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.