Tag Archives: life

Q is for Quirkiness: It’s Quite The Thing To Celebrate (#atozchallenge)

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duncan’s photostream

I have a set of those magnetic word fridge magnets in my kitchen. The ones where each magnet is a word which can be combined to form sentences or thoughts or anything else that takes the author’s fancy. I thought having a set would promote creativity in my sons and communication within our family to assist with inventory control – there is much to take from a one word sentence: “milk”. Plus, I was just plain curious what my children would do with them.

The magnets have been used to comment on the garden, the weather, my sons’ self proclaimed awesomeness (well, they are teenagers) and my wisdom or rather lack thereof (well once again, they are teenagers). The other week, I woke up to find the following stuck on my fridge:

My initial reaction was laughter. My thoughts then drifted to the message being more of the same said self-proclaimed awesomeness variety and I found myself asking exactly to what apparatus was this referring? As far as I knew, my sons had not had a working chemistry set for at least five years. The thought then crossed my mind that in fact it could be my husband’s message. Well, I have to confess I have had more romantic overtures but for an attention grabber this scores about an 8.5.

I then paused and concluded that this was my younger son’s work, he of the quirky nature. I say this with a great deal of motherly love and affection for I love this quirkiness in him. Whilst this was on my fridge, to me it was totally off the wall. This type of humour for an almost 13 year old?  I’m not one to brag incessantly about my children. In fact, I survived mothers’ groups with my infants without once proclaiming they understood the theory of relativity at the age of 4 months. Oh, the pressure!

But, it has made me realise I am drawn to quirkiness and that parenting a quirky child is not without difficulties. The school system generally does not rate quirkiness highly, relying on pushing students through a mass transit system. A lot of teachers don’t value and just don’t know how to deal with difference. In the jungle of the schoolyard, there is a tendency for quirky kids to be ridiculed and abandoned. Tweeny boys look for and bond over similarities. It has been that way since the cavemen starting comparing their clubs.

My desire is that my quirky one enjoys his high school years and looks back on them as a positive experience. But I am conflicted, I don’t want him to lose his quirkiness, his uniqueness. I have this sense that as an adult his quirkiness will hold him in good stead and that it will make him stand out in the competitive crowd in positive ways. In my adult world political correctness, conservatism and uniformity abound. But ironically, it tends to be the few who are truly innovative which leave a mark on that world. And how does the innovative adult’s journey usually begin? As a quirky child.

So, on this Q day I celebrate quirkiness. May my son’s apparatus continue to rock the storm throughout his life.

O is for Orchard: Finding The Sweet Apples of Life (#atozchallenge)

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chrisinplymouth's
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In September 2005 Louise Eldrich published her novel, The Painted Drum. The book, which I have not yet read, contains one of my favourite quotes of recent times. So good in fact, that I had one of my friends, Toni Legates, who is a Photoshop magician, create a photo montage with the saying. The montage is reproduced below.

This is a quote that resonates deeply for me at middle age. I think if I had encountered it ten or fifteen years ago, I would not have appreciated its full meaning – at least not in the context of my own journey. There are some extremely powerful messages in the lines of this quote. Some messages, I already knew, some messages I needed to hear and some messages that I have embraced.

By the time I reached middle age I had worked out that no-one can lead a rich life without taking emotional risks. People and their reactions are things we cannot control and there are times when you just have to put it out there. Life does not come with 100% absolute guarantees and it never will. However, I think most people get to that stage sometime in their life that they develop the confidence to know that they will be able to handle any negative consequences that may arise from taking emotional risks. I now have. Being prepared to risk emotionally means creating the potential to reap rich emotional rewards, a potential that was denied to me in the past.

I can also now more fully appreciate the need to let myself sit in the orchard of life and just listen. Having emerged from a time when I thought there was NO time to sit and think, I have now made appointments with myself to do just that. We wouldn’t think to break a committment to others, but we tend to quite readily do so in the case of commitments to ourselves. Well, I am giving my appointments with myself at least the SAME amount of importance as I do with my appointments with others. We need to process and have enough clarity of vision and clear headedness to pick up on the cues the universe sends our way.

