I've taken to loading The Tibetans into the car, the youngest pair in the boot and the rather spoilt older boy on the front passenger seat since the two males fight when they are within sniffing distance of each other in the house, though, interestingly, not when they are out running free, and driving them the 1/2 mile to The Field.
I like that the three of them run around and play together, though the two males sometimes eye each other in the manner of two hormonal adolescent boys fuelled with cheap cider and testosterone outside a youth club on a Friday night, but so far they have managed not to pull knives and attack each other, at least not in The Field.
So, they get to run free and play and I get to stride through the field and think
The EM always told me I think too much, he was probably right, he seemed to be able to see through my thin veneer of adult, mature behaviour, to the insecure and anxious mouse within.
I miss his common sense and the feeling of being anchored that he gave me
Especially when my days are emotionally stormy and I drift in the rough seas of self-doubt and feel battered on the rocks of fearfulness.
I once asked him what I gave him in return, aside from relaxing foot massages and tasty dinners and he told me excitement, adventure and the chance to feel protective
I seem to inspire the protective side of men
well, most men, there have been some noteworthy exceptions
I think he also liked to hear me chatting in French and Italian
especially when I was feeling stressed, I express my fears in foreign languages so that I won't always understand what I'm saying and so scare msyelf further
Anyway, for the past few weeks I have been wandering through waist-high long grass daily, sometimes twice daily since I have been off work and in mourning
As I walked I would idly strip the seeds from the grasses and scatter them like ashes
Round and round the field, deep in though...
Then on Saturday we piled out of the car to find the grass had been cut
At first I was actually upset.
I hadn't finished stripping the seeds
and my maze that I had been carefully carving in the long grass had gone
How could I wander in circles and in tears?
The dogs were excited, they set off across the field, occasionally tripping over the piles of grass, snuffling and exploring the new territory, pleased not to be lost amongst the grasses
I stood and stared, then I kicked off my flip-flops, hitched up my skirts and chased after them
And in a strange way, as I ran and ran and ran some more, I felt liberated
Nothing stays the same
Flowers bloom and flowers fade
Love blossoms and love withers
People are born and people die
The trick is to seize the moment, clasp it to my heart with a passion and then let it go
without regrets
only gratitude
Now, if only I could find my left flip-flop...
Sunday, July 12, 2009
hello?
Who are you, person in High Wycombe?
Please, reveal yourself with a comment
unless you're a dalek, in which case
"Greetings From Planet Earth,please, do not take me to your leader, I am not representative of the human race!"
(Yes folks, my obsession with Dr Who continues unabated)
and, BTW, who is the very regular visitor from Saint John, New Brunswick?
Saturday, July 11, 2009
on the other aisle...
When I was in France I missed Waitrose.
I've told you all that before, n'est-ce pas?
I sometimes think I should wear their logo on a T-shirt
but instead I carry it in my heart
You may laugh, but when I was looking for a house to rent I deliberately chose a town in which there is a Waitrose store. In fact, sitting at my keyboard in The FVH, I sometimes even surfed their website, idly looking for job openings. Once I applied for a trainee manager job, thinking that a scientific foodie background (did I ever mention I was once an analytic chemist in a chocolate factory?), my passion for cooking good, healthy meals from raw ingredients, an understanding of the health benefits of food and having a fridge stocked with French cheeses, fish and wine, as well as being good with people, might make me suitable...
They declined
C'est la vie
C'est dommage
We'd have made a good partnership...
One little foodie fresh from France and one ethical employer committed to customer care
Waitrose is an upmarket supermarket in the UK. Waitrose is the food division of the British retailer and worker co-operative the John Lewis Partnership. As of June 2009, there are 204 branches across the United Kingdom. The company differentiates itself from competitors by offering high quality food and emphasising customer service. Waitrose competes with the likes of Tesco and Sainsburys, in terms of corporate values and quality.
Wikepedia
Aside from the food, which is often from small, independent producers, and the calming atmosphere inside a Waitrose store, and the truly delicious food,
Waitrose is an ethical business
Waitrose's donates a proportion of its profits to a group of charities on a proportional basis whilst individual Waitrose branches manage their own charitable donations and local decisions are made on which charities are to be supported. This is a system called 'Community Matters', where customers are invited to choose who they want money to be donated to.
The supermarket launched the Waitrose Foundation in 2005, providing funds for education, worker facilities and health services among other things for fruit growers in South Africa.
When I came to England to view houses to rent The Ragazzi directed me to the local Waitrose store. They knew I was tired, anxious and a little apprehensive, faced with the momentous decision to leave my beloved commune and return to The Rat Race and they guessed, rightly, that I was sorely in need of the comforting familiarity of my favourite store, that I needed to feel at home and safe.
So we popped in to Waitrose to buy some food for lunch and a few goodies to transport back to France to keep up my spirits over the following weeks.
I was in my element!
Or rather, I was Home
Wandering along the aisles of familiar foods
seeking out new product ranges
standing gazing in childish delight at the large range of cook's ingredients
I felt on familiar ground
and reassured
Traceability is key...
...which is why Waitrose knows every farm and farmer who supplies every pack of our British pork, bacon and sausages. We know the parentage and history of the Aberdeen Angus and Hereford animals supplying its beef; and we know the origin of every own-label free range egg and pint of milk – claims that few supermarkets can make.
The Ragazzi used to joke about that
"What was the name of the hen that laid this egg?"
They'd ask as I served up an speckled brown organic egg on home-baked bread
"That one is from Henrietta"
I always told them
Well, maybe it was!
We believe being a responsible retailer is the right thing to do.
