Synchronicity abounds

Coincidence 1) Yesterday I received in email an explanation of the Christmas Carol The First Day of Christmas, and a few minutes after receiving it, a neighbour put a card illustrating the Carol through the door - see below. (If you would like the explanation, feel free to use the comments box to request it, or email me).

Coincidence 2) Vic and I went late night shopping and as we stood in front of the range of sauces such as Tabasco, Reggae Reggae etc, an American guy wearing a back to front baseball cap picked up several bottles of something and put them in his trolley, then came over to us and handed us a bottle, suggesting that if we were looking for something a bit different, we try it, (apparently it’s a bit like Tabasco sauce, not as hot but slightly more flavourful). He explained it was American (like him). He reminded me strongly of John, our friend from Texas who came to visit last year from whom I hadn’t heard for a while. As I thought of John, I predicted to Vic that I would receive an email from him today – sure enough I did.

Coincidence 3) This morning I read today’s Word for Today which speaks of freedom, and then turned to lesson 332 in ‘A Course in Miracles’ where again I read of freedom.

This card is by Cancer Research UK http://www.cancerresearch.org/

Livestock in the fridge

Cleaned out the fridge today - nothing remarkable in that, except for the surprising discovery that a spider had made its home in there! How weird is that? I liberated it to the Great Outdoors.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, it wasn't a big fat hairy spider but the legs were about half an inch long and so spindly to be almost transparent.

The Weekend: Good News/Bad News

Saturday morning I went over the allotment to harvest a couple of lovely healthy, hearty cabbages for Cell Group lunch tomorrow then got on with making desserts: apple crumble, gluten-free tiramisu and a large lemon cheesecake.

Bev rang and invited me to a concert with her tonight in Reading in aid of Hope Asia, a small charity supporting an orphanage in Cambodia. Bev’s friends’ daughter Alice is a student singer/songwriter, and her music teacher helped organise the concert featuring those of her students who wished to participate. There were varying levels of talent – a couple of them (including Alice) were very good. Besides a few songs written by the performers, the repertoire varied from ancient hymns (‘I vow to thee my country’; ‘Amazing Grace’) to songs from musicals, to classics such as Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Sounds of Silence’.

Last night’s concert had set me thinking about another singer/songwriter I knew (from St Mary’s, the church I attended before moving to The Beacon), and with her already in my thoughts, it was a delightful surprise to see her at church Sunday morning. She hasn’t had the breakthrough she’s been looking for with her music, but gave me a 4 track CD of her work. She’s got a lovely voice (think Katie Mellua meets Dido meets Joss Stone). Only hope the success she deserves comes her way soon. You can check out her music here. (This link will take you off this page – you can select a track to listen to).

We had 50+ sitting down to eat for Cell group lunch – it’s a very popular event.

When I got home and checked my emails, it was to discover that my application for the admin post has been unsuccessful.

Sod's Law*

I was due to meet up with friends for lunch at noon in town today and planned to make Vic a fruit cake before I went. The recipe requires that you simmer the fruit, sugar, fluid, butter and spice on the stove for a few minutes then allow it to cool before adding the flour and egg. I left the kitchen and got busy elsewhere whilst it was cooling, and forgot about it until about ten past eleven, at which point I completed the process, turned it into a cake tin and put it in the oven. Unfortunately this didn’t really leave enough time for it to bake fully before I was due to leave to walk into town. I took it out of the oven early, eased it out of the cake tin and put it in the microwave to finish it off. Sadly the result belonged on cakewrecks, if I’m honest! (If you follow this link it will take you to another blog – a highly amusing one. You can use the back button on your browser to return to this page).

Of course, as things turned out, I could very well have waited patiently for the cake to finish baking in the oven and still been on time … I walked into town and met with D_ at the appointed hour – and we sat there for a good 20 minutes waiting for B_, J_ and R_ to join us. P_ never did make it.

Our party moved off to the selected pub where we studied the menu and the Specials board. D_ can’t eat onions, so there was some to-ing and fro-ing before the order was placed to everybody’s satisfaction, D_ opting for the battered cod, but substituting mash for chips. When the waitress brought his plate, the chef had missed the substitution and dished up cod and chips. D_ sent it back, but the waitress soon returned to explain that there was no mash left, and it would take half an hour before more could be ready. B_ had selected the Chicken & bacon pie and mash from the Specials board, and hadn’t started eating at this point. She volunteered to swap her mash for D_’s chips. The waitress went away with both plates and returned with the substitutions made … except D_ had no peas on his plate. Had there been some on there before the substitution was made? I couldn’t tell you, but B_ was adamant there had been. The waitress dutifully carried the plate back to the kitchen for a portion of peas. At last it seemed everyone was satisfied and began to eat … but D_ cut into his fish only to discover it wasn’t fully cooked! We called the waitress over yet again, and eventually she returned with a fresh piece of cod (plus the peas and mash). I’m hosting and cooking for our next lunch date when our mutual friend A_ will be visiting from his home north of the border – and hope that luncheon date** is not so fraught with error as today’s experience!

*Sod's Law, also known as Murphy's Law and Finagle's Law, states that 'if anything can go wrong, it will'

**PS Happily everything went extremely well and we all thoroughly enjoyed the lunch I hosted and catered for. It was a warm, friendly, relaxed experience with ample to eat and much merriment. Phew!

Songs from a Dome

I was introduced to Leonard Cohen’s music by a Canadian friend when I was 15, and have played it regularly down the years – usually when no one else is around as no one else in my family appreciates that distinctive voice. Vic claims Cohen’s music is depressing! Yes, really! I know, unbelievable, isn’t it?

I had never imagined I would one day get the opportunity to see a live performance. Then earlier this year I read an article explaining that he was going on tour again, after about 15 years away from the stage. A rave review of his opening concert decided matters, and today I was a very lucky girl, getting to see him at the O2 Arena (formerly called The Millennium Dome). I went with a friend and we were up there so early we had time to catch a film beforehand. We settled on Easy Virtue – the film based on a play by Noel Coward. Very amusing – I can recommend it.

After a pleasant meal, it was time for the main feature! I overheard a conversation where somebody was saying the O2 Arena holds 20,000 people – and it wasn’t far off capacity. It seems I’m not so alone after all in my continued enjoyment of the phenomenon that is Leonard Cohen. The sprightly way he skipped on-stage (to rapturous applause) belied his 70+ years. Beginning at 8 pm with a short break of maybe 20 minutes in the middle, he and the band entertained with song after song – the vocals excellent, the music of fantastic quality - right through until around 11.20 pm. I’m not too proud to admit I went to a Roger Whittaker concert a few years ago but I confess I left halfway through that as I found it hard to listen to a voice that to me sounded cracked with age like a face on which the years have drawn a deep signature. I had wondered whether tonight’s concert would be similarly disappointing. I needn’t have worried. Cohen’s voice still has a special power and energy to it, he reaches those low notes with ease and maintains breath magnificently to the end of every phrase. It was a fabulous show!

‘Dance me to the end of Love’ - the opening number - has a lovely lilting melody and rhythm to it. You can watch a video and listen to the song for free if you click here. (Following this link will take you off this blog to the video page of Leonard Cohen’s official website. Scroll down to 'Dance me to the End of Love' and click on the blue HI).
PS Went to see the 2012 tour yesterday, 9th September, at Wembley Arena - another wonderful evening of entertainment.

Autumn Leaves

Glorious sunshine today – the autumn colours look luscious against the crisp blue sky.