Having given myself permission, I now find that the sweet apples of life are everywhere. I take gratitude in the small things. The small wins are to be savoured and deserve just as much, if not more, focus and energy than the more remote possibility of a big win. Yes, it would be nice to win the lottery, but what are the chances…really? So I am not waiting for life to hand me lemons or one giant apple, I am reaching out for as many smaller sweet apples as I can and taking a huge bite of them. Happy to say, that I have encountered very few rotten cores to date.

When life hands you apples, you could make apple sauce, but I’d rather enjoy their crispness.

Have any quotes or passages ever resonated deeply with you?

N is for Notifications: 14 Notifications I Would Like to See in Real Life

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duncan's photostream

Hello little red/orange light. You shine out at me in a comforting glow and envelope me with your promise. I’m glad you found your way into my day. You beckon to me with that cute little number which signifies action and attention, a shift in the cyber universe, whilst the real one was spinning. I yearn for your presence everyday and today you have found me. As I reach for my mouse, my heart starts to pound, who…what? One click and you are gone to reveal your secret beneath. And your secret today…. Chris requests that you help him make two thousand pancakes at Cafe World, after he harvested and milled the two thousand wheat crops he grew on Farmville.

Facebook notifications, you gotta love them!

But what if real life came with notifications? What if that blinking, bubble of a red light appeared with really useful information in real time?

Here are fourteen notifications I would like to see in real life. The characters referred to in these notifications are purely fictional to protect the guilty and I have taken these names from lists of unusual children’s names. I apologise in advance if your name or a relative’s appears on this list.

The clerk at the dry-cleaners found your sunglasses which you left there yesterday and has sold them on E Bay.

Kermit pushed his supermarket trolley into your car whilst it was parked at the mall and caused that big dent in the driver’s side door.

Kermit has no money to speak of and he has a wife who is a mean lawyer.

Decimus knows the obscure word which is the answer to  twenty-two down to complete that five hundred clue crossword that has sat on your coffee table for two months.

Puck is jealous and is stalking your every move in real life and on-line and looks at your profile every hour on the hour.

Laviszia has no intention of calling you, despite kissing you on both cheeks today with a breezy, “so great to see you, we must get together, hun, will call you.”

Although he denied it, Macky put his finger through the chocolate frosting on that cake you have been icing for the last hour and saving for guests.

Macky commented that it tasted delicious.

Goncalo placed the television remote control on the sofa cushion next to him and it has fallen behind the sofa where you will never find it.

Your bum really does look big in that.

You sat down at this computer three hours ago to check the timetable for the bus which in fact left two hours ago .. why are you still here?

Kerripaula just white-anted you.

The dog just let off gas.

No, trust me, it really was the dog this time.

These I think would be most helpful.

What notifications would you like to see?

M is for Mask: Desperately Seeking Authenticity (#atozchallenge)

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duncan's photstream

If you have ever been to Venice, you would have seen the amazing Venetian masks on display. The masks originated in Medieval times in Italy due to the religious oppression that then existed. Behind their masks people in Venice used to feel free to indulge in certain activities frowned upon by the religious authorities. They were made of paper- mâché and decorated in gold, feathers, gems, ribbons and fur. Today they are used in street carnivals. They look ornate and distinctive, but pick them up and they feel fragile. You will find them everywhere in Venice.

Many people wear masks, even when it is not carnival time. These masks are not decorated or colourful like the Venetian masks, in fact they are almost invisible. However, the principle behind them is the same, namely they make the wearer feel free to indulge in certain activities or engage in certain ways.

When I was in my early thirties, a highly ambitious thing and knee-deep in my career, I would put on my career woman’s mask. Back then I felt uncomfortable talking about motherhood, parenting, really any out of office life at all for fear of being judged not committed or dedicated in what was a male dominated environment. I would wait until either a male colleague or client would raise the subject of family or children first and then I would be comfortable in contributing. Talk about golf, rugby union and beer was highly accepted, sadly I was not into any of those.

I am happy to say that times appear to have moved on, both in the industry and in society in general. The other facet to this of course is that I have reached middle age, am comfortable with my skills and ability to deal with professional issues and have less need to hide my authentic personal self from my professional self. My intuition and bull sh*t detector also seem to have been honed over the years to the point where I am happy to rely on them in real life. I am going to leave the digital world out of this discussion as that world is a whole other ball of wax.

