While I was living in France I missed very little of my home country.
I was never one of those sad Ex-Pats who cluster round a table in the cafe in Callac, talking in loud voices, moaning about France, the French and the price of Marmite and PG Tips.
So what did I miss?
Well, Waitrose of course, I've always admitted my devotion to that store and my loyalty continues undiminished...
And real fish and chips, especially those served at the shop in the village in which I used to live and which were a regular Tuesday evening supper for The Rags and I, after a trip to Reading library to stock up on our week's reading matter...
And a lovely latte from Costas which treat I still enjoy once a week when I am feeling particularly deserving. The Ragazza made a recent unplanned visit 'home' to see me and we called in at Costas for hot chocolate and latte and, as we sat at a table outside she confessed to having felt a pang or two when she had sat alone in a coffee shop and seen other mothers and daughters at nearby tables.
And walking the dogs at Peppard Common. One of those place to which I am drawn for some reason to the extent that I plan on being buried in the little churchyard there or, if there is no room for outsiders with a Buddhist/Jewish/Islamic/Christian/Pagan pick and mix of religious philosophies, at least having my ashes scattered amongst the snowdrops that cover the ground every early spring
And the Oxford Story, a quaint little museum of the origins of the university now sadly no more because it needed £4,000,000 for a face-lift, apparently, and the funds were not forthcoming. The Rags and I used to visit often, it was our Family Tradition on a day trip to Oxford....
The Oxford Story, a tour on an open-top bus with them listening to the commentary in English and me in Japanese, or German once I'd memorised the French and Italian versions, lunch at The Ashmolean and a kind of 'supermaket sweep' in Blackwell's.
I often wondered if they were just humouring me, tagging along to please Maman, but on my son's 17th birthday I popped across the channel to celebrate and of course we went for a trip to Oxford, down Memory Lane, only The Oxford Story had closed during my absence and The Rags and I were so shocked and sad that we actually stood and wept. Or perhaps we were really mourning the loss of our old, happy lives together?
And The Ashmolean Museum. Because lovely as Brittany is and no matter how much I felt at home in the Celtic culture of that place, there is only so many times a person can appreciate a museum dedicated to clogs before she begins to long for something more
When I returned to England last autumn I thought I would treat myself to a day at The Ashmolean. A day without The Rags. I would wander and gaze and enjoy to my heart's content without having to explain everything to two enquiring minds or spend forever amongst the Egyptian collection. Alas and alack it was closed for a facelift. I didn't cry that time, though I did begin to feel as if I my flight to France was being punished by the 'withdrawal of privileges' and would I also be condemned to solitary confinement which, as it happens, I seem to have imposed upon myself recently.
Oh dear, this is becoming The Empty Nest Post or "How I abandoned my Rags and ran away abroad", which, of course, is a dark thread that runs throughout my story, isn't it? No, I didn't abandon them, I took my daughter with me, my son stayed behind out of choice, a choice which he now deeply regrets. But I did abandon my former life and flee from the rats and I will always question whether I shouldn't have stayed and fought them instead.
Anyway, it seems that The Ashmolean has now re-opened. Should I wait for the Rags and I to be reunited before venturing back en famille to discover the new delights of the Ashmolean or should I take that solitary trip tomorrow? I feel like a little child who has crept downstairs early on Christmas morning and spotted a pile of presents already under the tree. Do I contain my curiosity until the rest of the family are awake or do I unwrap just one of those gifts now? Who knows, it may finally be the pony I've always wanted!
Saturday, November 07, 2009
reflections...
No work today which, considering how exhausted I was yesterday evening, is a blessing for which I am very grateful. I really could not have coped with another day in the corporate cage.
Still, when I awoke this morning my thoughts turned instantly to the office.
One fact that is evident is that I cannot continue to work at this pace, not if I wish to avoid a second burnout and, believe me, I really doubt I could survive another. So I sat in bed, my knees up drawn under my chin and thought. And thought.
The first step is to stop volunteering for all the tasks the other don't care to tackle unless, of course, they are ones that appeal to me, as in writing stuff for the company website. Writing I enjoy....
I had to tell myself that I am not being mean in this.
I reminded myself of all the times I have responded to requests from my colleagues and yet, when I asked for someone to swap a weekend shift with me so I could care for my dog no-one answered.
Not a single soul stepped forward.
I am not entirely happy with this new, more selfish approach
It really isn't my way
But when I was at The Beast I took on a specific task that helped to make the pre-sales folk's product trials a breeze, a regular task that involved a great deal of work on my part and yet not once was that ever recognised nor rewarded, even as they were given large bonuses for a successful sale. In fact, the more I did the more they expected me to do until... well, we all know what happened next.
So,no more Little Miss Willing.
I am also going to follow the lead of my colleagues and insist on taking my full lunch break. Yesterday as I was struggling to cope with the workload I turned to the guy in charge and asked for help only to be told "I am at lunch"
That I was working through my own lunch break was my fault not his, but no more.
I feel mean. I sound mean, yes?
But you know, yesterday, in the middle of the manic working I realised that one of the more senior guys, one who earns a great deal more than me, was sitting playing computer games and that made me see red.
I remembered the many times at The Beast when I was working flat-out and, as I looked up from my computer I caught sight of The Hostile One happily playing Solitaire (or some such), and so I have to ask myself "Who is the fool?"
Not that I plan on playing games in company time
I am too honest for that
But I will not be doing extra work to support those who do
I am also going to be less modest
I think I deserve a decent pay rise and a full bonus when the annual review comes round. In the past I was twice offered promotion and twice I declined because, wait for it "I am needed in technical suppport". Well I obviously wasn't needed as much as I had thought because when I offered my resignation my then-manager didn't even try to convince me to stay and not one of the customers for whom I had 'gone the ectra mile' expressed regret at my leaving.
