Tuesday 22 December 2015

Happy Christmas Everyone

A very Happy Christmas to all my readers!  I hope the festive season is filled with joy for you.

I will be spending Christmas with my daughter and her family - I have two boisterous grandchildren to keep me occupied!  It is a wonderful time for children and always takes me back to my childhood in Ireland.  We didn't have a lot of material things but we certainly knew how to enjoy what we did have.  My mother made the Christmas cake and the Christmas pudding in November and I can well remember the excitement of watching her mixing in the ingredients. If I close my eyes now I can get that unmistakable whiff of whiskey - a very rare thing in our house as none of my parents drank much alcohol.  Us children were allowed to stir the pudding and make a wish - I don't recall what I wished for or if any of my wishes ever came true.  More likely I had forgotten about them by the time Christmas arrived.  On Christmas night the neighbours came to play cards with my parents and we were allowed to stay up late which was a treat in itself.

I'm not going to say that things were better or worse long ago.  We were often told by the older generation that we "never had it so good".  Looking back now, I have to smile a little - we didn't even have television until I was a teenager but we listened avidly to the radio.  Radio Luxembourg was the station for pop music and innovative quiz shows!  I think Christmas is still a very special time and from what I have observed when walking round the city, children are still awed by the lights and the Christmas tree and all the trappings.  Long may it last!

God bless you all this Christmas!

Saturday 12 December 2015

Small Talk for Beginners

This is the festive season, the time when you are invited to lots of gatherings, the office party and the department get-together.  Most of the time it's fun but:  Have you ever sat next to someone at a dinner party and found that  you couldn't strike up a conversation with them?  No matter what you said, they always came back with a syllable or a short sentence and never provided an opening of any sort for the next bit of conversation.  And the person on your other side is so engrossed with his/her neighbour that you can't escape that way!   It goes a bit like this:
 "Isn't this soup delicious?" (OK not a Booker Prize question but you're trying)
Answer from non-small talker:  "Yes, it's good."
Silence.
"Have you seen that film XYZ, everyone seems to be talking about it?".
Answer:  "No".
Silence.
And so the whole meal progresses with everybody else - apparently - enjoying scintillating conversation with their neighbour.  In the past I have always felt that I must be boring, dull, a torture to to have to endure my company for a three-course meal.  Not any more, though.  Now I still try to talk to my neighbour at dinner, but if I don't get much of a response, I simply wait and see if they try to be sociable and if not, well the food is usually worth concentrating on!

Do you know people who are able to engage with total strangers?  They are worth their weight in diamonds, rubies and gold!  They hold forth about anything and nothing - usually some story from their day, some little contretemps which has everyone laughing as they tell it. And everyone feels included.  These are the people you gravitate towards at parties where everyone else has formed into little groups of those who know each other and you are left holding onto your wine glass as if it would save you from drowning.

Small talk is an art, there is no doubt about that.  Small talk means having a ready store of little anecdotes which make people smile.  Not everyone has the knack.  There are those who think it is being superficial.  I reckon it is being a life-saver.  But making conversation with the person sitting next to you is a necessary part of a dinner party, however shy you are and however hard it is to break the ice.  It requires practice, of course.  But a good tip is to watch those who slip easily into conversation with strangers.  Yes, it means a bit of hard work to be entertaining but as Ralph Waldo Emerson put it "good manners are made up of small sacrifices".

Monday 7 December 2015

Glorious Food

Since the beginning of December I have been seeing TV and magazine advertising intended to make us all buy, buy, buy for the Christmas festival up ahead.  Food so temptingly displayed my stomach rumbles.  And those lovely families where everyone is in complete harmony and everyone gets the right present and no one thinks "geesh, I am knackered after all that cooking and Aunt Katherine has left half the food on her plate again..."  And outside it is snowing, perfect snowflakes falling into perfect gardens and not a traffic jam in sight.   Fairy tale world.

This weekend there were two supplements with my Sunday newspaper, one was from a supermarket chain and one from the paper's publishers.  I browsed through the tips and recipes and put both magazines on one side because I just might try those ideas for roast potatoes some time.  Of course I will not be at home for Christmas.  I will spend it with my daughter and her family and I don't have to do any cooking whatsoever.  Admittedly I will spend New Year's Eve at home and a friend of mine is staying over so I am having two people to New Year's Day lunch.  I love cooking for friends, I must admit, I even enjoy experimenting with recipes just for myself, even if it means eating a warmed up version for most of the week.  So you never know, I might serve up roast potatoes for New Year's Day lunch or then again...

All of which reminded me of when I was undergoing chemotherapy and I stayed up at night because it wasn't worth going to bed and having to race to the bathroom every couple of hours for the first few days following each treatment.  I do believe that I have never seen so many food programmes on TV as I did at that time.  I still associate the hiss of frying steak with the nightmarish chemo feeling.   Even last month when I was nursing a septic throat and watching daytime TV I didn't have to flick the remote past more than three channels to discover some famous chef or other doing remarkable things in his/her kitchen.  It made me wonder how many people actually sit through these programmes and nod their heads sagely, muttering "ah yes, that extra bit of sea salt coupled with the dash of red wine will make all the difference".