This is why we introduced organic food way back in 1983, why we have a sustainable fishing policy and why we have retained the title of ‘Compassionate Supermarket of the Year’ awarded by Compassion in World Farming (CIWF).
The Ragazzi were raised on Waitrose organics.
I taught them well, they are fussy eaters only in so much as they demand good, tasty food cooked by Maman and though they do like pizze and paste it's Waitrose macaroni cheese that tops their list of "comfort food in a carton"
Our buyers seek out the finest local and regional products our country has to offer.
Working in partnership with small producers, Waitrose helps boost the economy in many rural areas and its customers get to sample the very best foods made locally
Such a very French notion.
Local and regional food.
I love to travel, but when my beans accumulate more airmiles than me then I start to wonder.
If Waitrose ever decide to open a store in Guingamp then I will move heaven and earth to be their first employee.
Imagine that. Living at The FVH and working at Waitrose...
Okey dokey, enough already
I could go on and on...
But I think I have recovered sufficiently from my trip to Tesco
and reminded myself of why I prefer Waitrose
(Did I ever admit to an excess of enthusiasm?)
Pics and quotes from Waitrose' website
I hope they don't mind my borrowing them?
"every little hurts"
I went to Tesco today
I'm not sure why, the shoppers seem rude, the assistants robotic, the row upon row of ready-meals, laden with artificiality and containing little real food, alarms me...
and I can never make the trolley go in the same direction as my feet
I think that I go to Tesco when I need to feel punished
It is my equivalent of donning a hairshirt
I bought pet food in tins and treats and chewies to tempt the dogs away from the furniture
and vegetables, cheese, organic eggs, milk, noodles and salad cream
and that was It
I did browse the berries
£2 for a pack of redcurrants!
I should coco!
Note to self, plant some fruit bushes
I observed the oranges
waxy and hard
no way, Jose
Note to self, move to Seville
I thought I'd at least find a nice, juicy red apple
silly me!
The Robot swiped my purchases and I packed them into bags
and then, at the end, she looked at me expectantly
"Is that all?"
"Yes, that's all"
I knew that she was wondering...
Where are the pizzas, the lasagnes
Why hasn't she got a frozen pie, a plastic container of mashed potatoes...
Surely she's not going to eat all that raw stuff????
"If you've forgotten anything I'll get someone to fetch it..."
She trailed off
"Nope, that's it, that's my shopping, thank you"
The woman behind me was balancing biscuits, doughnuts, strange chicken concoctions and tins..
Next to me someone has just spent £162.35 and had not a single raw ingredient that I could see, and I looked very hard...
The Tesco Website offers the following helpful advice
5 top foods for stress-busting nutrients
- Nuts and seeds
- Colourful fruit and veg
- Fish
- Wholegrain breads and cereals
- Pulses
Indeed
Not a single ready-meal amongst them
I'd add another tip for stress-busting
Don't shop at Tesco
Somehow the hairshirt felt less scratchy as I wheeled my wayward trolley back to the car
death
The news, on the BBC World Service, that eight British soldiers have been killed in the last twenty-four hours in Afghhanistan, led me to start writing about Death...
I wrote and wrote and then I stopped and deleted it
Still, some days I feel that Death stalks me.
The rising toll of loved-ones lost threatens to overwhelm me.
I remind myself that Death is a natural part of Life
but still it seems as if I attend more funerals than birthdays
I made The Englishman promise that he would not "stand at my grave and weep"
But that was when I thought I would leave before him
when I thought that he was much stronger than me
"If you should die before me, ask if you can bring a friend"
So, I flee from Death
I seek comfort in the solidity of the four walls that surround me
in the warmth and love of twenty-four furry paws
in the knowledge that The Ragazzi are going about their daily lives
it's an illusion but it's better than drugs
or a morbid dwelling on Death
How am I doing?
This morning I stepped outside the back door
The leaves of lilies are sparkling with raindrops
yet more green beans have appeared, almost overnight
the golden glow of courgette flowers lights a corner of the small veggie plot
Life, strong and healthy
New leaves, new flowers, new beans
Life goes on
In the midst of Death we are in Life
Everything comes to those who wait
and for those who wait too long Death comes sooner than expected
One day your life will flash before your eyes.
Make sure it's worth watching
I wrote and wrote and then I stopped and deleted it
Still, some days I feel that Death stalks me.
The rising toll of loved-ones lost threatens to overwhelm me.
I remind myself that Death is a natural part of Life
but still it seems as if I attend more funerals than birthdays
I made The Englishman promise that he would not "stand at my grave and weep"
But that was when I thought I would leave before him
when I thought that he was much stronger than me
"If you should die before me, ask if you can bring a friend"
So, I flee from Death
I seek comfort in the solidity of the four walls that surround me
in the warmth and love of twenty-four furry paws
in the knowledge that The Ragazzi are going about their daily lives
it's an illusion but it's better than drugs
or a morbid dwelling on Death
How am I doing?
This morning I stepped outside the back door
The leaves of lilies are sparkling with raindrops
yet more green beans have appeared, almost overnight
the golden glow of courgette flowers lights a corner of the small veggie plot
Life, strong and healthy
New leaves, new flowers, new beans
Life goes on
In the midst of Death we are in Life
Everything comes to those who wait
and for those who wait too long Death comes sooner than expected
One day your life will flash before your eyes.
Make sure it's worth watching
Friday, July 10, 2009
more nostalgia....
I was led astray by the IBM ebooks into my old world of CICS.
My how my baby has grown and matured!
I am deeply impressed but, like a proud parent whose offspring have flown the nest, I feel old!
