I've come down with a virus. It happens to us all but I can't help moaning that of all the bodies in all the world why this virus should walk into mine (with apologies to Humphrey Bogart). And at a time like this. You see, I am going to Spain for three weeks next weekend. Hooray. Sunshine and warmth to give me a boost for the winter. And now this - sore throat, dry cough, and streaming eyes and nose. Worse still, the doc. says there's nothing much he can do to help, it will have to take its course which is on a scale of ten to fourteen days. That means I could be viewing the blue Mediterranean through very bloodshot eyes or poking about in my paella with a paper tissue poised near my nose. I suppose I'll have to sneeze and bear it.
Last night I gave up the unequal battle of breathing through my right nostril while mopping up my left one and fielding the constant flow from my left eye at the same time. I turned on the radio and found a station which plays music all night. Relaxing, beautiful music for the most part. Music to doze off to and wake again thinking "oh, this is nice." I sent several cyber-telepathic messages to the DJ in the hope he would intercept my request for Andy Williams singing Moon River which would have just about made my extremely long and sleepless night. Alas we were not on the same cyber wave length. Pity but there you go.
My blog will not be updated until the end of October when I hope to tell you all about my time in Spain.
Until then, here's looking at you!
Saturday, 29 September 2012
Saturday, 22 September 2012
One size doesn't fit all
A good few years ago I went in for all sorts of training courses, some of them suggested and paid for by my employer at the time. In particular, I recall that two warring departments were frogmarched onto a course on effective communication facilitated by an energetic lady who seemed to think that we were all a menace to society in general. 'Say something positive to the person next to you,' she challenged. I was first in line and all eyes were upon me. Now it just so happened that the person sitting next to me was a colleague with whom I'd had rather a nasty spat the week before. Some very bitter words had been exchanged and we were both convinced that a) we were in the right and b) the other person was a thoroughly nasty piece of goods. What could I say to her that would be acceptable? I still remember the panic that swamped me, the overwhelming desire to get up and run. But there was no escape. In the end I think I admired the blouse she was wearing. The facilitator's chilly eye fell on me and I knew she was classifying me as "not a team player."
And that's sometimes the trouble with these kind of courses. Some facilitators, not all I hasten to add, have very definite ideas on how one should behave in certain circumstances. One size doesn't fit all, though, as I learned to my cost many moons ago. A friend of mine dragged me to a course on self-assertiveness which she reckoned I badly needed because she said I was inclined to get lumbered with extra work. 'Learn when to say no,' said the lady holding the course. It all sounded easy so I decided to put what I'd learned into practice next time my boss came and asked if I could do something over and above my workload. I can't remember what he wanted done now, but the details don't matter. I told him politely and regretfully that I was simply too busy. He accepted this immediately and I felt the first flush of triumph at having taken a stand. I should have done this long ago, I told myself. And then came the downside. My boss never again asked me to take on any extra work and when a promotion to team leader came up, I was bypassed, being too busy to be given extra duties, no doubt.
Lesson learned for me is that what works in one situation is by no means sure of success in another. At some stage I decided to use my gut feeling and a bit of commonsense and this has carried me through the rest of my career without too many blips. Maybe that's the secret, maybe we shouldn't try to be what we are patently not. Recognizing our weaknesses is a major step on the way to coping with them but we shouldn't overdo it. Should I have accepted more work from my boss all those years ago and maybe been promoted to team leader? I really don't know and when I think about it now, it doesn't really matter, does it?
And that's sometimes the trouble with these kind of courses. Some facilitators, not all I hasten to add, have very definite ideas on how one should behave in certain circumstances. One size doesn't fit all, though, as I learned to my cost many moons ago. A friend of mine dragged me to a course on self-assertiveness which she reckoned I badly needed because she said I was inclined to get lumbered with extra work. 'Learn when to say no,' said the lady holding the course. It all sounded easy so I decided to put what I'd learned into practice next time my boss came and asked if I could do something over and above my workload. I can't remember what he wanted done now, but the details don't matter. I told him politely and regretfully that I was simply too busy. He accepted this immediately and I felt the first flush of triumph at having taken a stand. I should have done this long ago, I told myself. And then came the downside. My boss never again asked me to take on any extra work and when a promotion to team leader came up, I was bypassed, being too busy to be given extra duties, no doubt.
