What's in a name

There are some psychologists or life coaches or whatever the fashionable name for them is nowadays who tell us that we are afraid of success and that is why we are stuck where we are. My question is:  what exactly is success?  The philosophers have been telling us their version of it for centuries but it doesn't seem to have penetrated too far into our minds.  Each individual has his or her own concept of what being successful means.  For some it's getting the top job, for others it's having enough to live on for a lot of people it's finding the right partner and having a family.

I decided to compile my own -  not to be taken too seriously -  list of what success means to me:

1. Getting out of bed at 6 a.m. on a frosty morning.  No mean feat, especially when I know (or knew to be exact, since I am now retired and living in gentler climes) that I am going to have to scrape snow off the car at -10C or so.  Now that, dear readers, deserves a round of applause.    

2. Being polite to a superior when what I wanted to do was to chuck files (and even the office desk) at this person for their overbearing attitude.  This also is in the glorious past, thank goodness!!

3. Resisting the urge to buy a product just because it's on "special offer" if it's an expensive brand that  I normally wouldn't buy.

4.  Not eating all the chocolates in the box.

Strange Bedfellows

'Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows' Shakespeare once wrote and I'm inclined to agree with him, only I'd change the word 'misery' to 'travel'. 

Last week I travelled to Germany to see my daughter and her family and had a wonderful time.  Dare I mention that the weather was glorious? At 26C a lot of the locals were complaining about the sudden heat as it had gone from around 8C to the aforementioned 26C within five days.  Now in rain-laden Ireland, that would be a cause for rejoicing because we'd know that this was better than it gets!  But I didn't intend writing this blog about the weather.

Whenever I travel anywhere by plane, I am always amused - and sometimes irritated - by all those fellow travellers with tons of hand luggage who fill up the overhead lockers before you can say "jet lag".  It wouldn't even be so bad if they didn't get on the plane before you and stand in the aisle stuffing their bags into the lockers while you wait until they are finished, ignoring the passengers behind you who are breathing heavily down the back of your neck and no doubt blaming you for the hold up.  And then when you finally get to move on in search of your seat another body pops up to block your progress, takes down a bag and starts to rummage through it.  I mean, seriously, couldn't you check that you'd removed magazines and stuff you need on the flight from your bag before you jammed it into the overhead locker?

And then there's the 'snoozer' for want of a better word, the traveller who decides to use their seat as a recliner and bounce around on it, making you draw back instinctively and sit bolt upright. Maybe they miss lounging on the terrace at home.  Whatever the reason, it doesn't give you much room in the Economy class.  And of course, there's the passenger who manages to dig his/her knees into your back - but here they are entitled to my compassion and understanding because there is really not much leg room if you are tall.

Being a neurotic traveller (see my blog of last week lol) I always choose an aisle seat so that I can get out in a hurry if anything should go wrong.  No one has ever had a problem with this up until now, everyone being happy to sit in a window seat and philosophical  if they get the middle one.  However, on this last trip a passenger arriving late onto the plane wanted to shush me into the window seat (which was his) without as much as a "would you mind?".  I couldn't tell if this was chivalry, a determination not to disturb me, or a macho masterful attempt to get the seat he preferred.  I refused, of course.  I'm not a neurotic traveller for nothing.  There was a frosty atmosphere between us for the flight and we both refrained from dumping our magazines and stuff on the unoccupied middle seat, treating it as a demilitarized zone like the 38 parallel in Korea.  I'd just like to add that he had two pieces of hand luggage.  'Nuff said.

The Travelling Neurotic

I am writing this blog today because I am off to Germany tomorrow to visit my daughter and grandchildren. 

I'm a travelling neurotic - one of those travellers who are uneasy until they board the flight or the train or get in the car.

This morning I have checked out my ticket, my passport, my airport coach ticket and the money in my purse just to make sure I have everything.   Tonight I'll print my boarding pass, compare it with the ticket and put it with the other stuff.  And I'll check everything again before I go to bed and then again tomorrow morning just in case some mysterious troll has secretly removed my passport or airline ticket during the night.

