The Thorn Bird In The Age Of Oak.

The glossy catalogue sits on the settee at the side of me. It is elegant and expensive, luxurious looking. There is a montage of photographs on the front cover and it is entitled "The Age Of Oak" - not something that would especially interest me in the normal scheme of things but this catalogue is different.

It is full of auction lots and on the reverse of the catalogue is a photograph of an Oak chair. I flick through the catalogue and look critically at the photography within. It is flawless and beautiful in it's detail. It portrays each item of furniture in the minutest detail showing the patina on the auction lots, leading the viewer to imagine years, in some instances hundreds of years of care, wear and tear on the furniture. One can only imagine the history of the pieces - what decisions have been made around the tables, what banquets have been eaten, who has sat on the chairs, slept in the beds. It is fascinating, awesome. A piece of English heritage and history. I have not seen furniture photography like this before. The way the photographer has documented the detail and beauty of the individual items is simply breathtaking. It is artistry. He, the creator of these images is an artist.

Yet it rather poignantly reminds me of the mythical "thorn bird". The thorn bird, you see, searches for thorn trees from the day it hatches. When it finds the perfect thorn it impales itself and sings the most beautiful song until the day it dies.

I muse to myself about some of the famous artists we know from history were tormented or faced great personal trauma - Van Gogh, Beethoven, Mozart, Michael Angelo, Shakespeare, Vermeer, Freddie Mercury, Michael Jackson. Maybe it is only at times of great challenge that such people produce their best and most beautiful works of art?

I am familiar with the author of these images and I know the pressure he was under as they were created. His only, precious, son was critically ill in hospital and nearly died. He was needed and needed to be besides his son's bedside but he had a deadline to meet with the auction catalogue photography. Those who commissioned him were unforgiving, ruthless and callous, showing very little empathy to his situation. He worked long hours on his commission and then travelled directly to the hospital some 100 miles away, remained by his son's bedside until the early hours of the morning when he left and travelled back to the studio. The strain he was under was colossal and yet his work is unlike any other furniture photography I seen. The furniture has been brought to life through his images, his creativity and his passion to fulfil his commission to the best of his ability. It is beautiful and it is simply exquisite.

I stand in awe at what he has created under such stress and admire his tenacity. It is hardly surprising that the lots sold for record prices - but at what cost to the creator of the beautiful imagery which brought them to life? This, of course, remains the so far unanswered question.

An Angel In Disguise

The last 2 weeks have passed in a blur really. Jacob has been ill in hospital but now better but my Auntie Kathleen has also been very sick in hospital and has sadly passed away.

I say sadly passed away - it's sad for those of us left behind who will mourn her and miss her, as I'm writing this I still can't believe she's gone. But for Kathleen, with a strong belief in god it's happy that she's free from pain and in heaven.

Kathleen was a person who was always well, there. If you needed her, she was there. She was there at Christmas - hers was one of the first Christmas cards to arrive and she made beautiful Christmas cakes for family members. She usually visited between Christmas and New Year. At all family occasions she was there. She always had a warm hug for you. She used to ask questions about what you were doing and your life - sometimes bordering on prying questions - but she could keep her counsel and was never judgemental. I'm struggling to come to terms with the face that she's no longer "there".

The most fantastic thing about Kathleen however is the way she was loved and part of the Chinese and Asian student community in York. Her home is situated a stones throw from the University in York and for the last 30 years she has welcomed students into her home not only as lodgers but also as a place to meet on a Friday night for the York Chinese Christian Fellowship (YCCF). Each Christmas day any Chinese students were welcomed to her home and she would serve Christmas dinner for 30+ people at a time.

The YCCF became Kathleen's family. She travelled to weddings in Hong Kong and attended Christenings as guest of honour. She died holding hands with two of her Chinese friends who she considered her family.

I am humbled this week by all I have learnt about her relationship and what she has done for her Chinese friends. The outpouring of emotion on her Facebook page has been phenomenal.

I am blessed to have been born into the same family as her. Throughout her life she simply quietly went about her business it is only in death that some of us have come to realise and appreciate what a massive impact her love and care for others has made on so many lives.

