Monthly Archives: May 2012

home alone … at last

Being fifty-something means I’ve got used to my own space.


Given that we’ve been married thirty-something years, people wonder how that can be.

Mr P has almost always worked on rotating rosters or on jobs that take him away from home for days (sometimes weeks) at a time.

I’m not complaining. When people ask me the secret to a long marriage I tell them our forced periods apart have been our saving grace. We’ve both learnt to do our own thing. Don’t get me wrong … this is not an open marriage. Nothing like it. We just don’t stress about being apart.

Mr P has just finished a year or so in a job that kept him close. He was home every evening (often in time to cook dinner) and around enough on weekends that we could plan social happenings. It was fun while it lasted.

Mr P has started a new job and, first day, he’s been sent trucking to far-off places.

I find myself home alone with Jack Sparrow (pirate cat) and Abbie (the borrowed dog) for the first time in a long time.

Missing him? You bet.

Lost? No way. It’s “me time”, and I’ve missed that, too.

*wrings hands in anticipation*

What shall I do?

Head to the cinema solo for a chick flick?
Catch up with a girlfriend for chat/coffee/wine/chat?
Get active at the gym? Or go for a swim?
Settle in to shave some height off my towering “to read” stack?
Soak in that new bath tub I don’t seem to sink into as often as I’d hoped?
Tackle one of the craft projects beckoning from the spare room?
Start that novel?

No. I choose the guiltiest pleasure I can muster … an evening of reality TV.

Mr P loathes reality TV (in all its forms, apparently) and we simply never tune in … it’s not worth the grumbling or angst. We’ve made it an unofficial rule to not split into separate rooms to watch separate TV programs. Isn’t that the beginning of the end? If there’s nothing on the box that we’re both keen to watch, then we dont turn it on. The outcome? We don’t watch a lot of TV. We never record programs (we don’t know how) or stay home just to watch a particular broadcast. (To be honest … I haven’t actually tested that last one with Downton Abbey yet.)

So, while Mr P was in outback NSW doing this:

(don’t ask me what he’s doing … something to do with grain … or fertiliser … and bunkering)

I relaxed back into my favourite wing-back chair, feet up, watching this:

I worked my way through Grand Designs Revisited, The Block AND The Voice. All in one decadent sitting.

Kid in a candy shop.

I’ve ingested enough reality TV to see me through several dinner parties or waiting room chat sessions (now I’ll know who and what everyone’s talking about!)

Maybe I should have eased my way into it. I may have overloaded.

Like most guilty pleasures, the delight is in the rarity. And I do feel guilty (in a pleasurable kind of way).

I’ve vowed to explore something more productive/social/intellectual when Mr P next leaves me home alone.

Why? Two hours into that TV session I had an inexplicable urge to go online and buy myself a snuggie.

Yikes!

Now that would be the beginning of the end.

What do you choose to do when “me time” presents its pretty self?

Go on, confess … (snuggie or not).

About these ads

Free ebooks for seniors. Who? Me?

Being fifty-something, I know that there’s no such thing as a free lunch.

The free ebook, however, is a reality. It’s all to do with the scale of digital publishing.

When Novel Seniors’ promo material first hit my inbox, my initial reaction was: senior? Who’s a senior around here?

Hang on. I am. Damn! I may as well check out the perks of senior-dom and see what’s on offer.

This is a new program, so I haven’t had a chance to test-drive it. Being a devotee of all things FREE, I’m willing to give it a go (at least once). Perhaps you are, too, so I’m sharing the love.

Partly because I like this graphic on their website.

Here’s the crux of it … in their words:

“We invite you to join the amazing new program Novel Seniors!

We are excited to offer free ebooks to you, our most cherished readers.

At least once a month we will donate free, yes we said FREE ebooks through Amazon to seniors. Just go to www.novelseniors.com and sign up for our newsletter! Once you’re on the list we’ll send you free books!

And not just one book!! Heck no! For every book you claim we will send you another.

Every book you claim within the first hour of the giveaway will give you 5! chances to win a $25 gift card AND 5! chances to win our grand prize a KINDLE. (Example: Claim five books and you get 25 chances to win a gift card and 25 chances to win the KINDLE)

Don’t have a Kindle? No worries. There is a Kindle app for just about any electronic device. If you own a computer, smart phone, or iPod touch, then you are able to download the free ebooks.

