kellementology

life according to me

Author: K. Peacock Wright

  • Resilience, buoyance…Right.

    With every day that passes, I find myself adjusting to my new schedule.  I haven’t quite gotten back into the habit of mentally planning what I’ll wear to work the next day (because let’s face it, priorities are priorities…) but it’s only a matter of time.  Some mornings, I lag so badly after checking emails and messing around with a few other odds and ends on my Mac, I have to hurry to dress and slap on my make up in less than 20 minutes.  Not bad.

    I don’t mind the work, the setting is beautiful, and the people I work with are very pleasant, so the day passes quickly.  It’s arriving home that requires more of an adjustment because whatever I haven’t taken care of is sitting and waiting when I arrive.  Clearly I don’t have a fairy godmother.  Sure the MoH helps out — he always has.  It’s more an annoyance to have to be more organized again so that when I do want to enjoy my evening with the menfolk, I’m not having to stare at undone chores and tasks.  Not exactly relaxing, but I suppose that’s what I get.

    And then there’s the cooking.

    You do understand that a dent has been put in that as well, right?  We don’t do take-out very often, so as much as some may seize the opportunity to fall into that routine after returning to a full-time job, we don’t.  In fact, I starve most of the day and then come home wanting to eat the broad side of a barn.  Unfortunately, that leads to an immediate lack of interest in dinner.  Whatever attempt I make in the feeding the family department is usually decent, but I see it as a string of dominoes.  If I cook, then I have to clean up.  If I cook and it’s tasty, then I have to take photos.  If I take photos, then there’s an outside chance I’ll need to blog about it.

    You caught the “need,” right?  Need to blog about it.

    There used to be a want, but let’s face it — I treated blogging like a job — a job I wanted. At least I used to. Sure it’s a job that pays crap for the amount of time and effort that goes into it, but it felt like a job nonetheless.  So “need” isn’t quite cutting it any longer.

    I’m not sure where I was going with this other than to put down how my thinking is changing as I adjust, and how quickly old routines fall back into place.  At the same time, it shows how quickly new interests fall to the wayside if we don’t continue to nurture them.  It’s forcing me to think about the work to live vs. live to work dilemma.   I’ve decided to take one week day off while it’s slow during the summer and that’s probably helping me put things in perspective. It’s fascinating that on that day off, I can push even the smallest thought of work completely out of my mind — almost as if it didn’t exist.  On the weekend, it’s even better.  And I guess that’s all great, except I miss my quiet time.

    Somehow, I have to find that again — even if it means hiding in my closet once in a while.

    In the dark.

    I could call it meditation.

  • Moving right along.

    As is often read, time heals all, and I’m slowly becoming accustomed to being out in the working world again.  The adjustments I’ve had to make are minor compared to what others may have to experience under similar circumstances because I haven’t had to worry about finding childcare, or trouble anyone about taking over the few responsibilities I’ve accumulated in the past two years such as car pool.  My pets are relatively trouble free now, and there’s no long commute to plan for.  Surprisingly, most of my work clothes still fit, which is a sort of accomplishment, I guess.

    No, that hasn’t been all that difficult.  What has been troubling is the loneliness I’ve been feeling.  It’s severe at times — so much so that I’ve been reduced to tears, surprised, and a bit unsettled about my unexpected emotions.  Although I’m thankfully past the worst of it, I sense a void that reminds me of a similar feeling I’ve experienced before — that of leaving something behind unwillingly, of loss.

    It’s fairly painful.

    For days, I struggled to think of pleasant things, and to busy myself with activities I enjoy, but wasn’t as successful as I’d liked.  I fell easily into my old habit of thinking of others less fortunate than myself.  Of so many who now find themselves without work and struggling to keep their homes.  And I tried to understand the uncomfortable pressure on my chest that all but screamed I was making an enormous mistake.

    To help focus on the positive, I sat down with the MoH and we made a list of all that I’d like to do with my income over the next year:  repair the lighting and drip system on the patio; replace the fencing; install an energy-efficient hot water system, put organizers in the closets, repair a few old dining room chairs, have two other chairs reupholstered….Not quite as glamorous as others may think, but concrete enough to allow me to see that a year of my time at this point in my life counted for something.

