed. We must take time to remember, even as we sit in the present she thought. The kettle was calling. She sent out the cosmic hugs, reminded her friends that they were the treasures of her life and wished the world a hahalala week of moments that matter. The sun was up and it might just stay. Big love xx