Anyway, the problem of the seduction of cyberspace have been solved
Thanks to French technology, or lack, thereof
My French laptop, in addition frequently to failing to connect to the French dial-up internet connection also refuses, with a Gallic shrug, to succumb to my BT wireless broadband setup
So when I wish to study I simply plug it in to the socket in my bedroom (the one socket!) because the battery no longerworks, after a mere 3 years of life it is now dead, and sit on the bed, safe from temptation, although there is a strong tendency to fall asleep
You know, if it weren't for the keyboard and the convenience of the accented keys, I would drive down to Portsmouth, board a ferry, sail into the middle of the channel and treat my French laptop to a burial at sea.
If I ever win the lottery I will buy a French Sony VAIO laptop
If I ever win a disgustingly large amount on the Euro millions I will buy a secondhand mainframe and install CICS on it!
Last night I dreamed about babies and CICS.
Of course my evening surfing CICS sites led to such dreams.
I found a picture of IBM Hursley
Do you think IBM would let me be buried in their grounds?
Because my original plan to have The Ragazza slip my ashes into an urn at The Louvre may backfire if the curators decide to clean the china!
I have no desire for my mortal remains to end up in a Parisian poubelle even though I should, by then be a little shiny snowflake falling on a reindeer's eyelash
I went to IBM Hursely once
In the dying days of my time at The Beast
An American colleague, one of the product managers (not The Product) was there to attend a week-long Partner's Meeting. You know the thing, IBM get all the important software vendors along to wine and dine them and tell them what they're palnning to do with CICS and DB2 and z/OS et al, so the vendors can ensure their software keeps up and still works...
On the afternoon of the second day my phone rang
It was a Top Guy from The Product lab in Boston
The American colleague had had an accident and was in hospital, they were wringing their hands, What To Do? and he said "Let's ask J. to attend in his place"
The Big Wigs at HQ all turned to each other and asked "Who?"
and he replied, J. she's a techie in England, she can handle it"
So my team leader was consulted and she was rather taken aback because she hadn't a clue what I could or couldn't do, not knowing the first thing about mainframes, and didn't understand at all why the Top Guy even knew me, much less considered me suitable to send to Hursley
But, thinking this might score brownie points for her, she agreed
And I went
I had A Ball
I met all manner of clever kids who were happy to sit and talk techie
I attended the talks and wrote copious notes
I asked loads of questions
and I even established a nice little techie friendship with a CICS guru (be still my beating heart!)
I returned to my desk, typed a detailed report which I emailed to The Top Guy, who passed it on to The Big Wigs (who were still asking, J. Who?) and I returned to my lowly position of anonymity in tech support.
It was one of my few moments of glory at the Beast
(Well that and going on site to charm the IBM'ers at Portsmouth)
and I couldn't help thinking that a company in which people's real skills and passions are unrecognised and which refuses to make the most of it's genuinely enthusiastic and devoted employees is not worth working for
And a few months later, after returning from a business trip to Amsterdam at which I spoke and (excuse my pride) shined, I resigned the next day
and the rest, as they say, is history
I no longer have any dealings with mainframes
I am now lost in the cold world of cyberspace
It's fascinating, challenging and very worthwhile
But I don't get my kicks from CICS like I used to
tant pis
I am off to listen to France Culture
Friday morning is "Les Vendredis De La Philosophie"
Interestingly, since I followed Microsoft's latest security advice re buffer overflows, iexplorer and naughty hackers, I can't listen to Radio 4 live
but I can listen to the French radio in realtime
Yep, this is a busman's holiday folks!
PS Fellow Oldie who left a comment...
Did you also write 2 digit date routines in the 70's?
I earned enough money working on 31/12/99 to fight the Y2K bug to pay for the Rags and I to go skiing in the Canadian Rockies
I knew, back then, that there was a good reason for coding small dates!
My how my baby has grown and matured!
I am deeply impressed but, like a proud parent whose offspring have flown the nest, I feel old!
Anyway, the problem of the seduction of cyberspace have been solved
Thanks to French technology, or lack, thereof
My French laptop, in addition frequently to failing to connect to the French dial-up internet connection also refuses, with a Gallic shrug, to succumb to my BT wireless broadband setup
So when I wish to study I simply plug it in to the socket in my bedroom (the one socket!) because the battery no longerworks, after a mere 3 years of life it is now dead, and sit on the bed, safe from temptation, although there is a strong tendency to fall asleep
You know, if it weren't for the keyboard and the convenience of the accented keys, I would drive down to Portsmouth, board a ferry, sail into the middle of the channel and treat my French laptop to a burial at sea.
If I ever win the lottery I will buy a French Sony VAIO laptop
If I ever win a disgustingly large amount on the Euro millions I will buy a secondhand mainframe and install CICS on it!
Last night I dreamed about babies and CICS.
Of course my evening surfing CICS sites led to such dreams.
I found a picture of IBM Hursley
Do you think IBM would let me be buried in their grounds?
Because my original plan to have The Ragazza slip my ashes into an urn at The Louvre may backfire if the curators decide to clean the china!
I have no desire for my mortal remains to end up in a Parisian poubelle even though I should, by then be a little shiny snowflake falling on a reindeer's eyelash
I went to IBM Hursely once
In the dying days of my time at The Beast
An American colleague, one of the product managers (not The Product) was there to attend a week-long Partner's Meeting. You know the thing, IBM get all the important software vendors along to wine and dine them and tell them what they're palnning to do with CICS and DB2 and z/OS et al, so the vendors can ensure their software keeps up and still works...