No, I am not a domestic goddess. I like simple, fool-proof tips and plenty of instance sauce packets. I gave up baking when my children were grown up.  Mainly because although my efforts tasted great -  according to the other mums brave enough to try them  -, the cakes themselves always crumbled somewhat and looked like mice had been at them.  But hey, you can't be good at everything, I tell myself.


Friday 27 November 2015

Christmas is coming

 I hope all my US readers had a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Next Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent.  This was always a special time when I lived in Germany.  The first candle on the Advent wreath was lit, a colourful plate of cookies: spekulatius, gingerbread and cinammon stars together with a few red apples and clementines, was placed on the coffee table which itself was decked out in an Advent tablecloth.   In church we sang "Wir sagen Euch an, den ersten Advent" which, roughly translated, means "we announce the first of Advent to you."  The weather was sometimes mild and wet and other times cold and frosty but the light from the first candle always made you look forward to the blaze of light from the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.
I just loved it all.  Every town had a Weihnachtsmarkt, ours held their market on the first Sunday of Advent.  Local clubs, the Scouts and the churches all had stalls selling mulled wine, gluehwein, and you met up with people you hadn't seen for a while as you walked around admiring the various handicrafts on display.  You could get all your Christmas decorations here if you so wished.  My feet always felt like blocks of ice and my face would be frozen but it was all part of that magical feeling.  The mulled wine tasted twice as good in the cold evening air!   
Frankfurt, of course, has several markets, starting from 25th November right up until 22nd December.  The old part of the city, the Roemberberg looks like something out of a fairytale, my children just loved coming here.  I will arrive just too late to visit this year, unfortunately.

Image

http://www.weihnachtsmarkt-frankfurt.com/

Despite the best attempts of the commercial world to sell Christmas on the back of food and alcohol, I think that for many people it still has not lost all its magic.  What we need to do in this troubled old world of ours is to stand still and take in the candlelight and be a child again on Christmas Eve.
I wish all my readers a peaceful, joyful Adventszeit




Wednesday 21 October 2015

The Lure of Travel

I wonder why we all like to travel so much?  For us here in Ireland I expect it is the prospect of a week or two of sunshine, our summers being somewhat unpredictable.  The whole procedure of getting our bodies  from home to Sunny Destination X has become so routine that many of us don't give it a second thought.  The journey to the airport, checking in, finding the departure gate, doing a bit of shopping at the duty free, we do it all as a matter of course.
I must admit I am a fidgety traveller, always afraid something will go wrong and I'll miss my flight.  I can only relax once I have sunk down on one of those hard plastic seats at the departure gate with my boarding pass clutched in my sweaty palm.
Which is why my recent coach trip to Northern Ireland was a welcome change. We toured Belfast, including the Titanic Interpretation Centre and drove all along the coast to visit The Giant's Causeway (breathtaking), the Glens of Antrim (equally gob-smacking), Doagh famine village, Malin Head (the most northerly point in Ireland), the city of Derry and the Cathedral in Armagh.  An unforgettable trip. I went with a ladies' club of which I am a member and everything was organised.  What bliss.  I didn't have to rummage in my bag for a single thing nor study a map nor negotiate narrow roads!  And we had glorious weather so that half the time we were wandering about in warm sunshine!   We stayed at a different hotel every night, our coach awaited us straight after breakfast and off we went to see the sights.  Northern Ireland is a beautiful part of the world.   Barbara Ferguson our guide and proprietor of  Guided Tours Ireland 
 did a truly wonderful job in helping us understand and enjoy the places we visited. I won't go into detail of the trip because guide books and tour guides like Barbara do a much better job to make it all come alive.
Here are a few photos though - my camera is a very simple one so no majestic panoramas.
This is a view from Malin Head. We had glorious weather for the entire trip.

This is the view from Doagh Island famine village.  We didn't have time to explore that long golden strand.  The visit to the famine village centre was one of the highlights of the trip. 

I think we all fell in love with the city of Derry - here is a view of the Peace Bridge.
 
All in all a wonderful experience.




Tuesday 29 September 2015

Finding Things

 I like to visit the city when I've been away for a while.  My first stop is usually the Franciscan church where I visit a side altar devoted to St. Anthony, the finder of lost things.  I usually make a small donation here as a thank you for the safe return of one or other of my daughter's cats, one of which has a propensity to wander off and not be seen for a week or more.  Call me naive or superstitious if you like, but I always pray to St. Anthony when something gets lost and I - or he - usually find it again.
 I like wandering round the stores when I'm not actually looking for anything specific.  Charity shops with their huge selection of books are first on my list.  It's amazing what you can find.  It reminds me of a story called The Book Bag by Somerset Maugham - see a review here.  Set in the old colonial days of the British, it is related by a traveller who, having learned his lesson once while imprisoned by illness in a hill-town in Java without enough to read,  now carries a giant laundry bag of books with him everywhere in his travels through colonial outposts. Without that book bag, he says, he would "never had heard the singular history of Olive Hardy."  Maugham's stories are fascinating for the glimpse of life on remote jungle stations which they give.