So now I will take as much as I can get and push myself forward at every opportunity.
My days as the office mouse are over.
But still, as I type all of this I feel my resolve wavering and I wonder if I can really change so drastically.
Can I stop being a mouse and learn to become a rat?
Is that really what it takes to be respected and recognised?
Of course, the answer is yes
and that is what makes our society such a sick place
Still, when I awoke this morning my thoughts turned instantly to the office.
One fact that is evident is that I cannot continue to work at this pace, not if I wish to avoid a second burnout and, believe me, I really doubt I could survive another. So I sat in bed, my knees up drawn under my chin and thought. And thought.
The first step is to stop volunteering for all the tasks the other don't care to tackle unless, of course, they are ones that appeal to me, as in writing stuff for the company website. Writing I enjoy....
I had to tell myself that I am not being mean in this.
I reminded myself of all the times I have responded to requests from my colleagues and yet, when I asked for someone to swap a weekend shift with me so I could care for my dog no-one answered.
Not a single soul stepped forward.
I am not entirely happy with this new, more selfish approach
It really isn't my way
But when I was at The Beast I took on a specific task that helped to make the pre-sales folk's product trials a breeze, a regular task that involved a great deal of work on my part and yet not once was that ever recognised nor rewarded, even as they were given large bonuses for a successful sale. In fact, the more I did the more they expected me to do until... well, we all know what happened next.
So,no more Little Miss Willing.
I am also going to follow the lead of my colleagues and insist on taking my full lunch break. Yesterday as I was struggling to cope with the workload I turned to the guy in charge and asked for help only to be told "I am at lunch"
That I was working through my own lunch break was my fault not his, but no more.
I feel mean. I sound mean, yes?
But you know, yesterday, in the middle of the manic working I realised that one of the more senior guys, one who earns a great deal more than me, was sitting playing computer games and that made me see red.
I remembered the many times at The Beast when I was working flat-out and, as I looked up from my computer I caught sight of The Hostile One happily playing Solitaire (or some such), and so I have to ask myself "Who is the fool?"
Not that I plan on playing games in company time
I am too honest for that
But I will not be doing extra work to support those who do
I am also going to be less modest
I think I deserve a decent pay rise and a full bonus when the annual review comes round. In the past I was twice offered promotion and twice I declined because, wait for it "I am needed in technical suppport". Well I obviously wasn't needed as much as I had thought because when I offered my resignation my then-manager didn't even try to convince me to stay and not one of the customers for whom I had 'gone the ectra mile' expressed regret at my leaving.
So now I will take as much as I can get and push myself forward at every opportunity.
My days as the office mouse are over.
But still, as I type all of this I feel my resolve wavering and I wonder if I can really change so drastically.
Can I stop being a mouse and learn to become a rat?
Is that really what it takes to be respected and recognised?
Of course, the answer is yes
and that is what makes our society such a sick place
of mice and pigs...
I should rename this blog "The Sad Story Of The Woman Who Never Learned"
Yesterday I began work at 8am and as soon as I switched on my couple of computers and entered the seven, or is it eight different passwords that grant me access to the many systems that comprise my world of work, I was lost.
Sucked into cyberspace
One little soul wandering the web
Seeking out the bad
I began day listening on Ivy the iPod to relaxing music.
Mozart for meditation and to help me remain calm and focused
A little Bach, my fingers playing the notes of Jesu Joy Of Man's Desiring on my keyboard instead of my silver flute
The gentle sounds of waves and bird song mingled with breathy pan pipes
I was determined to remain calm
And then the trickle of incoming work became a steady stream
and the stream became a torrent
and the torrent turned into a flood
and I was washed away
At one point, as I was juggling several tasks, spinning plates, my manager sent a message asking for someone to respond to an urgent request and when a colleague replied that she couldn't be bothered I swept down, scooped it up and added yet another plate to my pile
I could have ignored it
I was already multi-tasking with a vengeance
But it was something that needed to be done
and I was, it seems, the only one willing
When twelve o'clock came the office emptied as people wandered off to take lunch, visit the shops, read the papers, play games, I worked on towards my 1 pm break-off time, treading water on the incoming tide, trying to keep everything afloat
At 1pm I paused, raised my head and let out a sigh of relief but it was short-lived.
A major task landed on my lap and, when I looked around for someone to take it from me there was no-one and it became one more large plate spinning
And so my lunchtime was lost as I worked on
As the afternoon unfolded Mozart and birdsong had been replaced by heavy rock music
It wasn't until the end of the day when the significance of that struck me
Not until I finally backed out of all of those systems, closed all of those open Windows, shutdown my computers and breathed a sigh of relief
Not until I became aware of the tension in my shoulders, the pain pressing down on my head, the buzzing in my ears
I had, once again, worked myself to exhaustion
Why?
That's the question I asked myself repeatedly as I wound my weary way home
Why do I do it?
It's not for fame and glory because there are none
It's not for financial reward because the pay is low
It's not for career advancement because, as I have learned in the past to my cost, while I am the willing worker who keeps all the plastic plates spinning my colleagues are cleverly chosing the best china that will enable them to climb the career ladder
So why?
All I can think is that I have a dominant responsibility gene
I simply cannot turn my back on a task waiting
I cannot ignore it
If there is something to be done and no-one else steps forward I will do it myself
I lay in bed last night unable to sleep because my mind was still over-active and I heard the end of the BBC serialisation of Animal Farm on the radio
Boxer, the willing, gentle, good-natured carthorse had collapsed from overwork
His friends rushed to tell the pigs, "Boxer is ill"
Two days later the pigs sold him to the man who ran the glue factory
As the truck pulled out of the yard the animals realised what was happening and cried out to him
"Boxer, Boxer, they're taking you to the knackers, save yourself"
Boxer tried to escape, he kicked desperately at the walls of the horsebox but in vain
He had no strength left
He had worked himself to death
What's the answer?
