Avoiding boredom

Our mortal coil

2008-10-06T09:15:00.003+10:00

I've been thinking about mortality. I've just spent two weeks working at the State Archives and, while an interesting place to be, it's all about dead people. Every task I did meant looking at handwriting written by someone who was dead. I read registers of miscellaneous court cases in the 1860s and 1940s. I read lists of names of people whose wills had been probated and property transferred. I read the diary of an explorer of the 1860s and minutes of meeting from when Queensland separated from New South Wales in 1859.

It was fascinating but after a week I felt I was mired in death. These lists and minutes and diaries are all that's left of those people - something they touched and put an indelible mark on. It was a glimpse into their lives. Just reading the different styles of handwriting (and seeing how it changed over a hundred years) made me feel I could almost touch the writer. It was a bit creepy and a bit scary.

Our time here is finite and we get so absorbed in living the lives we have we barely notice the passing of it. I wonder what pieces of our lives will be left for future generations. Is it enough to be remembered by those who loved us, then fade into the fog of history, not even missed because no one in the future would even be aware of our being?

I think I noticed it more because a friend (R) had surgery for breast cancer last week. Her prognosis is good but it's hard not to think of worst case scenarios when the word 'cancer' is mentioned.

Not all of life is a choice. Some things just happen and we have to deal with it - like my friend. The way we deal with it is the only choice we have. R is dealing with it the same way she has dealt with every knock life has given her - with courage and good humour. She's an incredible person, one of the strongest, most compassionate people I know. That alone will get her through.

Fear

2008-09-29T08:08:00.003+10:00

I know some people who love horror stories - books, movies, campside tales - anything that will scare the bejesus out of them. Anything that will make them break out into a cold sweat, get their heart racing or jump so high they lose their footing and fall over.

Fear certainly offers a good physical workout but why do people enjoy it so much? I often wonder if they've never experienced real fear. Can they enjoy it because of that innate sense of safety cocooning their lives? Perhaps it's a need to prepare themselves for possibilities - planning for a disaster and making sure their body will be ready to react under pressure.

I'm a timid sort. I never liked being surprised or frightened as a child, always sought the quiet spaces when there was an argument at home. That doesn't mean I can't deal with situations that cause fear. I know how I react in situations like that - if I can get out, I grab my daughter and run and hide. If I can't, I stand in front of my daughter and talk until help arrives. I'm no hero.

As an adult I've been frightened to the stage that all my insides liquified. I lived in a situation that waking up alive meant I was having a good day. Every house I moved into, I plotted various hiding places and escape routes. That includes the house I'm living in now - a place that's very safe (both physically and emotionally). I even had a problem when I first moved in because this house is in a cul de sac - only one exit route - and that's years and years after the last time I was truly afraid. It stays with you.

Being afraid isn't fun and I simply can't understand how other people can seek those sensations and call it fun. It gives me nightmares.

Strawberries too.

2008-09-28T16:21:00.003+10:00

I just picked 15 strawberries from the two strawberry plants I have in my front yard. I've always loved fresh produce but am amazed at how different these strawberries taste from ones bought in the shop, even 'organic' shops. The strawberries are only little - about 1cm-1.5cm long - but the flavour is incredible. The juice simply bursts from the berry and smothers your taste buds in sensation. They don't keep long as I pick them ripe but I don't think I'll ever buy another strawberry, if I can avoid it. Fresh picked is so much more satisfying. We'll have them tonight for dessert.

I've also been using other things from my little garden. Tonight I'll use the last of the pak choy. It's amazing how long it's kept in the fridge. I picked the last of it - two huge armfuls - about three weeks ago and just dumped them in the vege bins in bottom of the fridge. The last bunch that I'm using tonight is still just as plump and crisp as the day it was picked. I'm sure I can credit some of that longevity to the efficiency of the fridge but some of it has to be the fact that the veges were fresh picked. The flavour is different from store-bought as well. Sometimes there's some bitterness in the stalks - not with my home-grown ones.

I haven't had a problem with pests before but I'm battling grubs for my cabbage. I think it's because I haven't planted herbs around the cabbage like I did with the other things. I tried a garlic spray last week but it didn't seem to do much so now I'm trying milk. I'm not sure yet whether it's working but we only found four grubs today compared to about 10 each day last week. I'll spray them with milk for a few more days just to see if the grubs return.

I'm not much of a gardener. I don't like digging or weeding. I'll even avoid watering if I can - we have to use recycled water bucketed from the bathroom and laundry because of water restrictions here. But I love reaping the benefits and I love the sense of satisfaction I get preparing a meal that has its basis in my own home-grown vegetables.

I have friends who say they get bored with food - it's the same things, the same flavours all the time. Even if I cook the same vegetables every day (because that's what's coming out of the garden at the moment), I never get bored. I grew those vegetables myself, as well as the herbs I cook with them. The changes in the produce coming from the garden as one vegetable finishes and the next one comes into season keep me interested. And I change the herbs I put with them and the methods of cooking so I end up with something different every day.

Tonight I think I'll make pasta as well - I have the basic ingredients and it will give me a perfect excuse to play in the kitchen for a while and not do an assignment that's due. Wouldn't it be nice to have everything served at the table home-grown or home-made? I'd love to do that.

I've made a start. I make chutneys, jams and jellies whenever I can and I make my own bread every week. The vege garden has taken that one step further.