A few months ago I wrote that I was looking for something to hold a set of kitchen utensils which I'd received as a Christmas present.  I had very definite ideas but after exhaustive research in all the stores I still couldn't find what I was searching for.  So I did what every sensible person has done in similar circumstances, I adopted the motto:  if you can't get what you want, then want what you can get. So I found this inexpensive solution:
This is an exclusive picture of my not-very-modern-kitchen worktop complete with tea caddy and chopping boards.
Do I admire this utensil holder when I'm working in the kitchen?  To be honest I don't even see it.  It serves a purpose, I'm glad I've got it, and that's the end of the story.

Friday 25 September 2015

The Instant Fix Myth or why do I fall for (some) advertisers' promises

'Have you got some kind of skin disease?'  The nurse in a German hospital had a voice like a buzz-saw and an attitude to match.  My guess is that although the hospital was in Frankfurt, most of the law-makers in the Bundestag in Berlin some 600 kms away heard her.  She was about to give me an injection and had just noticed the skin on my legs.  At that time I had no idea what these peculiar round patches on my legs and thighs were so I couldn't give her an instant course in harmless skin conditions even if I'd wanted to, which I didn't. 

Last Sunday while glancing through the Beauty page of The Sunday Times I came across an article entitled Back to Beauty School with the sub-title How to Get Smooth Skin  (Page 18, Sunday Times Supplement from 20th September 2015). The first sentence grabbed me :  The medical term is keratosis pilaris; the simple term is permanent goose bumps or back-of-the-arm spots.  That's it!  yelled my inner I-want-to-have-smooth-skin-on-my-legs Muse.  There has to be a cure, a fool-proof remedy.  There isn't, as it turns out.  The only advice was not to scrub the area, to look for lactic acid in product ingredients and not to use soap bars.  Two products were recommended but as I have not tried them - yet - I won't mention them here.
When you want a better answer what do you do?  I turned to the fount of knowledge, i.e. Google.  Again, I came up with a no-remedy result.  Apparently lots of people, there was mention of that mysterious 30%, have this perfectly harmless condition.  So join the club -is there a club somewhere out there in cyber darkness?  The keratosis pilaris club? 

That little episode got me thinking that we are always looking for quick fixes and very often not getting them.  I had a bad head cold last week and the final stages of it are a ticklish cough which wakes me up at night.  So I researched cough mixtures for dry coughs and found two (from the same manufacturer) which said on the packaging that they were a powerful and instant relief.  One variety was the non-drowsy one and the other the won't-make-you-sleepy version.  I chose the latter but as for the effectiveness, I can only say that it doesn't appear to have done much good and I'm on the third day of dosage.  I had sort of expected that it would give "instant relief".  No quick fix, then.  As my mother used to say "nature must take its course".  I'll buy that, at least as far as the common cold is concerned.

So, I've still got a cough (although it is improving with or without the aid of a cough mixture) and I've still got my keratosis pilaris.  I'm getting the like that last name. Next time I'm stuck for conversation I'll find a way to bring it into the conversation. 

 

Monday 14 September 2015

Holidays and failed holiday pics

I'm just back from Germany where I had some quality time with my daughter and two grandchildren. We spent a week in a holiday park in the Eifel.  There is an extinct volcano here and the country is rich in thickly wooded forests and deep valleys.  It is very pastoral.  Here's an impression from my not-very-technical camera:

This was taken at a small wildlife park and those dots you can see are in fact big fat turkeys.  There were goats as well - loads of them - who came up to the enclosure looking for snacks (which you could buy from the shop, all healthy stuff).

We visited a falconry and watched the eagles, kestrels and owls being fed and learned a bit about them.  We drove through another park and had to negotiate scores of deer and wild pigs and a few donkeys as well.
Here's a picture of the falconry but as usual I missed the action bit where the eagles were taking off but maybe you get a feel for the atmosphere?
There were some lovely picturesque towns in the neighbourhood.  My favourite was Bad Muenstereifel where we spent the best part of a day.  It is a walled town and the old part - overlooked by a castle which  appears to be a restaurant nowadays -  is a pedestrian zone. It was a very hot day.  We sat next to this little stream and had our lunch.  The castle can just be seen at the top of the picture.

 Here's another shot of the town. 
All in all it was a very enjoyable week.  Ladal Holiday Park is Dutch-owned.  It is situated on the border of Luxembourg and Belgium so had a real international flair.  Very comfortable accommodation and very efficiently run with plenty for the kids to do.

Now I am back to grey reality - literally.  Today it is raining, it rained yesterday, and it is slowly getting chilly.  Which all means that I will not put my nose outside the door today.  Instead I will knuckle down to writing the second novel in my Sergeant Alan Murray crime series.  I'm about halfway through the first draft - in other words there is a load of work to be done.  I usually revise about five times before I feel I can publish.  If you like a cozy crime novel to while away the evenings, you could try the first novel in the series:  Death in a lonely Place:  Here's the U.S. link http://www.amazon.com/Death-Lonely-Place-P-B-Barry-ebook/dp/B00LSP1I2U  and the Amazon UK one:  http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00LSP1I2U/
I write under the pen name P.B. Barry to distinguish from my other novels.

I'm off to make a cup of tea and then I really will get down to some writing.  I'll just have another look at my not-quite-perfect holidays pictures first, just to remind myself that two short weeks ago I was sweating in a hot sun with a blue sky overhead in the company of my daughter and two very lively grandkids.  Ahhh!  