Apart from my professional mask, I’ve never really felt the need to have any others. However, I have known people who are not this way, some have more masks than Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have children. Just when you think you’ve managed to peel one off, another one is revealed. It must take an astronomical amount of energy to maintain these masks and then do they show different masks to different people, or have a different order in which they are removed for each person?

The vibe of an interaction between two authentic selves is totally different to one where one of the protagonists is wearing a mask. There is usually a real energy to such an interaction, which may not always be positive if you are disagreeing and I’m ok with that. I’d rather have an authentic interaction than one muted by a mask. It’s why I seek out people who are themselves authentic.

I am done with masks, masks represent fear. The next one I don will be at carnival time hopefully either in Rio, Venice or New Orleans and be covered in jewels, feathers and a whole lot of colour.

What’s your experience with mask wearers?

[Photo credit: picture of taking off the mask by frostmaster on deviantart.com]

L is for Lyrics: Na Na Na What…? (#atozchallenge)

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chrisinplymouth's
photostream

In what now seems like an eon ago (was there ever a time I was blogging before the A to Z April Blogging Challenge?) I wrote a post about having a song of the moment (or SOM).  Briefly, a SOM is a song that has taken residence in your head and can cause behaviour alterations, like hanging around in cars just to hear the end of the song. You would think that with a SOM, I would know all the lyrics, all the pauses, all the subtle differences in beat throughout, all of the song’s nuances. You would think…

When I was a teenager and even when I was a twentager (a term I just made up to connote someone in their twenties), I used to know the lyrics to all of my SOM’s, relevant other songs and just songs I didn’t really need to know about. I would sing along perfectly timed and worded to even the most complicated of tunes. I’d like to think I can appreciate beat, rhythm, chorus and verse.

However, something happened on the way to the concert hall. Somewhere along the line, my head got filled with children’s schedules, household schedules, household administration, laundry, payment deadlines and work related matters. My brain, being a finite capacity organ got stuffed with all sorts of adult trivia and my ability to remember song lyrics has been compromised ever since.

This doesn’t stop me from singing along to SOMs and any other song that catches my ear. I think we have all been there. Driving in the car with teenage son, good song comes along, singing along happily, the big main chorus moment about to arrive and ………I fluff it. Said teenage son in fits of laughter and thinking I’m seriously uncool because the fluff moment comes usually when the artist has paused briefly and well, it’s out there for all to hear.

Then there’s the cover up. Me singing along quite happily until my knowledge of the lyrics dries up. So I don’t miss a beat, I make up some words that sound the same as the words in the song, sometimes with hilarious consequences. Sometimes, the cover up is not even done with that much finesse, sometimes there is only a grouping of sounds that aren’t even words, sounds that are meant to sound like the words in the songs and that I know what I am doing. At this point I lose all credibility for cool with my teenage son who is laughing hysterically trying to say “you don’t know the words, do you, Mum?”

Really, the artists have a lot of explaining to do as to why they can’t get with the programme. It’s not that hard, really. I refuse to admit my lip synching days are here just yet. I’ll leave that to the professionals.

What do you do when the lyrics don’t come as they are meant?

J is for Jeans: I Think Therefore I Am a Blue Denim Purist (#atozchallenge)

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bon_here's photstream

I love jeans and have worn them ever since I can remember. Personally, I think all men and women, no matter their body shape or size look good in jeans. Jeans can make a person look incredibly sexy – more so than any low-cut top or mini skirt. A smart woman knows how to leave some things to a man’s imagination and play her jeanwear to the max.

Playing the jeanlook to the max!

Being born in the mid sixties, I was  a little young for the whole hippy flare thing when it appeared the first time around. I confess I haven’t really embraced it this time around either. I’m more of a straight leg or a boot cut kind of girl. The things those cuts do to a woman’s leg length are truly miraculous and I owe more than a few inches to some clever fashion designers.

Over the years, trends in jeans have come and gone. We have had the skinny, the stovepipe, the boyfriend, the baggy, the flair, the straight, the dyed, the stonewashed, high rise, mid rise and low rise to name just a few. I have worn most of these jeans styles over the years although have steered clear of the skinny, stovepipe and boyfriend. By avoiding these, I am hoping to prevent inflicting permanent psychological damage on my sons – it just wouldn’t do for me to be wearing the same clothes as their female teeny peers.