It always works this way

2008-09-19T17:46:00.004+10:00

I don't know about other peoples' lives but in my life if I've arranged to spend a lot of money and I'm trying not to spend elsewhere to make sure I can afford whatever big thing it is I want to buy, something in the house breaks and has to be replaced.

Earlier this year it was the fridge. This month, when Lauren and I have just contracted to buy a house, it was my computer monitor. Thankfully that doesn't cost as much as a fridge, but it's still an expense I didn't want just now.

Of course buying new things can be fun. This time though, it was simply a necessity. I can't manage a day without my computer. Sure, I could use the laptop but I'm not as comfortable with that. I like my desktop with the big keyboard and ergonomic furniture. It was quite funny actually. My old monitor had been showing signs that all was not right for a couple of days, so I emailed Lauren and mentioned I'd need to get a new one soon. Of course I was hoping it would last until after we settled on the house but, no, that couldn't happen. The old monitor died yesterday morning.

Lauren phoned and laughed when I told her it died right when I was viewing her email giving me information on new monitors. I lamented that you just can't get things to last anymore. Look at my old fridge. We bought that in January 1972 and it just suddenly died earlier this year. Hmph. My darling daughter was silent for all of a second before she reminded me that I'd bought my old monitor in August 2000. I suppose, for a monitor, eight years isn't bad. It was a flat screen one - a bit special back in 2000.

I don't subscribe to the throw-away mentality so prevalent these days. I buy the best quality I can afford, and I expect it to last a long time. I don't like having to replace things too often and will only do it if they're no longer providing me with the service I want. Now that I think about it, the monitor lasted longer than my husband. Either it provided a better service, or I expected less of it.

The best bit about my new monitor is that it's bright and BIG. I know it's not big in today's terms but a 19" widescreen is a lot bigger than my little 15" square one.

Anyway I've put a picture of my new monitor below. Lauren's boyfriend isn't too impressed with it, even though he considers it a huge improvement on the old one. I think his monitor is a 26" or something equally obscene. It's a good thing I don't need mine to be big.

Samsung 943NWX 19 inch Gloss Black 5ms 8000:1 SIMPLE TILT STAND Product Code: MNSA943NWXB The 943NWX provides many adjustable movements for better ergonomics. It’s the best solution for the work environment and is designed to meet VESA standards.

My new house

2008-09-18T19:45:00.009+10:00

Lauren and I have bought a new house. It settles at the end of the month. I can't wait. As soon as it settles I want the plumber and floor sander in. The bathroom is getting replaced and the floors stripped and polished. We probably should put up a new fence as well - the current one is riddled with (thankfully now dead) white ants.

So, after listing the bad things, these are the things that made us choose to buy it.

It's on a corner block and we love corner blocks - two street frontage, only two neighbours to worry about and, even if the land isn't large, it feels it. It's actually 809m2 so it is a big block.
It's a post war house and we love that era.
It's in a nice quiet area close to the river (but not so close it'll be easily flooded).
It's close to transport (a bus stop just next door, rail and freeway into Brisbane less than 1km away).
It's in a city that is slated to boom in the next ten years so rental potential is good.
It's in good condition but needs a bit of work so value-adding is easy.

I love the whole process of buying a house although waiting for finance approval can be a bit nerve wracking when you're working to a deadline. Planning renovations is brilliant.

One thing I have been worrying about is the financial situation in the US. It's going to impact on us, that's for sure. I keep telling myself all we have to do is be able to hold onto the house long enough for prices to go back up and the economy to stabalise again. Neither of us have extended ourselves financially - at least, even though we both owe more than we ever have before it's still within reasonable limits - so it shouldn't be a problem. I just have to keep working for a bit longer than I'd hoped.

If you want to have a closer look, click here.

Tagged

2008-09-18T19:45:00.004+10:00

I've just been introduced to the concept of 'tagging'. Yet another aspect of cyberspace society I didn't know existed - and did I really want to?

I have been tagged by Danielle Ferries. I'll try to follow the rules but I'm not sure about no 4. I don't know six bloggers! See my response to no 3 for the reason why.

The rules:

Link to the person who tagged you.
Post the rules on your blog.
List 6 unspectacular quirks you have.
Tag 6 bloggers by linking them.
Leave a comment on each person’s blog to let them know they’ve been tagged

My quirks:

I'm basically anti-social. While my job requires me to interact with a large number of people every day I don't like meeting new people socially, particularly in crowd situations. I'm terrible at all that 'getting to know you small talk' and I usually prefer to be on my own.
I can't watch people get cut or have injections. Piercing the skin freaks me out.
I had to have a child to learn how to stick to a schedule - it's not my natural state of being. I think I'd have made a good 'flower child'.
I hate chain letters/emails and anything like them with a passion. They're a waste of time and often subtly threatening. (Tagging might fall into this category too. Sorry Danielle.)
When I feel like reading, I read in bed - and stay there for days.
Inefficiency is irritating. If you've decided to do something and actually start it, finish it as quickly as possible so you can go back to doing nothing again (my comfort zone).

Now comes the hard part - how to link to other bloggers, and, even harder, finding SIX. Perhaps I could just ignore that bit and save everyone a whole heap of bother ;)

Back to work

2008-09-01T20:25:00.003+10:00

Today was my first day at work in seven weeks. It's a long time to be off work but I'm not sure it was long enough.