Sunday 2 August 2015

Other People's Treasures

Recent books I've read: 
"Us" by David Nichols.  Really enjoyed this.  It was very funny with a touch of sadness like a twist of lemon in an exquisite cocktail.  Love his style - refreshing!
Haven't read "One Day" so am judging solely on this book.
"Never let me go" by Kazuo Ishiguro .  Again, I love the style of writing, it is refreshingly different. This is a disturbing book, which despite some weakness in the plot, keeps you fascinated to the end.  I will look out for more of his novels. 
Both of the above novels kept me reading late into the night which is the highest compliment I can pay them!

I often get my books in charity shops.  Books that have been read and enjoyed and passed around have a different feel to them than the ones you get direct from the bookshop. And once in a while you meet someone who is either working in the shop or browsing themselves and they strike up a conversation with you.  Striking up conversations with complete strangers on a subject that you are interested in is one of the nicest things to happen, I always think. One minute you are on your own, preoccupied, thumbing through all those paperbacks in search of a good read, and suddenly someone says "have you read this one?  I thought it was a great read" and in less time than it takes to click-and-buy you're yapping away as if you'd known this person for ages.  Buying online has its advantages but the human link is both rare and precious.

Talking about precious things.  I remember when I lived in Germany that the city council would collect what they called "Sperrmuell" every six months or so.  Sperrmuell is one of those wonderful German combination words from "sperrig" meaning bulky and "muell" meaning refuse.  So they collected bulky items that you couldn't cart down to the local dump unless you had a truck.  The collection trucks turned out around 6 a.m. so everyone put their stuff out the night before.  Neighbours met neighbours who they hadn't seen for weeks in the winter months.  There were lively conversations and sometimes unwanted stuff was simply swapped among the locals.  All kinds of things were stacked up on the street:  old armchairs and sofas, kitchen tables and chairs, broken vacuum cleaners, prams.  Pieces of people's lives, I sometimes thought.  Your financial situation improved so you could finally get rid of that suite of furniture which you hated the sight of for the past twenty years.  Finally got rid of that old vacuum cleaner, washing machine, oven.  Of course other things were thrown out as well which were not necessarily bulky but which didn't fit in the domestic waste / recycling bins. I've seen sets of crockery, toys, books, bedding.   Late at night there would be clangs and rattles as people combed through the piles of stuff looking for things they could use.  The scrap dealers drove round in their trucks and took away anything usable.  Some people toured all night even though they were not necessarily in need of anything.  I knew a few people who would show me a lamp which they had restored or even once, I remember, a television set which they'd got working again.  I heard that a local vicar had furnished his house entirely with stuff salvaged from sperrmuell. He simply cleaned it all up and gave a fresh coat of paint to things like kitchen cupboards, tables and chairs.  It was fun and when the trucks had done their work next morning, waking you at 6 a.m. just before your alarm went off, you had that clean, start afresh feeling.  Until your basement filled up again,of course.

Friday 3 July 2015

Wasting Time at Royal Ascot

I shouldn't have done it but then again I have little or no self discipline.  Instead of working on my new crime novel I sat down with a cup of tea and watched Royal Ascot the other week.  For those readers who do not know what Royal Ascot is, I would best describe it as a cross between Downton Abbey and the Kentucky Derby.  Men in top hats and waistcoats accompany ladies in the most extraordinary headgear and amazingly high heels.  A great many people go to bet on the horses - some of the finest are competing - and a lot more come to be seen and possibly to be interviewed and complimented on what they are wearing (that would be the ladies rather than the men, I think, since men never get compliments on what they wear).

Royal Ascot is a wonderfully British event, I always think.  It wouldn't be half so appealing without the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh driving to their Royal box in an open horse-drawn carriage.  The appearance of the Sovereign makes you feel that all is right with the world despite all that stuff you see on the news.  Yes, it is tough out there but for a few glorious days you can focus on horses and riders and proud owners and even prouder trainers.  I must admit I lapped it all up.  I love horses, racehorses in particular.  Horse racing really is the sport of kings and queens and if I ever win the Euromillions I will buy myself a couple of these wonderful animals and watch them run at Royal Ascot or - dream on - at the Arc de Triomphe.  Oh and I'll invest in a few futuristic hats and hope to be interviewed for television.

Meanwhile, I had a great time watching the races and although occasionally a little voice would pipe up in my ear and tell me I should be writing or walking on the beach, I managed to ignore it and not feel any real pang of guilt.  For me, it was all time well spent.

Tuesday 23 June 2015

A White Toothed Smile

I had my regular dental hygiene appointment today so my teeth feel squeaky clean and shiny after all that poking and polishing.  The hygienist said, somewhat regretfully I thought, that I was doing a reasonable job on my dental hygiene.   Have you noticed that dentists almost never praise your efforts in the tooth cleaning area?  They give you all sorts of advice on flossing and using cute little brushes to get between the gaps but they never - in the "never" of conversation, i.e. not very often - say you are doing a great job in tooth maintenance.  I once shared an apartment in London with a dental hygienist.  She gave us a lot of tips on keeping our teeth clean and at the same time entertained us with hilarious stories of quirky patients.  I never forgot her advice on how to combat those little hobgoblins which attack your teeth as soon as your back is turned or to be more precise when you've finished enjoying your favourite sugary snack.