    I’m a strong believer in the idea that things happen for a reason.  That opportunities are placed before us all the time, and the extent to which we allow ourselves to see them determines whether our lives are rich and fulfilling, or mundane and guarded.  The ironic aspect of it all is that when I take the steps I do in new directions, I rarely realize whether it’s the best decision for me and those I care about.  Instead, it’s more an unknown, a tentative decision at best, and I attempt to keep my mind open to whatever may lie ahead truly believing that a unique experience is just over the hill.

    All the while, I’m chastising myself, shaking my head over maudlin thoughts and pathetic self-absorbtion.  It’s grossly embarrassing, yet I can’t prevent it.  So I heave with countless cleansing breaths, and try to relax.  I give in to the sadness and then try to snap out of it.  I count what I should feel fortunate about, and move ahead.  I look for beauty in small things, and count stars at night.  I wonder how on Earth something so good could feel so wrong.

    Only those with common experiences seem to understand how closely lives can be linked, how much one can grow to depend on community, on friendship and camraderie gained while sitting in front of a computer.  Over the past two years, lovely people who live a state, a country, or even an ocean away have truly and unexpectedly become part of my small world and enriched it more than I can describe.

    Sadly, I’m missing all of them right now, and no amount of organizing my garage, digging in my small garden, or cooking the next recipe on my endless list will make that feeling go away.

  • The Effect of Stones and Moss on Life

    There may be an interesting change on my horizon, and as I mulled over the possibility of it while sipping my coffee this morning, I felt the urge to sift back through my writing here — all two years of it.  I’ve laughed aloud, winced, and cried all in the span of an hour, wallowing in the memories.

    At another point in my life, I’d have needed to sift through old photos kept in boxes, or read entries in dusty notebooks to gain what I’ve enjoyed today just sitting here.  Although I’ve been tempted to print the text of my accumulated posts more than once, I know it wouldn’t be the same as being able to read through them here, and to remember what mattered on a given day in February last year, or feel again the angst a particular teacher caused our family the year before.  No, the pages would end up in a box somewhere like so many other aspects of our lives we believe matter.

    Instead, I’ve decided to make private most of what I’ve written here.  I can’t give it up completely, so it seemed the best compromise.

    Change is good, isn’t it?

    We learn and grow from the decisions we make about our lives and experiences.  And you know what is said of rolling stones and moss, right?

  • Finding time to relax again

    Busy season is finally over yet another year.  There have been so many I’ve lost count.  It means the MoH is home before dark, and that it’s time for me to have an idea or two to plant in his mind before he heads for work in the morning about what we might do in the evening.  It’s so he can begin to feel like there’s actually a day — or at least part of one — to be enjoyed even though it’s not quite the weekend.

    Or maybe it was that we were celebrating the beginning of the weekend — the first of many to come before the next string of late nights and work-filled weekends.

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  • Still here after all this time.

    It’s cold here today — even more so than it normally is in the spring.  The clouds are indiscernible, resembling more of a blanket cast over our heads.  There was drizzle on the patio this afternoon as well, and I willingly pulled a thick sweatshirt over my head wishing I had an excellent book to cozy up with on the couch instead of in bed at the long end of a day.

    I’ve been thinking quite a bit about my days lately — this business of getting up and sort of “hop-to-it” attitude of being in front of my Mac.  It’s been over two years now that I’ve not been an active member of the employed crowd,  and yet I’ve created this sort of routine quite by accident.  It’s living and breathing, too, because it’s evolved into more than what it was even a year ago.  I’m not entirely comfortable with that.

    But here I am, still.

    Wondering and thinking.

    Mulling over the options and possibilities.

    Thinking.

    You thought I’d given up, hadn’t you?

    Not a chance.  In fact, I’m trying to figure out how to get a hold of a few more hours a day, still.  Just to do with them as I please.  Like  a shell you might find on the beach and turn over in your hand, wondering what you might find.

    Like that.

    If you’re reading this, I appreciate you.

    Some day, maybe I’ll figure out how to write here again.

    Truly.

  • Good Old Days?

    1920s

    One way I can tell the economy is rotten is by the increase in spam emails I’ve been getting. A portion of each morning is spent deleting yet another “You, too, can make money at home” message or invitation to “join me in getting out of debt.”  Most are automatically caught as junk and deleted, but a few make it through.