Today I taught a total of 1-1/2 hours with an hour break after the first 1/2 hour. It didn't seem to matter. Within 20 minutes, my voice was shot. By the end of the day it was little more than a whisper. It's incredibly frustrating and worrying. I find myself getting irritated at not being able to speak properly and I try to force it. Of course that's the worst thing I can do. I am usually a very patient and accepting person but this has worn all my patience away. I want results and I'm getting totally sick of the one-step-forward-two-steps-back that's been happening so far.

The best thing is that with speech therapy, the exercises I do help my voice to recover fairly quickly, but there's no way anyone could call it strong.

I have another hour teaching tomorrow so I'll see how I go. I'll be ringing the speech therapist after that to give her an update on my progress - we might need to rethink my presence in the classroom.

And I should mention my year 9 class was absolutely gorgeous. They were so interested in what's been happening to me and sympathetic about it. They thought the amplifier I have to wear to be heard at the back of the room was cute. And they were silent - all lesson - except for answering or asking questions about the work we were doing. Most of them even told me they were glad I was back. Isn't that sweet? It's times like this that remind me why I love teaching.

Spending money

2008-08-27T17:49:00.004+10:00

Spending money makes me feel ill. I don't mean I can't go out to dinner without throwing up. That's not a problem. But I've just signed a contract to buy a house and spent most of the morning at the bank applying for a loan. I will owe more money than I ever have in my life and the thought of being responsible for that much money makes me ill.

When I was younger and didn't have the financial capacity I have now, things like buying a new fridge had the same effect. Now it's the big amounts - big for me anyway. Spending more than $5000 in one hit is sickening. So is checking my bank account and finding I've spent that much in little bits over the course of a week. It takes time for me to get used to the idea.

It's odd. I don't worry over-much about money. I don't count every cent or panic if I don't keep strictly to my budget. But I hate owing money. I don't like being in debt. I don't even have a credit card. I like living within my income. I know everything I have, I own. It's comfortable.

I like seeing the balance in my bank account go up, not down. Adding zeros to the numbers in my bank account is enough to have me dancing around the house. Buying a house, while cause for celebration, is enough to send me to bed with a cold compress. That's where I'll be spending tonight.

House Hunting

2008-08-22T08:57:00.003+10:00

Lauren and I have been househunting. This is our first foray into investment buying together and it's fun. We spent all day Wednesday in a nearby city looking at houses and thinking about things like renovations required prior to rental, maintenance required in the near future, potential resale value.

We looked at eight houses and discounted five of them almost immediately. One was already rented which was appealing. The house itself looked great but it was too expensive, considering its nearest neighbour was the local cemetary. One was across the road from a joinery - poor resale value and only two bedrooms. One looked like good value until you noticed the kitchen benches had been painted and were now peeling and the kitchen had those awful foam tiles glued to the ceiling - too much work for the price.

The three we really like are in three different areas. One is perfect, excellent condition, good yard, reasonable area - just right at the top of our budget. One is tiny, in a great position, with loads of character and potential to add a third bedroom - but already right at the top of our budget. The third one is in a reasonable area with a good kitchen, just a horrid pink bath and tacky floor coverings. The benefit of this one is that it's cheap enough that we could change the bathroom and floor coverings and still spend less than either of the other two. Even though the first two houses appeal to us more, this one makes more sense for an investment.

It's amazing how I've had to change the way I look at houses and think about them when I'm buying purely for investment purposes. I've never done that before. Every house I've bought previously has been with a view to live in it, renovate and then, if I can afford it, rent it out when I move on to the next house. I've bought houses based on what I like and want in a house, not what would be the best financial decision.

And that's the really fun part over with. Now I have to check insurance companies to find out how safe each of the areas are, the city council to find out yearly rates charges, and spend some time with a spreadsheet calculating potential % return for each house. Then comes arranging for a building and pest inspection, sourcing the funds and engaging a solicitor to do the conveyancing. It's going to be a very expensive couple of months before the house is settled and rented and we start seeing any sort of income from it. Providing we get the house we want at the price we want in the first place.

Emotions rule

2008-08-05T09:33:00.004+10:00

I've decided I'm an emotional person. I don't mean that I'm constantly laughing, crying or screaming; I'm not THAT emotional. But emotions rule my life.

I lost my voice four weeks ago and, while it's improved somewhat, it still doesn't last a full day. I've been on sick leave because I can't teach without talking and talking makes it worse. No one can hear me anyway. I've had nearly four weeks at home with nothing wrong with me except I can't talk. You'd think it would be a perfect opportunity to accomplish things, wouldn't you.

I certainly thought so. Four weeks is enough time to get a uni assignment done early and start on another one. It's enough time to write four chapters for my book. It's enough time to clean my office. But has any of that been done?

What I have done:

I went to the doctor three times.
I've made one batch of spicy tomato chutney and one batch of lemon and lime butter.
I've baked bread and muffins.
I've written the equivalent of one chapter.
I missed lectures at uni because I'm not supposed to be talking - and still haven't listened to the recordings to catch up.
I took my mother to see her sick brother.
I've been shopping. I've looked at heaps of things but so far have only bought chocolate.
I've read books.
I've wandered around the house complaining I'm not accomplishing anything.
And I've eaten a small shop-full of chocolate because that helps me whinge more efficiently.