Which all reminded me today of a dentist in London who did a great job on repairing all the damage I did by neglecting my teeth (until that flat mate hygienist arrived, you understand).  He had a habit of talking to you while working even though the answers he got - from me at any rate - were mostly in the nature of the gurgles of a drowning fish or "ummmhhhsss".  He was Australian and told me about how polluted the fish were because of nuclear waste being dumped in the sea and how CFC sprays were destroying the ozone layer (this was in the early 1970's when we - or I -  were just becoming aware of environmental issues).  I literally listened with my mouth open (yeah, I know, but go on, smile anyway).  The most fascinating thing about him was that despite being such a skilled dentist, he was scared of his assistant.  I discovered this on one particular visit where in rinsing out my mouth and returning the beaker, it fell out of my hand, leaving a splash on the floor.  "Don't worry," he said then added in a half whisper "but don't tell her because she'll be very cross with you."  ("her" obviously being his assistant who was briefly out of the room at the time).  I thought he was joking until as I was slipping into my coat I heard the following conversation:
Her:  "What happened here?  What's the water doing on the floor?"
Dentist:  "Oh, that was me, I slopped it.  I'll just clean it up."

No man is a hero to his dental assistant as some philosopher must once have said.


Wednesday 27 May 2015

A Tale from the Kitchen, Confessions of a Failure

You'll get all the world until you're looking for it.  That's what my mother used to say.  There is more than a grain of mother's wisdom in it.  For instance, I am looking for a simple utensil jar for my kitchen counter.  I thought it would only be a matter of popping into the Home section of any department store and hey presto, I'd get one.  Not so easy, as it turns out.  I'd like to get a jar in a lime green colour but I would settle for anything that fits in with my cooking utensils which are now in need of a home.  I got a set of these fabulous things for Christmas: scoops, fish slices, gorgeous turners of all kinds.  It's a pleasure to use them.  But living in rented accommodation I don't have the perfect kitchen to go with them.  I am not allowed to drill holes anywhere so I hit on the idea of getting suction rings which you affix to the wall and which you can hang things on.  I already have a few of these for tea-towels, oven gloves and stuff like that, and they work wonderfully.  However, my slotted fish slices et al are that bit too heavy and after a struggle to keep on the wall they collapse more or less ungracefully onto the kitchen counter.  Thus my quest for a nice utensil jar began.  I would settle for a nice jug, I think, if I found just the right one.  I'm not in any hurry which is probably part of the problem because I have too much time to scrutinize everything and decide on nothing.  Still, it's fun to be looking.
It puts me in mind of when I first moved to Germany and tried my hand at cooking and other handicrafts which seemed like second nature to my contemporaries.  I'd spent my young years in flats, not doing any cooking if I could help it and feeding myself junk food to ward off hunger pains.  I was smoking as well in those days and couldn't have led a more unhealthy lifestyle if I'd studied a manual on the subject.  One of my flatmates used to prepare liver casserole for me which I hated but felt obliged to eat in order to fight off incipient anaemia. Only when I had children did I start to try my hand at cooking - with limited success.  Whereas German women are a dab hand at producing mouth watering cakes, anything I took out of the oven looked as if the mice were at it.  To my eternal shame I could never donate anything to school bazaars or church festivals.
It took me a long while to accept the fact that I am not domesticated but I can whip up a tasty meal which might have some unusual elements (if that's the right word), depending on what's in the fridge.  But all this doesn't alter the fact that I am still searching for a utensil jar which appeals to me and is "just right" for my kitchen counter.  I'm not looking for all the world just that one utensil jar to gladden my heart.

Monday 4 May 2015

Farewell to the country

I'm back from house-sitting in the country and can say that I have managed pretty well despite being a dyed-in-the-wool townie.  I have learned to negotiate the car past muck spreaders and other bulky farm machinery on narrow country lanes.  I have managed to avoid a pair of pheasants who seemed to think they had right of way and who refused to get off the road.  I have spared a daring little rabbit who peeped out at me from the edge of the road every day as I drove past.  And one night I saw a fox slinking across the road in the dark and felt privileged to have witnessed this piece of wild nature.  Even the birds in the garden accepted me and didn't bat an eyelid when I appeared.  They seemed to know that I was quite harmless and simply enjoyed watching their antics as they built their nests and fed their young.

It was a wonderful four weeks of peace and quiet with the mountains across the valley standing guard.  I often walked out into the garden at night to look at the stars, undimmed by street lighting and wished I understood more about the various constellations.

Yes, the country has its beauties and I was almost sorry to leave it.