Our next Free Give Away is Friday June 1. There are no gimmicks, fees, or hidden costs. We promise. So get in on the fun and sign up for our newsletter now! We look forward to sharing some great books with you.”

Worth a whirl?

I’ve signed up … will let you know how it goes.

By the way, no one asked my age through the subscription process. I’m not sure when the “senior” tag officially kicks in so who is eligible or not. Might even work out for you sweet young forty-somethings (or even younger).

Don’t dally … the first giveaway is 1 June.

Note: this is not a sponsored post. I am simply sharing what I believe to be a worthwhile offer. I am not endorsing or recommending. Just saying.

From smug to mug – the food miles lurking in my minestrone

Being fifty-something, I should know better.

This morning I shared this photo on facebook, boasting about making minestrone.

That’s the smug part.

Once I had the minestrone makings in the slow cooker I sat down with a cuppa to read the Sunday paper.

This article led the front page. It relates the demise of the Aussie tomato growing and processing industry under competition from imports. It warns of worse to come – a possible degradation of our food processing industries, across the board. Scary stuff, given that our manufacturing industries are already headed down the toilet.

Ever curious, I fished in the recycle bin for the empty cans from the minestrone and discovered … horror.

The tomatoes had come from Italy. (17,888+ kilometres according to the Sunday Age.)

The tomato paste had come from China.

The kidney beans had come from … parts unknown (“Made from local and imported ingredients” read the can’s mysterious “disclosure”).

Oh, feck. That’s the mug part. I am the not-so-smug mug.

I like to imagine I’m savvy with the concept of food miles and conscious of it when I’m shopping.

Fact is, when faced with a great price on the supermarket shelf, I seem to forget all about the food miles issue and don’t even check where the product was sourced.

I can’t even say (categorically) that if I had checked, I would have turned down the cheaper import in favour of a more expensive domestic product. It’s a hard call.

More feck.

I’ve got no smart ideas on how to resolve this. The logical part of my brain tells me to reduce food miles at any cost. My miserly-trying-to-save-a-buck self rejects the cost of doing so.

I am on the horns of an ethical/economical dilemma. And it’s painful.

Any smart ideas?

I could grow my own fresh produce, but that won’t cover all bases. Very few.

I’m thinking perhaps a compromise along the 80/20 principle. What if I can plan on 80% domestic food and 20% imported? Or possibly some other ratio?

Let us know how you manage/don’t manage the food mile quandary. All suggestions/comments welcome.

Kermit was right: it’s not easy being green.

The 10-minute take-10-years-off-your-hands sensation

Being fifty-something, my hands are not looking as young as they used to.

This favourite, super-cheap pick-me-up takes just a few minutes and makes my hands look like they did ten years ago, and feel like they did fifty-something years ago.

Yep, they feel as soft as newborn skin!

It’s a great at-home routine before a special event or meeting where you’re likely to be shaking hands (or holding hands).

And I bet you already have everything you need in your pantry.

For a ladies’ night in, grab a couple of girlfriends and a bottle of lubbly bubbly and get this thing rolling.

First put down a cloth (this could get messy), roll up your sleeves, twist off your ring bling and wrist candy and put them somewhere safe (especially if you’ve started with the bubbles already).

This is what you’ll need:

White sugar, olive oil and lavender oil. That’s it. I’m even using home brands. You can substitute your favourite essential oil for the lavender. I’ve done it with rose oil.

The quantities are up to you. I guess about half a cup of sugar, a good swizzle of olive oil (just enough to make the sugar sticky) and a few drops of the essential oil.

Mix it all together in a bowl and then start rubbing the mixture all over your hands and forearms. It’s crunchy (audibly!) and smooth at the same time. Massage it in for ten minutes or so and then rinse off in warm water.

Now … you see what I mean? Smooth as a bubby’s bum. The sugar exfoliates and the oil moisturises.

You can do your feet, too. In fact, you can do anything you like.

You’ll stay smooth for several days … and then you can just do it all again.

Cheers!

Credit: My nail polish is OPI’s My Private Jet, courtesy of My Girl.

If you’re happy and you know it …

Being fifty-something, I know how important “happiness” strategies are.