Lesson learned for me is that what works in one situation is by no means sure of success in another. At some stage I decided to use my gut feeling and a bit of commonsense and this has carried me through the rest of my career without too many blips. Maybe that's the secret, maybe we shouldn't try to be what we are patently not. Recognizing our weaknesses is a major step on the way to coping with them but we shouldn't overdo it. Should I have accepted more work from my boss all those years ago and maybe been promoted to team leader? I really don't know and when I think about it now, it doesn't really matter, does it?
Friday, 14 September 2012
Goodbye Lady Nicotine
I was a chain smoker. I'd tried to stop more times than a politician talks about austerity. I remember once doing really well for a week and then a colleague brought me 200 duty frees and I thought what a shame to waste them and hey presto I was back to where I started.
Of course I read all those horror stories about what smoking does to you. Then I stopped reading about it. Sure I had a cough, sure I had no control over my smoking and would still do it even when smothered with a cold. But nothing was going to happen to me. So I reasoned.
One day at work a colleague gave me the Alan Carr book on how to stop smoking. I skimmed through it, not really wanting to read it. I just wasn't ready to give up yet. So I gave her back the book after ten days and she'd started smoking again by then so I figured it couldn't be that effective.
Eight years ago while prowling round the bookshops on holiday I came across Alan Carr's Easy Way to Stop Smoking again. It was actually on special offer so I just bought it, thinking I'd have another look at it some time. Back home I put it in the furthest corner of the bookcase where I wouldn't see it. I already worked in a no-smoking building and had to nip down four flights of stairs in order to have a cigarette and as I had a busy job I sometimes didn't get to smoke more than two or three cigarettes during the day. At home I had long ago taken to smoking outside regardless of the weather. In all I smoked between ten to fifteen cigarettes a day and I couldn't stop. Yet Alan Carr's book bothered me. I was very conscious of it there in the book case. One day I took it out and skimmed through the first few pages. Glowing stories of people who stopped smoking with no side effects did not impress me much but then I came to the chapter headed Warning. I can't remember the exact wording but I know he wrote that maybe the reader was scared to read on in case they had to stop smoking immediately. He said to keep smoking while reading the book. Suddenly I felt that here was someone who knew what smokers were all about, someone who understood that panicky what-am-I-going-to-do-without-a-cigarette feeling. And I started reading the book.
That was over eight years ago. I haven't smoked since. I remember that when I finished the book I still had three cigarettes left and I decided that when I had smoked them, that was it. I smoked my last cigarette at around one p.m. on a Saturday. I still recall the sense of finality, of being finally free. My family didn't notice that I'd stopped. I wasn't bad tempered. I didn't feel any of the usual withdrawal symptoms. Sure, it felt a bit strange at first. Something was missing, especially after a meal or when having a coffee with the girls, but not so badly missing that I wanted to smoke again. In fact whenever I thought about smoking I remembered what I'd learned in Carr's book. Nearly everyone would like to stop but they are afraid of that empty feeling. Carr's idea was to take that fear away and he certainly succeeded in my case!
So Goodbye Lady Nicotine. We had a time of it but I sure don't miss you!
Of course I read all those horror stories about what smoking does to you. Then I stopped reading about it. Sure I had a cough, sure I had no control over my smoking and would still do it even when smothered with a cold. But nothing was going to happen to me. So I reasoned.
One day at work a colleague gave me the Alan Carr book on how to stop smoking. I skimmed through it, not really wanting to read it. I just wasn't ready to give up yet. So I gave her back the book after ten days and she'd started smoking again by then so I figured it couldn't be that effective.
Eight years ago while prowling round the bookshops on holiday I came across Alan Carr's Easy Way to Stop Smoking again. It was actually on special offer so I just bought it, thinking I'd have another look at it some time. Back home I put it in the furthest corner of the bookcase where I wouldn't see it. I already worked in a no-smoking building and had to nip down four flights of stairs in order to have a cigarette and as I had a busy job I sometimes didn't get to smoke more than two or three cigarettes during the day. At home I had long ago taken to smoking outside regardless of the weather. In all I smoked between ten to fifteen cigarettes a day and I couldn't stop. Yet Alan Carr's book bothered me. I was very conscious of it there in the book case. One day I took it out and skimmed through the first few pages. Glowing stories of people who stopped smoking with no side effects did not impress me much but then I came to the chapter headed Warning. I can't remember the exact wording but I know he wrote that maybe the reader was scared to read on in case they had to stop smoking immediately. He said to keep smoking while reading the book. Suddenly I felt that here was someone who knew what smokers were all about, someone who understood that panicky what-am-I-going-to-do-without-a-cigarette feeling. And I started reading the book.