Friday 17 April 2015

The Country Life

I'm house and dog sitting in the country again.  I've been here over three weeks now and am enjoying every minute of it. 
I chose to live by the sea when I retired because I have always loved the seaside.  There is something heart-shakingly beautiful about white capped waves crashing onto the beach in stormy weather.  On peaceful days I enjoy strolling along and watching the waves shimmer and glisten in the rays of the sun.  And when it is pouring rain outside, I don't feel guilty curling up with a book because I know that at the first opportunity I'll be back out there enjoying it all.  Just now the first boats are back at the quays ready for the long summer days ahead.
Here in the country, when I look out the front door across the valley I am awed by the mountain range.  I watch them for signs that the weather is going to change, something I learned in my childhood.  They make me feel as if I belong while at the same time I am daunted by the idea that they have been there since time immemorial.
There is something unapproachable and mysterious about mountains, I always think.  That is why I set my first murder mystery in a (fictitious) mountain village.  Death in a Lonely Place is basically a detective story.  I have not included gory details,  instead I have challenged the reader to find out who the perpetrator is.  The story takes places under the shadow of Ardnabrone mountain with its legend of claiming three lives a year and the main character, Sergeant Alan Murray, has problems of his own.
I am currently writing the next novel in the series and it occurred to me the other day that I find it easier to write here in the country with that mountain range in the background.  Maybe it is just the peace and quiet of the country, the lack of distraction.  Whatever the reason, the words just flow every morning.  Sure, this is the first draft and I am going to have to cut and pull and smooth out the story before it is ready for publication.  But that's the fun of writing.   Which reminds me, I must get started!

Thursday 9 April 2015

The Kindness of Strangers

I must admit that I often moan about small things and forget all the really nice things.  I love living here in Ireland by the sea and wouldn't want to change it for all the sand in Malibu.  Occasionally though I get irked by the slow pace of life, the feeling that God made time and plenty of it so what's the mad rush.

This week my apartment was in darkness.  All the electric fuses tripped.  I am actually house sitting some distance away so I was not even at home when this happened.  Electrical faults terrify me. I know nothing about electricity.  If I press a switch I expect a light to come on or the washing machine to spring into action.  When things fuse I am left with the panicky feeling that something sinister has happened. I have visions of zigzags of lightning lurking behind every plug waiting to pounce.

So I was panicked.  The electricity supplier hot line told me what I should do and said if that didn't work I should get an electrician to look at the problem because as far as they could see there was no fault on their side of things. I flicked those switches very gingerly, half afraid something would spark but nothing happened, I mean nothing at all.   No power.  Zilch.   In the meantime I had to pop down to the community development centre where I do some voluntary work and lost no time in telling all and sundry my tale of woe.  One of the caretakers listened to my garbled version of events and assured me he knew someone who'd "fix it".  Within minutes I was talking to this friend of his who arranged to meet me in half an hour to have a look at the problem.  He was as good as his word.  Within minutes of his arrival the electricity supply was back.  I had turned off at the master switch by mistake, he said, while flicking those other switches.  He made it sound as if it was an everyday mistake for which I was very grateful even if I felt a fool.  More important was to find the cause, he said.  Together we checked everything but came up blank.  It could happen again, he said, but now I know what to do.  And with those kind words he left.

I am so grateful to this man who went out of his way to drop by and help a total stranger. Sometimes when all we hear are the bad things, it's good to experience kindness of any sort but the kindness of strangers can often be the most touching.  



Saturday 28 March 2015

Sleepy Summer Time and Memories

Here it is again.  Summer Time.  Someone somewhere, with very little interest in the comfort of their fellow human beings, decided we should put the clocks forward at the end of March and deprive ourselves of an hour's sleep because summer is coming.  Daylight saving.  That was the magical excuse.  Daylight saving.  It sounds great.  Can you save daylight?  If so you are in business.  The whole operation should be termed Sleep Deprivation Mode.

Of course I don't really mean that.  But I used to mean it years ago when I was a working mother and every five minutes extra sleep meant another piece of sanity gained.  Let's face it, we have to get up every week morning since we are tiny.  First there's kindergarten, school, college and then comes the big one:  work. For most of my life I needed 8-10 hours sleep and I very often had to make do on considerably less.  The sound of that alarm at 6 a.m. made me not only moan and groan, it made me positively bad tempered.  Five minutes more pleaded my inner sleepy voice.  But the race for the bathroom was on.  With teenagers in the house who also had to be up and doing, if you missed your bathroom slot you were going to be left behind.

I am sure I never spoke more than five words.  "Bye, see you, got your keys?"  Once at work, I grabbed a coffee and then crouched behind my computer and started into the day's work with only the obligatory "good morning" to those early birds who were already in the office. If no one spoke to me for the first half an hour all was well and my sense of humour - never buried that far down - surfaced and I evolved into a fairly rational human being.  But if someone phoned me before that all important thirty minutes were up, I went straight into "bad mood" mode and it took me a while to get back on an even keel.  Yes, I know, I'm truly a disgrace but that's the way it is.

I'm enjoying the fruits of retirement now and don't have to get up early, I'm not tied to an alarm clock most of the time.  Only thing is, now that I could sleep 10 hours if I wanted to, I can't sleep that long.  In fact, the advent of Summer Time this Sunday isn't going to affect me much as I'll be awake early anyway.  That's life, isn't it? Well, if not life, it's Summer Time. Sleep well everyone.