On the afternoon of the second day my phone rang
It was a Top Guy from The Product lab in Boston
The American colleague had had an accident and was in hospital, they were wringing their hands, What To Do? and he said "Let's ask J. to attend in his place"
The Big Wigs at HQ all turned to each other and asked "Who?"
and he replied, J. she's a techie in England, she can handle it"
So my team leader was consulted and she was rather taken aback because she hadn't a clue what I could or couldn't do, not knowing the first thing about mainframes, and didn't understand at all why the Top Guy even knew me, much less considered me suitable to send to Hursley
But, thinking this might score brownie points for her, she agreed
And I went
I had A Ball
I met all manner of clever kids who were happy to sit and talk techie
I attended the talks and wrote copious notes
I asked loads of questions
and I even established a nice little techie friendship with a CICS guru (be still my beating heart!)
I returned to my desk, typed a detailed report which I emailed to The Top Guy, who passed it on to The Big Wigs (who were still asking, J. Who?) and I returned to my lowly position of anonymity in tech support.
It was one of my few moments of glory at the Beast
(Well that and going on site to charm the IBM'ers at Portsmouth)
and I couldn't help thinking that a company in which people's real skills and passions are unrecognised and which refuses to make the most of it's genuinely enthusiastic and devoted employees is not worth working for
And a few months later, after returning from a business trip to Amsterdam at which I spoke and (excuse my pride) shined, I resigned the next day
and the rest, as they say, is history
I no longer have any dealings with mainframes
I am now lost in the cold world of cyberspace
It's fascinating, challenging and very worthwhile
But I don't get my kicks from CICS like I used to
tant pis
I am off to listen to France Culture
Friday morning is "Les Vendredis De La Philosophie"
Interestingly, since I followed Microsoft's latest security advice re buffer overflows, iexplorer and naughty hackers, I can't listen to Radio 4 live
but I can listen to the French radio in realtime
Yep, this is a busman's holiday folks!
PS Fellow Oldie who left a comment...
Did you also write 2 digit date routines in the 70's?
I earned enough money working on 31/12/99 to fight the Y2K bug to pay for the Rags and I to go skiing in the Canadian Rockies
I knew, back then, that there was a good reason for coding small dates!
Thursday, July 09, 2009
nostalgia...
Mopping up my keyboard made me smile, despite my grimaces...
When I started out as a programmer, back in the Dark Ages, if The Ragazzi are to be believed, I wrote my Cobol code on green and white forms with little boxes.
It was a long-winded and very precise art for which I, with my grasshopper brain and fascination with error routines and mainframe internals, was decidedly unsuited.
I was almost incapable of following a systems analyst's flowchart from the inital box through to STOP RUN, instead I hopped around all over the logic, coding a bit here, a byte there, all randomly and with no pre-defined pattern.
I was The Analysts' Nightmare
Except that my code always worked pretty well and very efficiently and I took care of every eventuality, including some that had not been foreseen
Once I had coded my programme I had to hand the sheets to the Punch Girls
A gaggle of busty women who sat at machines like malformed typewriters and typed my lines of code to produce 80 column punched cards
All numbered and ordered and precise because any mistakes would lead to compilation errors and, since it took half a day to get a programme compiled, that wasted time.
Occasionally I slipped up, dropped my deck of cards, spilt coffee on them, the rubber band snapped and they were scattered all over the floor
The cards were placed in trays outside the computer room
That Holy of Holies
Presided over by the computer operators and guarded by the strictest security
We mere programmers were not permitted to enter the computer room
I'm not entirely sure why
Except that it was a clean-zone, a filtered, air-conditioned, rarified atmosphere
and protected by Halon gas in the event of fire
No food or drinks were permitted and the operators actually wore white lab coats
Mainframe computers are very expensive beasts
I was fascinated by that old IBM mainframe
I used to stand and watch through the protective glass shield
Lights flashed, paper spewed out, tapes whirled, it was impressive
Once I outgrew my role as a trainee programmer I took a new job in a smaller company and, in an attempt to understand all, I took to taking home the three inch thick systems programmer manuals to read in bed. I taught myself IBM mainframe assembler and systems internals and became the company's first dedicated systems programmer.
and that gave me access to the computer room
In those days the computer was shutdown at 5pm and re-IPLd (Initial Programme Load) every morning at 9am. If I wanted to install new operating software or fix a bug, or try out some tuning tips, I had to go in at the weekends and operate it myself, alone.
I was in my element.
But it was a very simple system
No online processing, everything batch
And after a while I outgrew it and took a new job in a company that had never had a mainframe before. I spent the first few weeks training at IBM Greenford, including some very happy nights practising installing a brand new operating system called VSE/SIPO under the guidance of a gorgeous IBM systems engineer called Stuart.
I had a major crush on Stuart
He fancied a blonde, busty programmer co-worker
When the computer arrived I was its mother
It was unpacked, connected and sat empty and unblinking in a spanking new computer room and it was handed to me
I will never forget my first day with my new baby
I loaded a tape, hit Power On and began to load the operating system
and slowly, slowly I installed all of the software, the operating system, the CICS online transaction processing code, the language compilers, everything...
By the end of the third day I had a running system
On the fourth day I started CICS for the first time
and as console displayed the message "Control Is Being Given To CICS" I was the proudest, happiest little systems programmer in the whole wide world
That was 28 years ago
28 years!
I went to to work for other companies, I travelled extensively, I became a CICS expert
When I started out as a programmer, back in the Dark Ages, if The Ragazzi are to be believed, I wrote my Cobol code on green and white forms with little boxes.
It was a long-winded and very precise art for which I, with my grasshopper brain and fascination with error routines and mainframe internals, was decidedly unsuited.