Even for cheerful folk, the doldrums sometimes catch you unawares and unless you have some glass-half-full strategies bedded in, a day of the “sads” can lead to a week hiding (from the world) under your doona.

For midlifers, change is in the air. Emptynesting. Downsizing. Retiring. There’s a lot going on and that change can mean danger time for happiness levels. Resilience is the key.

I “mostly” come off as a positive person. Being a professional copywriter gives one plenty of practice using positive language, putting a spin on stuff and it naturally overflows into day-to-day.

I was once instructed by a boss to tone down my cheerfulness because I was making the other staff (one in particular) look glum. (FFS, it was a community centre! Don’t get me started.)

Most people I know (including me) would agree that their moods go up and down, and sometimes control (and cheerfulness) comes easier than other times.

With all that in mind, Mr P and I took up another one of those freebie experiences that are out there happening in every community, if you just have a look for them.

We attended a free public presentation by Chris Mackey a well-regarded Geelong clinical psychologist who is passionate about the benefits of positive psychology in promoting wellbeing and building resilience.

An hour of free therapy (not personalised, but … meh) … how’s that? I think we’d all be much better off if we could have ten minutes with Dr Phil (or Dr Chris) every morning. Pretty certain I’d be thinner… and  smarter … and more graceful.

Chris was no slouch at the lectern. He made our effort to head out on a cold night worthwhile. He talked a lot about balancing our positive and negative thoughts.

For example, ideally, you should aim to have three positive thoughts to every negative one.

How can you work toward achieving that sort of ratio?

Some days are easier than others, but it can be as simple as seeking to focus on what went well in your day, rather than what didn’t. You can do this through discussion with your partner, close friend or by writing down your thoughts.

Seek to answer the question: What went well today? You can always find one or two gems, even in an otherwise disastrous day.

He also talked about the value of being grateful and charitable, of letting go of grudges and of “following your bliss”.

“Follow your bliss” always makes me think of Oprah (a good thing). Thankfully, Chris followed that up with a real strategy and framework. I’m going to share it with you (that’s being charitable).

He recommended identifying your key character strengths and focusing on your top two to five strengths when you’re deciding on career moves, leisure interests, even how to spend your day. He explained the value in working to your strengths.

That begs the question: how do I identify my strengths? (I knew you were going to ask that.)

You go to the Authentic Happiness website, register and click on the VIA Survey of Character Strengths, complete the questionnaire and print out an ordered list of your 24 character strengths.

This questionnaire is used around the world; it caters to all ages and cultures and is actually a part of accepted clinical psychology practice (Chris uses this very questionnaire with some of his own patients).

Would I recommend this to you without testing it out myself first?

Never!

I’ve done it and my five top strengths are (apparently) love of learning; appreciation of beauty and excellence; gratitude; judgement, critical thinking, and open-mindedness; and … tadah … modesty and humility.

That’s a bit of a confidence booster right there.

My bottom five (which are still listed as strengths) are: industry, diligence, and perseverance; spirituality; self-control; bravery and valour; and … tadah … leadership.

Yeah, they’re the things I’m not so good at (but let’s not dwell on the negative).

Those of you who know me well will have worked out by now, that this is unexpectedly accurate. (I was shocked, too.)

What do I do now?

According to Chris, I find ways to use my top strengths more often. If I can’t do it in my work, then I should think about how I’m spending my spare time, what I’m reading, who I’m talking to and what I’m doing today, to see how it’s all aligned.

It’s a whole new level of mindfulness I can’t wait to try out. (Wonder how long I will persevere with it?)

I will report back and let you know how it works out. In the meantime, why not take the test yourself (it says it takes 45 minutes but I only gave it 15 minutes – I’m not patient) and report back to let us all know if you find out something new about yourself.

For further reading, Chris recommended Martin Seligman’s book Flourish. (I’ve added it to my to-read list).

If you’re in Geelong, this was the first of a series of five public talks Chris is giving here over the next few months. You can learn more about the series here. Maybe I’ll see you there?

And, because that was a long post with not many pictures, here’s something that went well in my day today:

Dogs in cars are heart-warmers in my book.

A book launch: Snowline by Jo Langdon

Being fifty-something and interested in writing, I love a book launch.