Morning Coffee

The doorbell rang.  I peeped out of the window to get a first look at my expected visitors.  There stood a very tense looking man holding hands with a little boy.  Well actually he wasn't holding hands so much as clinging onto him with a vice like grip.  Over his shoulder was a rucksack.  He didn't look at all happy.  I wondered for a split second if I had made a mistake in inviting him to my home.  What on earth had possessed me?  Ethos?  Compassion?  Pity?  Probably a little of all of these.  Whatever it was he was here now so there was no going back.

I went to open the door and welcome them in.  I will never forget what I saw when I opened the door.  The man before me looked so utterly sad, forlorn and dejected.  My heart went out to him. Before I could say so much as "Hello" the little boy barged past me and into my lounge - dragging his dad behind him.  "Sorry" the man said, but he didn't need to apologise.  I knew all about the little boy and his special needs.  This was Andy and the little boy was his son, Jacob.

I had, I thought, "Jacob proofed" my lounge prior to their arrival.  How little I knew of what "Jacob proofing" really entailed.  Jacob - who has a compulsion to "post" - found every little gap, crevice, possible posting point in my lounge within the first 10 minutes of his arrival.  Nothing was safe or sacred.  Pieces of paper, bits of fluff and anything he could find were systematically posted behind the radiator, into the gap which forms the double radiator, into the crack on a wall cupboard and even into the gap I didn't know was there on the piano!

I made endless cups of coffee that day with Andy sitting on the floor (his choice) along with Jacob before, reluctantly, Andy and Jacob took their leave and returned to Hull.  It had been an eventful day after they had arrived.  I had the tiniest insight into the "complex and unique" individual Jacob is and Andy I felt, clichéd although it is, I had known for years.  Spending time in his company felt comfortable in the same way as it does sitting in your favourite old armchair.  Despite all of this I had no idea of the huge impact these two new friends were going to make on me, my family and my life.  Little did I realise that I may have met my future husband.

"Stand Still, Turn Off Your Torch and Don't Move A Muscle Until I Tell You!"

"Stand still, turn off your torch and don't move a muscle until I tell you to."  It wasn't a request, it was an order and it wasn't one that any of us were going to quibble with.  Here we were, miles and miles away from home and civilisation, deep in the middle of the jungle in pitch darkness and the man with the machete had spoken.  The hair on the back of my neck was standing up and my heart was racing.  Adrenalin was pumping through me with my heart beating like a train - I was sure the others would be able to hear it.  I tightened my hold on Natalie's hand if we were about to die we were going to do it together - I would protect her with all my heart and soul to the very end.  I was frightened - very frightened. I thought about Sam - left without his mother and sister and what a tragedy that would be for him and my mum and dad, who I loved so much and how they would get through their grief and look after Sam, raising him for me. We stood silent for what seemed like an eternity.

The man with the machete drawn flashed his torch into the dense undergrowth ahead of us.  He was standing right next to me and I could smell his perspiration.  He was scared too.  He whispered to me as the beam of light from his torch was reflected back to him.  "See those - they are eyes.  It's a cat - a big cat - you can tell it's a big one from how far apart the eyes are set." then his torch, as quickly as it had shown us the way plunged us into darkness again.  We stood still, trying to hold our breath, trying not to attract the attention of whatever it was that he had seen.  I don't know how long we stood there before the man with the machete instructed us to turn around and follow him back out of the jungle, to safety - time had stood still in those terrifying moments.

I didn't want to do the night-time jungle walk at all.  There is nothing about hiking through the jungle in the pitch black, in the dead of night that appealed to me.  I was scared of leeches and tree snakes, big spiders, rats and most of the other species known to inhabit the jungle - I certainly didn't relish the thoughts of being in amongst them when I couldn't see them!  In short I was a big "wuss".  So how did I come to be there at all?  Peer pressure.  That's all it was - peer pressure.  Natalie and I were in Borneo where we had gone with one of my closest friends, another Sharon.  The other Sharon has no fear, she faces life head on and is a total adventurer.  A modern day Christopher Columbus.  The night-time jungle walk was right up her street.  She had signed up for it straight away.  Natalie wanted to go with her, she was desperate to go.  She was also only 9 years old.  Sharon was very persuasive - "Natalie will be fine with me, Sharon, please let her go."  I was almost persuaded - then came the disclaimer form.  Basically if one of us died on this "adventure" the company who ran it could not be held responsible.  That was it.  If Natalie was going to die I was going to die with her - my life without her would not be worth living.  So, caving into pressure and against my better judgement I signed us both up for it.