Effectively, what I've been doing is waiting (probably with a good dose of feeling sorry for myself as well). It's self-defeating and it's time-wasting. But I can't break out of it. I have the perfect day today, with no interruptions to get an assignment started, but I'm doing this instead. I'm cleaning the house instead. I'm moving papers around my desk (let's not get carried away and actually put any of them away) instead. I imagine I'm irritating other people because I'm sure irritating myself at the moment.

This isn't new. It's a pattern that I haven't worked out how to change. When I eventually get back to work there'll be an incredible backlog of things that simply have to be done because I've been avoiding them. They'll all get done and, apart from the exhaustion, I'll feel great, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm deliberately not using a golden opportunity.

What I need is some tips on encouraging self-motivation. It's my greatest weakness.

Crunching gravel

2008-07-21T21:42:00.003+10:00

Lauren and I were out walking, single file on a narrow gravel path in the forest. We stopped every half dozen metres to listen to the sounds around us: the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, the sparrows and honey eaters squawking, the quiet busy-ness of nature. Then we'd move on.

I watched Lauren's feet shift and crunch the gravel as she put them down, one after the other. "How do you suppose all those people in books and movies move so silently?" The question was out of my mouth before I could think about it.

Lauren, bless her, didn't hesitate. Within half a second she'd bent her knees, slowed her stride and begun placing her feet carefully on the path, rolling heel to toe, trying to be as quiet as possible. I followed suit, but we still made too much noise. I changed my stride to match hers, only putting a foot down when she did. That helped, but nothing we did made our passage silent. After a couple of minutes the absurdity of it all struck me and I giggled. Lauren turned and we all but fell about laughing.

"This is the sort of thing my friends and I do when we're drunk," laughed Lauren.

"Who needs to drink?" was my reply. "I can be an idiot any time."

We were both still grinning when we finished our walk an hour later. I'm still smiling. Those few precious moments sharing joy are lasting a long time. I have a lot of moments like that with Lauren.

I must be the luckiest woman on earth.

Do not go gentle

2008-07-20T22:54:00.002+10:00

The father of a friend of mine suffered a massive stroke a couple of days ago. Prognosis isn't good. How I hate this. The lives of so many people are turned upside down, pierced with pain and uncertainty. For them, the grief starts now, even though he's still alive and they suddenly have to deal with the horror of his illness and care. I wish there was something I could do to help them, to make things easier for them, but this is a time for family and holding it all together, dealing with things, because if you don't, you'll succumb to the quiet terror and never be able to cope with anything again.

I remember the day my father died. The call to say he'd been taken to hospital came at 11pm. At 11pm the next night I was standing in the grounds of the hospital with seven year old Lauren, telling her that the newest, brightest star was her grandfather; that people we love never really leave us even though we might never see them again. It didn't work then, for either of us; it doesn't work now. The grief never ends, it never diminishes. It just gets easier to hide, easier to pretend that it doesn't hurt all the time anymore.

Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle into that goodnight" lives with me at times like this:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Sometimes I think it would be better not to fight it, but to just gently slip away, then those who loved can begin their raging sooner, come to terms with it sooner. Hide the grief sooner.

My sound of choice

2008-07-16T20:27:00.003+10:00

My sound of choice is silence - well as silent as I can get in my little part of the world. It annoys me when I wake up at 3am and can hear the trains go by. I don't live anywhere near a train station but the prevailing wind at 3am seems to be in exactly the right direction to bring the sounds straight to my bedroom window.

I'm always the one who turns the tv off if no one is sitting in front of it actively watching (that includes the times someone falls asleep in front of the tv). What's the point? You're either watching it, or you're not. Using it as white noise is irritating.

This week I got a little more silence than I usually ask for. I lost my voice. I'm not talking croaky or husky, I'm talking no volume at all, not even a whisper. It's amazing how much difference it makes to my world. Because I'm silent, most people around me become quieter. A lot of people even whisper at me - I can't make a noise therefore my hearing must be acute. Other people come right up close to me and speak slowly like my hearing has been affected along with my voice. My sense of humour is having a ball.

It's not the first time this has happened. I spent most of my 20s losing my voice three or four times a year, then in my 30s I had 12 months without a voice. I had no volume at all for nearly five months, then had to use a portable voice amplifier for another eight months before my voice was back to normal volume. I've had to do voice exercises every day since to maintain easy volume.

With all this difficulty I have even getting a speaking voice to work, you can imagine what my singing voice is like! It's not that I can't hold a note - I'm just never sure which note I'll get or how long it'll last.

Lauren was 11 or 12 during that year and very quickly learned to respond to a click of my fingers. We developed our own sign language and had quite involved conversations with me not saying a word and her talking in shorthand. She can still say an awful lot to me just by raising an eyebrow. It actually fitted in really well with the dog obedience techniques I used throughout her childhood. I know it sounds odd to say I used dog obedience to raise a child but I did: lots and lots of praise when she did something good and growled at her when she did something wrong, just like we learned when we were training our dog. Of course I didn't realise until we took the dog obedience classes that that's what I was doing.

Now I have a few days of absolute silence inside my head. It's come at the most inconvenient time of the semester - right at the beginning - but there's nothing I can do about that. I'm scared if I don't take the time to rest and get it all working again I'll have another year with no voice. While it was an interesting experience, it's not something I want to repeat.

Walk like a dog

2008-07-12T16:56:00.003+10:00

My daughter walks like a dog. I'm serious, it's not a joke.