I was delighted to be invited to the recent launch of Snowline by Jo Langdon, a Geelong poet/writer.

Jo and My Girl have been friends since school. Jo often popped in and out of our home through her teen years, as My Girl popped in and out of Jo’s home. Over our kitchen counter I learnt of Jo’s early aspirations to be a writer.

Jo is now undertaking a PhD in literary studies at Deakin University, chasing her dreams.

She was co-winner of the 2011 Whitmore Press Manuscript Prize. (I’m confident there will be many more such prizes and awards in Jo’s writing career).

Snowline is a to-be-cherished chapbook of Jo’s poems, published by Whitmore Press.

My Girl and I warmed up (before the launch) with red wine in front of a fire and beneath this beast, at The Bended Elbow.

At Café Go, folk were gathering for the launch. We found brightly-cushioned seats around a chunky wooden table and sat beneath pretty things like these:

and these:

feasting on anti pasto and syrupy baklava, lingering with old friends (and new) before quieting to hear Jo read (ever so humbly) from Snowline.

“I’ll read one from the beginning and one from the end … and you can decide if you want to read what’s in the middle.”

Thankfully, she read one from the middle, too, and I have since devoured everything in between, every tantalising word, every perfectly formed (but never pretentious) phrase.

The critique on the Snowline’s cover describes it better than I ever can:

“With wit and shimmering precision Jo Langdon’s poems connect the surreal, imagined world to what is felt. Her music is spare, wounding, hypnotic.” Michelle Cahill.

I love how, at a book launch, you get special touches like this:

And a hand-written message on the title page (that’s too personal to share here).

Three of my favourite textual images from Snowline:

“Above a city I watch blackbirds,
beaded to fence wire”

“As a child I complained that she never wore
her wedding dress or rings. It took uncounted
years to see how she wears her love.”

“a small staircase beneath
porcelain bells of wisteria”

This is Jo at the launch. My crappy photography skills have endowed her with devil eyes. She is, in fact, an angel … an angel poet endowing little words with big wings.

If you don’t already love poetry, Snowline could be your perfect introduction.

Snowline by Jo Langdon is available through the Whitmore Press website at $19.95 (there might even be limited editions left, if you’re quick). They are offering free postage for Australia and very reasonable postage overseas.

If you’re in Geelong, you can pick up a copy of Snowline at Paton Books in Pakington Street (and a little birdie whispered that Dymocks Geelong are also stockists).

*This is NOT a sponsored post. I chose to purchase Snowline and am simply sharing the joy of it (and the launch event) here.

Going, going … passed in

Going, going … passed in

Being fifty-something, I love the simple thrills in life.

For me, auctions are one of those simple delights. I love a spirited ebay auction, a hard-fought clearing sale, a bidding war over an antique lamp and, most of all, a property auction.

There is so much at stake at a home auction … the expectations of the vendor versus the hopes of the buyer. The real estate agent has invested time and effort (and the vendor’s hard-earnt) in a marketing campaign and his/her reputation is very publicly on the line. A sale on the day means kudos (and commission). A no-sale equals fail (and settling for the auction fee for now).

We regards house auctions as “Saturday sport” and often head out hoping for a close match, where two (or more buyers) go head to head, dragging each other beyond their limits, bidding with their hearts instead of their heads and reacting to the prospect of losing their imagined future life in the house.

It’s nerve-wracking, adrenaline-generating stuff. You know it’s been a great auction when the crowd applauds on the fall of the hammer.

Getting ourselves into the downsizing groove has meant we’re back out attending auctions often, familiarising ourselves with the set-up so we’re uber-prepared if and when the right property hits the market.

Our latest auction experience was a flop …. a lack-lustre crowd of less than a dozen punters (half of them were probably neighbours) and no excited young couples clutching copies of the contract. Wearing their hearts on their sleeves.

The auctioneer tried everything and couldn’t extract a single bid from the gallery. His vendor bid didn’t even get things rolling.

Eventually, he passed the property in.

Disappointing.

Or not.

It means we get to have a serious think about this one. It’s the first property we’ve inspected lately that we (Mr P and I) agree on … we can both see ourselves living here.

That’s a watershed moment.

Venus and Mars have aligned.