Traditional jeans were a product of the 1850’s gold rush. The miners wanted sturdy work clothes with pockets that did not tear away. Leob Strauss (later to be known as Levi Strauss) started making copper riveted “waste overalls” in 1872 and received the patent for them in 1873. Jeans became really popular in the 1930’s after covering many a bottom in cowboy movies. They were originally dyed blue by the use of indigo dye.

All of my jeans have been either black or traditional denim blue. OK, I admit that I did wear dyed jeans for a brief period in the eighties, but the dye colour I chose was light blue. My blue jean population has far outweighed my black jean population for I am a blue denim purist. I have never owned a pair of white jeans.

For those of you who are up on the latest fashion trends, the latest “jeans” style is the neon skinny. These come in all sorts of fruity flavours – pink, red, mint, grape etc. I am waiting for them to produce the multi-coloured fruit salad jean, if only to have all fruit groups covered. With the greatest respect to all the fashion aficianados out there – THESE ARE NOT JEANS. They are coloured tight-fitting pants, that happen to resemble jeans, simply because they have two legs, pockets and a zip. 

I will take blue denim over food group fashion any day of the week. If the pair has a leather branding patch on the back depicting two horses pulling a pair of jeans and can fade in the wash, so much the better. I am not fussy, I’ll take dark denim, faded denim, almost white denim and sometimes spotted denim.

Many a pair of my jeans have retired into the cut-off hall of fame – at which point they cease to be classified as jeans and become jean shorts.  Another good use for used jeans is this handy quilt, which I DIDN’T make, but admire anyone who could.

Long live the blue denim jean revolution. The use of the indigo font in this blog is a salute to blue denim and Levi Strauss!

[To any students of fashion who may accidentally stumble onto this page, this article represents my own personal viewpoint and is written toungue in cheek. Please don’t use it as an educational reference, unless you want a guaranteed F.]

 

I is for the Indispensible Internet (#atozchallenge)

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What would the blogging world be without the Internet? Being new to this world, I am constantly amazed by the opportunities that blogging and the internet open up. The potential to reach thousands of people with a simple hit of the publish key is full of possibility.

Getting a blog site up and running has been one exciting learning curve. So many options, so many things to consider.   So much still to explore.  I am relishing the challenge of establishing  a community and building a following.

Sharing this space with professional and published writers is a heady experience – there is much talent out there.  I am honing my craft, producing pieces of work and putting my creative talents out there.

The social side to blogging – becoming involved in fellow bloggers’ lives and getting to know them through their posts – is wonderfully engaging.  My WordPress world has become an indispensible part of the day, whether I am posting or reading.

This the Internet:

Indispensible Networking Tool Essential to Releasing New and Entertaining Topics

And I am now a blogger!

H is for Home Run: What It Means To Be An Australian Baseball Fan (#atozchallenge)

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Have you ever felt like a square peg in a round hole?  I often feel that way with my love of baseball.

Living in Australia, I am surrounded by a sport’s mad culture. Relative to its population (currently just under 23 million), Australia packs a mighty punch on the world sport scene, particularly in relation to non-winter sports. We are one of only two countries that have competed in every summer games of the modern Olympiad, having won a total of 444 medals.

Our national games are Australian Rules football/ rugby league in winter and cricket in summer. In some parts of the country it is almost mandatory to introduce yourself by which footy team you follow… “Hello my name is Joe and I am a Sydney Swans supporter. It has been three weeks since I last entered a football ground”  and to speak “footy tongue” so you can converse with shop keepers and cab drivers.  For years Australia dominated world cricket – all forms: test cricket, the one day game, the world cup, we were the force! The force at the moment is “consolidating”  – the wonderful euphemism used by cricket lovers who are in denial and refuse to use the “s” word, or “slump”.

Me, I’m a baseball lover. That good old square peg in a country that dotes on cricket.

I am not sure how much you know about cricket, but the long form or test cricket is a game that is played over five days… as in five whole days!  The usual result is a draw, pushing keys into the grass to test the pitch is considered normal, commentators count the number of seagulls present on the pitch to stay awake  and players stop the game and take tea in the afternoon. All I can say is please point me in the direction of the national paint drying championships right now!