The last few months Lauren has been getting some work done in her yard - major earthworks. She's still waiting for the digging to be finished so she can lay a lawn. She misses her grass and plants. She's the kind of person who will spend a couple of hours a day sitting in the grass destressing, and she hasn't been able to do that for nearly four months. It's driving her crazy.

Yesterday we went to a native forest for a long walk, just so we could get close to some trees. Today we visited a friend who lives on a mountain that has a significant national park, and went for walk around the neighbourhood.

I realised today that Lauren walks like a dog. We'll be walking along and she'll suddenly deviate from the path a few metres to sniff a flower or feel the texture of a particular leaf. Then she'll return to the path only to slide off the other side after a few metres to press her hand to the bark of a tree to feel the roughness and the warmth left by the sun. She'll get down on hands and knees to watch the dappled sunlight under the fronds of a tree fern. That was the pattern for our walks yesterday and today. If something catches her eye, Lauren will go and investigate, just like an inquisitive dog would.

It's a beautiful thing to watch and to be part of. I remember similar walks when she was a child. I always loved the way she saw the world - as a thing of peace and beauty, to be nurtured and enjoyed. I no longer have to field the never-ending questions of 'why' and 'how', but she still retains that same joy of nature around her. Spending time with her has reminded me of the simple joys in life.

Looking at the world the way Lauren does really works. I haven't felt so relaxed and happy for a long time.

Gems and jewellery

2008-06-30T15:37:00.003+10:00

I love gemstones and I love designing jewellery. I have absolutely no training other than what seven years working in a jewellery store gave me but I love it anyway. I have a small collection of gemstones I've bought, mostly from e-bay.

As with nearly everything else I do, I have a system. I have found a few sellers on e-bay I trust and I generally stick with them. I'll even pay over my limit with them sometimes because I know I'll get what I expect. I have a limit to pay for items. Generally it's $20 including postage. Sometimes I'll go over but not often. I know $20 isn't much, especially when you include postage. Usually the adage 'you get what you paid for' works true as well so my little stash of gems isn't exactly a treasure trove.

Occasionally something really special will come through and it'll be a total fluke. I have a ruby that fits into that category. It's 1.35ct pear shaped and the most gorgeous pigeon blood colour. I have another ruby that definitely doesn't fit that description. It's 6ct oval cabachon and has some very interesting pink and white striations through it. No one could even suggest it's a good stone, but it is interesting.

When I can I have items made using my gems. I designed a set (pendant, earrings, ring) for Lauren using some lovely blue sapphires I got a couple of years ago. David has a ring with a 1ct black star sapphire set in it. The star is a bit iffy unless you get it in the right light but the ring looks great. The stone cost me 99cUS + postage so I'm really pleased with the result.

The last couple of weeks I've been buying for my sister, Sandra. Tomorrow I'll be posting the little stash I've collected for her. By the end of the week she'll be having fun designing jewellery for two matching blue sapphires, 10 coloured sapphires and 17 little amethysts. I'll send a couple of drawings of my own with them. Sandra and I don't see each other very often and don't really have a lot in common either. I'm enjoying buying gems for her because it gives us some time to be together, albeit via email, that we haven't had for a long time. It's lovely to touch base with her and share something with her.

Bookcases and efficiency

2008-06-22T16:34:00.005+10:00

I love bookcases. When I decided to convert my spare bedroom into an office I had three bookcases made to fit into the built-in wardrobe (almost floor to ceiling). I had a smaller one made to fit under the window and a double-sided one on wheels made so I could pull it over to my desk and pick books from it as I worked. They're gorgeous. When I moved house, I had the bookcases pulled out and brought them with me. This office (another spare bedroom) is a different size and shape but I've managed to fit two of the bookcases into the built-in wardrobe and the rest around the room.

My only problem is the bookcases are over-full. I suspect it wouldn't matter how many bookcases I had, there'd always be more books than shelves. I spent all day today tidying one bookcase. Before I moved I had all my fiction books sorted alphabetically by author and my non-fiction by subject and then alphabetically by title. The system was brilliant. I've been studying since I moved here and haven't sorted my books yet. Having one bookcase sorted doesn't really mean much in the scheme of things. It's one of the fiction cases and, while it's not yet in alphabetical order, I do have all the books by one author together. That way when I get around to doing the alphabetical bit I won't have to search all over the room for each author.

It's exciting. I can look up now and see a whole shelf of Asimov, another of Eddings and Irvine and Dart-Thornton. Still another has Kevin J Anderson and W A Harbinson and Matthew Reilly. Whenever I'm looking for a book by any of those authors I'll know exactly where to find it. Only two large and three smaller bookcases to go. At least the fiction and non-fiction is already separated. That makes it easier. The non-fiction is also already arranged by subject, except for a couple of books that haven't been put away yet.

Having books easier to find makes it easier for me to read exactly what I want as well as making research easier. With all my gardening and herbal law books together and near all my medieval history books, I can find just about anything I need for my current w-i-ps. They're all just behind me too, so I can roll my chair back, grab a book and roll back to the computer, all in just a couple of seconds. I love being able to use things efficiently.

Bedtime stories

2008-06-14T09:07:00.004+10:00

I don't write short stories much any more; I've focused on novels for a while now. But this week I wrote a short story, just for Black Friday. A murder mystery.