That was over eight years ago. I haven't smoked since. I remember that when I finished the book I still had three cigarettes left and I decided that when I had smoked them, that was it. I smoked my last cigarette at around one p.m. on a Saturday. I still recall the sense of finality, of being finally free. My family didn't notice that I'd stopped. I wasn't bad tempered. I didn't feel any of the usual withdrawal symptoms. Sure, it felt a bit strange at first. Something was missing, especially after a meal or when having a coffee with the girls, but not so badly missing that I wanted to smoke again. In fact whenever I thought about smoking I remembered what I'd learned in Carr's book. Nearly everyone would like to stop but they are afraid of that empty feeling. Carr's idea was to take that fear away and he certainly succeeded in my case!
So Goodbye Lady Nicotine. We had a time of it but I sure don't miss you!
Saturday, 8 September 2012
Good Hair Days
I've been following the US election conventions and I have a question : do you have to be blonde and wear a red dress in order to be a politician's wife? Seems that way sometimes. Take Ann Romney, mother and grandmother, shoulder length blonde hair, no noticeable wrinkles, and wearing a stunning red dress at the Republican convention in Tampa. Jenna Ryan, long blonde hair, admittedly not wearing a red dress this time but I'm sure it''ll come, and of course there's Jill Biden, wife of the vice president with her shoulder length blonde hair who likes to wear red,too. Even Michelle Obama's dress was of a red shade when she gave that rousing speech. Right or wrong, a red dress seems to signify power and success.
What does that mean for us non-political mortals who have passed our prime and are in the state of grandmother-hood? Are we lesser women because we're a teeny bit overweight, fighting the grey hairs and don't own a red dress between us? I think the answer is we are just as feminine as the Ann Romney's and Jill Biden's of this world. It's not how you look but how you act that makes you the person you are and thank goodness for that!
In case we are tempted to get discouraged by so much glamour and so many trim waists, let's think about this politician's wife scenario. Ann Romney and Michelle Obama have both been highly praised for their speeches in support of their husbands. They may even swing the vote in undecided states. Awesome thought, isn't it? Is there some lesson to be learned here for us non-political mortals? Should we accompany our husbands to a job interview, insist on going into the interview room first to tell the prospective employers what a great job he's done and how essential he'd be to their company if they take him on? Not a good idea is it? Of course, they might try to hire us instead of him! Let's be thankful we don't have to champion our better halves and sing their praises to thousands of people. We'll just soldier on, doing the best we can whether we are blonde, brunette or just plain grey. And wearing red whenever we feel like it.
What does that mean for us non-political mortals who have passed our prime and are in the state of grandmother-hood? Are we lesser women because we're a teeny bit overweight, fighting the grey hairs and don't own a red dress between us? I think the answer is we are just as feminine as the Ann Romney's and Jill Biden's of this world. It's not how you look but how you act that makes you the person you are and thank goodness for that!
In case we are tempted to get discouraged by so much glamour and so many trim waists, let's think about this politician's wife scenario. Ann Romney and Michelle Obama have both been highly praised for their speeches in support of their husbands. They may even swing the vote in undecided states. Awesome thought, isn't it? Is there some lesson to be learned here for us non-political mortals? Should we accompany our husbands to a job interview, insist on going into the interview room first to tell the prospective employers what a great job he's done and how essential he'd be to their company if they take him on? Not a good idea is it? Of course, they might try to hire us instead of him! Let's be thankful we don't have to champion our better halves and sing their praises to thousands of people. We'll just soldier on, doing the best we can whether we are blonde, brunette or just plain grey. And wearing red whenever we feel like it.
Friday, 31 August 2012
Rainy Days and Sundays
There is nothing I love more than to curl up with the newspapers and a pot of tea on a Sunday afternoon. When I lived abroad it was the one thing I really missed. The various columnists with their take on the week's news and the behind-the-scenes reports from journalists in the world's hotspots and fleshpots have always held a fascination for me.
My real weakness, though, is the glossy lifestyle magazines. I drool over houses with divine gardens and conservatories and kitchens fitted out like operating theatres. That little bijou apartment in Bayswater with a view of the park. Small but luxurious. London on your doorstep. Sigh, sigh. Or - if you prefer the country - the ivy-covered cottage by the sea down in Co. Mayo with the cute little love-seat in the garden. Might need a little makeover but a bargain at the price.