Put in a couple of dance practice sessions, working on the fan and hockey stick figures in the cha cha cha (which I struggled with Monday night).

Good pace, good fun, good news!

Changed tactics for my swimming session today, putting in just 10 lengths but at a fairly good pace. (I’d left it a bit late, and the session was closing so I didn’t have sufficient time to swim more).

Christina asked if I’d make up a handout of the main points from Mark’s sermon for Cell group tomorrow night. I turned it into an illustrated booklet on communication, which was quite fun and earned me some ‘brownie points’.

Good news! I rang the DVLA and my licence was granted on the 8th November and is in the post. I’m allowed to drive again! Independence! Whilst it has been good for the environment and good for me to walk or cycle, over the winter when the weather can be so grotty it makes a big difference to be able to jump in the car and drive. My first trip was to deliver a box of Thornton’s Winter Choccies and a thank you card to Dr Y_ and his secretary for their assistance in my application to have my licence renewed (see blog entry for 4th November).

Over the allotment today I pulled the last of the beetroot and picked two healthy portions of Brussels sprouts.

From Powerpoint to Cha cha cha

High winds and heavy rain today, but happily a friend was able to give me a lift to Rachel’s house for my lesson on Powerpoint. The rain had eased off by the time I came out, even though I wasn’t there long, and the bus was waiting for me at the stop.

In the evening at the Improvers’ dance class I didn’t seem to be picking up the cha cha cha routine very quickly. However … I have now bought Anton’s Dance Class which takes you through step by step. Perhaps by next week I’ll be up to speed.

‘Inspire’ Ladies’ Day

The Ladies’ Day began at 2 pm – on arrival we were greeted with coffee and home-made cakes, and given a Pashmina each as a gift. Here I am wearing mine. I was amused by the laundry instructions: Dry Clean Only In Cold Water. Not quite sure how that works – if you’ve got any ideas, please let me know!

During Beverley’s teaching, she spoke about how, if God is calling us to do something, even if we don’t feel fully ready, He will fill in the gaps. This week I’ve sent off an application for a part-time (12 hours a week) admin role. The job description specified someone who has ‘knowledge of Microsoft Outlook, particularly Powerpoint’. (I suppose it means MS Office, particularly Outlook and Powerpoint). I had hesitated to apply as I haven’t had much occasion to use Powerpoint and don’t feel fully proficient in it. I was sitting with Christina, and in the break spoke to her about it. Rachel was sitting nearby and overheard – it turns out she teaches MS Office and she offered me a lesson to brush up my skills!

After the worship and teaching, we sat down to a scrumptious three course meal, then had fun singing along to Mamma Mia!

Frustration in the morning, delight later

On 16th September I applied for my driving licence to be renewed (a previous application in August was unsuccessful as it was less than three months since the relapse). I phoned the DVLA to enquire into progress today and was advised that as the medical questionnaire sent out to Dr Y_ on the 1st October had not been returned, a further form was sent on 29th October. I penned a letter to Dr Y_ expressing my anger and frustration at the delay and hand-delivered it. Then I bought some Thornton’s ‘Winter Choccies’ for some self-indulgent comfort eating and went to see the film ‘High School Musical 3’. I thought it would be a real ‘feelgood’ movie. Disappointingly it didn’t do a lot for me.

In the evening I attended the Wholeness through Spirituality meeting – this was the third time the group has been held, but the first time I’ve been able to attend as the other meetings clashed with dance classes. Tonight Stuart was facilitating, and the theme was Rain. I was delighted to find somebody I met earlier in the year to whom I’d sent an invitation had come along with her mother.

Cool Cat

Last week I received a phone call asking if I’d be willing to join a Focus group today at The Ridgewood. The Trust is looking to recruit to an associate directorship position and besides the interview, the short-listed candidates will give a brief presentation to the Interview Panel and face questions from three Focus groups (peers/professionals, service users/carers, staff). The Ridgewood isn’t the easiest place to get to by public transport for 9 am so they organised a taxi for me. It arrived just after 8 am, far earlier than anticipated (the journey takes maybe 20 minutes or so). I was still in the shower! Quickly I threw some clothes on and went out to speak to the driver – he was happy to wait whilst I dried my hair and got ready.

We arrived at The Ridgewood before the receptionist and it occurred to me that nobody had told me where to go or who to ask for. This Norwegian Forest cat stalked through the door with me and settled himself comfortably in the waiting room (see photo), so I followed suit. Eventually the receptionist arrived and managed to discover where I was supposed to go. In theory there should have been 5 service users or carers in the Focus group but in practice just two of us made it – last week when I hadn’t heard any more about the transport arrangements, I’d phoned and persisted until I’d got through to somebody who was able to confirm the taxi had been arranged, but it would appear that no one had followed through and advised the other service users of the details. Barbara P_ (one of the friends with whom I meet for coffee once a month) had made her own way there. We weren’t best impressed with the disorganisation.

One of my questions to each candidate was: Imagine an award ceremony where you’re being presented with an award ...

1. what accomplishment can you envisage receiving an award for;
2. who in the audience (eg. family, friends, work colleagues, members of the community or service users) do you think would be applauding most enthusiastically;
3. how long before this might take place?
   
   Afterwards we gave our feedback to the HR facilitator, had lunch and got the taxi home again. I enjoyed the buzz I got from the morning.

Psychotherapy Assessment

Attended for the Psychotherapy Assessment appointment. The psychotherapist asked various questions and commented that I’m very good at rationalising away my feelings – so good that I’m not always aware of my feelings.
“That’s the basis of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, isn’t it - changing the thought to change the feelings?” I suggested.
“I’m not going to comment on that” he told me firmly.
Later I noticed that each time I spoke, I was sprinkling the phrase ‘you know’ through everything I said, like a verbal tic. I commented as much, adding that I don’t usually do so.
“You’re looking for validation and I’m not giving it” he responded.
At the end of the interview he said, “I may have seemed critical”, which surprised me as I couldn’t recall him saying anything critical and I hadn’t felt criticised. We’ve made another appointment to meet in November.

Snow in October!

This Christmas Cactus is blooming early!

Apparently the last October we had sufficient snowfall in the south for it to settle was back in 1934. Neither Vic nor Dave could resist making the suggestion that I get my bike out today (a family joke relating back to January 1999 when as part of a New Year Resolution to get fit, I decided to forsake the car in favour of cycling to work - a distance of around one mile. Unfortunately at the first junction, the road was like a sheet of ice. I came off the bike and managed to both dislocate and fracture my left elbow. It took months of physiotherapy before I regained the use of the arm). Ha ha. No thanks. I walked to the pool, did 20 lengths and walked home, walking to Dave's after lunch to do a spot of decorating for him then walking home again to make a warming vegetable curry with spiced basmati rice for dinner and apple crumble for dessert.

It's half-term so no Cell Group tonight. Vic and I went back to Dave's where they finished fitting skirting board and architrave in the freshly decorated bedroom and I painted the radiator and cleaned the windows.

Friendly Overtures

Went swimming lunchtime. Met Jill L_ (wife of one of Vic’s former colleagues when he worked for Newbury Data). Jill and I were friends back then, but haven’t seen each other for years and took the opportunity to catch up with each other’s news.

After the swim I picked up a couple of friendly text messages – one from a church friend and one from a friend I made in hospital – plus an email via the FriendsReunited site from someone I shared a house with when we were at Hatfield together.