The man with the machete lead us out of the jungle, back to civilisation and safety.  As we stood on the perimeter path Sharon - who had gone into the jungle in hiking boots and shorts asked the man with the machete: "What's the best way of dealing with this?"  to my absolute horror she had a leech attached to her leg!  "I didn't like to say anything whilst we were in there as I knew you'd freak" she whispered to me.  How well she knows me!  I had insisted that Natalie and I both wore long trousers with our socks over the top of them at the bottom - hopefully stopping anything from crawling up our legs!

My ordeal was not yet over.  We were booked to stay the night in jungle lodges - basically wooden huts.  Sharon, Natalie and I were sharing a hut.  That should have been idyllic shouldn't it?  A jungle lodge on something which I can only imagine to be like the garden of Eden?  It would have been I'm sure - except for one minor detail.  The lodge had a 1.5" gap under the door.  Everything came in under that gap.  The bed which was nominated to be mind had ants in it.  When the light was on there were flying insects around it.  Cockroaches the size of the palm of my hand came under that gap.  Natalie and Sharon chattered away excitedly about our earlier adventure, seemingly unaware of my new terror.  How could they be so laid back?  I crept into bed at the side of Natalie, cuddled up to her and closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would come and I would wake up in the morning having survived the night ahead.

The sun streamed through the window, it was 5.30 am and only just light.  The vista before me took my breath away.  Was this the most beautiful place on earth?  It must certainly come close. The morning was still, with reflections on the lake in front of me but a cacophony of jungle noises serenaded the dawn of a new day.  All around was different shades of green with bright colours of different species of flora growing wild as if they had been sprinkled there. There was wild orchids of many different colours, their flower heads so delicate and ornate.

We sat on the balcony of the main lodge overlooking the water at the edge of the jungle and ate our breakfast.  I reflected on the night before and thought how lucky we were to have had the opportunity of this experience.  Shortly we would be leaving along with our new guide for a walk into the jungle once more to see the Orangutans.  We were at the beautiful Sepilok - which could have come straight from a storybook.  This morning's walk was altogether more civilised however and we had a "proper" path to follow.  The very place I had found so intimidating and frightening the previous night was transformed by the light of day.  It was beautiful - wherever you looked there was something different, new and stunning to see. The snakes, rats, leeches, cockroaches, big spiders and other scary things were all still there - no doubt watching us watching them - but by the light of day I was not frightened.

This is just one account from my life which I have never forgotten.  I've often thought about it during some of my lowest times.  It serves to remind me that it's always darkest before the dawn and if you can only struggle through the darkest hours then when the light finally comes everything is beautiful, warm and calm.

 

The Pink Pig In The Window

Have you ever smelt a familiar smell or seen a familiar sight that has brought a memory flooding back from years ago?  Sometimes to hit you like a sledgehammer and sometimes of something you thought you had put behind you and preferred to have forgotten?  I had one of those moments just this week.

To be honest I wasn't expecting it and for a moment it knocked me sideways.  It all started when I had to take my car in for it's MOT and some work to be done on it.  Nothing unusual in that.  The dealership where it had to go to is at the opposite side of town to anywhere I usually visit and it was morning rush hour so very busy.  Grid locked in fact.  So here I was, sat in my car in stationery traffic waiting for the lights to change when I glanced to my left.

I was at the end of a residential street.  The house on the corner of the street was nothing special or unusual - large picture window overlooking the street in which it stood, smaller kitchen window fronting onto the road on which I was queueing.  It evoked a reverie which went back twenty years. Twenty years ago there was a pink pig in the kitchen window and a vase of yellow daffodils in the picture window.  The garden at the front of the house was filled with daffodils.  I hated that pink pig - it represented everything that was wrong with my life at the time. The vase of daffodils I found upsetting because I knew who had bought them.  They had bought me some too - but they shouldn't have been buying any for anyone else, only me. It was hurtful. Very hurtful.

I had been left alone with a baby only 7 months old, was facing an uncertain future and scared of what it held.  Through the blackness which became one day drifting into another, a week becoming a month and longer that pink pig, daffodils growing facing the sun and affectionate gift of more daffodils in the vase on the window haunted me.  They were happy.  This was their house and despite all the devastation going on around it was a happy house.  It wasn't fair.  How I hated that happy pink pig in the window and now, twenty years later, a fleeting glance at the house and just for a second remembered the pink pig with a raw, stabbing pain.  Life has moved on - of course it has - but sometimes, just occasionally and when you are least expecting it, it comes and bites you on the bum!  When it does, it hurts.