My daughter, Lauren, rang after work last night. She finished around 10pm so the phone rang about 11 - lucky I was still up. We haven't seen each other for a while - nearly two weeks - so there was a lot to catch up on. She told me about work and how busy she's been. I told her about my new short story.

Immediately the response was "read it to me?". I picked up the papers, she crawled into bed with her cat and I read her the story over the phone. It's been a long time since I read her a bedtime story.

It reminded me of when she was little. Most nights she'd already have the book picked out and on the pillow next to her when she got into bed. Some nights she couldn't decide which story she wanted to hear so she asked me to make one up. We had a system where she'd say a sentence to start the story off, then I'd continue with a few sentences. Then it was her turn again. By the end of it we'd created a story that often dealt with all the problems she'd faced during the day or the week and found solutions for all of them - and all in the guise of an adventure story we made up ourselves.

It was fun. Just like last night was. I might not have gone to bed until nearly 1am but the time spent chatting with Lauren was precious. I am so lucky. I think just about anything else in my life could fall apart and, as long as Lauren was still part of my life, I'd feel like the luckiest person in the world.

btw: Lauren loved my murder story. She said it was scary and was so graphic she could imagine it happening in her home. High praise from someone who is usually stoicism personified.

A good reason to kill your mother

2008-06-12T19:26:00.003+10:00

It's black Friday tomorrow and I have a meeting with fellow writers. We get together twice a month to critique each others' work, each chocolate and chat. It works well. We usually try to do something different on special occasions and black Friday is one of those times. We'll dress in black, have candles and maybe some wine.

Being the bright spark I am, I suggested those who had time could write a murder mystery to share on the evening. Now I have to do it. It was my bright idea, afterall.

I have a great scene for the victim (already dead at the beginning of the story). I have a murderer and a method of discovering who she is and how she gets what she deserves. I just can't think of one believable reason for her to kill her mother. I know she did it, I know it was planned and deliberate; I was there.

So far I've thought of:

Her mother refused to give her money to go to America to be discovered (time line too great)
Her mother told her she had to move out and make her own way in the world (who wouldn't want to)
The girl was abused and blames her mother for allowing it (done to death)
Her mother was co-trustee of a trust fund from her grandfather and wouldn't release the principal before she turned 25 (the other trustee had agreed to release the principal)

I'm still thinking about the last one. It might work if I can tweak it a little. I'm still looking for a logical reason. In my brain, everything has to have a reason; a logical reason. This girl is obviously crazy, so her reason won't be logical to me, but it has to be for her. I keep circling around greed and power as reasons for murder - they make sense to me - but I'm missing something here. This girl's motivation is something different and I can't grasp it. Maybe I should look at passion too.

And I have to finish this story tonight - the meeting's tomorrow and I've promised home baking so won't have any time tomorrow for writing.

Any ideas?

The murderers I have taught with

2008-06-09T17:58:00.004+10:00

Last week the news was full of a massive raid for pedophiles. Four teachers were involved (so far there have been more than 80 arrests nation-wide). Every time something like that happens (thank heaven, not very often) a wave of dismay, disgust and disbelief washes through my workplace. It doesn't matter what school I'm in, the emotions and questions are the same. How could anyone think for a minute that treating children like that coud be right? How could we (as in someone close to the people) not realise and stop it earlier? Those poor children.

We don't dwell on the topic long. It's too upsetting. Just the thought of what the children have gone through and still have to go through in their lives because of it squeezes the heart and brings tears. We move onto other macabre topics that can have a humourous (bizarre humour, that is) twist when viewed from the distance of years. Last week, Nola, a lady I work with, came out with a classic phrase: "The murderers I have taught with".

The woman should have a blog with that title. She has enough stories to keep it going at least twelve months if she blogs a couple of times a week. Last week we heard of a teacher who apparently killed his wife, chopped her into pieces and put her in a garbage bag in the boot (trunk) of his car. At the weekend he took members of his family on a bushwalk in a forest and while they went ahead, he dumped the body. Bizarre. (My apologies, Nola, if I have any of the facts wrong.)

It's amazing what people don't notice about others around them. Even if things are noticed, they're often dismissed. No one wants to intrude. No one wants to get involved. Everyone wants to believe there's some reasonable and logical explanation. No one wants to believe that ordinary looking people do terrible things. It would mean we'd have to suspect everyone. We'd have to admit our life isn't as safe as we want it to be.

On one radio show, I listened to the announcer suggest an interview during the application process for a blue card (child safety certificate) would identify dangerous people. Everyone in Australia who works with children has to have a 'blue card'. It's basically a criminal check to make sure no convicted pedophiles get jobs close to children. I'm still wondering how an interview would help. People are innocent until proven guilty. If they don't have a conviction we can't accuse without reasonable evidence. We can't conduct an interview and say "You look odd; I think you're a pedophile". It's not as if they have tattoos on their foreheads proclaiming it so.

I feel very strongly about children being treated well, but I also feel strongly about making sure we don't set up a system of discrimination or harassment in our efforts to protect them. The system might need a review and we all know the law is years behind the technology, but everyone's rights have to be protected, not only childrens'.

Knee-jerk reactions have to be avoided. Everyone (ie most people) is horrified and upset that such a thing can go on under our very noses but we have to make sure our reaction is responsible, reasonable and rational. Witch hunts don't work. All they do is set up situations so that society becomes a scary place. People become afraid to express themselves in case it's mis-interpreted. That's not what our democratic lifestyle is about.