I reflected on the coincidence of Mark preaching on friendship* on Sunday, encouraging us to move towards others and to deepen our friendships, and the number of friendly overtures suggesting get-togethers I’ve received this week.

*to read about this, click on link – you can use back button on your browser to return to this page.

Web Tracking

Ultimately (son) Dave has ambitious plans to extend/improve the existing kitchen in his new home but meantime, having offered to host Christmas this year, replacing the broken cooker was high on his priority list. He found what he was looking for on Ebay at a good price: a dual-fuel range with 7 gas burners and two electric ovens (he seriously enjoys cooking!), and thus it was that he and Vic set off for Birmingham today in a hired van with a tail-lift to bring the beastie home.

He emailed me a link to Co-pilot Live which is pretty cool! It lets you follow the journey from your PC. On screen you get the same view that the driver sees on his SatNav, with the facility to exchange messages. Neat stuff!

Fragrance Junkie

My name is Patricia and I’m a fragrance junkie.

Yes, ‘tis true. I can still remember a ramble many years ago when at the end of the walk I couldn’t have told you what landmarks we’d passed or described the scenery because the whole way round the route, I’d been focused on the wonderful smell of a fellow rambler’s aftershave, and quietly followed behind as close as I could without tripping over him, revelling in his perfume.

On our recent trip to Bala, I noticed the owners of Cyffdy Farm cottages had paid a lot of attention to detail. One charming example of this was the delightful fragrance of the bed-linen. I commented as much to our host and learned it was Lenor.

Now one of the qualities Vic and I share in common is that we’re generally thrifty. Fabric conditioner was one of those little luxuries we’ve been perfectly happy to do without for any number of years. However, I was so taken with the fragrance of the bed-linen on holiday that our shopping trip on Saturday saw me surreptitiously sniffing the various bottles of Lenor and subsequently placing two bottles (it was on special offer!) of ‘sleep sensations’ in the trolley. Mmmmmm… heavenly! The drawback is I'm not wanting to get out of bed!

Inner wholeness or In a hole-ness?

Recently as part of my Recovery Plan, I've been using the trampette for a bit of light exercise.

Got it out today and set it up on the grass.

Grass was wet and soggy underfoot from yesterday's rain. Took my trainers off and stepped onto the trampette, careful not to tread on grass and get socks wet.
Began to bounce.

Rapidly realised I wasn't wearing my customary sports bra. The lacy little Primark number (£3) just wasn't ... errr... 'man' enough for the task.

Provided extra support with hands, glad that the high hedges guarantee the neighbours can't see.

After a few minutes became aware that the trampette was now at a crazy drunken angle.

Stepped off onto the wet grass - Ugh! Now got wet socks.

Discovered that my bouncing had effectively hammered two of the legs deep into the soft earth. Pulled them out - but it left the black rubber feet behind in the bottom of each hole.

Found something thin, metal and slightly hooked and tried to fish for the rubber feet.

Only succeeded in catching a metal washer.

Tried digging out a core of earth with a trowel then searching through it for the rubber foot. No luck. Now not only were my socks wet, my fingers were extremely muddy with dirt trapped under the fingernails - NOT an attractive look to sport at tonight's dance class.

Added to that there's the vandalism to Vic's lawn (I think of it as his now that I leave the garden to him to tend whilst I focus on the allotment).

Like a naughty schoolgirl, I try and hide the evidence.

[Sigh] Remind myself confession is supposed to be good for the inner wholeness of the soul. Added to that I need to tell him if I want him to help me retrieve the feet.

Houseplants

Topped up the houseplants with fresh potting compost today. I acquired this Madagascar Dragon Plant back in 1999 as part of a planting arrangement in the little ornamental tub. Now it is almost as tall as me, and seriously pot-bound. You can see a neat mat of roots has grown out of the bottom of the flower pot. I have no intention of re-potting it to a larger pot so it will have to make do.

Chopsticks

Here is a curious question, "What utensil are you?"

Apparently I'm Chopsticks:

'People see you as exotic, unusual, and even a bit intimidating.You are a difficult person to figure out. In truth, you try to live a very simple life. But most people are too frenzied to recognize the beauty of your simplicity.'

Wanna take the quiz and find out what utensil you are? You'll find it here http://www.blogthings.com/whatutensilareyouquiz/

Bag a Bargain

This fuchsia is in a sheltered spot in the garden and still thinks it's midsummer! I brought it with us from our previous house, which makes it at least 15 years old.


This week I’ve done well with the Recovery Programme: 30 lengths Wednesday, 20 lengths Thursday, supplemented by various sessions on the trampette, not to mention dancing, cycling and walking. Speaking of dancing, my dance partner has suggested that when his work schedule permits, we attend both ‘B’ and ‘C’ classes on Mondays and Thursdays. Ye-ha! and other appropriate noises of jubilation!

Today to celebrate I walked into town to buy a new handbag. Much as I like my current one, it is tedious having to keep searching for keys etc. that have worked through one of the holes in the lining.

Guess what my primary buying consideration was as I stood in front of the display in Primark?
“Will this look good with my outfit”? Nope
“Will this colour go with my shoes”? Nope.
The big question in my mind was, “Will my Bible fit in this?” In the church I belong to it's customary to take along your own Bible to meetings – probably not a factor the handbag designers consider, generally speaking, eh?.

I found one both capacious and stylish enough and discovered it was marked down from £6 to £3 – bargain! I took it to the checkout and paused when the girl asked me for £1. “It says £3 on the label” my conscience pointed out. She smiled and confirmed it was further reduced. Even better! A handbag for £1. You couldn’t buy the materials for that. Perhaps I should have bought the whole stock and given them away as Christmas presents.

As I walked out of the shop, a familiar face greeted me with a megawatt smile. “Hello, how are you?” she asked warmly.
“Very well thanks, how are you?” I returned with equal warmth, my memory struggling with the alternate question: WHO are you? I couldn’t immediately place her. It wasn’t until I was at home that I realised it was the member of Housekeeping staff at the Wingfield Ward I’d shown how to solve Sudoku puzzles. Nice that she recognized me.

Problem Odours?

The Japanese Maple looks lovely when the sun shines through it at this time of year


Today I spent unpacking from the weekend, tidying up and catching up with the laundry. My walking boots got wet and muddy on Sunday and sat festering in a bag for two nights. When I finally got around to unpacking them, they literally stank the place out! I took them outside and washed them off thoroughly, but the lining still smelt rank. I tried spraying Febreze in them. Big mistake. Now they smelt even worse, a sickly sweetness overlying the mustiness.

A quick trawl of the internet came up with a few tips: I sprinkled some bicarbonate of soda inside and left it in there while the boots hung out on the line in the sunshine. Still smelly. I hoovered them out and tried putting a few drops of tea tree oil on tea bags and left two of these in each boot for a few hours. Slight improvement. I made up a spray of surgical spirit and distilled white vinegar and used that to spray the inside. Again, a slight improvement, although the vinegar smell lingers. Next off came half a lemon in each boot, left overnight. To be honest, I still don't really want them in the house. The final suggestion, which I haven't tried yet, is to seal them in a plastic bag and leave them in a freezer overnight. Our freezer is tiny and generally crammed full, but due for defrosting and cleaning soon so I might try this once I've used up all the provisions.

If you know a sure-fire cure for smelly boots (short of burning them), please don't hesitate to fill in the comments box to let me know!