Sunday 8 March 2015

Feeling Good with an Empty Nest

 Anyone who has brought up a family and juggled a career will know that it is next to impossible to find quality time for yourself or for that matter any kind of time, good, bad or indifferent while the kids are small.  You snatch at minutes while they are playing in the sand pit and you are interrupted when they start squabbling or fall over or do one of the myriad things that kids do which will take all your patience and sympathy.  But we love 'em and wouldn't have it any other way. Then one day they've flown the nest and you have that precious commodity on your hands "time to spend on yourself". I must confess that when it first dawned on me that I was free to go out of an evening without worrying about getting a meal ready or I could get up on a Saturday morning and leave the laundry and cleaning, go shopping or just go to the park, I was mesmerized at all the choices.  Like a kid in a toy shop, really, I didn't know what to do first, so I stuck to my old routine.  Slowly I began to understand that there was no-one waiting in the wings and I could stay out all day at the weekends and do whatever I liked and if I didn't want a hot meal I didn't have to cook one.  I can't say it was bliss, it was just different and took a bit of getting used to. The same thing happened when I first retired.  I always had a nagging feeling that something was waiting to be done. It takes time and a good bit of adjustment to make the most of one's leisure hours.  It's a skill like any other, I reckon.

For example:  I've had a gift voucher for a holistic centre for some time now.  I'd look at it now and again and think "yes, I really must book one of those treatments", and then I'd put it off again.  Then one grey rainy morning I finally picked up the phone and made an appointment.  I booked a Hopi ear-candling session. A friend of mine said it was a wonderful experience.  I went along to the centre feeling a bit apprehensive.  I am not someone who easily delivers up body and soul into someone else's hands.  I like to be in control of things.  The ear-candling expert explained what she was going to do and what to expect and made me warm and comfortable on the treatment couch.  She was so confident and calm that I soon relaxed.  I really enjoyed the whole experience. The biggest question I had to ask myself as I left the centre was why I didn't do this before?  Why did I think, deep down, that holistic treatments are a luxury not to be indulged in on a regular basis? I spend money on other treats so why not on something so intrinsically good for me?  I've made myself a promise that I will book a neck and shoulder massage next month.  It only means picking up the phone.  And it feels good to feel good.


Wednesday 25 February 2015

Talking to Machines

 Currently reading:  7 Days by Deon Meyer.  Murder mystery set in South Africa.  I am a big fan of Meyer.
Must read:  The Internet is not the Answer by Andrew Keen

I've just come back from the shops.  Only two cashiers were on duty and the remaining check-outs were self-service.  A supermarket employee approached me:  "come with me", she said.  I knew this trick having fallen for it once already.  'No thanks,' I said, 'I only deal with cashiers.'  She muttered something about "only trying to be helpful" and went away no doubt setting me down as a difficult behind-the-times customer.
Well, I'm not, as it happens.  I use technology where I consider it useful to me.   It's just that I am sick of companies taking our money and making us do all the work while their shareholders pocket the profits.

It started with the banks.  They take our money and then treat us like it's their property and we are only allowed to do things their way.  Yes, I do bank online.  My bank moved away two years ago so I hardly ever go there for anything as the shops will let me use my debit card to take out up to €100 in cash.  Yes, it is convenient except when I need advice or there's a problem about something.  Then I have to call the service number and cope with the robotic voice telling me what numbers to press.  If I had a choice, I would only use a bank which provides its customers with a personal service.  One that stayed open late at least once a week to accommodate the work force.
The idea of flitting through the supermarket and then checking everything out yourself apparently appeals to many people.  It fits in with the "no human contact" lifestyle we are slowly adopting.  When I'm out walking I see so many people with their earphones plugged in as they walk/jog along the seafront.  The thunder of the surf onto the beach, the calls of the birds and even the people they encounter are all lost on them.  They live in their own little world. 
Humans are gregarious by nature.  We need other people.  My problem is that you can go through the whole day and not speak to a living soul.  You can get your cash out of the wall, do your shopping and pay at the self-service check-out and go home again without exchanging a single word with another human being. Is this what we want?

I read a review of Andrew Keen's book The Internet is not the Answer in The Sunday Times and it is on my "must read" list.  His theory is that millions of jobs will be lost in the progress of automation and I am inclined to agree with him.  Of course you will still have the technicians and software developers but even they will dwindle in number as they are replaced by robots.  Even if only half his predictions come through, it's a scary thought.  Who knows, in the not too distant future even my blog will be written by a robot who thinks it knows what I want to say or my readers want to hear.


Saturday 31 January 2015

Shrinking Toilet Paper and other Stories


Outside the sun is shining but there is an icy Northerly gale-force wind.  I am trying to psych myself up to go for a walk on the beach.  In the meantime though I have been popping in and out of websites to see how the world is doing away from the headlines.
I am indebted to BBC's magazine website bbc.com and to MessyNessChic link here for some out of the way stuff.

First of all there was the article on shrinking toilet paper.  Have you noticed that a roll doesn't go as far as it used?  Apparently quite a few people have and they have been writing to various newspapers/websites about it.  For a full report on this see link below.  It will set your mind at rest - someone in your household is not doing something strange with toilet tissue after all.