    Occasionally someone I know will actually send me an email, and if it’s my mother or her sister, it’s one of those feel good messages with the giant multi-colored text.  You know, in case someone doesn’t know where her reading glasses are, she’ll be able to read it from a 15-foot distance.  Ironically, both of those factors cause me not to want to read the emails, but I did this morning, shaking my head the entire time I was reading.  I know it’s meant to be — well, I’m not sure.   Boastful?  Condescending?  Perhaps sarcastic?  Maybe funny.  Hmmm…

    Maybe you’ve seen it:

    The idea of a parent bailing us…
    CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL THE KIDS WHO WERE BORN IN THE 1920’s, 30’s 40’s, 50’s, 60’s and 70’s !!
    First, we survived being born to mothers who carried us and lived in houses made of asbestos.
    They took aspirin, ate blue cheese, tuna from a can, and didn’t get tested for diabetes or cervical cancer.
    Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.
    We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets or shoes, not to mention, the risks  some of us took hitchhiking.
    As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.
    Riding in the back of a Ute on a warm day was always a special treat.
    We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.
    Take away food was limited to fish and chips, no pizza shops, McDonalds, KFC, Subway or Red Rooster.
    Even though all the shops closed at 6.00pm and didn’t open on the weekends, somehow we didn’t starve to death!
    We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this.
    We could collect old drink bottles and cash them in at the corner store and buy Fruit Tingles and some fire crackers to blow up frogs and lizards with.
    We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soft drinks with sugar in it, but we weren’t overweight because……
    WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!!
    We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on. 1930s
    No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.
    We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. We built tree houses and cubby houses and played in creek beds with matchbox cars.
    We did not have Playstations, Nintendo’s, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape or DVD movies, nosurround sound, no mobile  phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms……….WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!
    We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no Lawsuits from these accidents.
    Only girls had pierced ears!
    We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.
    You could only buy Easter Eggs and Hot Cross buns at Easter time…….no really!
    We were given BB guns and sling shots for our 10th birthdays,
    We drank milk laced with Strontium 90 from cows that had eaten grass covered in nuclear fallout from the atomic testing at Maralinga in 1956.
    We rode bikes or walked to a friend’s house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!
    Mum didn’t have to go to work to help dad make ends meet!
    Footy had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn’t had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!
    Our teachers used to belt us with big sticks and leather straps and bullies always ruled the playground at school.
    The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of.  They actually sided with the law!
    Our parents got married before they had children and didn’t invent stupid names for their kids like ‘Kiora’ and ‘Blade’…..
    This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever!
    The past 70 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.
    We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned
    HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!
    And YOU are one of them!
    CONGRATULATIONS!
    You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good.
    And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.

    Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors, doesn’t it?!

    1940

    Outside of this giving me a few interesting memories about my own childhood and that of my sons, being the born party pooper I am, I couldn’t help but think of a few other things as well.

    • Yes, many of us did grow up in houses with asbestos — right up until it was scraped off the ceiling about 10 years ago — well past my childhood.  No men in white suits showed up to remove it.  My mother and my oldest son used spray bottles and sheets of plastic, scraping it off with wide spatulas.  My oldest son has never been able to breathe to begin with, so Hell.  Why not take on this little Do-It-Yourself project?  Just because something was tolerated in the past doesn’t make it appropriate to ignore it today.
    • On the lead-based paint?  Absolutely many people survived — most noticeably the person who wrote this email.  But those who happened to have their cribs positioned near windows that could be chewed on when teething didn’t quite survive the same way.  They ended up with permanent brain damage and have needed medical attention, and special assistance in school to the tune of millions and millions of tax payer dollars.  They never had a chance, and their parents didn’t know, because lead-based paint is what was used. You could call Oliver Stone to see if he has a film in the works about a government conspiracy on this…

    1950children2

    • Childproof caps were definitely a horrible thing to inflict upon the unsuspecting public. But I’m thinking it may have been necessary since the “If you touch this medicine, I’ll knock the shit out of you” threat to children had seen better days.  Anyone who’s been beat by a parent more than once will confirm this.
    • Seatbelts?  Well, just go back up to the lead-based paint issue.  If you survive a car crash but have injuries so severe that long-term medical care is required, ultimately the tax payer is paying the bill to keep you alive.  (Just think about all those “child-proof” caps you’ll have to deal with.) And if you survived that car crash even though you didn’t have a seat belt on, I’m thinking you should have to foot the bill for your own care.  I’m tired of paying for my health care AND everyone else’s.  How hard is it to just buckle the damn thing?
    • The reason there were no lawsuits from injuries caused from falling out of trees or needing stitches because the neighbor’s kid ran over you with a bike is because 1) there weren’t very many lawyers.  College was something most couldn’t afford — hence, fewer lawyers; and 2) People couldn’t afford lawsuits even if they realized that sometimes the losers in the world DO need to be accountable for their actions.  The tree I was in and fell out of when I was 8 was on private property.  I was trespassing and stealing fruit.  If anyone needed a lawyer, it was the farmer.

