Today's Menu

Finding a simple balance in life is difficult, at best. We live in an age that is complicated by the choices we have before us. Never before, have so many people had so many options. Our time is measured in the hours, minutes and seconds taken reading a label on a tin of kidney beans to find out the sodium content, figuring the gas mileage of the car on a recent road trip, digesting the thoughts behind an opinion page of our local paper or running an all-important errand. From these actions spring other options - no one thing is ever finite or closed and, generally, I find that in performing a primary action, at least two other secondary actions or options snake off the side and I end up performing or contemplate performing those, as well. For instance, I am writing this entry but also warming my feet by sitting cross-legged and tucking my toes in the crooks of my knees. I will, at some point, be inspired to put some socks on simply because it's difficult to warm one's feet from the heat coming off nylon jogging bottoms (or maybe I just don't have my toes tucked in the correct crooks). Anyway, the dog will follow me to the sock drawer and because getting dressed is a signal to her that there is a possible w-a-l-k in store for her, she will whine until she steers my actions to exchange my slobby jogging attire for jeans, boots, a fleece and a hat (today is not a hairwashing day) and take her to the park (why can't she just use the back garden like other dogs?).
Which park? The options are endless in London. Most likely, it will be the local park up the hill, and it will be a good, long walk around the circuitous path that outlines the vast green lawns and clusters of trees. At any point we might cut across the lawn, walk through the Victorian maze, visit the dinosaurs* or stroll along the avenue of oak and chestnut trees near the cafe. I suppose what I'm getting at in the long-winded post is that even in a simple action such as taking a dog for a walk I am presented with a myriad of options, opportunities to make choices and decisions to take along the way. I will often make a move only out of necessity (dog needs a walk, my knees are stiffening up hence I am no longer sitting cross-legged and my need for socks is now greater) and in my life I would much rather make decisions and consider my options because of a choice I've made beforehand than out of necessity. Rarely do the big decisions come down to that, though. We need something drastically and we must therefore make a series of moves that takes us there. Honestly. The kidney bean thing may be the only thing we really can control.

September, October, whatever...

Because Rageh Omar digs EW&F, and I dig Rageh Omar

Phobia, phobia

Did I mention a few weeks ago that the wasps were dying and that the autumn makes them lazy and prone to stinging? Have I ever filled in a meme describing my greatest (irrational) fear? Two words, beginning with 'b' and 'w' and rhyming with 'fee' and 'posp'. I hate the bloody things and my irrational fear of them has caused me to perform feats of strength and speed in an attempt to overpower or outrun the little critters. I've never been stung, repeat: never been stung. Nonetheless, I am a complete sissy when it comes to dealing with bees and wasps and those around me have had to put up with my arm waving and screeching for almost four decades. I'm at a loss. Why does it cause me such distress? Well, today I managed to frighten a dog and a boy with my antics whilst walking with them in the woods behind my house. A 'lazy' wasp got lodged in my hair, right behind my ear and then flew into the collar of my shirt and was gzzzing around my neck and head for ages. Thankfully there were no other people (except little boy and dog) in the woods when I decided to start flailing and keening (I don't don't scream for some reason), ripping off my jacket and shirt to dislodge the wasp from my most important body parts. I think the sight of a half-dressed, grown woman standing in the woods with a dog trying to dodge waving arms and a toddler crying in distress is enough to make anyone phone for social services. I need help. Anyone know of a good hypnotherapist? Wry?

I've got ten minutes.

I've got ten minutes to construct a lucid post before I have to jet out of here with a toddler-in-tow to playgroup. Can I do it? Doubtful. It's been one week since last I've posted on this blog. I've been flitting around and commenting on others' blogs (some nice comments, some silly comments, and some rather bizarre comments) - sorry if you were on the receiving end of one of my silly/bizarre comments. I'm up for blaming something else entirely, namely the water, the acupuncture treatment I've been receiving, the change of the seasons, the lack of inspiration for my own writing, my upcoming exams, the upcoming trip to Poland/France/the Maudsley, etc.

Right, I've now used up two minutes - I've got eight minutes left. Actually, I don't have eight minutes left because I do have to load the dishwasher, tidy up the toys, brush one youngster's teeth and hair. I'll sign off now.

A Healthy Dose of Reality

This week marks the third anniversary of my SO's father's death. He had battled non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, living with it for 15 years (!) and knowing that he would eventually die from it. He had a brilliant oncologist who was able to give him a decent quality of life for as long as possible. Credit to John, he was an active man who enjoyed bellringing, golf, the internet, the Guardian crossword, reading, Elgar and a multitude of other interests. He was honest in his dealings with people and always spoke to me in a manner that suggested he saw me as an equal. We spoke of science and politics and he was curious to know my viewpoint, as an American citizen, and as a woman. I miss John in the same way I miss my maternal grandmother. They were people who allowed me inside and spoke with me on a level, shared a joke with me and asked me questions. It's small things like that that keep them alive in my memory, and I guess I try to occasionally remember them - I think it's all they would have wanted from me.

This leads me to the next thought, which is that I no longer believe in anything beyond this life. It can be a depressing thought for some that this is all there is to life; that it ends when it ends. It was a bit of a corner-turning moment for me when the cogs in my head clicked into a lower gear, and I started thinking about all the ramifications of not having to answer to a higher being from beyond. I stopped lying to myself and stopped lying to others (for the most part). What was the point? I didn't have to answer to anyone except myself and if I looked like a fool for trying to fool others, then it was me who had to live with that. I started valuing life for what it was. For some people life is horrible. Religion tries to give people personal pat answers about what life should mean and convince them of a reality that asks, in my opinion, far too much and changes with the weather. I wasn't going to try and convince others of a reality that no longer existed, for me, nor was I going to try and keep up with another edict, another commandment, another interpretation of holy text.