Washington Post article on shrinking toilet paper

How many times does your baby smile?  Seem like a good enough subject for a study to be done on it?
Eurekalert website writes that a new study examining temperamental differences between U.S. and Dutch babies found infants born in the Netherlands are more likely to be happy and easier to soothe in the latter half of their first year. U.S. infants, on the other hand, were typically more active and vocal, said study co-author Maria Gartstein, a Washington State University associate professor of psychology.
I have to ask:  why compare Dutch babies with American ones?  What's the connection and why not a study of babies from all countries?   Why is it important?  Are we going to have a baby smile competition at some point in the future and what happens if baby has colic/is teething on that day, how on earth are we going to get him/her to smile on the crucial day?  As if parents don't have enough worries trying to keep up with the - er?? - Jones' ?? Netherlands????
You can read all about it here Link

Thought I'd end on a nice note.  If you're a cat lover you're going to go awwwww when you see these photos of a cat bistrot in Rome called Romeow.  Go on, indulge....
Cool cats in Rome

Saturday 24 January 2015

Tennis Twirling and other Thoughts

I love reading the BBC's magazine on its website, especially I like the feature "Ten Things we didn't know last week".  I came across this gem - some old and hopefully obsolete laws in the USA.  Here's the link and it's well worth reading: Slater's look at obsolete US laws
My favourite has to be in Ohio it's "illegal to disrobe in front of a man's portrait."  I seem to remember that somewhere there's a law against hanging out men and women's underwear together on the line. 

We've come a long way since then.  We are now in the age of women having the same rights as men and no one turns a hair or raises a quizzical eyebrow.  Or have I got that wrong?
Yes, folks, we have Twirlgate - Eugenie Bouchard wore a stunning tennis outfit recently at the Australian  Open in Melbourne and was surprised when a reporter asked her to "twirl" to show it off.  She duly obliged amid a huge cheer from the crowd.  She said she didn't mind being asked but would prefer if people concentrated on her tennis.  Twirlgate upset a lot of feminists.  I must admit that I wasn't impressed either.  If you're on the red carpet for a movie award then fair enough but if you have put in all the training and hard work required to win a high level tennis match, then I think the focus should be on how you played and not on your outfit.

So how far have we come, exactly?  Has anyone asked Nadal or Federer to show off their tennis shorts or shoes or just give us a blast of those muscular legs?  Certainly the female tennis players are an attractive bunch as indeed are the males.  Should it make a difference, how you look?  Do you have to be super-sexy to get to the top of the corporation? I wouldn't like to take any bets on it.

But are women partly to blame?  In the UK there was a kerfuffle recently because one of the tabloids decided not to publish its Page 3 topless model pics.  Apparently a lot of male readers felt cheated.  And there was me, thinking people bought newspapers for the news they contain and not for a pin-up photo of a bare-breasted young woman lol.  A commentator on a French news channel said that "here in France you can see topless women on TV any time of the day and no one thinks anything of it."  One model said it was "just a job" and didn't know what the fuss was about.  Confusing, isn't it? 

Should we rely on our brains and professionalism instead of on our feminine abilities to wow the male sex?  Perhaps we're looking at this all wrong and we should be proud of flaunting our boobs and other attributes in order to get what we want.  Of course it's kind of hard for those of us who don't have much to flaunt.  And then there's that saying about the way to a man's heart being through his stomach.   Someone somewhere said if women thought this they were aiming too high.

Saturday 3 January 2015

Leaving home - what's the one thing you'd take with you?

Currently reading:   The Sunrise by Victoria Hislop and enjoying it.

Happy New Year everyone!

The New Year started off favourably for me.  I received my Irish driving licence a few days ago and was absolutely delighted.  The photo even looks like me!  I didn't expect to get it so fast but everyone in Germany was most helpful and all went without a hitch.  I think I may take off for a few days exploring this summer and hire a car now that I've got an up-to-date permit.  Connemara in the west of Ireland would be an idea.  Mountains and valleys stretching away in the distance and not much traffic except for the sheep placidly grazing the slopes.  Lovely!  But first there is my trip to Berlin in April with two friends.  I have seen Berlin when it was divided, have stood at Checkpoint Charlie and looked over the wall.  At that time the other side looked like a foreign country.  I've been back since then for the briefest of visits.This time will be different as I am acting as guide (of sorts).  Should be fun.

 This trip reminds me how important it is to have something to look forward to.  I've given up making Resolutions, yes I need to get rid of those pounds I put on over Christmas with all those mince pies and cake and yes, I will get rid of them but at my own pace and not under any pressure to do so within a given period of time.

I read an interesting article on the BBC's website today about people who had to leave home in a hurry and what they decided to take with them.  Most of them had little time to decide.  Their stories are poignant - here's the link:  http://www.bbc.com/news/world-30655404 - and although they reminded me of my own choices when I had to pack up to move here, I realise just how lucky I am. Even so, I had to agonise over what could be transported and what I would have to leave behind.  I guess we all do that especially when we leave home as young adults.  Trouble is, over the years most of us accumulate a pile of stuff that holds a lot of memories.  I packed the paperback editions of my favourite novels but had to leave lots of hardbacks behind including The Oxford Dictionary or Quotations which I love dipping into at odd moments (yes, I've got a paperback version now) and loads of kitchen stuff which I sadly miss!  To me it's a revelation what you actually need and what you think you can't do without.  Anyway, I manage very well on my reduced household, if I'm honest.  I'm not at all sure what one item I would take with me if I now had to flee.  It most likely wouldn't be my books.  But what?  More than likely a blanket, I think. That would be practical, I could curl up in it at night, it would keep me warm if necessary or act as a sunshade.  

What would you take with you if you had to leave home for good in a hurry? I'd be interested to hear any comments.