Bala Getaway

View through the porthole window in one of the bedrooms at the cottage


Vic and I were married in March 1979. His Best Man was his best mate, Dave A_, but over the intervening years we lost touch and they last saw each other around 26 years ago. With Vic's 60th birthday coming up, I decided it was time for a reunion and tracked Dave down via his daughter through the FriendsReunited website in June this year. We swapped a few emails in which I learnt that Dave, like Vic, had suddenly (after years without a motorbike) bought a BMW last year. With both of them being confirmed aficionados of British bikes in their youth, this joint defection to BMW seemed almost uncanny, similar to the connection twins are said to have.

Dave and his family run a business near Bala in North Wales, so I booked a cottage near there for 3 nights, 3rd to 6th October, and invited Vic’s sister and her husband to join us for the weekend. (If you follow the link, it will take you off this page to the Cyffdy Farm website. You can use the back button on your browser to return to this page).

I’ve posted a number of photos and the full story (three pages) of the weekend and the reunion on my homepage. The scenery was fantastic! If you’d like the link, please email me (you’ll find an email address on the profile page of this site).

One aspect that made a big impression on me was the difference in the night sky at the cottage. Sunday was a clear night. When we returned to the cottage after an evening out with Dave and his family, we stood enrapt gazing up at a sight unlike anything you see from a garden in Bristol or Surrey! Us town-dwellers may enjoy the advantage of a vast number of stores on our doorstep, but in that moment I could understand a country-dweller's preference for seeing stars. Against the deep black velvet backdrop they sparkled in untold numbers, with the misty swirl of nebulas and galaxies adding to the awe-inspiring beauty. If you want to count the stores on your doorstep, live in the town. If you want to count the stars in the sky, choose the country!

Politeness -v- Personal Responsibility for Choices

A friend dropped round today to bring me some flowers and to borrow the net connection briefly. I’d had lunch early, but as it was around lunchtime and I had some home-made soup to offer, I offered both coffee and soup. It led to one of those conversations which seem like hard work for such an easy question.

“Would you like some coffee?”
“Are you having some?”
“Yes, it’s already made” (I’d made it when I got the phone call priming me to expect the visit).
“Yes please, then”
“How would you like it, black or white?”
“I don’t mind” (this gave me pause for thought, seeming like a re-run of what happened on Sunday when I’d asked Vic about when the freecyclers should come round and he’d said ‘I don’t mind’, then not been happy when I arranged it for later in the day).

To add to the confusion, I made the offer of the soup.
“Or I could just have a banana” suggested my visitor, spotting the enormous pile of bananas.
“Yes – which would you prefer, soup or a banana? Or you could have both!”
"Whichever is easiest for you" came the answer.

Aaaargh! It was very difficult to ascertain from the overly polite responses my visitor’s honest preferences – which set me thinking. Are there times when I have been reluctant to take responsibility for making my own choices? Why do we consider it is more polite to say “I don’t mind” when we really do have a preference?

Have you ever had an exasperating conversation like this, where someone won't voice their preference? How do you deal with situations like that? Please feel free to use the comments link (below) to respond, or drop me an email.

Freecycling

Vic is re-flooring the garden room to turn it into a dance studio for me. We’ve been having a clear-out of all the things that got stored down there when Dave moved back home. Now he’s moved out into his own property and it’s obvious he has no need of some of the things we kept, thinking they might CIUOD*

That’s where freecycle proves so useful! I advertised a small wardrobe with shelves on freecycle. Being really keen to get it out of the way as soon as possible, I suggested to Vic that we take the unusual step of offering local delivery. He was reluctant at first, but I persisted and wore him down (pointing out he might as well deliver it to somewhere it would get some use rather than taking it down the local dump). When I had someone interested in it, I consulted Vic about when it would be convenient for him to deliver. “I don’t mind” he said, and started to prepare it for moving. I spoke to the freecycler, who confirmed they would be around in a couple of hours. This suited me as it gave us time to have lunch beforehand. I went to convey the news to Vic. "Oh great!" he snarled, his intonation indicating it was anything but. “But you said you didn’t mind when!” I protested. He had assumed they would be coming straight away.

This afternoon our fellow freecycler arrived in a small saloon car with his wife and nephew and helped Vic load it into his large estate. They seemed delighted with their acquisition, also with the large courgette I pressed upon them. I was delighted to send both to a good home.

*Come In Useful One Day

Gluten free Delicious Apple Pudding

Here is my recipe for a delicious gluten-free apple pudding:

2 tablespoons caster sugar
1 oz butter
1 large tablespoon Rice Flour
1 tablespoon Cornflour
1.5 teaspoons baking powder
2 eggs – yolk/white separated
4 fluid ounces milk
Juice & zest 1 lemon
4 medium Bramley Apples

Peel, core and slice apples. Cook in barely enough water to cover base of pan – stirring all the time until apples are pureed. Spread in base of deep oven-proof dish (2 pint capacity or slightly larger). Cream sugar & butter; add flour, baking powder, lemon juice & zest; whisk egg whites until stiff; whisk egg yolks and milk together then whisk into mixture. Fold in egg whites. Pour onto apple puree. Bake until set – ¾ hour on Gas Mark 4 (or bake until top browns then finish off with 2 or 3 minutes in the microwave

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down,

... and I do appreciate you being round ...

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,
My independence seemed to vanish in the haze

Today saw me busy at the computer typing out my answers to the 9 page questionnaire that arrived through the post in connection with the referral for psychotherapy Dr Y (Psychiatrist responsible for my care) has made.

Questions include what my problems are and how they affect me, details about childhood and family relationships, about other significant relationships, education, career and interests. In between typing sessions I worked my way through the laundry and housework and made another large pot of Courgette and Brie soup with the chicken stock from boiling up the bones of Sunday’s chicken.

At the dance class in the evening I was well off-form, struggling to remember both the Samba and Waltz routines and consequently not deriving as much enjoyment from the class as usual.

Shed Inspector

Began with swim (20 lengths) at 6.30 am. Came home and had breakfast then walked over the allotment for an early start. As I arrived at the plot, the robin flew to meet me, following me as I walked up to the shed. As I sat in the shed changing shoes, the robin perched on the threshold for a moment monitoring my progress, clearly very keen for me to get to work providing breakfast. The work I was doing, skimming off the turf where I’m planning to lay the paving slabs salvaged from (son) Dave’s front drive, provided plenty of worms, etc and the robin was never far from my spade, apart from when it went right into the shed a couple of times and hopped around inspecting everything.

Off to a good start!

Last Wednesday (10th September) I put the question: swim membership – will I or won’t I? If you guessed yes, then you know me well. Yesterday I walked to the leisure centre and signed up. The plan is to swim at least 4 times a week coupled with a healthy diet to achieve a target weight-loss of 30 lbs over 15 weeks. (Christmas is 14 weeks away). I got off to a good start this morning, waking up when the alarm went off at 6 am, cycling there, swimming 20 lengths and cycling home again before 7.40 am. Hands and ears were cold on the way there but lovely and warm on the way home, suggesting the swimming got the blood pumping round.

Came home and indulged in 2 bowls of cereals and a cooked breakfast – which isn’t exactly representative of the way I mean to go on, diet wise! Now the sun is shining and it looks a lovely day out there so I’m probably headed over the allotment once I’ve finished here.

PS

Over the allotment I harvested yet more courgettes, a cabbage, French beans, purple sprouting broccoli and some blackberries. Whilst I was in the fruit cage, the robin came as close as he could get, about a foot to eighteen inches away separated by the netting and fixed me with a look that seemed to say, “That’s not fair – I can’t get in there!”