I was almost incapable of following a systems analyst's flowchart from the inital box through to STOP RUN, instead I hopped around all over the logic, coding a bit here, a byte there, all randomly and with no pre-defined pattern.
I was The Analysts' Nightmare
Except that my code always worked pretty well and very efficiently and I took care of every eventuality, including some that had not been foreseen
Once I had coded my programme I had to hand the sheets to the Punch Girls
A gaggle of busty women who sat at machines like malformed typewriters and typed my lines of code to produce 80 column punched cards
All numbered and ordered and precise because any mistakes would lead to compilation errors and, since it took half a day to get a programme compiled, that wasted time.
Occasionally I slipped up, dropped my deck of cards, spilt coffee on them, the rubber band snapped and they were scattered all over the floor
The cards were placed in trays outside the computer room
That Holy of Holies
Presided over by the computer operators and guarded by the strictest security
We mere programmers were not permitted to enter the computer room
I'm not entirely sure why
Except that it was a clean-zone, a filtered, air-conditioned, rarified atmosphere
and protected by Halon gas in the event of fire
No food or drinks were permitted and the operators actually wore white lab coats
Mainframe computers are very expensive beasts
I was fascinated by that old IBM mainframe
I used to stand and watch through the protective glass shield
Lights flashed, paper spewed out, tapes whirled, it was impressive
Once I outgrew my role as a trainee programmer I took a new job in a smaller company and, in an attempt to understand all, I took to taking home the three inch thick systems programmer manuals to read in bed. I taught myself IBM mainframe assembler and systems internals and became the company's first dedicated systems programmer.
and that gave me access to the computer room
In those days the computer was shutdown at 5pm and re-IPLd (Initial Programme Load) every morning at 9am. If I wanted to install new operating software or fix a bug, or try out some tuning tips, I had to go in at the weekends and operate it myself, alone.
I was in my element.
But it was a very simple system
No online processing, everything batch
And after a while I outgrew it and took a new job in a company that had never had a mainframe before. I spent the first few weeks training at IBM Greenford, including some very happy nights practising installing a brand new operating system called VSE/SIPO under the guidance of a gorgeous IBM systems engineer called Stuart.
I had a major crush on Stuart
He fancied a blonde, busty programmer co-worker
When the computer arrived I was its mother
It was unpacked, connected and sat empty and unblinking in a spanking new computer room and it was handed to me
I will never forget my first day with my new baby
I loaded a tape, hit Power On and began to load the operating system
and slowly, slowly I installed all of the software, the operating system, the CICS online transaction processing code, the language compilers, everything...
By the end of the third day I had a running system
On the fourth day I started CICS for the first time
and as console displayed the message "Control Is Being Given To CICS" I was the proudest, happiest little systems programmer in the whole wide world
That was 28 years ago
28 years!
I went to to work for other companies, I travelled extensively, I became a CICS expert
I gave up CICS to become a fulltime mother to the Ragazzi
When my marriage crumpled and fell-apart I went back to work in tech support
It was never, ever the same
I missed CICS
and then I burnt out and fled to France
which is where this blog started...
So much has happened in the world of computing since those days
Microsoft has overtaken IBM
The threads of the internet have spread across the planet
And everyone, well almost everyone, has their own computer at home
Some, like me, even have several all talking different languages
We email and shop online, conduct love affairs and financial transactions...
We watch DVDs and listen to music
Play games, blog, twitter
Our friendships are formed and maintained in cyberspace
We play in virtual reality
It is a world away from the first mainframe computer that I programmed and I am a lifetime away from that excited young IBM systems programmer
My Sony VAIO is more powerful than the first mainframe that I worked on
But it's still as vulnerable when a careless glass of wine hits it's keyboard
and me, I still miss my baby, CICS
Happy Days, long ago...
But it's still as vulnerable when a careless glass of wine hits it's keyboard
and me, I still miss my baby, CICS
Happy Days, long ago...
why you shouldn't drink alone...
(at least keep a computer engineer to hand)
The problem with the internet, and with having broadband access after years of Orange Fr's snail-paced dial-up connection which, interestingly, only ever successfully connected my French laptop at 4am, for some unknown reason, the problem with broadband is that it is SO distracting
I can now not only connect whenever I wish to the world of cyberspace but I can also, and here's the rub, watch TV on my Sony VAIO
So, yesterday, as I was trying to gather sufficient coherent thoughts and correct French phrases to compile a reasonable intelligent response to the question posed by my latest French assignment, I was also watching an episode of Dr Who
I know, you don't need to tell me, I am BAD
Anyway, it was early evening and I was sipping a glass of white wine (not fizzy, that reminds me too painfully of Himself) as I was watching said episode of Dr Who and trying to decide whether to use the subjunctive to be showy or whether to play safe and remain in the plain present tense when, to my surprise and horror, a dalek appeared!
Oh My God!
I first met the daleks when Dr Who was new to our black and white TV screens
Back in the previous century, round about the time that Kennedy was shot
I am THAT old
At that time, being a very imaginative little seven year old girl, I was terrified of the daleks.
Terrified, but as fascinated as a rabbit caught in a car's headlamps
I watched Dr Who every Saturday afternoon from my hiding place behind the sofa
and I had nightmares every Saturday night
My parents assured me that there were men inside those daleks
men just like Daddy
and then there was an episode in which the Doctor captured a dalek and opened it up and inside it there was a Thing, slimy and reptilian and terrifying
and not at all like Daddy!