What do you do if you are one of life's carthorses
and everyone else is a pig?
"I will work harder?"
Or "I will work smarter"
Yesterday I began work at 8am and as soon as I switched on my couple of computers and entered the seven, or is it eight different passwords that grant me access to the many systems that comprise my world of work, I was lost.
Sucked into cyberspace
One little soul wandering the web
Seeking out the bad
I began day listening on Ivy the iPod to relaxing music.
Mozart for meditation and to help me remain calm and focused
A little Bach, my fingers playing the notes of Jesu Joy Of Man's Desiring on my keyboard instead of my silver flute
The gentle sounds of waves and bird song mingled with breathy pan pipes
I was determined to remain calm
And then the trickle of incoming work became a steady stream
and the stream became a torrent
and the torrent turned into a flood
and I was washed away
At one point, as I was juggling several tasks, spinning plates, my manager sent a message asking for someone to respond to an urgent request and when a colleague replied that she couldn't be bothered I swept down, scooped it up and added yet another plate to my pile
I could have ignored it
I was already multi-tasking with a vengeance
But it was something that needed to be done
and I was, it seems, the only one willing
When twelve o'clock came the office emptied as people wandered off to take lunch, visit the shops, read the papers, play games, I worked on towards my 1 pm break-off time, treading water on the incoming tide, trying to keep everything afloat
At 1pm I paused, raised my head and let out a sigh of relief but it was short-lived.
A major task landed on my lap and, when I looked around for someone to take it from me there was no-one and it became one more large plate spinning
And so my lunchtime was lost as I worked on
As the afternoon unfolded Mozart and birdsong had been replaced by heavy rock music
It wasn't until the end of the day when the significance of that struck me
Not until I finally backed out of all of those systems, closed all of those open Windows, shutdown my computers and breathed a sigh of relief
Not until I became aware of the tension in my shoulders, the pain pressing down on my head, the buzzing in my ears
I had, once again, worked myself to exhaustion
Why?
That's the question I asked myself repeatedly as I wound my weary way home
Why do I do it?
It's not for fame and glory because there are none
It's not for financial reward because the pay is low
It's not for career advancement because, as I have learned in the past to my cost, while I am the willing worker who keeps all the plastic plates spinning my colleagues are cleverly chosing the best china that will enable them to climb the career ladder
So why?
All I can think is that I have a dominant responsibility gene
I simply cannot turn my back on a task waiting
I cannot ignore it
If there is something to be done and no-one else steps forward I will do it myself
I lay in bed last night unable to sleep because my mind was still over-active and I heard the end of the BBC serialisation of Animal Farm on the radio
Boxer, the willing, gentle, good-natured carthorse had collapsed from overwork
His friends rushed to tell the pigs, "Boxer is ill"
Two days later the pigs sold him to the man who ran the glue factory
As the truck pulled out of the yard the animals realised what was happening and cried out to him
"Boxer, Boxer, they're taking you to the knackers, save yourself"
Boxer tried to escape, he kicked desperately at the walls of the horsebox but in vain
He had no strength left
He had worked himself to death
What's the answer?
What do you do if you are one of life's carthorses
and everyone else is a pig?
"I will work harder?"
Or "I will work smarter"
Thursday, November 05, 2009
karma
An admission...
I have become a solitary little soul.
I don't go out socially, I don't meet friends, I don't 'have fun'.
All I do is work.
I work very hard and my efforts are paying off because, after struggling for the first nine months, and I mean struggling, it has been the most difficult new start in a long life of new starts, after struggling to keep a fragile hold on my job and having been told several times that I am not performing well, today my manager finally told me that he is pleased with my work.
I have to say that it's not necessarily my technical skills that have impressed him because a lifetime in the mainframe world and a deep, deep love of all things IBM, has ill-equipped me for the totally new world of cyberspace, a world in which nothing is as it seems, a world in which the Bad Guys are relentless in their pursuit of your money, my money, our identities, a world in which crime pays. Trust me it is not a nice place, this dark side of the internet. You really do not want to visit, even for a moment.
No, it's, wait for it, my 'soft skills' that have impressed my manager
As in, I work very hard and with a great deal of dedication
I take on any task that is offered and I volunteer for those that aren't
I am always available to help my colleagues, even if that means baking cakes, playing Agony Aunt to the love-lorn, offering tea, sympathy and support
I am enthusiastic even when the others are bored and restless with the more mundane tasks
And I am a Team Player
And whilst I would love to be able to say I have impressed the socks off senior management with my technical skills I know that they fail to notice my efforts
I will never be rewarded financially
There will be no treats in the form of trips to international conferences
I will never climb off the lower rungs of this particular career ladder
There have been many, many times when I have asked myself why I am doing this
Why I am subjecting myself to this
It's obvious though, isn't it?
I have a deep need to prove that I can cope in a corporate cage
I need to know that the burnout and breakdown at The Beast really were not my fault
I need to shed the shame
I need to let go of the pain
So I work
I work very hard
And right now that takes all of my energy and strength and there is little left for fun
But that's ok because I feel as if I am healing the bad karma of past successes when company cars, expense accounts, first-class business travel were all gifts that I took for granted
When I became a little too proud of my accomplishments
When I became smug
Yes, that recent negative comment struck home
You know, we are all just one false step, one bullying manager, one dumb corporate decision away from career meltdown and we fail to face that fact at our peril
The answer is to prove to ourselves that, even if we are pushed over the edge, even if we fall into the abyss, we really can pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and start all over again
Now I am not intending to spend the rest of my life in the corporate cage
I will not remain a lab rat forever
One day I will break free again
But the next time that I do I will not be fleeing to France
Burnt-out in Brittany
I will be walking away with my head held high
I have become a solitary little soul.