Chrome

Had an appointment with Dr Y (the psychiatrist currently responsible for my treatment) today. He has referred me for psychotherapy and asked if I’d heard from the Consultant Psychotherapist yet. Nope – still waiting.

I took along the DVLA’s letter refusing to renew my driving licence and showed it to him. Dr Y encouraged me to re-apply. He will support my application. Came home and got onto that straight away.

Today I’ve been thinking about agents for change. There was a TV programme recently where an archaeologist was talking about the Iron Age and demonstrated a method of extracting metal ore, smelting it in a clay pot and casting it. The final piece was flawed and he went on to say that the techniques used by Iron Age man were vastly superior to anything he had managed. He couldn’t replicate the quality of their work. It set me thinking about the early days of apprenticeships – how knowledge and experience were passed on in the days before reading and writing were commonplace. Later another interesting snippet caught my eye from an advert for Dyson vacuum cleaners where it was demonstrated that a typical vacuum cleaner with a fixed four-wheel system was ok if you want to move the hoover backwards and forwards, but was rubbish at cornering. Dyson had stepped back and looked at the design and innovated a new design feature using a ball to carry the cleaning head. His ball design permits greater manoeuvrability.

I thought about this and the paradoxical needs – when you first enter a field of endeavour it seems to make sense to explore what’s already known, perhaps to serve an apprenticeship to an established master in that field – but then it takes energy/intention to step back and review that knowledge, spot an area ripe for improvement and be an agent for change. It seems to me there is evidence of us having moved on as a race, in that whereas in the past it was perceived that knowledge = power, and men working at the forefront of their field often cloaked their work in secrecy, there is more openness these days. As George Bernard Shaw said, “If you have an apple and I have an apple and we exchange these apples then you and I will still each have one apple. But if you have an idea and I have an idea and we exchange these ideas, then each of us will have two ideas." It’s great to hear of examples of collaboration, for example Google acknowledge open source programming projects have contributed much to the development of their new web browser, Chrome. Have you tried it yet, by the way? I’m struggling to find my way around the new-look Facebook so I haven’t risked switching browsers, tempting though it sounds.

New Term - No Go

My regular dance partner and I started learning dancing at Adult Ed in September 2006. After a year the teacher decided he’d had enough of the bureaucracy and form-filling that infects the Adult Education system these days and defected with his students to start up the Dance club from a community hall which we were attending until August this year. Much as we enjoyed the Monday night sessions and the social connections we’d made there, we didn’t feel we were making much progress with the dancing, hence our recent decision to sample other classes. Tonight was the first session in the Ballroom and Latin-American Dancing Improvers’ course at the local Adult Education Institute on which we were enrolled. Late in the day I received an apologetic text from my dance partner saying he was stuck at work and wasn’t going to be able to make it back for the start.

I arrived in time to watch the end of the Beginners’ class. It was fully subscribed and appeared to be very enjoyable, judging from the students' faces and the buzz of excited chatter. Different story for the Improvers’ class – there were only four of us enrolled, making the course financially unviable, and of the four enrolled, only two of us were there. The teacher explained that the policy is to run the first class anyway in the hope that more students might turn up to enrol on the night, but in the absence of sufficient interest, the rest of the course would be cancelled. We could either join the beginners or get a refund. The other prospective student, a man, opted not to stay for the lesson. That left me and the teacher, who proceeded to give me a private lesson in Rumba. It felt a little awkward, just her and me. She was a good head and shoulders taller than me, wearing a sleeveless vest despite the chilly evening. Her skin felt as cold as marble beneath my hand. After she had taught me one figure (the fan), I called a halt to the private lesson so that she could go home and warm up. I went to reception to claim the refund and wait for my dance partner who had been racing back to try and make it before the end of class. We talked things through and decided to continue with the Monday nights at the place where we’ve been enjoying the Thursday night classes.

Isn't it ironic

With (daughter) Vicky visiting for the weekend, we went up to Battersea Park, London, for the Battersea Dogs’ Home Annual Reunion. Watched a Dog Handlers’ display team putting their dogs through their paces over an agility course including burning hoops, the commentator explaining that it’s important to treat dogs like dogs, not like humans. The next event was the Dogs’ Fancy Dress competition.

(One of the winning entries, handler dressed as a flower, dog as a bee)

After lunch we moved on to Waterloo where Vicky had heard there was an exhibition of street art (including Banksy) under the arches. Much of the graffiti had been defaced … by graffiti.

Identity Crisis?

I was up early and over the allotment before 9 am this morning to make the most of the dry weather. Dug up the last of the potatoes – three ‘Golden Wonder’ plants – a disappointing 12 ozs total from the 3 plants. Did some weeding, the juvenile robin making me jump with surprise when it darted between my legs to pick a tasty morsel unearthed by the fork. Harvested some more beans, beetroot, courgettes and carrots. One of the carrots looked to be having an identity crisis – in amongst the row of carrots, it had the normal carrot foliage but the root looked more like a parsnip (in the middle in the photo, between the orange carrot and the parsnip in the foreground). I showed it to Patrick (one of the 'old-timers') and his reaction was gratifyingly enthusiastic, comparing it to his own carrots and parsnips and saying he’d never seen anything like it. Encouraged by this satisfactory response, when Paul arrived on the neighbouring plot I showed it to him. “Oh yes, a white carrot. I’ve seen that before” he said dismissively, then realised this wasn't the desired response and apologised for bursting my bubble.

Ok, I knew white carrots existed, I’ve seen them in the seed catalogues, but not having knowingly sown any white carrot seeds, it was a surprise.

Rain in the afternoon gave me the excuse not to do any more over the allotment today. Instead I sat at the computer and responded to an email from someone I knew when I was at school, the connection facilitated by friendsreunited.com. I looked through some old photos and scanned a couple in to accompany the email. It was a pleasant way to while away a rainy afternoon.

Dancing

Forsaking our first Ballroom/Latin-American dance teacher, my regular dance partner and I have been going along to different classes recently, sampling different teaching styles. The Thursday night teacher, whilst the youngest, has an excellent style which definitely facilitates the learning process. Taking the man’s part, she first demonstrates the steps with one of the dance school’s numerous competent young female dancers as her partner. We all adopt the starting position and then she calls out each step as we move in formation to her calm voice. Her pragmatic approach seems entirely free of ego or the showing off that seems to infect some of the other teaching styles we’ve encountered. Besides that, she’s pretty with a delightful figure and very easy on the ear, qualities my dance partner hasn’t failed to notice!

We’ve also been along to the complementary class on Monday night, in theory learning the same routines set for the month (a Samba and a Waltz for September), but in practice slightly different. The Monday night teacher, a man, is closer to my age and puts his focus more on technique than on the routine. He demonstrates the routine then simply counts the beat, expecting the class to remember the step to perform to each beat (and for the most part, they seem to be able to memorise the routines quickly, something I’m having difficulty with so far). This Monday his regular co-teacher wasn’t there and he was partnered by a young lady (late teens?) we haven’t seen before. He demonstrated the forward/backward pelvis movement he wanted us to practice in the Samba routine, showing how his head stayed at the same height and the movement was accommodated through his hips tilting as he changed weight. Then he broke in on his own commentary to encourage us to watch his partner, saying how beautifully she accomplished what he wanted us to achieve. You could see the surprise and pleasure glowing behind her modest acknowledgment of his high praise. It was sweet.