    1960

    • Yes, I had a teacher who had a paddle and used it.  She was pissed because I wouldn’t hold hands with a boy during a game, so she lifted my dress (ahhh…remember when girls had to wear dresses to school?  So lovely to have to tolerate that while playing on the monkey bars…) and paddled my butt in front of the entire class.  Should kids today have to tolerate that to grow up and say, “Look at me!  I survived a teacher who whacked me!  Should any kid have to deal with a bully anywhere?  At some point, just sucking it up in those situations is weak.  Teaching kids how to stand up for themselves and to know what’s okay, and what isn’t matters.  Of course, today, bullies often have guns, don’t they?
    • Drink milk with Strontium 90?  And survive?  Evidently, the concentration is key to whether you end up with bone cancer, cancer of the soft tissues surrounding the bone, or leukemia.  It doesn’t just come from cows grazing in a field, it’s connected with weapons testing, which has decreased tremendously since the government was forced to realize that it was affecting people’s health.  You know, like benzene in drinking water.  Scary stuff.  And sure.  I’m totally angry that the government has regulated this out of my environment.  Not.

    family1970s

    • “Mum” may not have to go to work to help Dad make ends meet today, either.  In fact, “Mum” may have a college degree, and realize that working all day, and taking care of her house and family after she gets home is like having two jobs for less than what Dad earns, so how stupid is that?  “Mum” can now choose to stay at home to raise her children instead of paying the childcare  provider her entire salary AND have a title: SAHM.  Some of us refuse to call ourselves anything of that nature, however.
    • Yes, the “Good Old Days” are gone, aren’t they?  Just think.  Without our beloved laptops, computers, Macs, PCs or however you lovingly refer to them, we wouldn’t be able to write and send emails such as the one above, would we?  We’d actually be getting the work done that our employers pay us to do!  What an interesting concept.

    I could keep going, but this is way past the length all those You Too Can Make Money At Home Blogging gurus mention.  God forbid that whatever is on my mind exceeds a few paragraphs.

    Goodness.  What a snarky woman I am today.

    I’ll write about something pleasant next time, or just avoid reading those emails.

  • Fooled

    Do you ever have days where you’re up early and feel as if you can do just about anything?  That was me today with the sun not more than a glow behind the mountains and everyone still fast asleep.  But that was three hours ago, and all I’ve accomplished is consume two cups of a very dark Brazilian coffee I found at a local Latin market, and a rather large bowl of Wheeties.

    I’ve flitted from the website of a cooking group I belong to expecting to see this month’s challenge posted (it wasn’t…) to a photography site where I continue to read about how to improve the lighting in my photos and how to build my own lightbox, wondering if any of the boxes in our garage are large enough to work so I don’t have to get in the car before it’s absolutely necessary today.

    I gaze through the stats on my food blog and wonder how it’s possible for the number of page views its recorded are possible since my last check and where they’re coming from.  That takes me to who is so I can research an IP address even though I know that never really tells me anything helpful.

    All the while, I’m making a mental list of what I’ll accomplish today and the time is steadily ticking.  Always ticking.  And to make matters worse, I’ve activated the voice on my Mac to let me know the time on the hour and half hour because I lose track of it so often now, engrossed in too many things all at one time, wanting to do them all, and able to finish only one or two.  It’s truly annoying.

    I’ve wasted at least a half hour searching for an article I saved not too long ago knowing I had something to say about it and now  can’t find it.  It’s no wonder since I bookmark extensively using delicious, Evernote, and Firefox.  I’ve searched, and it’s just not there.  So then the wind goes out of my sails, and I scan my sidebar to visit someone — anyone —  arriving there and marveling not only over their writing, but the lots and lots of people who comment there.  I even visit some of the commentors, thinking about the little community this person has built.  Or is it acquired?  No matter.  It exists.  People take the time to stop and say something instead of, “Nice.”  or “Looks terrific.”

