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Bitter and Twisted

August 16, 2012

I am tired of looking over my shoulder, down the long dusty trail of memory lane.  At this rate I shall never catch up to the present.  I really did want to start afresh with this blogging business.  Turn over not just a new post but a new me blog where I could at least give the half- decent appearance of knowing what I was on about what with a mission statement and clearly stated intentions.

So I set out with the steady, steely resolve to put Sandy Streams out to pasture and begin again with a new blog grandly titled Bitter and Twisted but guess what?  I can’t have it.  Someone has beaten me to it and here I was thinking how clever and original of me!  Sandy, I said to myself, let it go.  Come back and just be yourself.  Besides, those who truly know you, and some indeed who truly love you, know and appreciate just how bitter and twisted you really are.  They are never going to take that away from you. They might have tried but stubborn Sandy, they think to themselves, is not going to let go of any of that in a hurry now is she!

I protest my innocence.  To a sea of shaking heads.  You don’t understand, I make the pathetic plea.  Yes, I was Bitter but my best friend, Nirvana Tempest, was the Twisted compliment to my bitterness.  Together we were a double act of misery and despair, cast upon the expatriate shores of a foreign country, ambitious husbands leading the way with older children left behind in far distant time zones, our babies, ok – young teenagers, dragged with us to become silent, lonely witnesses to marriages in the raw.  Nirvana and I found each other at the school gates, the school picked out from two separate parts of the world like that of pinning the tale on a wild bucking donkey.

That first day of school, we went somewhere for coffee.  We needed to talk.  You know that feeling?  You meet someone who is a stranger to you in the first minute but after that so much begins to fall into place and you’re slurping coffee down your chin because you are trying to drink it and talk at the same time?

We did it again the next day, and the day after that.  Every day almost, give or take the odd one out here and there.  With week-ends off.  Those two days we reserved for the loving warmth of home and hearth. With our loving husbands and teenagers.  Sometimes, the two longest days of the week . . .

It is now many years later.  Nirvana returned to her homeland not so long ago.  I am still here and she is there, millions of miles away with husband and re-united extended family and friends.  She is busy.  She is needed.  She is running around doing what she does best, caring for those closest to her and leaving casseroles on doorsteps of those who need a break.

We share so many memories, many of them once jaded but now polished in a patina of screeching embarrassment and humour.

I shall dribble out the stories as I go along.  Memories and shared times don’t come with goals and mission statements.  I find they burst into life, spontaneously igniting themselves at the oddest of moments and if some of them are bitter and twisted, so be it.

Bitter and Twisted?  Yes, maybe.  Sort of.  But you want to know something, by God we had fun.

Look out for the Roadshow!  Coming to a town near you!  Well that was our dream, once upon a sad and lonely time in the partnership.

Now I have reached the point of universal blog embrace where I engage you, the reader, in a series of interesting questions ie

Have you recently had to farewell a good friend to distant parts or are you one of those people who are married to your best friend? And what does this mean to you?  Does your spouse/partner/husband/wife have to be your best friend?  Does it matter if he/she is not your best friend?

Cheers dears and here’s to a refreshing dash of bitter and twisted wherever you are.  Preferably over ice with a good splash of gin!

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