I don't go out socially, I don't meet friends, I don't 'have fun'.
All I do is work.
I work very hard and my efforts are paying off because, after struggling for the first nine months, and I mean struggling, it has been the most difficult new start in a long life of new starts, after struggling to keep a fragile hold on my job and having been told several times that I am not performing well, today my manager finally told me that he is pleased with my work.
I have to say that it's not necessarily my technical skills that have impressed him because a lifetime in the mainframe world and a deep, deep love of all things IBM, has ill-equipped me for the totally new world of cyberspace, a world in which nothing is as it seems, a world in which the Bad Guys are relentless in their pursuit of your money, my money, our identities, a world in which crime pays. Trust me it is not a nice place, this dark side of the internet. You really do not want to visit, even for a moment.
No, it's, wait for it, my 'soft skills' that have impressed my manager
As in, I work very hard and with a great deal of dedication
I take on any task that is offered and I volunteer for those that aren't
I am always available to help my colleagues, even if that means baking cakes, playing Agony Aunt to the love-lorn, offering tea, sympathy and support
I am enthusiastic even when the others are bored and restless with the more mundane tasks
And I am a Team Player
And whilst I would love to be able to say I have impressed the socks off senior management with my technical skills I know that they fail to notice my efforts
I will never be rewarded financially
There will be no treats in the form of trips to international conferences
I will never climb off the lower rungs of this particular career ladder
There have been many, many times when I have asked myself why I am doing this
Why I am subjecting myself to this
It's obvious though, isn't it?
I have a deep need to prove that I can cope in a corporate cage
I need to know that the burnout and breakdown at The Beast really were not my fault
I need to shed the shame
I need to let go of the pain
So I work
I work very hard
And right now that takes all of my energy and strength and there is little left for fun
But that's ok because I feel as if I am healing the bad karma of past successes when company cars, expense accounts, first-class business travel were all gifts that I took for granted
When I became a little too proud of my accomplishments
When I became smug
Yes, that recent negative comment struck home
You know, we are all just one false step, one bullying manager, one dumb corporate decision away from career meltdown and we fail to face that fact at our peril
The answer is to prove to ourselves that, even if we are pushed over the edge, even if we fall into the abyss, we really can pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and start all over again
Now I am not intending to spend the rest of my life in the corporate cage
I will not remain a lab rat forever
One day I will break free again
But the next time that I do I will not be fleeing to France
Burnt-out in Brittany
I will be walking away with my head held high
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
rituals...
After failing to acknowledge Halloween this year (see I am dodging Death) and realising that I could have indulged in a Celtic celebration instead, and being acutely aware that these days all I do is work and sleep, I've decided that each month I will celebrate something, anything, in a probably vain attempt to slow down the passage of time and give me something to make the passing year.
November offers Bonfire Night.
Guy Fawkes Night or Bonfire Night is an annual celebration on the evening of 5 November. It marks the downfall of the Gunpowder Plot of 5 November 1605, in which a number of Catholic conspirators, including Guy Fawkes, attempted to blow up the Houses Of Parliament.
(Wikipedia)
As ever I have to say, in the past I hosted bonfire parties, first for the Ex's family and then for the Rags, but when I moved to France my firework celebration shifted to July 14th and I joined in the the Bastille Day festivities, which is as it should be, When In Rome et al...
Last year the arrival, brief stay and inevitable angry departure of The Someone provided all the fireworks I could handle. There were too many fire crackers and explosive words when he took his final, furious leave of me, I didn't need to go out and create any more in my world, so no bonfire party for me in 2008.
This year I have a choice...
The village school bonfire party or another, more mature, fireworks to music affair at a nearby country house.
I would like to be able to celebrate at the Sue Ryder Hospice in Nettlebed. The Rags and I did that for a few years but then they stopped their bonfire parties and, anyway, after my best friend died in their care I couldn't help constantly looking for her face at the flame-lit windows and that made me sad. Besides, I think it's time to stop clinging to the past, to old and worn-out ways, to dated rituals for ritual sake, and to discover the new.
Of course, I could always decide to forego the whole thing, and perhaps I will steer clear of communal 'fun' and remain at home. I'll probably be exhausted after work anyway. And the twenty-four furry paws may need my reassuring company.
Perhaps I will find a different ritual to celebrate this month
Something less noisy, less public
More in fitting with my solitary state
"Cause nothing lasts forever
And we both know a heart can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain"
(Guns N' Roses)
November offers Bonfire Night.
Guy Fawkes Night or Bonfire Night is an annual celebration on the evening of 5 November. It marks the downfall of the Gunpowder Plot of 5 November 1605, in which a number of Catholic conspirators, including Guy Fawkes, attempted to blow up the Houses Of Parliament.
(Wikipedia)
As ever I have to say, in the past I hosted bonfire parties, first for the Ex's family and then for the Rags, but when I moved to France my firework celebration shifted to July 14th and I joined in the the Bastille Day festivities, which is as it should be, When In Rome et al...
Last year the arrival, brief stay and inevitable angry departure of The Someone provided all the fireworks I could handle. There were too many fire crackers and explosive words when he took his final, furious leave of me, I didn't need to go out and create any more in my world, so no bonfire party for me in 2008.
This year I have a choice...
The village school bonfire party or another, more mature, fireworks to music affair at a nearby country house.
I would like to be able to celebrate at the Sue Ryder Hospice in Nettlebed. The Rags and I did that for a few years but then they stopped their bonfire parties and, anyway, after my best friend died in their care I couldn't help constantly looking for her face at the flame-lit windows and that made me sad. Besides, I think it's time to stop clinging to the past, to old and worn-out ways, to dated rituals for ritual sake, and to discover the new.