When I've picked the house of my dreams - usually with reservations such as "not too keen on the second guest bedroom, needs refurbishing" - I turn my attention to the cookery section. This is just as much of an adventure, especially for someone like me who has three main dishes at her fingertips: pasta with tomato and basil sauce served with a side salad; chicken breast in lemon and herbs with roast potatoes and a veg. if you're lucky; and beef curry with rice and a side salad, the curry sauce comes out of a glass jar and has only seen Madras at the factory. Looking over the exotic dishes in the lifestyle magazine I realize how lacking in imagination my cooking really is - yes, I know you've spotted that yourselves. I tear out the recipes even though I know I am never going to use them. The crostini with salsa verde just isn't going to taste right no matter what care I take to prepare it. I won't go into my attempts at that steak recipe using Tequila. And if I do manage to bake one of those oh-so-easy-to-make cakes, it might taste okay but it always looks as if the mice were at it. So all I have is a drawer-full of glossy recipes, most of which I'm too scared to try out. Beans on toast, anyone?
And then there are the wines. I adore those descriptions, they get my taste buds working overtime: silky, nutty, fruity with an edge of blackcurrant. How's that again - "an edge of blackcurrant"? I could probably get the same effect at half the price using a dash of Ribena mixed with Australian shiraz. But it does all sound too, too romantic, doesn't it? Makes me want to pop down the off licence and look as if I know what I'm doing when I pick out a wine.
When I've extracted the last bit of pleasure from the glossies, I feel geared up for the week again. Who knows what gems - houses, recipes or wines - are awaiting me in next Sunday's offerings?
My real weakness, though, is the glossy lifestyle magazines. I drool over houses with divine gardens and conservatories and kitchens fitted out like operating theatres. That little bijou apartment in Bayswater with a view of the park. Small but luxurious. London on your doorstep. Sigh, sigh. Or - if you prefer the country - the ivy-covered cottage by the sea down in Co. Mayo with the cute little love-seat in the garden. Might need a little makeover but a bargain at the price.
When I've picked the house of my dreams - usually with reservations such as "not too keen on the second guest bedroom, needs refurbishing" - I turn my attention to the cookery section. This is just as much of an adventure, especially for someone like me who has three main dishes at her fingertips: pasta with tomato and basil sauce served with a side salad; chicken breast in lemon and herbs with roast potatoes and a veg. if you're lucky; and beef curry with rice and a side salad, the curry sauce comes out of a glass jar and has only seen Madras at the factory. Looking over the exotic dishes in the lifestyle magazine I realize how lacking in imagination my cooking really is - yes, I know you've spotted that yourselves. I tear out the recipes even though I know I am never going to use them. The crostini with salsa verde just isn't going to taste right no matter what care I take to prepare it. I won't go into my attempts at that steak recipe using Tequila. And if I do manage to bake one of those oh-so-easy-to-make cakes, it might taste okay but it always looks as if the mice were at it. So all I have is a drawer-full of glossy recipes, most of which I'm too scared to try out. Beans on toast, anyone?
And then there are the wines. I adore those descriptions, they get my taste buds working overtime: silky, nutty, fruity with an edge of blackcurrant. How's that again - "an edge of blackcurrant"? I could probably get the same effect at half the price using a dash of Ribena mixed with Australian shiraz. But it does all sound too, too romantic, doesn't it? Makes me want to pop down the off licence and look as if I know what I'm doing when I pick out a wine.
When I've extracted the last bit of pleasure from the glossies, I feel geared up for the week again. Who knows what gems - houses, recipes or wines - are awaiting me in next Sunday's offerings?
Saturday, 25 August 2012
Birds and Brains
I recently read the results of a scientific study led by Dr. Christian Schloegl from the University of Vienna and published in the journal Proceedings of the Royal Society B : Biological Sciences which found that African grey parrots were cleverer than two-year-olds in a test of intelligent reasoning. During a series of experiments the parrots were asked to choose between two closed boxes, one of which held a piece of walnut and rattled when shaken. The other container was empty and could be shaken without making a noise. Not only did these clever parrots know how to detect hidden food rattling in a shaken box they also deduced that if a box made no noise when shaken then the piece of walnut was in the other box. Clever little boys, eh?
The article maintains that human children achieve this standard by the age of three. I wonder if these eminent scientists ever tried to hide the TV remote before a visit from a two-year-old? I suspect not. It never fails to amaze me how quickly a toddler can find all the things you thought you'd hidden safely away. I'm pretty sure that most of the two-year-olds I know would have found that piece of walnut pretty quickly - they would most likely have discovered the grown-ups putting it in the box. Such are the acute sensitivities of toddlers, in my experience.