 

Please Tell Me It's Not Thursday!

Please tell me it's not Thursday all ready! Where has the week gone? Tomorrow will be Friday and then we are into the weekend.

It's been an incredibly hard week so far.  It didn't start very well - on Sunday evening my stepson, Jacob, was desperately sick.  Jacob is a very unique individual.  He lives in a special residential school with several other uniquely special children.  He faces many challenges in his life, one of which is Haemophilia.  For those of you reading this who are not familiar with this condition it means that unlike most of us Jacob's blood doesn't clot correctly - so any bump or knock can to Jacob prove fatal as he could bleed to death.  He is also prone to suffering "spontaneous bleeds" where for some unknown reason he will start to bleed internally.  The first we are aware of it, because Jacob can't tell us, is when the affected area becomes hot, swells or shows external bruising.  Three times a week Jacob has an artificial clotting drug injected into his system.  To him this is life saving.

On Sunday evening Jacob started fitting and having "episodes".  An ambulance was called to his home but they would not take him to hospital because he was deemed unfit to travel due to his violent behaviour whilst fitting.  They couldn't give him a sedative because that required a Doctor. Jacob's own GP does not offer a domiciliary service the other other Doctor, in the nearest hospital, would not attend.  Meanwhile Jacob was hurting himself as Andy and his care staff struggled to keep him safe. Eventually Jacob wore himself out and drifted to sleep around 5.30 am on Monday morning.  There is now a big investigation going on as to what went wrong and why "the system" failed Jacob so spectacularly. The bottom line is he could have died - bled to death from any one of his injuries he sustained during his episodes.  It frightened us.

So that was how the week began.  On Monday Andy spent most of the day in bed.  I had less than one hours sleep and then had Lizzie and Faith most of the day - which was hard as they had both enjoyed a full night's sleep and were totally full of beans.  On Monday evening I had booked a riding lesson for Sam on the beautiful Abby.  A little magic happened on Monday evening.

In January Abby threw me off when she exploded in pain from a medical condition we didn't know she had.  I will never forget the look in her eye that day when I was on the ground.  She looked so dejected, despondent, sad and her eyes were hurt, dull and lifeless.  She was in pain - not only from her condition but mentally because she knew she had hurt me and we were very close.  I was in pain - she had broken my coccyx. Andy and Vivienne - my sister - walked her home to my parents farm whilst I drove behind her.  I called the vet and she underwent lots of xrays, tests and investigation.  My horse was well and truly broken.....so was I.

There followed months and months of rehabilitation.  It started with walks out together - Abby and I for 10 minutes each day, building up to an hour.  At first neither of us could hardly walk.  I would lean on her for support and she would take slow, painful steps but we did it.  Every day.  Whether it rained, snowed, sun shine or windy Abby and I would take a walk.  It was essential to her rehabilitation.  Eventually the vet decided Abby could be ridden again.  I could not ride so I employed a professional to come and ride her.  Between riding days I would walk with her and work her on the lunge.  Soon my sister, daughter and son started to ride her but I was still unfit and unable to ride.  Then the day came when I was physically fit enough but mentally I was afraid.  What if she exploded again?  What if I didn't realise a problem was going on and I hurt her?  What if, now she was the fittest she has been for I think years I couldn't handle her?  What if.....?

On Monday evening I faced my fears and my "What if's".  Whilst Sam was having his lesson I decided I was going to ride Abby that night.  So when Sam and Christie, his instructor, returned I asked Christie if she could stay a while and help me to ride Abby once more.  Knowing what a major milestone this was Christie was delighted.  It was only a short 10 minute ride but I did it.  In the same way I will never forget the look in Abby's eye that dismal day in January I will never forget the look in her eye on Monday.  We had done it - we had got there together!  I was back where I belonged and she finally knew that the damage that had been done that fateful day at the beginning of the year had been repaired.  Her eyes sparkled and she carried me so gently and stood as solid as a rock for me to mount and dismount.  After my ride she nuzzled up to me in the field for ages - she didn't want me to leave her to go home.  "We" were back in business!