I have never recovered from that shock
So when I decided that a full ten minutes of concentrated French had earned me a thirty minutes break with Dr Who and clicked on Play and heard that dreadful voice say "Exterminate" I was so shocked I knocked my glass of wine over my keyboard
White wine + computer keyboard = Disaster
Especially when it's a fancy, shmancy wireless Sony VAIO keyboard
For several hours it was dead
I removed as many of the keys as I dared and cleaned as much as I could
I put in new batteries
Finally, this morning I was able to logon
Though the CTRL key is still dead
The moral of this tale?
Do not drink at the keyboard
Do not watch Dr Who alone
Do not waste time on TV when you should be working
I wonder when the next episode is available?
The problem with the internet, and with having broadband access after years of Orange Fr's snail-paced dial-up connection which, interestingly, only ever successfully connected my French laptop at 4am, for some unknown reason, the problem with broadband is that it is SO distracting
I can now not only connect whenever I wish to the world of cyberspace but I can also, and here's the rub, watch TV on my Sony VAIO
So, yesterday, as I was trying to gather sufficient coherent thoughts and correct French phrases to compile a reasonable intelligent response to the question posed by my latest French assignment, I was also watching an episode of Dr Who
I know, you don't need to tell me, I am BAD
Anyway, it was early evening and I was sipping a glass of white wine (not fizzy, that reminds me too painfully of Himself) as I was watching said episode of Dr Who and trying to decide whether to use the subjunctive to be showy or whether to play safe and remain in the plain present tense when, to my surprise and horror, a dalek appeared!
Oh My God!
I first met the daleks when Dr Who was new to our black and white TV screens
Back in the previous century, round about the time that Kennedy was shot
I am THAT old
At that time, being a very imaginative little seven year old girl, I was terrified of the daleks.
Terrified, but as fascinated as a rabbit caught in a car's headlamps
I watched Dr Who every Saturday afternoon from my hiding place behind the sofa
and I had nightmares every Saturday night
My parents assured me that there were men inside those daleks
men just like Daddy
and then there was an episode in which the Doctor captured a dalek and opened it up and inside it there was a Thing, slimy and reptilian and terrifying
and not at all like Daddy!
I have never recovered from that shock
So when I decided that a full ten minutes of concentrated French had earned me a thirty minutes break with Dr Who and clicked on Play and heard that dreadful voice say "Exterminate" I was so shocked I knocked my glass of wine over my keyboard
White wine + computer keyboard = Disaster
Especially when it's a fancy, shmancy wireless Sony VAIO keyboard
For several hours it was dead
I removed as many of the keys as I dared and cleaned as much as I could
I put in new batteries
Finally, this morning I was able to logon
Though the CTRL key is still dead
The moral of this tale?
Do not drink at the keyboard
Do not watch Dr Who alone
Do not waste time on TV when you should be working
I wonder when the next episode is available?
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
moonwalking
I sleep with Radio 4 and, later, The BBC World Service to comfort me.
It is my adult-equivalent of sleeping with the light on
During the night, a restless and disturbed night, I heard Michael Jackson's daughter speaking at his memorial service and I cried for that little girl as she spoke of her love for her father
When I do sleep I dream about dead people which is natural, I suppose, at this time of loss
I seem to have more dead friends than living, breathing buddies
and really, at times, I am comfortable with that
strange as that may seem
Does it seem strange to you guys?
But something else that's very strange is that in my dreams these dead people are all engaged in some profession for which they were unqualified when they were alive
For instance, I dreamt that my mother (who never worked and who died 4 years ago aged 73) was living in our old house on the edge of RAF Gaydon and working as an observation officer, a kind of first line defence, for the military
And my best friend Jeannie, who also didn't work once she had children, was employed at Oxford university as a linguist.
I know why I'm dreaming these dreams
It's my brain telling me that all these people had potential that was never fulfilled
and showing me how very different their lives could have been
and warning me that I am going to be very cross if I die without achieving some of my own goals
so quit drifting and start applying myself
because God is not going to want one more frustrated, sad, old biddy full of regrets and If Only's to add to the multitude that have gone before me
So, today I will start and finish a French assignment
and read my thick pile of work notes
and perhaps I will pick up that Finnish course and take a peep at all those funny accented 'a's
and maybe I will even, no, let's not get too ambitious, the ironing can wait!
and for inspiration...
Rita Levi-Montalcini
and Michael Jackson at his best Moonwalk
Today we should have been in France
The ferry was booked, the plans laid, the dreams begun...
Today we should have been driving through the French countryside
Today I should have been introducing Him to my other world
Too late, always that sad lament
We left it too late
and now....
I may think longingly of France and all that I left behind
but This is where I am now
and This is where I will be, at least until next spring
and so I intend to make the most of every single day
because to do otherwise seems wasteful and wrong
and direspectful to all of those who left it too late to realise their dreams
(My mother, an RAF intellience officer, well, she could have done it if she'd tried!)
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
Mary Oliver
It is my adult-equivalent of sleeping with the light on
During the night, a restless and disturbed night, I heard Michael Jackson's daughter speaking at his memorial service and I cried for that little girl as she spoke of her love for her father
When I do sleep I dream about dead people which is natural, I suppose, at this time of loss
I seem to have more dead friends than living, breathing buddies
and really, at times, I am comfortable with that
strange as that may seem
Does it seem strange to you guys?
But something else that's very strange is that in my dreams these dead people are all engaged in some profession for which they were unqualified when they were alive
For instance, I dreamt that my mother (who never worked and who died 4 years ago aged 73) was living in our old house on the edge of RAF Gaydon and working as an observation officer, a kind of first line defence, for the military
And my best friend Jeannie, who also didn't work once she had children, was employed at Oxford university as a linguist.