Of course, I could always decide to forego the whole thing, and perhaps I will steer clear of communal 'fun' and remain at home. I'll probably be exhausted after work anyway. And the twenty-four furry paws may need my reassuring company.
Perhaps I will find a different ritual to celebrate this month
Something less noisy, less public
More in fitting with my solitary state
"Cause nothing lasts forever
And we both know a heart can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain"
(Guns N' Roses)
Sunday, November 01, 2009
The Sorcerer
Halloween.
In the past I have always hosted a party...
For years I spent the last few days of October decorating the house with fake cobwebs and spiders, ceilings covered with black crepe paper studded with tinfoil stars, carved pumpkins and turnips and candles everywhere...
the Rags friends would arrive dressed as ghouls and ghosts, witches and wizards and we would enjoy a traditional Halloween.
In France The Ragazza and I celebrated Halloween in the commune with a grown-up fancy dress party.
After she had returned to England The Someone and I carried on the tradition.
The FVH with its beams and stones was a perfect venue for a ghostly gathering.
That was my last Halloween party
Last year I stood at the door and dolled out sweets to the local children attracted by my pumpkins and decorations but that was as far as it went.
This year I felt averse to the links with death and declined to participate
But as I walked The Tibetan past houses adorned with glowing pumpkins and broomsticks, as I encountered little groups of children dressed as ghosts and ghouls, witches and wizards, I felt a pang of nostalgia and of regret.
I came home to spend a quiet, evening
The absence of a pumpkin on my doorstep kept the children away
And that made me sad
Childhood these days passes so swiftly, all too soon the little ones are plunged into adolescence and adulthood, we really should do all we can to ensure that its brief days are sunlit and carefree
And if we fail to celebrate the seasons, to participate in the rituals and festivites that are studded throught out the year, if we are never truly in the moment, then the years pass us by and before we know it it's too late.
Next year, I told myself, next year if I am still here I will make this place a veritable haunted house, I will place candles along the drive and a glorious pumpkin on the doorstep.
And I will stand at the door wearing a witches hat and doll out sweets to the local children.
Meanwhile there was a quiet celebration, of sorts.
The Tibetan, Tashi, was born on Halloween.
He celebrated his fourth birthday quietly at home with a great deal of fuss from his owner and a large plate of roasted chicken
Looking into his eyes as he sat at my feet I knew that he was remembering happier times in a foreign land...
One day, my little furry sorcerer...
One day soon
Saturday, October 31, 2009
dog days
One of the Tibetans was sick.
Typing that make me smile because I once wrote, from France, I went for a walk with The Tibetans and someone thought I'd been meandering with monks...
Anyway, I spent 4 hours baking cakes yesterday evening and didn't notice that my oldest dog wasn't well until I sat down with a cup of tea at midnight and he came and climbed on my lap.
Unusual behaviour for the dominant male, to act like a toddler, and at once alarm bells began to ring, especially as I was then pinned down under a mass of fur and canine self-pity and unable to move a muscle.
I thought back to the morning's walk...
No, he hadn't 'performed'
I recalled the Mysterious Case of the Missing Chicken Carcass...
Surely he hadn't...?
I watched him anxiousy from my semi-hidden-by-hairy-dog vantage point...
He was definitely not happy.
It was bed time.
I walked up the stairs and he followed slowly.
He sleeps at the foot of my bed, has done ever since I became sick
I like to think he guards my soul during the night and ensures that it doesn't slip away unnoticed
My angel in dog's clothing
I tried gently examining his abdomen for signs of distress but he seemed pain-free
I felt his nose, warm and dry
I lifted him gently onto the bed and he looked shocked at such an indiscretion and tumbled onto he floor and lay there motionless
So I spent the night on dog-duty
Watching over him
This morning he stayed glued to my side and I was torn between work and dog.
I had to go in to deliver my cakes but I asked for the afternoon off, my dog is sick seemed so feeble an excuse, that there is no-one else I can call on for help seemed sad.
I was distracted all morning, my mind elsewhere, and couldn't wait to leave at lunchtime even though I was dreading walking through the door. He seemed to be no better. Still clingy and sad and definitely not is usual self. So I did what I always did with The Rags when they were sick, I took him to bed with me for the afternoon and the pair of us snoozed together.
This evening his tail was back up and he seemed better.
And now, at midnight, I have just discovered him sitting under the computer with a collection of dog treats to which he has helped himself from the box in the kitchen. His dinner has been eaten, his bowl of milky-treat is empty, he seems happier.
Such a relief
I was worrying how to pay for surgery if he had eaten those bones
I was fretting over what to do tomorrow when I have to work a weekend shift
And I was wondering how to tell the Rags, the dog is sick and it's my fault
Eleven years ago I had to stand by helplessly as The Ex dragged the Rags from their beds at 7am to tell them he was leaving us. He had decided that 'they should know immediately the momentous chain of events that his decision of the previous night had set in motion and couldn't wait until Christmas was over to tear their little worlds apart...
The look of fear and confusion on my son's face will scar my soul forever
Two years later later one of their kittens was killed on the road outside the house.
I rushed home from work to collect his tiny, mangled body, to wash away the blood and to wrap it in a towel so that they wouldn't see the injuries he'd suffered when they came home from school and were faced by his death.
The sound of my son's sobs still echoes in my mind
This is why I haven't told them the extent of my health issues, such is my desire to shield my offspring from the Bad Things in life, being a mother is a blessing and a joy but trying to protect them from pain is a very difficult task at times
Thank goodness the dog is feeling better
Typing that make me smile because I once wrote, from France, I went for a walk with The Tibetans and someone thought I'd been meandering with monks...
Anyway, I spent 4 hours baking cakes yesterday evening and didn't notice that my oldest dog wasn't well until I sat down with a cup of tea at midnight and he came and climbed on my lap.