Baseball has a small following in this country and is played if you know where to find it. But you have to look!  Kids as young as five can sign up for the sport and there are clubs scattered throughout the country, although nothing as comprehensive as America’s Little League. We have a Major League baseball nursery on the Gold Coast and talented players are scouted and signed to Major League baseball teams at the age of seventeen. There have been about thirty Australians who have played in the Major League, about a dozen of whom are currently active. Our highest profile player is probably Grant Balfour, currently with the Oakland Athletics.

The Major League baseball season has just started in the States and all is right with the world again. I am always slightly conflicted this time of year as it means winter is headed our way, but thankfully we have the baseball to warm up and bless our little cotton socks. Baseball is generally played in the States in the evenings so it means we get the coverage during our morning – usually when school or work gets in the way. The best thing that has happened for us starving Australian baseball fans is the internet. We can now stream live baseball games and get the play-by-play in real-time, complete with American radio ads.

So this is how to spot an Australian baseball fan:

    • they desperately scour the internet for snipets of major league baseball news and happenings
    • they have lots of American friends
    • they know what a walk off homer is
    • they linger at social venues with ESPN just to catch a glimpse of play at lunchtime
    • they know that any cricketer who wants to know how to throw a ball needs to train with a baseball player
    • they pine for Autumn because that’s when opening day comes around and know that winter is baseball season
    • the will pay a scalper a bomb when they are in America to get tickets to a baseball game
    • they stand up to stretch in their lounge rooms after the end of the sixth inning
    • they spend summer and winter watching their children play baseball and have an all year around baseball tan

We are knee-deep in our football season at the moment and I have my head buried in the Boston Red Sox (when not blogging, of course). Thankfully, my blog has had a better start to the season than the Red Sox, but I live in hope.

And my ultimate home run? My family visit to Cooperstown and Fenway Park last year. Da da da datta daaaaa…… charge!

G is for Gift Horse: Looking Right Down The Mouth (#atozchallenge)

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When is a gift not really a gift?

I am pondering this question after a small moment of unexpected euphoria crept in this week during a shopping expedition for furniture. Happily, this was not my shopping expedition, but one for a family member – I was merely the chauffeur.

Furniture shopping fills me with dread. It’s such a big responsibility. How many times in one’s lifetime do you buy a hall table, buffet, coffee table, television cabinet all coordinating to match? What happens if the wood grain or stain doesn’t match the rest of the decor? How do I tell the difference between my oaks, teaks and my walnuts and should one mix their cherry with their maple? Questions, questions….always questions.

Given that I was the not the major player in this expedition I was fairly relaxed.  There were no decisions for me to make other than which voice would be barking directions from the GPS. I am happy to report that all went well and the furniture was dutifully purchased. The furniture though came with a “gift”.

The sales assistant proudly explained that she would provide a gift certificate for accommodation to the value of some thousands of dollars. Let me reassure you this was not the motivation for the furniture purchase as were unaware of the offer until the decision point had been reached. My family member advised that she would give the certificate to me as a thank you for driving her that day as she had no need for it. In my head I was off and running on my dream holiday to an exotic island location with hula boys, crystal blue waters, fine white sand, colourful alcoholic drinks with paper umbrellas, plastic monkeys and maraschino cherries.

Not so fast! The slippery slide into the realm of the ridiculous beckons:

Step 1: decent from overseas paradise to local – the accommodation is for Australia only. Fade out the hula boys, but OK, there is much of the country left to see.

Step 2: Decent from local to weekend whirlwind – the accommodation is for a maximum of two night’s stay. Well crumbs, who stays somewhere only for two nights unless it is for a family funeral or business trip? Maybe we could tack on some extra nights and make it a true getaway. That’s going to cost something, my wallet is starting to weep just a little.

Step 3: Decent from local weekend whirlwind to the ridiculous – to get the accommodation you have to pay for breakfast and dinner for each person for each night. Really? Have you seen the price of hotel food lately? Captive meal audience amounts to hotel funny money rip-off. And the gift requires the purchase of not one, but two meals per day!

 At this point I feel I am looking the gift horse squarely in the mouth and can see not only its tonsils, but its digestive tract as well! And I haven’t even started with the registration, booking and administration required to claim the “gift”.