I know why I'm dreaming these dreams
It's my brain telling me that all these people had potential that was never fulfilled
and showing me how very different their lives could have been
and warning me that I am going to be very cross if I die without achieving some of my own goals
so quit drifting and start applying myself
because God is not going to want one more frustrated, sad, old biddy full of regrets and If Only's to add to the multitude that have gone before me
So, today I will start and finish a French assignment
and read my thick pile of work notes
and perhaps I will pick up that Finnish course and take a peep at all those funny accented 'a's
and maybe I will even, no, let's not get too ambitious, the ironing can wait!
and for inspiration...
Rita Levi-Montalcini
and Michael Jackson at his best Moonwalk
Today we should have been in France
The ferry was booked, the plans laid, the dreams begun...
Today we should have been driving through the French countryside
Today I should have been introducing Him to my other world
Too late, always that sad lament
We left it too late
and now....
I may think longingly of France and all that I left behind
but This is where I am now
and This is where I will be, at least until next spring
and so I intend to make the most of every single day
because to do otherwise seems wasteful and wrong
and direspectful to all of those who left it too late to realise their dreams
(My mother, an RAF intellience officer, well, she could have done it if she'd tried!)
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
Mary Oliver
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
helping yourself
Being an independently-minded soul and owning a rather stubborn streak as well as having possessed parents who were, it has to be said, rather lacking in empathy and imagination, I have always been a great believer in self-help.
"Pull yourself together"
"Get a grip"
"Sort yourself out"
I think they'd have had those maxims printed on my romper suit if that had been possible back in the '50s and, actually, I would have preferred them to the ducklings and teddies I had to sport as I crawled across the linoleum and tottered on wobbly, chunky legs along the formica tables.
(I did say it was back in the '50s, or as The Ragazzi like to describe the years of my infancy,
The Olden Days")
So, I grew up believing in The Stiff Upper-Lip
People simply didn't admit to feeling sad, inferior, a failure (delete as appropriate) and many of the women of my mother's generation were prescribed a cocktail of drugs for 'their nerves'
which I interpret as depression
During the years I have accumulated a whole bookcase of 'self-help books'
and a weird and wonderful list of practices guaranteed to heal whatever ails me
From sitting naked under a glass pyramid...
and chanting Native American prayers...
to lying on my back with a motley assortment of crystals balanced precariously on my body
I've tried acupuncture for stress, which only worked after I'd had so many needles stuck in my skin that I resembled a desperate hedgehog
I once enrolled for a meditation course but had such a severe panic attack after the first ten minutes that I had to be carried out and revived in the corridor
I had sessions with a chiropractor who insisted on twisting and cracking my neck despite my request that he leave my head attached to my body, and who only stopped when I punched him
I once met a psychiatrist who convinced me that I am sane and healthy, just stressed and sad
I've read all of the self-help books and they didn't help at all
The other day I listened to a Radio 4 programme about the grandfather of self-help and I felt so irritated I wanted to write one of those angry letters to the BBC that are signed
"Outraged of Oxfordshire"
So, what works for me?
1. Aside from popping one Prozac per day with my morning coffee (and no, I did not need the support of drugs in France because I had, and this leads me to No 2)
2. The support of loving friends
3. A healthy routine, as in eat sensibly, walk the dogs daily, work in moderation, sleep peacefully and avoid dwelling on The Worst That Can Happen
4. (there always has to be a 4, remember?) A little Tai Chi/Yoga/Chill-Time
Now, aside from the exorbitant cost of prescriptions in the UK and regular trips to the doctor who likes to guage my levels of happiness on a scale of 1-10 and gets upset when I ask if I can go negative to express my negativity, all of the above costs nothing
and, in the case of the support of loving friends, I often find that I am the one who ends up being supportive and loving because I tend to forget my own problems and focus on theirs instead and that, I suspect, is probably the best form of self-help
helping others
"Pull yourself together"
"Get a grip"
"Sort yourself out"
I think they'd have had those maxims printed on my romper suit if that had been possible back in the '50s and, actually, I would have preferred them to the ducklings and teddies I had to sport as I crawled across the linoleum and tottered on wobbly, chunky legs along the formica tables.
(I did say it was back in the '50s, or as The Ragazzi like to describe the years of my infancy,
The Olden Days")
So, I grew up believing in The Stiff Upper-Lip
People simply didn't admit to feeling sad, inferior, a failure (delete as appropriate) and many of the women of my mother's generation were prescribed a cocktail of drugs for 'their nerves'
which I interpret as depression
During the years I have accumulated a whole bookcase of 'self-help books'
and a weird and wonderful list of practices guaranteed to heal whatever ails me
From sitting naked under a glass pyramid...
and chanting Native American prayers...
to lying on my back with a motley assortment of crystals balanced precariously on my body
I've tried acupuncture for stress, which only worked after I'd had so many needles stuck in my skin that I resembled a desperate hedgehog
I once enrolled for a meditation course but had such a severe panic attack after the first ten minutes that I had to be carried out and revived in the corridor
I had sessions with a chiropractor who insisted on twisting and cracking my neck despite my request that he leave my head attached to my body, and who only stopped when I punched him
I once met a psychiatrist who convinced me that I am sane and healthy, just stressed and sad
I've read all of the self-help books and they didn't help at all
The other day I listened to a Radio 4 programme about the grandfather of self-help and I felt so irritated I wanted to write one of those angry letters to the BBC that are signed
"Outraged of Oxfordshire"
So, what works for me?