Unusual behaviour for the dominant male, to act like a toddler, and at once alarm bells began to ring, especially as I was then pinned down under a mass of fur and canine self-pity and unable to move a muscle.
I thought back to the morning's walk...
No, he hadn't 'performed'
I recalled the Mysterious Case of the Missing Chicken Carcass...
Surely he hadn't...?
I watched him anxiousy from my semi-hidden-by-hairy-dog vantage point...
He was definitely not happy.
It was bed time.
I walked up the stairs and he followed slowly.
He sleeps at the foot of my bed, has done ever since I became sick
I like to think he guards my soul during the night and ensures that it doesn't slip away unnoticed
My angel in dog's clothing
I tried gently examining his abdomen for signs of distress but he seemed pain-free
I felt his nose, warm and dry
I lifted him gently onto the bed and he looked shocked at such an indiscretion and tumbled onto he floor and lay there motionless
So I spent the night on dog-duty
Watching over him
This morning he stayed glued to my side and I was torn between work and dog.
I had to go in to deliver my cakes but I asked for the afternoon off, my dog is sick seemed so feeble an excuse, that there is no-one else I can call on for help seemed sad.
I was distracted all morning, my mind elsewhere, and couldn't wait to leave at lunchtime even though I was dreading walking through the door. He seemed to be no better. Still clingy and sad and definitely not is usual self. So I did what I always did with The Rags when they were sick, I took him to bed with me for the afternoon and the pair of us snoozed together.
This evening his tail was back up and he seemed better.
And now, at midnight, I have just discovered him sitting under the computer with a collection of dog treats to which he has helped himself from the box in the kitchen. His dinner has been eaten, his bowl of milky-treat is empty, he seems happier.
Such a relief
I was worrying how to pay for surgery if he had eaten those bones
I was fretting over what to do tomorrow when I have to work a weekend shift
And I was wondering how to tell the Rags, the dog is sick and it's my fault
Eleven years ago I had to stand by helplessly as The Ex dragged the Rags from their beds at 7am to tell them he was leaving us. He had decided that 'they should know immediately the momentous chain of events that his decision of the previous night had set in motion and couldn't wait until Christmas was over to tear their little worlds apart...
The look of fear and confusion on my son's face will scar my soul forever
Two years later later one of their kittens was killed on the road outside the house.
I rushed home from work to collect his tiny, mangled body, to wash away the blood and to wrap it in a towel so that they wouldn't see the injuries he'd suffered when they came home from school and were faced by his death.
The sound of my son's sobs still echoes in my mind
This is why I haven't told them the extent of my health issues, such is my desire to shield my offspring from the Bad Things in life, being a mother is a blessing and a joy but trying to protect them from pain is a very difficult task at times
Thank goodness the dog is feeling better
Thursday, October 29, 2009
cupcakes and shortbread
Tomorrow the office is having a cake sale to raise money for breast cancer research and so I, together with about eight other woman and one man, am baking cakes.
It takes me back to the days when I had children at school and spent many a happy afternoon baking cakes for various fundraising events.
My contributions were a little more adventurous then, a chocolate fudge cake, a rich fruit cake and shortbread biscuits in various shapes, cats and stars, hearts and ducks, were always a staple, but I also made small pecan pies, tiny tartes au citron and, if I was feeling very adventurous, meringues and mille feuilles.
My modest contributions funded musical instruments, play equipment and books.
And I loved every single minute of it
Now I am not so blessed with abundant time
Or energy
Or, to be honest funds
But so far I have made 100 cupcakes, half of them vanilla and half of them chocolate and each one laden with toppings, chocolate sprinkles, pink sugar balls, cute icing flowers, a veritable cornucopia of sugary delights for the people with whom I work
And shortbread biscuits
One hundred little hearts lightly dusted with sugar
I make them because I am one of life's volunteers
Send an email asking for support and I will click REPLY instantly
Of course I will work on Sunday....
Yes, I will cover Christmas Day....
I would be happy to bake cakes
Especially the cakes
You see, my wonderful mother-in-law died of breast cancer
My aunt and sister-in-law are survivors
My beloved best friend was not so lucky
So I stand in the tiny kitchen, trays of cakes all around me, the scents of shortbread wafting from the oven, my hair lightly dusted with flour, and I make my cakes
And for every cake that I bake and decorate with love I shed a tear for the wonderful women I have known and loved and lost to this most cruel of diseases
And I send a silent prayer for all of the women everywhere who are fighting for their survival
And I pray that one day, soon, the scientists will find the magic bullet that will put an end to so much suffering
Cupcakes and shortbread
From me, with love
XXXX
It takes me back to the days when I had children at school and spent many a happy afternoon baking cakes for various fundraising events.
My contributions were a little more adventurous then, a chocolate fudge cake, a rich fruit cake and shortbread biscuits in various shapes, cats and stars, hearts and ducks, were always a staple, but I also made small pecan pies, tiny tartes au citron and, if I was feeling very adventurous, meringues and mille feuilles.
My modest contributions funded musical instruments, play equipment and books.
And I loved every single minute of it
Now I am not so blessed with abundant time
Or energy
Or, to be honest funds
But so far I have made 100 cupcakes, half of them vanilla and half of them chocolate and each one laden with toppings, chocolate sprinkles, pink sugar balls, cute icing flowers, a veritable cornucopia of sugary delights for the people with whom I work
And shortbread biscuits
One hundred little hearts lightly dusted with sugar
I make them because I am one of life's volunteers
Send an email asking for support and I will click REPLY instantly
Of course I will work on Sunday....
Yes, I will cover Christmas Day....