To Swim or not to Swim - that is the question

Recently a church friend invited me to go swimming with her on Monday evenings, the only spare time in her busy schedule. I had to turn her down on account of my prior exercise engagement, namely Ballroom and Latin-American dance lessons. However, it got me thinking …. It seems a long time since I last went swimming – at least 3 years, possibly more than 5 (other than messing about a bit on holidays). Bearing in mind my recent decision to regain fitness, maybe it was time to get back in the water. I checked out the Leisure Centre’s website and discovered that an individual swim session costs £3.40 but a Swimming Membership costs only £20.10 a month and also entitles you to join the early morning swim sessions (from 6 am). As they say on the Real Hustle, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. I went along today and enquired, and the minimum commitment is three months, at £20.10 a month by direct debit, plus a one-off admin charge of £15. Committing myself for a month had seemed appealing. Committing myself for three months, less so. I wasn’t even sure if I would LIKE swimming any more, despite having spent so much of my waking hours in water in a former lifetime as a competitive swimmer/lifeguard. Long hair and swimming don’t really mix well, and I’d like to keep the long hair for now.

At 3.30 pm there were only 4 other people in the pool which probably didn’t give me a realistic impression of what the early risers’ club would be like. I set myself a target of just 10 lengths and completed them with energy to spare so put in another 10 for good measure. Once upon a time I could spring out of the water as slick as a seal but 20 lengths in a body unaccustomed to such extravagant energy expenditure left me with barely sufficient strength to lever myself up onto the side – at the point of balance I thought for a moment I was going to slide back in ignominiously. Then of course came the walk home.

So: three months’ swim membership - will I or won’t I?




This photo taken in 2005 is what I'm using to inspire me to regain fitness

The 'Ugh' Factor

We have two composters down the end of the garden and today as I lifted the lid on one, my finger connected with something hiding under the handle that didn’t feel good. I looked and sure enough, just as I thought, it was a slug. There was a time when something like that would have freaked me out a bit but today I accepted it very matter-of-factly without even a shudder of revulsion. Maybe being de-sensitized to the ‘ugh!' factor of gardening is another positive gain of having taken on an allotment. Speaking of the allotment, I was over there yesterday tidying up one of the strawberry beds along with my companion, the juvenile robin. As you can see from the photos, the red breast feathers are starting to grow in.

Patrick gave me a big bag of ripe tomatoes, Dennis offered me a cucumber (which I turned down on account of having bought one at the weekend), and Ian offered me some dwarf French beans (which I turned down on account of having grown some too). Seems we’re a generous lot, us allotment holders.

"It rains because you're sad, baby"

As I wrote on 13th August, I have to get my driving licence renewed annually due to a recent history of serious mental illness. Yesterday I phoned the DVLA to chase progress on issuing the new licence and to ask whether it’s ok for me to drive in the meantime. The person who answered checked my file and said the forms had now been returned, no doubt the licence would be issued very soon but a certificate would be put in the post to confirm I can drive in the interim. Fortunately I didn’t get in the car and start driving because today I received a letter to say that my application has been refused as national standards of fitness to drive advised by the Secretary of State’s Panel of Psychiatrists require at least 3 months of stable mental health with satisfactory compliance with recommended treatment before resuming driving. This was a blow. The two psychiatrists I’ve seen recently have both agreed I’m ok to drive, and took the three month standard as a guideline rather than an absolute. I can appeal, or simply re-apply when eligible. Do I accept the ruling and wait patiently, or take it to appeal (bearing in mind the Zen concept that attachment leads to suffering)? (Following this link will take you off this blog - you can use the 'back' button on your browser to return)

Walked into town in the rain to meet up with friends for coffee. It rained most of the day. “It rains because you’re sad, baby” (Men in Black II)

Blue Eye Shadow

I’d arranged to join a friend (J_) in town for coffee this morning. As I was walking, a memory from my early teen years suddenly came back to me:

The 14 year-old me had put some bright blue eye shadow on and walked across the commons to see a school friend who lived on the other side. Unexpectedly as I had emerged onto the pavement my father was just driving past. He took one look at me, stopped and insisted I get in the car to go home and ‘wash that muck’ off my face, and that I looked like a trollop.

As I thought about this memory, I was thinking how often I have been told I don’t need make-up, and how that reassuring message has set me free to choose. I’d watched a TV programme recently where one mother castigated another for bringing up her girls with the belief that they needed to paint a mask on their faces in order to have confidence to face the world.

Such was the trend of my thoughts as I arrived at the meeting point and waited for J_. When I saw her coming towards me, the first thing I noticed with surprise was her bright blue eye shadow! I made no comment, and we fell into conversation then after a while J_ brought the subject up and explained that she had been upset because Zoom Airline going bankrupt leaves her out of pocket (she had a Zoom return flight to Bermuda booked and paid for). A former work colleague had once told her she needed to brighten herself up a bit by wearing make up – recalling that memory this morning had led to her putting rouge on her cheeks and the blue eye shadow to try and make herself feel brighter.

At the time I made space and listened, trying not to crowd her with my own thoughts and feelings, but later on I was thinking about the synchronicity of the recollection coming to me just before I met her wearing blue eye shadow. That kind of synchronicity seems like a powerful affirmation to me of the concept of Universal Consciousness, of us all being connected. Thinking about how reassuring it has been to me to be told I don’t need make up, I sent J_ an email in which I wrote:

What [former work colleague] told you wasn’t true – you don’t ‘need’ to put on make up to ‘brighten yourself up’. You have a beauty that shines from 'your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight' to quote from 1 Peter chapter 3. I've been reading a book by Eckhart Tolle: 'A New Earth', where he explains the difference between the ego within us and what he terms 'Presence'. It seems that [former work colleague] may have been speaking from Ego rather than from 'Presence' (or holiness/love). It's not to say you can't wear make up if you want to - that choice is yours to make - but to affirm to you that there is a natural beauty within that wants to shine out of you, to be the natural radiance in your face and eyes and life.

If you’re a woman with low self-esteem reading this today, these words are for you, too.

Sharing Abundance

Last night I dropped notes into neighbours’ letterboxes saying there will be free courgettes and copies of courgette recipes on the doorstep this morning and inviting them to help themselves. I’d put them out on the doorstep early then gone back upstairs for my quiet time. One of the Word for Today ‘Bible in a Year’ readings was: Luke 19:11-27 , the ‘Parable of the Ten Minas’ where the servant who has the most to begin with is given even more. Once I’d finished the set readings I turned to the Eckhart Tolle book, ‘A New Earth’ and picked up where I’d left off yesterday. I was reading the passage about abundance (pp 190 – 192) where Tolle recommends we ask ourselves often: “What can I give here; how can I be of service to this person, this situation?”

On my way back downstairs after my reading I had the pleasure of watching through the window two neighbours from different ends of the street standing chatting in the driveway, each clutching a large courgette and a recipe sheet, brought together by my simple act of sharing. I felt a warm glow of satisfaction of having done ‘the right thing’ in sharing the abundance of the allotment produce.

Canoodling carrots

Doorbell rang at 9 am – I opened the door to find a car on the drive and a man I didn’t know on the doorstep. He asked my name, then handed over my new passport – excellent service! Later the Madhur Jaffrey cookery book I bought for 1p off the internet arrived and I sat reading it for a while, then wondered where the morning went. After lunch I went over the allotment to do a bit more work and pick some more crops. Anyone of my generation reading who remembers Esther Rantzen’s TV programme, ‘That’s Life!’? Remember the amusing vegetables they used to feature? How about these:

Canoodling Carrots

Piggy-back - the one on the left in this picture has a baby carrot clinging to its shoulders. The one on the right isn't as amusing in this photo as in the errr.... flesh.