Olympic Dreams

2008-06-07T01:18:00.002+10:00

This semester at uni I was fortunate enough to be part of a wonderful team of people. No doubt they'll all make their way into the blog at some stage. Tonight I want to talk about Heather.

Heather has booked tickets to China for the Olympics. She has clothing and banners in Australian colours and is getting really excited about seeing her daughter compete in the water polo. And they don't even know yet if she's made the team. It'll be another two weeks before it's announced.

I can remember Heather mentioning the training schedule early in the semester but it didn't click that it was serious training. I just assumed it was a fun thing, two or three times a week with a weekend game. But no, we're talking six to eight hours a day, seven days a week for months and months, just for a chance.

Heather's daughter is overseas now, training with the team and it's looking positive. Looking at Heather's face, the smile that never quite settles, the eyes darting with excitement and apprehension together, I began feeling some of the thrill of possibility. What a brilliant experience.

I hope Heather's daughter makes it. The whole family has worked really hard for this chance to compete at this level. Her daughter deserves to be able to get out there and strut her stuff. And Heather deserves to be able to watch it and let her pride in her daughter overflow.

Perspectives and perceptions

2008-05-31T18:16:00.004+10:00

Today I presented a paper at a conference. It was a really short paper - only 10 minutes - so it wasn't a big deal but it was really interesting to get feedback later.

When I stood up to make my way to the podium I inhaled and ended up with a coughing fit. Great way to impress the audience from the beginning. It took a few minutes to recover, then I started. The technology wasn't with me. Every time I moved, the powerpoint skipped a few slides and I had to stop and backtrack. I'm used to technology failing me so I just rabbited on for a while about nothing in particular so there wasn't an uncomfortable silence, then continued with my presentation. I lost my place with my notes, got sidetracked with a remark about how much I enjoyed reading a particular article when I was preparing the presentation and finally finished about 20 seconds over time. I mentioned most of the salient points but I don't recall any eye-to-eye contact with the audience and I got tongue-tied a few times when particular words just failed me and I had to reword the sentence for it to make sense. To me it was terrible - not quite a disaster, but definitely not a polished professional performance.

During lunch and after the conference finished I had a number of people come up to me and congratulate me on a professional presentation. They thought it was informative, interesting and well-paced. They loved that I was relaxed enough to add a personal comment and that I didn't get at all fazed by the technology glitch.

Isn't it amazing how different people see the same thing in different ways? I would have loved for the proceedings to have been recorded so I could review it myself - see what the audience saw. I think that would be a good thing for a lot of things we do in our lives. Obviously our own perception of ourselves and our actions is often very different to the way others see us. If we could see the other perspective as well, we might develop a more balanced view of ourselves.

What is art?

2008-05-29T15:36:00.002+10:00

I've just been catching up on the recent news articles. I'm not very motivated to keep up with the news - it's always depressing and negative. But once a week or so I read the headlines and read further into those that grab my attention.

The articles I've been reading today are about Bill Henson's most recent art exhibition. This situation disturbs me on so many levels I'm not sure what to feel. I am a great believer in fence-sitting - letting other people live their lives and make no personal judgements on them. That doesn't mean I don't feel strongly about some things. I cringe at the thought of censorship, particularly of art and literature. Freedom of expression is important.

But there is one thing I feel even more strongly about - the right of children to be innocent. Every time someone even suggests a child might have been mistreated or their innocence abused in some way, I feel the hackles rise on the back of my neck. My blood races through my body, readying me for a fight.

I go to art galleries regularly and over the years I've seen a lot of lovely photos of children, even naked children, that show various aspects of childhood and growth and society while still maintaining the beautiful innocence that childhood should be. The photographs in question apparently depict "a child under the age of 16 years of age in a sexual context." It worries me - and that's a typical British-style understatement made when you're so upset you can't think of an appropriate thing to say.

Yet the fact remains that I haven't seen the photographs, so can't judge for myself if they're art or pornography. I'm left with no option but to trust in the authorities to do their job properly and not persecute someone with little reason.

That worries me too.

Old friends

2008-05-23T23:36:00.003+10:00

Wendy and I met when we were seven. I took one look at the new kid and knew she'd be my best friend. Eventually. She was short and round and had the straightest, whitest teeth I'd ever seen. Her smile made me want to smile. Still does.

The early years weren't all smooth sailing. We didn't become bosom-buddies immediately and stay that way. There were fights and arguments and long periods when we simply didn't talk to each other. But by the time we started high school, we were inseparable. I thought we'd be like that forever.

Then Wendy left town.

I remember writing long letters to her and waiting anxiously for a reply. I understood she had things happening in her life that meant she wouldn't write immediately but a letter always arrived and it brightened my days. She meant the world to me.

She came back home for a visit once and I remember spotting her down the end of our street. Both of us just squeeled and took off running - towards each other - and ended up collapsing in a heap of laughter in the middle of the street. It's always like that when I see her. The sheer joy of being alive and with her.

We've known each other 40 years now. We've had our children and lived our very separate lives. Sometimes we've lived in the same town, sometimes not. Once we didn't contact each other for 18 months. I think I lost her address and she thought I was angry about something. I don't remember. I just know when we found each other again everything was the same. Something in my life clicked into place and became whole again.