I would be happy to bake cakes
Especially the cakes
You see, my wonderful mother-in-law died of breast cancer
My aunt and sister-in-law are survivors
My beloved best friend was not so lucky
So I stand in the tiny kitchen, trays of cakes all around me, the scents of shortbread wafting from the oven, my hair lightly dusted with flour, and I make my cakes
And for every cake that I bake and decorate with love I shed a tear for the wonderful women I have known and loved and lost to this most cruel of diseases
And I send a silent prayer for all of the women everywhere who are fighting for their survival
And I pray that one day, soon, the scientists will find the magic bullet that will put an end to so much suffering
Cupcakes and shortbread
From me, with love
XXXX
in denial
I arrived home too early this evening to catch the end of the BBC radio news during which, they informed us, there would be a report on the scientists who deny climate change.
As in those who believe that the recent warming trends and freak weather are due, not to the harmful effects of human activities, but to sun spots.
Or is it elves?
It's fortunate that I did miss that because had I been driving when it was broadcast I may have been compelled to pull over, leap out of the car and scream "What the ****???" into the wind.
There are those who blame 'natural sun cycles' for our changing weather
Some who say that climate change is a huge conspiracy by our leaders to make us do...
What precisely?
Cut down on our use of fossil fuels?
Adopt a saner, less selfish lifestyle?
Share the planet's resources a little more fairly?
Me, I have been fretting about Man's impact on the planet since the '70's.
I have been planting trees, sponsoring acres of rain forest, adopting whales and tigers and scorpions and giraffes...
I have been a four-decade long supporter of Greenpeace, WWF, Friends Of The Earth...
Crumbs, I remember even writing an eco-poem when I was 12 years old that The Reader's Digest kindly published...
Almost forty years as one of the little voices in the wilderness
So I am rather grateful that our leaders have now, finally, heard our cries
And really rather exasperated by those who still insist that there is nothing to worry about
I exchanged a few, puzzled comments with David, one such denier, over at Making Ripples but all he did was refer me to a few sites and insist that in his part of the world it's becoming colder and not hotter. I thought perhaps I'd discuss the warm water currents and their dependancy on the ice caps and how when they melt that will cease and yes, for northen latitudes the temperature in winter will plummet, but I suspected he wouldn't be open to debate.
I could have matched his denial sites with hundreds that suggest the opposite.
I could have become embroiled in a frustrating exchange but I know that he won't be convinced.
Best to leave such beliefs behind and the rest of us move on with taking the necessary steps
The way I see it, and I am not an informed scientist, but the way I see it
If we are using fossil fuels at an increasing rate year on year...
If we are burning the rain forests to make way for beef cattle and palm oil plantations...
If we are pumping tons and tons and yet more tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere...
Then sooner or later we are going to be in trouble
and I, personally, would rather err on the side of caution and play safe
because there is rather a great deal at stake
and when the planet reaches the point of no return even the ostriches with their heads stuck firmly in the sand are going to suffer
n'est-ce pas?
The burden of proof is on those who would have us think that natural causes are solely or mainly responsible for this trend.
As in those who believe that the recent warming trends and freak weather are due, not to the harmful effects of human activities, but to sun spots.
Or is it elves?
It's fortunate that I did miss that because had I been driving when it was broadcast I may have been compelled to pull over, leap out of the car and scream "What the ****???" into the wind.
There are those who blame 'natural sun cycles' for our changing weather
Some who say that climate change is a huge conspiracy by our leaders to make us do...
What precisely?
Cut down on our use of fossil fuels?
Adopt a saner, less selfish lifestyle?
Share the planet's resources a little more fairly?
Me, I have been fretting about Man's impact on the planet since the '70's.
I have been planting trees, sponsoring acres of rain forest, adopting whales and tigers and scorpions and giraffes...
I have been a four-decade long supporter of Greenpeace, WWF, Friends Of The Earth...
Crumbs, I remember even writing an eco-poem when I was 12 years old that The Reader's Digest kindly published...
Almost forty years as one of the little voices in the wilderness
So I am rather grateful that our leaders have now, finally, heard our cries
And really rather exasperated by those who still insist that there is nothing to worry about
I exchanged a few, puzzled comments with David, one such denier, over at Making Ripples but all he did was refer me to a few sites and insist that in his part of the world it's becoming colder and not hotter. I thought perhaps I'd discuss the warm water currents and their dependancy on the ice caps and how when they melt that will cease and yes, for northen latitudes the temperature in winter will plummet, but I suspected he wouldn't be open to debate.
I could have matched his denial sites with hundreds that suggest the opposite.
I could have become embroiled in a frustrating exchange but I know that he won't be convinced.
Best to leave such beliefs behind and the rest of us move on with taking the necessary steps
The way I see it, and I am not an informed scientist, but the way I see it
If we are using fossil fuels at an increasing rate year on year...
If we are burning the rain forests to make way for beef cattle and palm oil plantations...
If we are pumping tons and tons and yet more tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere...
Then sooner or later we are going to be in trouble
and I, personally, would rather err on the side of caution and play safe
because there is rather a great deal at stake
and when the planet reaches the point of no return even the ostriches with their heads stuck firmly in the sand are going to suffer
n'est-ce pas?
The burden of proof is on those who would have us think that natural causes are solely or mainly responsible for this trend.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Metaphor For Healing
Today was not a good day at work and so, when I found myself in tears of frustration, my shoulders taut with tension and my thoughts turning negative, I simply got up and left
Well, it was almost 5pm and I had worked through lunch, as I told myself to squash the feelings of guilt. Tomorrow will be easier, I reassured myself. No need to fret, tout serra bien.
I slipped into the car and switched on the radio and caught the end of this programme
and I was fascinated
I have often been called Miss Metaphor
Well, we all seek to describe the world around us in terms of metaphors, don't we?
My relationship with The Someone was a stormy sea...
My struggles to cope with the new career are likened to mountaineering...
My life is a series of paths...
But I have never thought of using metaphor in matters of health.