A lot of my acquaintance are remarkably laid-back about travelling and don't see the necessity of being hours at the airport in advance of the flight.  They don't expect last minute snags such as traffic jams or long lines at security or getting lost and going to the wrong gate.  I really envy them!  I can never relax until I am sitting at the departure gate waiting for the flight to be called. 

I wonder if this is a generation thing,  like always checking your mobile for the latest tweets?  When I was growing up most people got to their destinations by train and boat.  The pace was considerably slower, you didn't have a security check, you produced your train ticket to the inspector when asked, and you had time to gaze out at the countryside as it slipped past the train window.  There was a sense of time.  Once on the boat or ship you could roam around the decks, lean over the side and watch the waves, feel free of land and its encumbrances. 

Tomorrow I am getting up very early and I won't be happy until I've checked in my suitcase and taken a seat at the departure gate.  The interesting thing is that when I am returning, I don't get half as edgy.  Does this have some deep psychological significance?  If so - I don't want to go there!  All I want is to get to my destination on time without the teeniest hitch.  Here's hoping!

Did you move someone's cheese? How to cope on your first day in a new job.

We've all heard of the book "Who Moved My Cheese?"  I haven't read it so can't comment except to say I understand it is about coping with change.  Now, I am all for self-help books and have used a few myself (still do, in fact) to get another perspective on things that are bothering me.  We all need a little help from time to time.  The important thing is to select the bits that are of use to you.  When you're in a store you don't buy everything in sight, you choose what you need at that particular time. And that's the way to go for all of this self-help stuff.

Dealing with change can be difficult or it can be a challenge, depending what the change actually is.  I always found starting a new job both challenging and stressful.  But I did learn that in any office the two most important locations are the coffee machine and the photocopier.  At some point in the day you are going to want one of them - okay so you don't drink coffee but the coffee machine will be located in the kitchen or at least somewhere with easy access to water.  That's where you are bound to meet up with someone and have a little chat.  First steps in making friends.  The photocopier is no less effective because even in these digital, everything online days, it is always necessary to make a few copies of some document or other.  Once you've located the copier you can ask for help if you have to do anything exotic with the documents (don't get ahead of me on this!)  or you can ask where the paper is kept so you can replenish the paper tray.  This last manoeuvre will probably get you the office Peace Prize and will help you top the popularity poll because so few people bother to do it.

And to remain popular stay away from other people's cheese, even if it's a month old and greenish round the edges.  In other words, don't try to reform the bad habits of the others on your first day at work.  I have seen people do this and be forever branded as "know-it-all" types even though they were actually quite humble people who just hadn't got the knack of interacting with others.When you've proved your worth after a month or so you can bellyache about colleagues who take the last cup of coffee and don't make a fresh pot.  And you can hint that maybe that bit of mouldy cheese at the back of the fridge could be thrown away.

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE

First of all, I must apologize for not writing a blog last week.  I was away at a Writers' Weekend and attended a few workshops and panel discussions, all of which were very beneficial to my writing.  In my experience  most writers who have not yet hit the big time show an engaging mixture of hope and modesty about their talents.  And that's the mix you need to succeed, that and a determination made of steel that you will persist writing and submitting your work no matter how many rejections you get.  So, fired up by the people I met at the weekend, I am polishing up on my steely determination and have started a new novel.  This one is a contemporary romance and is insofar a deviation from what I usually write about but I am having fun with it and that's the main thing.

It's hard to believe that Easter is here, isn't it?  To me Easter has always meant feeling the first warmth of the sun and thinking of the promise it brings of long summer days ahead.  Yellow daffodils, primroses, snowdrops and the trees starting to bud -  all these are part of it.  This year flowers are slow to come out and face the frosts and snows, the East wind would take the skin off your face.  And yet, like life itself, even when it's hard to imagine things will ever get any better, the summer warmth will make itself felt at some stage in the not too distant future. It's a cheering thought!  As I write this the sun has peeked out from the clouds and I can imagine the flowers I've planted preening themselves in its rays.  No wonder the poets of old loved to write verses on daffodils and their "sprightly dance".  It is a feel good time of year.
 