Today was a day from hell - quite literally I won't go into too much detail but it didn't start well at all and continued going wrong all day until everything that had gone wrong paled into significance with the dreadful news that Natalie's cat, Cheese, - which was Lizzie's pet - had sadly been run over by a car and had to be put to sleep. Natalie explained to Lizzie as best she could and we dealt with the fallout.  Tonight Cheese has her final resting place in our garden where Lizzie can plant some flowers and watch them grow, never forgetting her first pet.

So this week has been hard, incredibly hard and I suddenly realised tonight it's Thursday.  The week has passed almost in a blur - lurching from one major event to another.  I wonder if it was a week like this that inspired the name TGI Friday?

 

Sing Out Loud!

I was driving along in my car today listening to the CD when I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was singing along to it too.

Nothing new in that you might think.  Sadly, just lately, there is.  I honestly can't remember the last time I sang to myself or, apart from in church, out loud. One way and another life has been a little challenging of late and although I didn't acknowledge it it's also been quite stressful.  So stressful in fact that it has affected my happiness.  I didn't actually realise to what extent until today when I was pondering why it had been so long since I last sang to myself.  I then realised that actually, today, I was feeling quite happy.  Now that can't be bad can it?

All this thinking got me thinking some more (as it does!).  I remembered a particularly difficult time in my life, when my marriage had irretrievably broken down.  I was besides myself with grief for what had been lost, rejected and in effect thrown away. Months after I had been left alone with my baby daughter I had one night been talking with a friend on the telephone.  The conversation had progressed to being rather amusing and we had enjoyed a good laugh together.  The first time I had laughed (& I am a girl who loves to laugh a lot, all things being equal) properly in a very long time.  I suddenly realised - in the same way as I have today with the singing - that the muscles in my face were aching.  It was so long since they had been properly used to laugh that they actually pained me.  Now that is sad.

I made my mind up today that never again am I going to allow myself to stop singing out loud and you know what I found out later in the day?  If you sing out loud, whether or not you actually feel like singing when you start to sing, that it lifts your spirits and you do feel better for it.  Go on try it for yourself and see!  Don't blame me if your face begins to ache too though!

 

It's The Veggies....

Juicing this, juicing that - I'm juicing everything at the moment.  I didn't think I would like the vegetable juices to be honest but I do.  I thought if I'm not that keen on some of these vegetables in their cooked form how will I like them raw?  But it's odd.

I can't decide if it's the combinations that make them turn out really tasty or because something must change in the cooking process but whatever it is I'm enjoying them raw, in their juiced format. Take yesterday, for example, I had apples & carrots (those two form a base for all my vegetable juices) along with beetroot, kale, brocolli and a slice of lime.  It was delicious!  I wasn't at all sure about trying the kale and brocolli but was pleasantly surprised.

This morning I have had orange, apple, apricot, grapes, melon and a slice of lime.  Very tangy and a delicious way to start the day.  Little Lizzie-Anne kept trying to pinch it.  Everytime I turned around she was drinking my juice.  She has already put her order in for lunchtime when she wants one made from Strawberries!

I'm sat here writing this with the laptop on my knee and Lizzie-Anne and Faith climbing all over me.  In short I am a human climbing frame.  Better go and get on with it before one of them falls off!

Bye bye for now!

 

Fat, Sick And Nearly Dead.....Sound Familiar?

It's actually the title of a TV documentary that was aired a couple of weeks ago.

It had a profound effect on me.  I could totally identify with Joe Cross - the subject of the film.

Joe Cross was a very successful businessman in his own right.  He was also fat, sick and as he put it "nearly dead".  He required lots of different medication just to get through each day.  One day he woke up and smelt the roses...or in his case the juice.  He took his life into his own hands and started to "juice" each day.  For many weeks living only on juice made from the flesh of fresh vegetables and fruit.  It saved his life.  Not only did it save his life it enabled him to become much freer from the various medicines he had previously needed to survive.  He also dropped a lot of weight and became much fitter.  In short he became a changed man.

His life has positively affected the lives of countless others throughout the world as they have listened to and learnt from his story.  I am one of those people.  I watched the documentary and thought "I can do that - I'm going to give it a go."  To me it makes such sense: extract the juice from fruit and vegetables before anything is done to them - such as cooking - and you have in the juice all the natural goodness, nutrients, vitamins and minerals still in tact, at their most potent and as god or nature intended.  In addition to this the goodness and enzymes etc. are much quicker easier absorbed into the body in a liquid form.