I suppose I do describe my bouts of depression as The Black Dog though really it is The Grey Fog, a heavy, damp, colourless cloud that descends on me and leaves me exhausted and hopeless and totally unable to see the joy and colour in life
Yes, The Grey Fog is a good metaphor for depression
My back pain, the constant pinching of the nerves in my spine, that is an engine deprived of oil.
The wonky knee, the sudden panic when I suspect that it is about to snap out of place, that is a rocking chair with a broken runner that threatens to throw me onto the ground.
I'm warming to this now
Really getting into my stride, despite the back and knee
But how to describe the rampant, out of control cells that are running riot?
That's more tricky because experience tells me that they are persistent and strong little critters, these evil, nasty little traitors...
I need to work on those a little
But I recall how, when I was pregnant with the Ragazza and stressed and anxious after eight years of fertility treatment and the constant fear that fate would snatch my baby away before she was born, I would lie down on a cushion and imagine skiing...
I would stand on the top of a sunlit, snowy mountain and slip my feet into the ski bindings...
Pick up my sticks and adjust my gloves...
And then slowly and gracefully ski down a beloved mountain in Switzerland...
And by the time I reached the bottom I was so relaxed I could have fallen asleep
When I was very stressed at The Beast I went, in my mind, to my imaginary cabin in the woods
So now I need to construct a new fantasy world into which I can slip when I need to focus on self-healing. Perhaps it will be a lake in a clearing in the woods. Maybe a warm, sandy beach. It matters not so long as it is relaxing and safe.
And the rampant little cells can't touch me
What ARE those malignant cells?
Space invaders that I can shoot down?
Weeds growing and strangling flowers in my garden?
When I come up with an answer I think I will be halfway to defeating them
and perhaps my failure to do so is the real problem?
Well, it was almost 5pm and I had worked through lunch, as I told myself to squash the feelings of guilt. Tomorrow will be easier, I reassured myself. No need to fret, tout serra bien.
I slipped into the car and switched on the radio and caught the end of this programme
and I was fascinated
I have often been called Miss Metaphor
Well, we all seek to describe the world around us in terms of metaphors, don't we?
My relationship with The Someone was a stormy sea...
My struggles to cope with the new career are likened to mountaineering...
My life is a series of paths...
But I have never thought of using metaphor in matters of health.
I suppose I do describe my bouts of depression as The Black Dog though really it is The Grey Fog, a heavy, damp, colourless cloud that descends on me and leaves me exhausted and hopeless and totally unable to see the joy and colour in life
Yes, The Grey Fog is a good metaphor for depression
My back pain, the constant pinching of the nerves in my spine, that is an engine deprived of oil.
The wonky knee, the sudden panic when I suspect that it is about to snap out of place, that is a rocking chair with a broken runner that threatens to throw me onto the ground.
I'm warming to this now
Really getting into my stride, despite the back and knee
But how to describe the rampant, out of control cells that are running riot?
That's more tricky because experience tells me that they are persistent and strong little critters, these evil, nasty little traitors...
I need to work on those a little
But I recall how, when I was pregnant with the Ragazza and stressed and anxious after eight years of fertility treatment and the constant fear that fate would snatch my baby away before she was born, I would lie down on a cushion and imagine skiing...
I would stand on the top of a sunlit, snowy mountain and slip my feet into the ski bindings...
Pick up my sticks and adjust my gloves...
And then slowly and gracefully ski down a beloved mountain in Switzerland...
And by the time I reached the bottom I was so relaxed I could have fallen asleep
When I was very stressed at The Beast I went, in my mind, to my imaginary cabin in the woods
So now I need to construct a new fantasy world into which I can slip when I need to focus on self-healing. Perhaps it will be a lake in a clearing in the woods. Maybe a warm, sandy beach. It matters not so long as it is relaxing and safe.
And the rampant little cells can't touch me
What ARE those malignant cells?
Space invaders that I can shoot down?
Weeds growing and strangling flowers in my garden?
When I come up with an answer I think I will be halfway to defeating them
and perhaps my failure to do so is the real problem?
telling tales
When I was a child I was a teller of tales.
I wrote endless stories, in fact I seem to have spent a great deal of my childhood in an imaginary world of heroines and bad guys, of good and evil, of disaster and triumph
I wrote endless stories, in fact I seem to have spent a great deal of my childhood in an imaginary world of heroines and bad guys, of good and evil, of disaster and triumph
When we moved to Gibraltar and I attended a very strange school, a school in which most of the girls spoke Spanish and I was, as ever, the odd one out and a full two years ahead of the class, the teacher sat me down at the back of the class, handed me a folder full of glorious pictures, and told me to write a story about each one.
I can still remember the smell of the wooden desks, the little pots of blue ink, the brightly coloured sweets that the girls adored and the relaxing sound of my neighbour's shuffling through her leather bag as she hunted for pens, rulers, her exercise book.
I spent nine months sitting in a shaft of sunlight writing stories and my work was so prolific the teachers barely had time to glance at it all but that didn't matter at all, I was happy.
I wrote for myself.
When we returned to England I was swept up in the whole ritual of exams.
I had some catching up to so in order to pass my 11+ and gain a place at the local grammar school. My time as a story teller was not a good preparation for Watford Girl's Grammar.
It's strange but that's a little how I feel now
I spent two years in France telling blog stories of my daily life, living in a wonderful world of thoughts and feelings and adventures, and then returned to England and had to work very hard in order to cope with my new career. My time in Brittany ill-equipped me for the return to the corporate cage.
Plus ca change...
Anyway, I digress
What I had planned to say is that surely every story-teller draws on their own experiences, weaves a few threads of their own experiences, includes a little colour from their own life, in their tales?
Isn't it the sharing of one's own hopes and fears, triumphs and disasters, that peek into the personal world of another, that makes a story a good read?
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