Top Ten: Things I can't live without

I know that I can't live without food or water because, well, I'd be dead. But this isn't that kind of list. This is more of an 'I could live without them but I wouldn't want to' list. Indulge me for a moment and read on...

1) Sleep:

As evident from previous posts, readers will know I have lived without sleep for days, many times. The results? Not pretty. Hallucinations, holes in memory and angry tirades directed at innocent family members. If you value friends and sanity, make sure you get your 8 hours while I try to get mine. 

2) Music:

Music is my best friend. She's there when I'm happy or sad. She's at the gym, urging me on for just five more minutes. Within the same breath, she can inspire and move me to tears. She drowns out the silence on long car journeys and is as much a memory as the memory itself. I can't see her but I'd be lost.

3) Books:

Learning to read opened the door to my imagination. All the stories - the hundreds of world's I've visited without having to move - has enriched my life and the way I see the things. As long as I have a book - I don't care what it is - I'm content. 

4) Memories:

Memories make us who we are on good days and fuel us on the bad. Idle insignificant moments of my life where I am lost in banality, stress or sadness, can be altered by the recall of a distant memory. The smile, the happiness evoked, flicks the switch. Without memories, life would be very poor. Just ask patient H.M. 

5) Pen/Pencil:

We might live in a technological age where handwriting is that swirly thing kids learned in primary school (and left there) but I would hate the inability to write things down. I don't even need paper -  the skin on my arm is sufficient. I might not be Shakespeare and his quill but I have the right to try, damn it!

6) News:

Reading it, watching it - I'm not fussy. Good or bad, I'll take both. The thought of going a couple of days without access to the news gives me palpitations. Not knowing what's happening in the world? Excuse me while I go get my Sky News on. It's for the good of my health...

7) Internet:

How else can one watch TV, book a holiday, buy a new wardrobe and read a list of the most unusual deaths (and anything else weird) without leaving your desk? Impossible!

8) Passport:

I might not like the picture inside but my little burgundy book represents a wealth of opportunity. The instant access to hundreds of destinations provides untold possibilities. All I need is my passport. Money helps too, of course, but that's another matter. 

9) Laughter:

Handing out smiles makes me feel like a decent human being. Nothing else will remedy a bad day (or an awkward situation) that laughter. My mum taught me to laugh, particularly at myself, no matter what the occasion. So I do. A lot. Most people laugh at me too but I can deal with that; as long as they're happy. 

10) Writing:

I suppose I could have put this with number 5 but writing is so much more than the physical act of using a pen. It's a whole process; thoughts, creativity, imagination. I can't bear to think of a life without the time or opportunity to write. It's a fun, sometimes cathartic, activity that prevents my brain from exploding. Needs must and all that...

So reader, what things can't you live without? 

Christmas in New York

Fairy lights glimmer at Rockefeller,
golden sparks leap from green firs;
their elfin flames twinkle in eyes
as I scan the ice,
searching for my sister
who stutters across the frozen sheet.

From here we board the red bus
that rides in the wrong city,
passing snowflakes fastened on the wall
of Bloomies, bullion colour flashing
in sequence to Carol of the Bells
chiming in my ears.

We peer at the Plaza, sited in grandeur
by Central Park, where children wrapped
in coats and scarves and bobble hats
throw tiny handfuls of greying snow
at black beauties standing in rank,
waiting for fools to pay $20 for a ride.

Car horns peal from traffic lined by
FAO Schwarz, where shoppers leave with
bulging bags of toys and treats and
tourists nervously hail taxis for
the Brooklyn Bridge, where they
gaze with glee at the Hudson River.

Ensared in the sleepless city,
we make way to Times Square, where
neon lights blaze, crowds pour from
subways, shops and Broadway shows, and some
buy salted pretzels from the shifty man
frozen on 47th.

Steam rises from subway grates on 49th,
as we hurry down to catch the R,
speeding us to the Empire State,
stemming proudly from the city's middle,
where we soar 102 floors
above the earth.