John's honesty was a mainstay in my life and quite instrumental in a shift in my thinking. He never tried to enforce his reality upon me, but his reality never changed whereas my thinking shifted all over the place. He knew his was a life cut shorter than average. He never cursed nor praised God, that I heard. He just got on with it* and tried to live as long as he could.

Yesterday, I listened to a programmed called 'Word of Mouth', on BBC's Radio 4. A guest speaker, his name escapes me, mentioned that religious phrases have crept into politics, both in the US and the UK, and that the apocalyptic rhetoric is being used more and more to convince people to vote out of fear. Emotional responses to difficult decisions always seem to yield poor results. Our emotions change; I believe that they are the key things that shape our reality. I have an adverse reaction to something and so my whole life is built upon avoidance of that thing. Can you imagine what our world would be like if we based our decisions on practicality and logic, rather than emotions? It may not be practical, after all, but it would be an interesting change from the highly-charged reactions, that may be appropriate in the short term, but devastating for the long term.

That's it for today. It's just a thought. What do you think?

Congratulations Pub Quiz No. 1

Well, the results for the first ever blog pub quiz are in and I am happy to say that Pub Club Foot has a winner with Mabel and Team Sunset Zamboni. Congratulations Mabel and thank you so much for playing along! For those of you interested in the answers to the pub quiz questions then read below.

Mabel, I will send your prize in the post and you should get it in the next few weeks.

Pub Quiz No. 1 Answers

ROUND 1
1. What is the relatively uncommon disease caused by consumption or contact with Fava Beans called? Favism!
2. If you perform 'hana giri' to a radish, what are you doing? Cutting it into the shape of a flower.
3. How many pints of ale are normally imbibed before the Quizmaster must excuse herself and nip to the toilet? Usually 1 and a half. On my way back from the toilet I get another round of drinks for the table. TMI?
4. What happens upon consumption of either a Fly Agaric or a Yellow Stainer? DEATH! They are poisonous mushrooms.
5. What is the Quizmaster's favourite restaurant? Terre a terre, in Brighton.
6. Finish this limerick by filling in the blanks:
"There was an old ______________ of Crediton gourmet
Who ate ___________________ having spread it on pate fois gras
A chocolate biscuit
He boomed 'Hell, I'll risk it!'
His _____________ bears the date that he said it on." tomb
7. What does the 'Scoville Scale' measure? Heat in chillies.
8. The 'zucchini' is also called a ________________ in the UK. Courgette
9 Which food could the Quizmaster eat 3 x daily for the rest of her life? Cold cereal, oddly enough.
10. In the UK, which food is generally eaten on Shrove Tuesday? Pancakes, in a bid to eat up all the prohibited foodstuffs just before Lent.

ROUND 2
1. In poetry, who was the famous son of Weno'nah? Hiawatha. Sorry, I misspelled the name the first time.
2. What occupation practices 'maquillage'? Make-up artist.
3. What is the chemical formulation for carbon monoxide? CO
4. What is the Quizmaster's favourite pastime? Slacking!
5. What was Miss Piggy's character name in 'Muppet Treasure Island'? Benjamina Gunn
6. Who has the sauciest avatar of the Quizmaster's readership? SML
7. Which future saint took part in the stoning of St Stephen? St. Paul
8. Which African country is closest to Italy? Tunisia.
9. What is the name of the Quizmaster's dog? Wonder Pup
10. What breed of dog is the Quizmaster's dog? Part dog, part baby.

Why it's impossible to live life without sometimes looking like a tit

The good thing about arriving in Paris a day ahead of meeting up with SML, Wry and Chanson is that I will get a chance to finally visit the Pompidou Centre, which houses a few floors of contemporary art and is situated near the Les Halles area. I cannot automatically assume that anyone else will be remotely interested in modern art when Paris has the granddaddy and grandmammy of all museums, the Louvre and Musee d'Orsay filled to the brim with Renaissance and Impressionist masterpieces, and so I will try to get my fill of abstract impressionism, fauvism and cubism on the Saturday afternoon. I say try. I will try to make it through the door of the Pompidou Centre, this time. The last time J and I went to Paris, I stubbornly got into a queue filled with a few uniformed groups of kids, a bunch of Japanese 20-something tourists and a German or two. J motioned to me to read the sign she had just found but I shot her a smug (and probably rather ugly) look that said, 'See, I can find the fastest moving queue. Now, hop up here beside me.' The two groups of schoolkids were accompanied by two adults who managed to herd them through the ropes, past the security guard and into the treasure trove of spattered, squiggled and globular painted canvasses and sculpture. I was salivating and a wee bit sweaty from the anticipation.
"Ecole?" the guard asked looking from me to J to the Japanese tourists. The Germans had, by that time, left the queue and were wandering around taking pictures of the outside of the building.
My eyebrows shot up. Again, he asked, "Ecole?" I paused. J paused.
Finally, I blurted out, "Je m'appelle Aitch..." F*ck! Why did I tell him my name?
His eyebrows shot up. My face turned hot and a droplet of sweat ran down the side of my face.
The guard, probably very nicely, explained to us that we were standing at the entrance for the schools but in my head it sounded like the French version of, "YOU are a supreme idiot!"
I was too mortified to look for the other entrance and so J and I found a McDonalds and got a coffee (I know, I know but I was traumatized by the experience and I needed the comfort of familiarity found in the face of a capitalist clown...sue me.).

I'm looking forward to a Saturday in Paris. I know where the main entrance for the Pompidou Centre is located. If you see me on Sunday and I've got a red face, just go with my explanation that it's sunburn.