1. Aside from popping one Prozac per day with my morning coffee (and no, I did not need the support of drugs in France because I had, and this leads me to No 2)
2. The support of loving friends
3. A healthy routine, as in eat sensibly, walk the dogs daily, work in moderation, sleep peacefully and avoid dwelling on The Worst That Can Happen
4. (there always has to be a 4, remember?) A little Tai Chi/Yoga/Chill-Time
Now, aside from the exorbitant cost of prescriptions in the UK and regular trips to the doctor who likes to guage my levels of happiness on a scale of 1-10 and gets upset when I ask if I can go negative to express my negativity, all of the above costs nothing
and, in the case of the support of loving friends, I often find that I am the one who ends up being supportive and loving because I tend to forget my own problems and focus on theirs instead and that, I suspect, is probably the best form of self-help
helping others
Monday, July 06, 2009
on Fate....
I've always believed in Fate
Especially when my days are dark with despair
and when the losses seem to far outweigh the gains
Fate rules the affairs of mankind with no recognizable order
Seneca
I thought that the course of our lives was mapped out for us before birth and that, give or take a few sudden side-steps and the occasional ducking out of view as we hide from Her (her?) gaze in the long grass, we would be under Her constant scrutiny.
Helpless to change our fate.
Let us follow our destiny, ebb and flow. Whatever may happen, we master fortune by accepting it.
Virgil
I think this is why I also believe very strongly in karma.
Our daily actions, good and bad, are weighed in a scale upon which our future happiness, or otherwise, is determined.
Sometimes I even believe in the continuing karma of previous existences although the scientist in me, the girl who pored over electron micrographs of mitochondria and watched, in fascination, films about the birth of stars, the moment of conception, the inner-most workings of living creatures, shies away from such 'unfounded superstitious thinking'.
But how else thought to explain our sense of ease with certain people
our feeling of familiarity in strange locations
our passion for certain places?
and if, as science tells us, energy cannot be destroyed, only transferred, then it makes sense that when we die our life force isn't extinguished but rather migrates to a new home
even if that new home is only the west wind
I digress...
So, Fate
Can we change our Fate?
Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her. But once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game.
Voltaire
We are the product of everything that has ever happened to us, and to the world around us
We are changed daily, every passing nanosecond with each heartbeat, by the external forces that touch us
and by our own, unseen, reactions to them
Especially by our thoughts about them
which are, at the basic level, merely electrical impulses sparking in our brains
Now I no longer believe that Fate has mapped out the course of our lives before our birth
I believe that we are born bearing a map of possible paths
Fate may push us in one direction, She may guide us down another road or She may suddenly present us with a brick wall or an overgrown and tangles path
But I believe that we have the ability to climb the wall or push through the undergrowth if that's what we really wish and if we have the courage to say "This is MY life, my path, my direction, and I WILL continue despite these challenges"
One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it.
French Proverb
Who knows?
Perhaps Fate isn't really Fate at all
But instead just a manifestation of our own fears and insecurities
What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate
Henry David Thoreau
So, today I awoke feeling lighter
Today I decided that, to hell with Fate
Today I am going to chart my own course
Today I am going to start venturing off the map and into new territory
Today I am going to take control and steer my own destiny
Sow a thought and you reap an act;
Sow an act and you reap a habit;
Sow a habit and you reap a character;
Sow a character and you reap a destiny.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Especially when my days are dark with despair
and when the losses seem to far outweigh the gains
Fate rules the affairs of mankind with no recognizable order
Seneca
I thought that the course of our lives was mapped out for us before birth and that, give or take a few sudden side-steps and the occasional ducking out of view as we hide from Her (her?) gaze in the long grass, we would be under Her constant scrutiny.
Helpless to change our fate.
Let us follow our destiny, ebb and flow. Whatever may happen, we master fortune by accepting it.
Virgil
I think this is why I also believe very strongly in karma.
Our daily actions, good and bad, are weighed in a scale upon which our future happiness, or otherwise, is determined.
Sometimes I even believe in the continuing karma of previous existences although the scientist in me, the girl who pored over electron micrographs of mitochondria and watched, in fascination, films about the birth of stars, the moment of conception, the inner-most workings of living creatures, shies away from such 'unfounded superstitious thinking'.
But how else thought to explain our sense of ease with certain people
our feeling of familiarity in strange locations
our passion for certain places?
and if, as science tells us, energy cannot be destroyed, only transferred, then it makes sense that when we die our life force isn't extinguished but rather migrates to a new home
even if that new home is only the west wind
I digress...
So, Fate
Can we change our Fate?
Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her. But once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game.
Voltaire
We are the product of everything that has ever happened to us, and to the world around us
We are changed daily, every passing nanosecond with each heartbeat, by the external forces that touch us
and by our own, unseen, reactions to them
Especially by our thoughts about them
which are, at the basic level, merely electrical impulses sparking in our brains
Now I no longer believe that Fate has mapped out the course of our lives before our birth
I believe that we are born bearing a map of possible paths
Fate may push us in one direction, She may guide us down another road or She may suddenly present us with a brick wall or an overgrown and tangles path
But I believe that we have the ability to climb the wall or push through the undergrowth if that's what we really wish and if we have the courage to say "This is MY life, my path, my direction, and I WILL continue despite these challenges"
One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it.
French Proverb
Who knows?
Perhaps Fate isn't really Fate at all
But instead just a manifestation of our own fears and insecurities
What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate
Henry David Thoreau
So, today I awoke feeling lighter
Today I decided that, to hell with Fate
Today I am going to chart my own course
Today I am going to start venturing off the map and into new territory
Today I am going to take control and steer my own destiny
Sow a thought and you reap an act;
Sow an act and you reap a habit;
Sow a habit and you reap a character;
Sow a character and you reap a destiny.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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