I wish all my readers a Happy Easter and hope that you have a special time and that the sun comes out for you.

Little Black Dress

I've been shopping this week.  Real carrier bag, shop til you drop stuff.  Not online browsing, which always seems so clinical to me - and a bit hit and miss unless you're a standard size and know the brand really well.  I didn't actually buy anything to wear for myself just stuff for my grandchildren.  Well, I did buy some body lotion and a new eye shadow but that was about it. And of course I bought a few books from the Oxfam shop, as one of my friends has often remarked getting me past a bookstore is like getting the sun past the dawn chorus. It was great fun. 

I love to shop on my own and take my time deciding what I want to look at.  If I take a friend with me I always feel I'm keeping them from what they want to look at or else I end up trailing in their wake while they look at something which doesn't interest me. And if asked for my opinion I find it hard to give a straight answer.  Choosing clothes is such a personal thing and it's hard to tell someone that a dress doesn't suit her if she is singing its praises while asking your opinion.  So I'm a loner when it comes to shopping.

What kind of shopper are you? While shopping this week I made a few observations.  I saw women with very small babies asleep in push chairs, obviously enjoying a bit of freedom while baby is napping.  Then there were a number of mother-daughter combinations, some very harmonious, some showing signs of unravelling. Then there were the carefree young girls, usually three to four of them, squealing in delight as they each tried on the latest thing and then decided they couldn't afford those prices.  Once in a while I espied a patient husband standing outside the fitting rooms with (presumably) his wife's coat over his arm and looking very ill at ease.  Surely it was a proof of the strength of his character that he didn't cut and run for the cafe upstairs?  Hang onto that man!   To balance this impression, I did see a few husbands who were actively involved in helping their wives find something to wear, making suggestions or shaking their heads. I'm not sure I'd like that for myself.  But as far as I could see, the majority of shoppers were women like me who were simply browsing without intent.  Surely one of the nicest ways of spending an afternoon?

Some years ago an IT colleague of mine told me that in the near future all shopping would be done online and the high street stores would become obsolete to all intents and purposes.  I told him that that was a man's vision.  Us women still love to get out and prowl the stores and get that indescribable kick when we find an item that fits us, suits us and is marked down by 50%.  Online shopping could never give us that!

 

Thoughts on Mothers Day

Mothers Day, that Sunday in the year when you receive a grubby drawing made in kindergarten of a fat-cheeked stick person with red cheeks and the dedication "to the best mummy in the world" with "mummy" often being spelled with only one "m". And you swell up with pride and wonder if your tiny offspring really has got artistic potential and hope none of the other mothers will think the drawing is meant to be of you.

Or you get a sophisticated bouquet of flowers and a lovely card filled with glowing praise of your child-raising talents.  Hmm.  Doesn't seem all that long ago when you were laying down the law about staying out too late and threatening curfew to a few sullen individuals grouped around the family dining table.

All the restaurants which have been advertising "Mothers Day Specials" are booked out on the day and happy families gather together to celebrate.  As you watch them all assemble in your honour, you can't help remembering all those days when you almost had to use a police escort to get the younger members of the family to the table.  How many times did you bellow up the stairs "if you don't come now, I'm going to throw it out!"  How quickly time passes!  We should savour those kindergarten years.

It is very fitting that in the U.K. and Ireland Mothers Day should be in March when Nature is coming out of its winter sleep and the daffodils and primroses are brightening up the still brown earth in preparation for the coming summer months.  It is a month of hope for the future and of fond remembrance of the winter months and Christmas, now seeming so long ago.  A symbol of mothers' role everywhere, I like to think.

But regardless of whether your children are tiny or are fully grown with perhaps children of their own, Mothers Day is a special day.  A day when mothers everywhere are considered with affection and their little faults and foibles are forgotten.  Woman power at its best!