Is it just me that thinks the potato below looks like a bottom?

Gardener's Friend

Spent some time over the allotment reducing the pile of branches pruned from the plum tree, cutting them into smaller pieces to make it easy to transport them off-site. A juvenile robin kept me close company showing not a hint of timidity – perching on the edge of the garden pop-up bag only inches from my hand, and hopping down on the ground beside my boot to eat a worm. I made slow progress with the work, instead enjoying the bold little bird and its tuneful song. I kept stopping to watch, or being a bit delicate about which branches I pulled out so as not to disturb it too much :-)
(It's well-disguised - can you pick it out in the photo above?)

Barn Dance

There’s always that question when you don’t know somebody very well and you’re invited along to a special celebration – what can you give as a gift. I’ve only known Claire and her husband via the dance classes we’ve been attending for the past couple of years, and so it was very nice to be invited along to a barn dance tonight to celebrate her 50th birthday. I enjoy barn dances! Upon reflection it seemed like a nice idea to present her with a scrapbook of the event. I took along a number of small blank cards and a selection of pens and set up a table at the entrance to the dance hall with a sign inviting guests to write things on the cards that Claire might enjoy reading – maybe shared stories or treasured memories, or simply well wishes. Then I took photos of the guests arriving. Once the dancing began I put the camera away and joined in with enthusiasm and much merriment – it was a fun time.

Later in the week I enjoyed the task of creating the scrapbook, assembling the cards and photos, adding a few quotes about friendship and embellishing the pages.

Mort

Finally finished reading Shantaram which I can recommend if you enjoy being caught up in a powerful, colourful story. Conveniently my next reading material, ‘A New Earth’ by Eckhart Tolle arrived yesterday.

Went to see the musical ‘Mort’ based on Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novel of the same name. Highlight of the show had to be ‘Death’, the 8 foot tall skeleton puppet. This brilliant costume and fluent, eloquent movements made the character incredibly convincing, creating a most engaging and enjoyable performance.

All's well

When I’d received the letter from the hospital with details of the appointment this morning, I’d merely glanced at the details, logged the appointment in Outlook and in my diary, then put it aside. Today I picked it up and realised there was a further sheet behind, giving another appointment at the same Outpatients’ clinic with a doctor whose name was unfamiliar to me. He turns out to be an Oncologist, which was a bit of a shock, but all is well. The first excision was successful in removing all the abnormal cells, and the sample removed in the second excision was clear, indicating no further treatment is necessary. However, the hospital is carrying out a study into whether Tamoxifen protects against the recurrence of DCIS in women who have had conservative surgery. I qualify to join the study if I want to. I agreed to receive details.

The other appointment was to inspect the wound, which is healing well. I’ll be called back in three months to produce my boobs for another inspection.

Later in the day I was checking out TV on Demand and discovered a Bollywood movie for free: [1]‘The Bluffmaster’. Being still deeply immersed in Shantaram, this appealed as a bit of fun escapism and to help support my visualisation of the world in which Roberts’ masterpiece is set. I’m told that one of the rules of Bollywood is that the characters never kiss – if you know whether this is true and if so, what’s behind it, please feel free to educate me via the comments box, see link below (or email).

[1]‘The Bluffmaster’ reminded me of another film, ‘The Game’ (Michael Douglas/Sean Penn). Anyone else seen these two films, noted the similarity?

Pretty Boring Trivia

Carrying a furled umbrella against the possibility of rain, I walked into town and used one of those automatic photo booths to get a couple of photos for my Passport Renewal application. As I exited the booth, the young lad waiting gave me an embarrassed grin full of fellow-feeling. The photos come as a set of four so I took them to the nearby church that has a coffee shop in the foyer, borrowed a pair of scissors and sat with a cup of herbal tea [1] whilst I finished preparing the Passport Renewal application for posting. Walking back through town, I stopped by the Post Office and sent it on its way by Recorded Delivery [2] and carried on to the appointment with the psychiatrist, Dr Y, who will be responsible for my care whilst I’m in the community. Before I got there, I spotted an ad for the film ‘Juno’, showing this afternoon in the local theatre, and resolved to go and see it after lunch.

I didn’t take to Dr Y last time I met him, because his line of questioning appeared to be intended to manage/manipulate me with guilt. Vic didn’t take to him because he felt the guy came across as unsympathetic, possibly with a cultural attitude problem (‘I know better because I’m a man and I’m a doctor’). I arrived punctually for the appointment, and after waiting 20 minutes, I approached the receptionist to enquire into the delay. She came out of her little room and peered vaguely up the stairs before admitting she didn’t know, but he might already have someone with him. I was ready to be snippy with Dr Y when I got to see him but he disarmed me with a humble apology, explaining his previous appointment had over-run.

We’re all very keen to get to the root of the problem – to work out what triggers the relapses – and he had been working on a theory on why internal conflict is arising, which he laid out for my inspection. It was a neat theory and if it were true, would suggest an easy solution. I warmed to him – taking it as evidence of his intention to have a ‘hands on’ approach, and of his belief that it makes sense to attempt to determine the cause rather than simply treating the symptoms.

It turns out he has been holding the forms for the renewal of my driving licence, but will now complete them and send them back.

My mood when I came away from the appointment was much lighter. I picked up some lunch in a café and went on to the Theatre. Whilst I was waiting in the bar for the auditorium to open, one of the residents from the place I used to work came in and bought herself a drink then sat and talked to me. When I was working there, she’d asked to have me as her key worker, and now she told me she wished I was still there, and asked if I would go back. All very flattering.

I doubt that the Theatre achieved the ‘break-even’ point with an audience of 5 (including me) for Juno at this matinee showing. All of us were female. I thought it was a tender, enjoyable girlie film and I particularly liked the soundtrack. Much as with the TV programme, ‘West Wing’, subtitles would have been useful to help me keep up to speed with the dialogue. The triple whammy of fast delivery, unfamiliar accents and unfamiliar vocabulary meant that I was still decoding what one character had said when the next began, but overall I got the gist of it. I suspect there isn’t a lot in it for men - definitely a ‘chick flick’ - the male figures not being drawn particularly sympathetically.

When I walked home there were a few spits and spots of rain and the umbrella, which had been a nuisance to carry round all day, now proved useful.

Despite my best intention to draw up a get-me-fit-and-healthy plan, we’re still on the rich diet. Today’s menu: Courgette & Brie soup; Vegetable Masala and Pilau rice; Gluten-free Lemon Cheesecake. Yummy. Don’t hesitate to ask for the recipes.

Talking of food, this week I read research has shown that how you describe a dish on the menu affects how tasty people will rate it. Give information about the ingredients, eg 'juicy fresh British strawberries with rich golden Jersey cream', and people will rate it more highly than a dish of 'strawberries and cream'. I wonder if something similar applies to Blog post titles - did you bother to read all the way to the end, given the 'Pretty Boring Trivia' title?

[1] from the Twinings Tranquility range with African honeybush, mandarin and orange. Unusual but not unpleasant.
[2] Declining the £7 ‘Check and Send’ and the £4-odd ‘Special Delivery’ service.