We have absolutely nothing in common. She like cutesy poetry, chain emails and country-western music. I like antique furniture and symphonies. She looks at me as though she thinks I was abandoned by aliens. She calls me a snob (in the nicest possible way). I look at her and think surely only abduction by aliens could sort her head out. I call her mad (in the nicest possible way). But none of it matters. Underneath all the teasing and the differences we hold the same values close to our hearts. I admire her and respect her more than I do most people I've known, even if I don't agree with all of the decisions she's made. I know she feels the same about me.

I think you only have so much time in your life for friends so the number of friends you have are necessarily limited. Wendy and I don't need each other in our daily lives, we just need to know we're there, each for the other. And if I ever run out of time for friends, she'll be the last to be crossed off the list.

The eyes have it

2008-05-23T20:10:00.004+10:00

I always remember peoples' eyes. Their mouths and hands too, but the eyes have it. That doesn't mean I know what colour their eyes are but I always remember what emotions they portrayed.

My father had eyes of the palest blue, like the sky directly above on a hot summer day. Bleached blue. They always smiled when he saw one of us (me and my sisters) like he couldn't imagine a better thing to look at. They often looked sad when he didn't think we were looking. Sometimes overwhelmed - I guess raising four girls in the 60s and 70s pretty much on his own can do that to a man. Once, only once they looked both scared and angry.

I was 16 and two hours late coming home from the movies with my boyfriend. We'd driven to a town an hour away on the open highway and on the way home the fan belt broke. We had to keep stopping at farm houses to fill the radiator with water. Not once did it occur to me to ask one of the farmers if I could ring Dad and let him know what had happened. It was in the days before mobile phones, even before car phones.

When I walked in the front door he came towards me and the look in his eyes terrified me. He crowded me until I backed into a wall and wagged his finger less than an inch away from my face. It was the most violent I'd ever seen him. He was so out of control he was shaking. I can't remember most of what he said to me. I know he waited until I told him what happened but everything between "Where were you?" and "Don't ever scare me like that again" is lost. But I remembered his eyes and made sure I never made them look like that again.

My daughter Lauren's eyes glitter with a zest for life that encourages me to join in. I've spent a lot of years studying her eyes and know that most of the time they're brown but sometimes they're bright green. I think it has something to do with her health and what vitamins or minerals her body is lacking. I could look at her eyes for hours and never be bored. Every interest or joy or sadness is reflected there and, by just looking at her, I can share it.

I have no idea what colour David's eyes are. I've been going out with him for 7 years, living with him for two but can't remember the colour of his eyes. I know they're soft and gentle and make me want to sink into his arms and stay there. Over the years I've seen them change from tense to relaxed and content. They smile a lot now. They reflect his personality too - generous and caring.

Most eyes are like that - not generous and caring, but reflect the personality of the person.

I met one person years ago whose eyes didn't do that. It was a student I taught, a girl who was very nice and polite and worked hard. Her eyes were silver. Not grey - silver. It was a hard, solid silver, immovable, not molten or changeable. They reflected the light so strongly it was like looking into a mirror all the time, or a flourescent light. I found it very disconcerting. Even when she laughed or cried, her eyes didn't change. The tears made them look shinier but that's all. The colour was so strong that I could see it clearly from across the room, not like other people's eyes where you have to be up close to see exactly what colour they are. It was always a shock to turn from the board and look at the faces of the students in the room - all the other students were faces, their eyes just part of the shape, but with her I saw her eyes first. I remember being thankful that she was a student and I didn't have to try to get to know her or like her because I found her eyes very difficult to deal with. I also remember hoping her classmates didn't have my difficulty. It would have been awful if her friends had judged her because of her eye colour - something she didn't have any control over.

Getting old

2008-05-21T21:24:00.003+10:00

Do you remember how, when you were young, anyone over 20 seemed ancient? I remember looking at my father's friends and thinking they must be nearing retirement age and hoping they had a home (facility for the aged) picked out. And they were only in their late 30s at the time. Oddly enough I never viewed my father as old - not until just before his death when he started looking a little fragile.

All my teachers seemed old too. I was shocked when two of my female teachers got pregnant one after the other. Surely they were too old to have children. Didn't all your bits rot after the teen years?

By the time I was 15 being 20 was cool. My first boyfriend was 20 - he had deltoids and a six-pack stomach and three hairs on his chest. Impressive stuff. I look at the photos now and, while he was particularly well-built compared to the other 20-year-olds at the time, he was still skinny and weedy. His mid-20s was when he looked like he belonged in his skin. When he was 30 he'd lost the six-pack and other muscle definition but was still slim. I saw him again a few years ago when he was in his late 40s and he looked soft and rounded, passed his prime. I look around me and a lot of men follow a similar pattern. They look best in their bodies in their mid to late 20s.

But even with the body, they don't appeal to me. My tastes have changed. The skinny six-pack just looks like a kid who needs to get dressed and go back to school. Now I think hairy chests, bald heads and defined but not muscle-bound bodies look best - especially if the chest hair is salt-and-pepper.

I'm not even sure my tastes have changed because I've aged and become a little more realistic, or if I just like men closer to my own age. Maybe it's just that I couldn't stand for the man next to me to look better than I do. Can you seriously imagine a 40-something who avoids exercise and eats too much chocolate could possibly compare favourably (physically) to a 20-something who works out regularly? I suppose it would depend on who's looking.