From this highest point we huddle,
bitter from the minus winds, and gaze at the
yellow ants crawling slowly around blocks
and rows of streets, inflamed by
the city's glow, like streams of lava,
as evening dusk finally falls.

We're all going on a summer holiday...

That's right. It's that time of year when I shove my belongings into a suitcase, dawdle on down to Gatwick airport and board a plane to nowhere.

Nowhere is a good place to go. Sun. Sea. Sand. Oh and iced lollies. Can't be without those.

I am off today to the land of no expectation. Usually just the fear that my life could slip into a mundane routine sends me over the edge but when I'm on holiday? Now that's a different matter. I like the way my yearly holiday hasn't evolved as with everything else. It takes the same pattern:

Disembarking the plane, my party comments on how hot it is. As if coming to a country near the equator wasn't warning enough. Upon check-in there is usually some mix up. Probably due to the fact that twenty five years ago my mother decided to christen me with the same initial as my elder sister.

Two Miss L M's? No es posible! Oh yes it is.

Once unpacked, someone will profess their annoyance at the lack of fridge/toaster/air-conditioning/bed. Delete as appropriate. It happens. Three days into the holiday I will resemble the pallor of a lobster or, depending on my voraciousness with suncream, that of a white china plate.

And so it goes. And will continue to do so until the end of time.

But it wouldn't be a holiday without it. Until next time my lovelies...

Wanderlust

When I was nineteen years old, I was restless. Lost. My mind craved freedom. I yearned to break free from the restraints of routine and normality; an aspect of life I detested. It seems implausible to reach the metaphorical crossroads so young but I guess, rather eccentrically, I have always been about five years older than most my age.

It was this reason that I decided to go travelling. Solo. A loner at heart, instead of filling me with fear, I felt exhilarated. At last, life had direction. Meaning. For two months I travelled around America and Australia with nothing but a backpack, some dollar bills and a trusty map. I finally got that freedom I craved and it sure tasted good. Along the way, I grew up. Learned. Laughed. Cried. I lived. I made some memories, happy, sad. Worthwhile.

Let me share them with you:

The coach, bound for the Grand Canyon, had been driving all day from a small town just off Route 66. As I sat longing for our destination, the coach was abuzz with the chatter of my fellow travellers. Australian and American accents blended with the laughter, the snoring and the faint, tinny chords of music playing from someone’s headphones. From my window seat, I watched the barren, dusty desert rush past so quickly that the golden landscape became a blurry, honey coloured hue in my eyes.

It was late afternoon when we arrived. Necks straining, we all scrambled to look at the view obscured by the yellow dirt ingrained on the coach’s windows. The doors opened with a screech. The heat of the day seeped into the enclosed space, forcing everyone from their seats with a renewed vigour.

The sun was an amber glow, so bright; I had to trail the shadows of those walking in front. We climbed over scattered rocks, following a dirt-lined path of trees, bushes and plants alien to my eyes. As I lifted my gaze from the dust on my boots, I stopped breathing. My eyes, my brain, my senses; nothing from me was prepared for what I saw. The colours of this beautiful, natural rock glistened in the afternoon sun. Reds and golds merged effortlessly into one glorious colour, highlighted by the curves, indents and markings carved by the Colorado River below.

I felt overwhelmed. A shiver trailed the length of my spine. Hairs stood proudly on the back of my neck. My heart beat so loudly that blood roared in my ears, deafening the world outside of me. I looked to the side, an empty space, air, nothing but the realisation that I had no one to share such an amazing experience with. Loneliness pained me; sadness seeped into my very core. I looked around at all the people, fingers pointing, cameras flashing. I wondered why anyone would want to take their own eyes off such a sight, just so they could take a picture. It wouldn’t do it justice.

I walked closer to the edge, looked up, down, left and right. My eyes greedily ate the view as if I would soon be blind. In that moment, as the sun started its descent, the shadows grew taller over the canyon and an eerie quiet took hold of the people around me. I had never felt so small, insignificant and yet so alive.