Panty Pad

I’m wearing a panty pad in my bra. This is not, I hasten to assure you, a sign of advancing senility. No, indeed. I do know where panty pads are supposed to be applied (I understand the clue in the name), but this was an inspired improvisation. Where the wound and the bra strap have been coming into contact, it has left small bloodstains on the fabric. I was reluctant to apply an adhesive dressing, so I turned the problem around and applied the adhesive panty pad to the bra instead. It is, after all, hygienic and fit for purpose. Errr… apologies to anyone if this happens by chance to be the very first entry you read in this blog … this subject matter isn’t fully representative of the whole. At least, I don’t think so. Nor am I proposing to post a photo to support this entry. Moving swiftly on…

A friend once shared that lack of feedback was her reason for giving up blogging – she felt that had she received some evidence that her words were being read and appreciated by a wider audience than the two of us, she would have been encouraged to continue. Sometimes when I feel discouraged, her comment comes back to me. When I’m feeling insignificant, when I’m not receiving the affirmations I crave, when it feels like I’m giving and giving and not receiving, I question again my own motives in writing.

Recently I’ve either read or heard it said that when we are at peace with ourselves, there is silence; it is when we lack peace within that we begin to emit sound. If I could find where I came across that, I’d like to check it out again, to hold my own thoughts on the subject up against it and see how they compare. I wonder how writing fits in – I have to admit that sometimes I prefer to write first drafts with a pen on paper, that intimate acquaintance with the words somehow creating the relationship that enables the writing to flow.

If the world exists to help us recognise who we are … as I try to finish that sentence, follow that train of thought, it pulls out of the station and chugs gently away from me leaving me to try and pull the threads together and create some kind of article that isn’t rags and tatters. What exactly am I trying to say, and to whom? Answers on a panty pad, if you like.

Getting back to my friend's comment, it would have been easy to feel discounted by her remark. I was reading and commenting on her blog entries – was that not enough? Were my words insufficient encouragement? Instead I recognised that she was unconsciously offering me an honest mirror in which I was able to check my own attitude and if I didn’t like what I saw, to find the greater truth that would be more beautiful to behold. I come back and re-read my own words from time to time. Perhaps it reassures me in some way, tells me like the L’Oreal advert, “You’re worth it!” Maybe that’s what this is about.

In ‘A Course in Miracles’ which I’ve been working my way through, I’ve reached Part II which begins with the sentence: ‘Words will mean little now.’ It goes on to explain that from now we will be looking for the periods of wordless deep experience that will follow our waiting in quiet expectation of encountering truth.

I need a dream

This week I watched part of a TV programme called ‘The Land of the Jaguar’, and in it there was a man who reminded me of A.H., a Christian I haven’t had contact with since I changed churches. As this man enthused about his subject, the light in his eyes lit his whole face. I thought about him again today, in the context of running. A.H. began running in his 30’s, building up the miles until he was running to and from work, a round trip of about 26 miles. His artistic daughter designed him a t-shirt depicting him fleeing from Death. Remembering that today, I find myself wondering if she had read the Discworld novels and encountered the character Rincewind.

I’ve been thinking I need to create myself a Recovery Plan – to spring-clean my life, get rid of the clutter and accumulation of bad habits. Confirmation of that came in a marketing email from which I quote:
I hope that you are all finding ways to reduce stress and take advantage of the tremendous opportunity we now have to release the patterns that no longer serve us and begin to truly manifest a better dream.

Since I’ve come home from The Ridgewood, I’ve been far less motivated to maintain the exercise regimen I set myself there. At my Discharge meeting this Wednesday, I spoke of how I’ve had a low mood, and been less motivated to do even the things that I normally enjoy. The psychiatrist pointed out that it wasn’t to be unexpected, having just undergone an operation under general anaesthetic. Fair comment, I guess. Nonetheless, I think it will help me feel my life has some direction if I devise a suitable plan, scheduling some little treats and rewards for goals attained along the way. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Emotionally labile

I had a phone call from a friend who anticipated being in my area around lunchtime and wondered whether today would be convenient to take me up on the standing invitation to join me for lunch. I confirmed it would be more than convenient, it would be a pleasure, and there was some home-made mushroom soup on offer. Having put the phone down, I looked at the clock and decided I had ample time to walk into town, do a bit of shopping, pick up a passport renewal application form from the Post Office, and get back home before my visitor. I picked up handbag and keys, unlocked the front door, stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind me. Mistake. I had left the keys in the lock on the inside. Once the front door shuts, you can’t get back in without a key. What is worse, if there is already a key in the lock on the inside, in theory you can’t unlock the door from the outside even with a key. I felt a mild sense of panic and reached for my mobile phone. The first number I tried was Dave’s landline, but I got a message saying this number wasn’t available, so I phoned him on his mobile. I explained what I’d done and asked him if he was at home, and could he come and try his key. (He lives very nearby and often works from home). He didn’t give me a direct answer and I formed the impression that I’d just woken him up. In a relaxed, unhurried way, he began to ask about the type of key-ring the keys were on – exploring aloud the possibility of sticking a suitable implement through the letterbox and retrieving the keys from the lock. I asked him again to at least just come over and try his key. He was convinced it wouldn’t work, citing an occasion when he’d locked himself out, and persisting gently with his original line of questioning. I flared up. “I’m ringing from my mobile, it’s pay-as-you-go and I don’t know if I have enough credit for a long conversation – if you’re not prepared to help, then forget it!” I snarled and hung up. Then I stood there for a moment blinking back the tears and considering my options. I set off for the town, composing a text to Vic as I went, explaining what I’d done and asking him to speak to David for me and explore how he could help. I sent a further text to my prospective visitor explaining my predicament and that I was walking into town whilst thinking about how to proceed. Back came the suggestion, ‘David?’ Grrrr!

As I walked, I thought about David’s response, recognising that sometimes it is a valid thing to do when someone appeals for help, to ask a few questions in case they have the resources to solve the problem themselves, rather than immediately leaping to the rescue. Indeed, it might well have been my own response to requests for help on occasion. Now I was on the receiving end though, and it didn’t feel so good. I had appealed for his presence, convinced that the problem could immediately be resolved if he had jumped in his car and driven over with his key. I didn’t want to be stalled by his questions until this seemingly obvious course of action had been at least attempted. I brushed a few tears away and prayed out loud, “Lord, I’m sorry if there have been times when I’ve let you down by failing to respond to a plea for help, a plea for my presence”.

When I was standing at the checkout in the first shop, the phone rang. It was my friend – I said quickly, “I’m in a shop, I’ll call you back in two minutes”. The phone rang again – this time it was David and I didn’t want to put him off. He asked where I was, confirmed he’d got my keys and would pick me up outside the Mall.

As I got in his car, it was like a dam burst. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” I was sobbing. I don’t think he’s ever seen me upset like that before. I’m normally the antithesis of a drama queen. He tried to comfort me, saying he remembered how it felt – the shock – when he’d locked himself out, and how frightening it could be, but that he’d got in with no damage done. In between sobs I tried to get it together enough to explain that a general anaesthetic can sometimes make people emotionally labile for a while. He brought me home and stayed with me, helping himself to breakfast and getting me to make him a cup of tea. He hadn’t got to bed until after 4 in the morning. Irregular hours seem to go with the territory when it comes to IT work.

He had retrieved the keys in the way he’d been trying to describe over the phone when I hung up – using the handle of his car jack – but after he left I couldn’t resist trying to unlock the door with another key when one was in the lock on the inside, and sure enough, so long as the one on the inside hasn’t been turned, you can still unlock it, so in a way we were both right.