Of course, these sorts of schemes are designed with people like me in mind. The profit comes from breakage, meaning unredeemed gift certificates. These companies make the initial offer sound irresistible and then litter the path of redemption with obstacles to the point where the offer is only for the truly tenacious.

I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but this is just one asterisk too many. Whatever happened to the good old days when the gift was a real and tangible set of steak knives? Or better yet, no gift, but proper pricing?

Beware the horse bearing gifts for he shall put you to work.  Maybe if I had the steak knives I could cut through all of those conditions…

F is for Fantasy Spouse: 5 Fictional Characters I Would Wed (#atozchallenge)

I have been married to Mr Curtain Raiser (aka the Italian Stallion) for more than two decades. What he doesn’t know is that sometimes he has had competition in the form of fictional characters. I’m sure we have all been there – fallen in “love” with a character we have found in a novel or a movie and feeling bereft and heartbroken when the book or film ends.

Here is my list of the 5 fiction characters I would wed (in no particular order):

  1. Fitzwilliam Darcy from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen  – you’ve got to love a man who outwardly is cold and aloof and vastly superior but is a marshmallow inside. I have a soft spot for proud men who after scratching the surface reveal a great deal of humanity. Having status and money and a nice piece of real estate in Pemberly doesn’t hurt either and neither does looking good in breeches or smouldering whilst soaking wet in a lake. My quintessential Mr Darcy has to be Colin Firth in the BBC production.
  2. Wulfric Bedwyn, Duke of Bewcastle in Slightly Dangerous by Mary  Balogh – Wulfric is a highly respected wealthy duke with the ability of silencing a room with a look or two softly whispered words, his presence is that commanding. He is one of 6 children and the oldest and has been raised in appropriate isolated ducal fashion. A man who puts duty and propriety above all, he is totally befuddled by Christine Derrick, a commoner with an enchanting and defiant spirit. Deep inside Wulfric is still that lonely child raised to carry out duty and keep the family wealth and blood lines going.  His awkwardness in social situations, loyalty to his family and the war within between duty and love make him strong, yet vulnerable – a heady combination.
  3. William Darcy (played by Martin Henderson) in Bride and Prejudice  – hmmm, there seems to be a pattern emerging here, now that I write these down, however I assure you the similarities with entry no. 1 are surface only. Take one American from a dysfunctional, wealthy family and drop him into the colour and spectacle of India, with Amritsar and Goa as backdrops, add cheesy Bollywood song and dance routines and a former Indian Miss World, Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, and you have the makings of a classic.  This William Darcy is so lovable not only because of his eyes (how good are they?), but because he is absolutely lost trying to navigate Indian custom and tradition and he doesn’t stand a chance against the female character’s mother. Also you have to admire the will power of any man who can wait to kiss his bride until after the wedding.
  4. Leopold (played by Hugh Jackman) in Kate and Leopold – there’s just one word to say here and that’s “gentleman”. Leopold takes his 1870 gentlemanly ways and manners and transports them to modern-day New York to romance Kate, played by Meg Ryan. What makes Leopold so great is that he knows how to woo a lady, 1870’s style – with a slow burn. His 1870’s speech and sense of style just makes you long for a quieter, gentler time, when marriages were made to last. And well, the character is played by Hugh Jackman – enough said.
  5. Edward Lewis (played by Richard Geer) in Pretty Woman   – a man with a killer wardrobe who takes over companies and makes gazillions but has to pay for a call girl for companionship – what’s not to love?   No walking barefoot on the grass or driving his own car for this man, he has to be shown how to get a life and kudos for him, he listens! A man who can get rid of his long-standing, sleazy lawyer because the lawyer has maligned the woman he has known for a mere four days is pure class. Add a fear of heights, a fear of committment and a proposal after an aha moment and you are on your way. And with dialogue like this, throw away the pre-nup:

she: “you’re late”

he: “you’re stunning”

she: “you’re forgiven”.

I have always wondered what happened to these characters after the last page or frame of film. Several follow ups to Pride and Prejudice are in my reading pile and I’m sure I will get around to them eventually.

As for Mr Italian Stallion, his position is safe – there have been no lake-swimming dukes commuting by elephant who have overcome their fear of heights to climb up the fire stairs to propose to me…. yet.

Who is on your list?