That being said, I checked into the website to see what other gems they have available and found entries on such diverse subjects as the influence brain parasites have on human cultures (ugh!), first-ever observations of a live giant squid and an even more intriguing subject Cooperation and the Evolution of Intelligence. Admittedly I didn't read any of those reports, I just couldn't get enthusiastic about brain parasites or giant squids. I have enough trouble understanding the weather forecast.
To me the most fascinating thing about the research is that it was carried out at all. It is certainly very interesting if you are a fan of African grey parrots - or of two-year-olds - and I daresay the world of biology is richer for knowing the results. Does it mean that when boasting to other mums you excuse your toddler's inadequacies by saying "Well of course little Timmy isn't quite as clever as Polly the Parrot."?
The article maintains that human children achieve this standard by the age of three. I wonder if these eminent scientists ever tried to hide the TV remote before a visit from a two-year-old? I suspect not. It never fails to amaze me how quickly a toddler can find all the things you thought you'd hidden safely away. I'm pretty sure that most of the two-year-olds I know would have found that piece of walnut pretty quickly - they would most likely have discovered the grown-ups putting it in the box. Such are the acute sensitivities of toddlers, in my experience.
That being said, I checked into the website to see what other gems they have available and found entries on such diverse subjects as the influence brain parasites have on human cultures (ugh!), first-ever observations of a live giant squid and an even more intriguing subject Cooperation and the Evolution of Intelligence. Admittedly I didn't read any of those reports, I just couldn't get enthusiastic about brain parasites or giant squids. I have enough trouble understanding the weather forecast.
To me the most fascinating thing about the research is that it was carried out at all. It is certainly very interesting if you are a fan of African grey parrots - or of two-year-olds - and I daresay the world of biology is richer for knowing the results. Does it mean that when boasting to other mums you excuse your toddler's inadequacies by saying "Well of course little Timmy isn't quite as clever as Polly the Parrot."?
Saturday, 18 August 2012
Feel Good Factors
Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.
This quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson's essay on Self Reliance came into my head the other morning. I woke up feeling as if I had stubbed my toes on the wall of life, in other words, not in the sunniest of moods. Outside the rain was coming down in buckets. As I was hauling myself out of bed I remembered the above quote and decided that I would find five "feel good" things about the day. Needless to say, it wasn't actually that hard.
This quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson's essay on Self Reliance came into my head the other morning. I woke up feeling as if I had stubbed my toes on the wall of life, in other words, not in the sunniest of moods. Outside the rain was coming down in buckets. As I was hauling myself out of bed I remembered the above quote and decided that I would find five "feel good" things about the day. Needless to say, it wasn't actually that hard.
Here they are:
- Being able to stand under the shower and feel that warm water cascading over my body and having a choice of shampoo and cosmetics stocking my bathroom shelves. We take this all for granted but we'd certainly miss it if we couldn't have a warm shower whenever we pleased. Those of us who've been on camping sites queuing at the wash rooms of a morning know the feeling.
- Watching out of my window as a crow swooped on a piece of bread. He had barely alighted before a crowd of his fellows descended on him. They formed a circle and were plainly hoping to make him nervous enough to drop the crust of bread. He took this all in his stride, picked away while keeping an eye on his fellows. Two wagtails came to see what was happening and hung around on the edge of the crowd in the hopes of picking up a few crumbs. They all looked so like a bunch of children with a toffee bar that I found myself chuckling.
- On my way to the shops I met a daddy with his little girl. She was chattering away nineteen to the dozen the way small children do. He listened to every word as if it this was the most important conversation he could possibly have and threw in a remark here and there in answer to her questions. When he noticed me watching them he smiled down at his daughter with so much love and pride that I found myself smiling too.
- It had been raining all morning but in the afternoon a watery sun came out and I decided to risk a walk to the beach. I was glad I did. Strolling along the promenade I saw children and dogs having a wonderful time splashing about in the sea. I'm not sure who was having the most fun, the kids screaming in the surf or the dogs jumping around with tongues lolling. I saw joggers, senior citizens, people in wheel chairs, families pushing baby buggies. Everyone was enjoying themselves despite a stiff on-shore breeze and the occasional black cloud hovering threateningly. It was good to be alive and part of it all.
- On my way home I passed a beautifully tended garden. I stopped to admire and was met with the heady scent of roses, geraniums, jasmine and other flowers I couldn't name. I'd passed this way so often and never really noticed it before.
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