So here I am.  Juicing (as it's called) and loving it - so far.

 

My Family And Other Animals!

Welcome to my world.... I suppose it would be pertinent to introduce the family, because to me my family are not just the centre of my life but the centre of my whole universe. So where to begin?

Well there's my grown up daughter Natalie. On the day she was born her dad wrote on our calendar "A little ray of sunshine was born" and that's certainly been true throughout her 21 years to date. She's bright, intelligent and funny - all qualities which I hope she has inherited from me! She's also very beautiful. I consider that her greatest beauty comes from within but she shines on the outside too. Natalie has two children, both girls and I totally adore them. Lizzie-Anne and Faith. At the time of writing Lizzie-Anne is 3 and Faith 18 months. They are hard work but a delight to be around. Every day brings something new with them.

So that's Natalie. Then there's Sam. Not a "Samantha" but a "Samuel". He's very tall and ginger - something his sister never lets him forget! He's also highly intelligent and I have found I can no longer help him with his homework - it's way above my ability now! He has a very dry sense of humour and constantly keeps me in check on the small technicalities of things, starting his sentences with terms like "Well technically...." So that's Sam - very matter of fact.

Then there's Andy. Andy is my very long suffering and mostly patient "significant other" "partner" or "fiance" take your pick really. I prefer "best friend". He's a "grump" at the best of times but very tolerant of my various family members who try his patience at times to it's limit. Andy is uber-talented and creative. His photography is amazing but that's just the tip of the iceberg with his artistic talents.

That sums up my immediate family of the human kind, next we have the animals...

Patch is a "spanollie" according to Sam, that is to say he's a cross between a Spaniel and a Collie. To tell you the truth I'm not actually sure what he is except very hairy! Patch is a rescue dog. We didn't rescue him per se - he chose us. We actually went to the rescue centre to view another dog but Patch chose us. He had been promised to another family but then the rescue centre discovered they didn't have a garden for him and worked all day during which time he would be chained up outside so they called us and offered him to us. We were delighted. It's been a bit of a journey with Patch. When we got him the rescue centre said that we would never be able to let him off the lead because he wouldn't come back to us. He had been picked up by the dog warden as a stray living wild eating scraps from peoples dustbins. For the first two years we had him it was hard. We would take him for walks and keep trying to let him off the lead only to have to chase him! But after much love and understanding together with an extendable lead and treats when we called him and reeled him in again we finally got to the day we let him go and he actually came back to us. I think for Patch the day we adopted him all his Christmases came at once. He's an absolutely fab dog to have around apart from being so hairy! He looks after all our family.

At the centre of our family sits Abby. Abby is very big, gentle and another ginger, or to give it it's proper title "Chestnut". She's a 16.3hh Cleveland Bay Cross mare (horse to those of you reading this who are clueless about all things equine!). Abby is beautiful, stubborn, gentle, giving and obstinate all rolled into one. She's also been quick poorly with arthritis in her hock on one of her hind legs. So we've had and continue to have a bit of a journey with Abby. She's much loved by all the family and has brought the whole family together (extended family that is - my parents, sister and brother included)in an effort to ensure she is as comfortable and pain free as it's possible to be in the circumstances.

The final piece of this jigsaw is, of course, me. I often think that when I die, if I were to be buried my headstone would read: "Here lies a nice person." That's me - I'm "nice". But what is "nice"? It's the person who gets the most flack but still comes back for more, it's the person who sometimes (often) becomes a "doormat" for others, it's the person who always apologises first even though, often, they are not the one in the wrong. Sometimes being the "nice" one is not nice. I often wish I were more assertive. Back in "the day" (i.e. pre children/early 20's) when I was some high flying middle manager I used to take out from the work library of training videos titles like "When I say No I Feel Guilty" and in over 20 years nothing has changed. "Nice" is insipid. The person with the firery temper gets remembered, as does the grumpy person, the drop dead gorgeous person but the nice person - they become little more than a passing comment "Oh Sharon - she's nice". So nice is in many ways not good. I don't especially like being the nice one. It annoys me that I'm not stronger and more assertive, that I often let people walk all over me yet at the same time I am comfortable in my skin. I can live with myself because at the end of the day I am nice and really it's ok to be nice......isn't it?