Come fly with me, lets fly, lets fly away......

.........12.....13......14.....15........16..........17.......take a guess at what we are doing this morning.......18......19........and if you guessed counting wrinkles you can go round the back and smack yourself.
Today, we are counting blessings.
I know it's cliched but as I have pointed out to anyone silly enough to question cliche, the reason they exist is because they are true.
And the truth will out, as I used to say, and still do.
(I know that when doling out hokey wisdom it makes more sense to quote others- usually our mothers- but I can tell you right now I seriously struggle to remember two sensible words that came out of my mothers mouth within the same conversation, let alone the same sentence, so there it is. When doling out Hokey wisdom, I quote myself. It's safer and at least I know where I've been.)
But back to blessings.
Last week was Chinese New Year, and we are now within the Year of Tiger. 4 days of enforced public holidays, which for an avowed workaholic is like torture. It was also the coldest week in Hong Kong in about 40 years. Cold and Grey, and as luck would have it, it was a week where I felt it would be prudent to watch my pennies, as I had just enjoyed a couple of months of family time with my Kinder, and that always empties the coffers. So there I was, cold and alone- violin music starts here- in my little flat, with only a demanding ex-tomcat for company, wondering what my future held- remember it was New Years- and what it all meant anyway.
I watched a lot of TV and made a lot of soup.
OK, in truth I caught up with a whole bunch of people on 2 of the four days, but for the other hours I wallowed.
Wallowed in a way that only a divorced woman who owns a cat and who is entering her 40's with her children having flown the nest- yes, yes, pushed out- can.
Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeep wallowing. Drowning in it.
Watching all 900 of the National Geographic channels did not help.
I had thought that if I stuck to real life TV, and saw what the rest of the world was doing it might help.
In my mind the logic ran that if I couldn't travel to exotic climes that weekend, then at least I could watch people who could.
Major Mistake.
There is nothing more depressing than watching enthusiastic mid lifers, or worse, babies in their twenties run about trying new cuisine on the back of motorbikes while chasing elephants under 30 degree heat while you are eating water crackers with peanut butter, wrapped up in a blanket, sitting on the sofa fighting for leg room with a cat.
NOT exotic, by any stretch.
But also not that bad.
You see, for all my moaning, the truth was, my life - even at that point- was just not that bad.
I had a blanket, and a plentiful supply of peanut butter, and an animal for company, and a TV to watch and a phone to speak with my loved ones.....are you counting ? That's 5........and many other comforts that, although relatively small, are actually real.
I call these little mini moments of self indulgent sadness my 'eccentric depressions'.
I have suffered at the hands of full blown depression, and am ever vigilant for the signs that lead to that dark path.
Once was enough thank you, never again.
But my 'eccentric depressions' are like tiny emotional tantrums that blow in for anywhere from 2 minutes to 2 days, and are marked by the irreverent sense of humour that accompanies them.
"Of course you are out of loo paper" they say " It's part of the shitty day you are having"
You see what I mean.
I happened to catch a documentary, whilst I was wallowing, on something called 'The Missing White Woman Syndrome'.
" Here I am !!! " I shouted at the television, even though the syndrome relates to the coverage by the media of the abduction and deaths of attractive white women as opposed to the abduction and deaths of ugly non-white women.
The irony here of course being that a) after 2 days at home, unwashed and not caring, I was not only not missing, I was also lookin' ugly and non-white and b) the TV can not hear me.
But talk to the TV I did, and ate bad-for-me things, and drank coffee even at night time, and read my horoscope just in case it revealed anything I didn't already know, and went to a bio-rhythm web site and typed in my birth date, and looked up ' 40 year old women' in google images and compared myself, and did all of the wacky and stupid pointless things that one does when one is feeling directionless.
I know I am not the only one to have days like these.
John Lennon- RIP- wrote a song that said exactly that.
" Nobody told me there'd be days like these, strange days indeed, most peculiar Mumma- Woah"
I couldn't have said it better myself.
And they pass.
Wouldn't you know it, the day after the holiday, when I needed to get back to work, it all lifted- except the weather- but that was OK.
It's amazing what power exists in a warm shower and clean clothes.
Chinese New Year also means Lai See- lucky money- and a number of my clients whom I am certain view me as a slightly odd version of their own families mentally adrift spinster sister, handed me pretty red packets filled with cash, and told me to " buy myself something nice".
Perhaps they had picked up on my desire to melt into my own pity puddle, or perhaps they noticed that my hair needs a bit of a trim , or they just wanted to ensure that fate would not be unkind to them this year ( I know, I know) but what ever the reason, their generosity humbled and affirmed me, and I thank them for that.
The kindness of others is a blessing indeed.
The Year of the Tiger is known amongst the Chinese to be a year of challenge and change, but MY horoscope- that of the Rooster- says it is a year to take risks and be brave. The Tiger will have my back- as they say- and my bravery will be rewarded.
So here is to that, away from my eccentric depressions of last week, and with the weather improving, and at least a thousand blessings at my disposal, may I take the time to wish you and yours Kung Hei Fat Choi , and I hope you will join me this year in a bit of sky diving, sky larking and staying up late.
W.