    I remember those days.

    It’s what I get for defecting almost permanently to foodland.

    Goodness.  I’m here so infrequently now I even get spam telling me they can’t figure out my posting schedule.  How hilarious is that?  Um, can you tell us what your posting schedule is so we can spam you more than we already do?  kthxbai.

    It’s almost 10 now, and so I must make some decisions about this chilly, grey….wait.

    It’s April Fools Day!

    Clearly, the joke is on me.

    Thinking I’d actually accomplish something.

    Right.

  • Comfort and Limitations

    It’s dark when the alarm goes off and my husband hits the snooze button to squeeze a few more precious minutes of sleep from his restless night.  I lay there not quite wanting to open my eyes and tentatively move my sore limbs, regretting my decision to tear down a fence in the back only a little, thinking, not bad for an old chick, as I become familiar with each ache.

    The sound of the shower motivates me to swing my feet to the chilly floor and shuffle downstairs to turn on the kettle for tea.  One English Breakfast tea bag goes into the stainless travel mug for my husband and I fill the coffee pot to the six line for myself, dumping two mounded scoops of coffee into the basket before remembering to actually turn it on.

    The cat is looking at me from her perch on the arm chair and I’m wondering why she isn’t yeowling at me like she normally does at this point in my morning routine, hurrying me along so that she can have a fresh bowl of food.  I glance at the dog’s dish to make sure my son has fed her before heading down to tend to the cat, proceding with caution on the stairs because I know she’ll come barreling down them right as I’m ready to take another step and I don’t want to be a feature story on the 5PM news.  But she doesn’t today, and I look back to see her staring at me, seemingly as uninspired in this routine as I am.  I tap the spoon on the rim of the cat food can and peer around the corner to see her headed down the stairs.  She stretches each hind leg, then looks up at me and yeowls, as if to say, it’s about time.

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  • Reluctant Empathy and Old Ideas

    I’ll go to my corner now that I’ve had my little tantrum after writing something that was more catalyst than conviction.

    Later in the day when I was on my way to collect the resident teen from his spot at the curb after school, I heard the man I’d been watching earlier on television ask for privacy for the executives who’d received bonuses.  If the company was subpoenaed for the list of names, then it could be public information and the man expressed concern, reading from notes they’d already received from hate mongers about what should be done to the executives and their families if given the opportunity.

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  • My Particular Brand of Menopause.

    I’m a bit under the weather today with what seems to be a fairly nasty head cold compounded by a lack of sleep caused by the cold.  It’s a two-fold cold:  that of being sick, and that which is caused by our window which has to be open lest one of us sweat to death in the night.  Being under said weather puts me in a less than joyful mood and left to consider all the more pleasant aspects of my life — like menopause.

    Just seeing the word on the page can cause a number of reactions depending on one’s particular set of circumstances:

    1. You’re female and under 30 so menopause can’t possibly have anything to do with you.  In fact, the concept of one grey hair or chin whisker may have recently sent you to near hysteria;
    2. You’re male, and anything having to do with the female body that isn’t about cleavage, thighs, or hot sex may as well be written in a language unknown to man.  That would be a male, and not mankind in general;
    3. You’re a menopausal woman and because you’re on a first name basis with menopause, reading about it most likely isn’t the first item of the day with your usual Venti Soy Decaf Latte, thank you very much; or
    4. You’re married to a menopausal woman and unlike awaiting the bouncing bundle of joy which is the result of a healthy pregnancy, you suspect absolutely nothing that cute could possibly come of this.

    From time to time, I Google menopause just to see what comes up and it’s dismal.  I suppose this behavior makes me Glutton for Punishment’s poster child, but it seems to be part of my two-year and counting adjustment to aging.  Most of the initial hits are for sites selling or promoting HRT drugs.  The others are large medical sites like the Mayo Clinic and WebMD and although basic information can be found on all of these sites, they essentially say the same thing:  hot flashes are normal; we’re at greater risk for joint pain and osteoporosis; our skin will become more dry and less elastic; our midsections will increase in size; our muscles begin to disappear, our hair will thin in some places and grow in others less desirable; we will have difficulty with our teeth and gums; and most importantly — we will be at far greater risk for heart disease.

    The good news is that regular exercise, improved diet, and reduced stress can lessen the effects of all of the above.  By all means, let the happy dancing begin.

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