This two-bedroom fairly new build is far enough away from surburbatory to be regarded as inner city, close to the CBD, the railway station, and the footy ground. Two bedrooms, an office space for me, a man cave for he and not a centimetre wasted in the floor plan.

It’s sleek and modern. Very shiny. Very grown-up.

Now that it’s back on the market, there’ll be more viewing days and we’ll be able to go along and crunch the carpet while we dream a little (and negotiate with the bank).

And I’ll be able to get another look at this stunning cowhide stool that I’m now coveting in a giggly-girlish-boy-band-way.

Nanny’s treasures

Being fifty-something, I love to see old stuff get new life.

When I saw this photo of my four-year old grand niece Miss A looking gorgeous all decked out in “nanny’s treasures” I saw a whole lot more.

It dawned on me that, if she were alive, my mum would be Miss A’s great grandmother, not her nanny. My sister K is Miss A’s nanna … that indisputably marks (in my head at least) a changing of the guard, the handing down of the generational mantle to the next. It’s as if the “treasures” go on ahead to signal the change to come.

This photo took me back to the day, long before Miss A was born, when my four sisters and I sat around a table and divvied up Mum’s jewellery and special stuff after she passed away.

We’d had some of it valued and between us we knew what was what. But It was an emotional time and, once we were done, I recall a sense of pride that our relationships had survived, that we managed what was a very tricky process with fairness and understanding, each determined not to create any ill-feeling.

Divvying up is pretty much a forty-, fifty- and sixty-something responsibility … a right of passage, if you like. At the time, (for me) it felt less like a right and more like a ghastly, burdensome obligation.

Luckily, the big-ticket items divided readily amongst the five of us. We were left with a bundle of costume trinkets and pieces that we couldn’t part with (just yet). We tucked them away for a later decision … for a rainy day.

Just a few months later my three sisters and I sat around a table and divvied up our sister Gay’s jewellery and special stuff, after she had passed away suddenly. That was even harder; emotions had stockpiled and our family dynamics had changed … forever.

Again, we journeyed our way through the process, relationships intact, and were left with a “rainy day” cache of curios that we added to Mum’s “rainy day” bundle.

More than six years later, that rainy day has arrived and Miss A delights in dressing up in “nanny’s treasures”. After Mum passed and then Gay, we were so busy looking back … I think we forgot to look forward and imagine how our family would keep changing and evolving as the years went by, that there would be new joys and tears, new souls to help fill the gaps. We had no idea what a rainy day might bring.

Now I look at Miss A in that photo I’m taken back to when I was her age and dressing up in my mum’s and my nanny’s baubles. I can see Mum wearing those very earrings during the 60s!

But Miss A is also carrying me forward. I’m future-thinking and wondering if any of these sparkles will survive the journey on down to Miss A’s offspring and eventually her grandies. If not, there will be new jewels, new memories, new pages in our family story to hand on with love … it’s all a bit circle-of-life, isn’t it?

It is what it is.

Here’s to rainy days.

Photo: courtesy of Ebony Courtney

Lumpy door sausages (or when form and function fail to meet)

Being fifty-something, I know that magic happens when form and function meet.

If only simply saying that were enough to make it happen.

My most recent crafty adventure (notably, an unguided tour) was a case of misfire, not magic.

Fact is, I have about the same proportion of craft misfires-to-magic as I do when I attempt baking.

Yes, this is a declared craft blackspot.

There. I’ve said it.

It won’t stop me trying though. Here’s how it went.

While scouring a thrift shop looking for silk scarves (following through on an idea sparked by the inspiring Wendy at that recent felt-making class) I came across these couple of colourful, machine-knitted scarves.

Not my style (and I have a gazillion scarves) but I envisioned something else … door sausages.

I know most people refer to these as door snakes, but to me they’ve always been door sausages. I think that harks back to a childhood memory of a door-gap-filler fashioned in the likeness of a dachshund, which we called a sausage dog in our house (we didn’t know how to say or spell dachshund; I had to look it up just now).

It stuck. Probably because door sausage sounds much naughtier and nonsensical than door snake.

I digress.

Back to the main game: I needed a couple of door sausages for my office. I’m really feeling the cold (I blame that on my old lady thyroid condition, which shoulders the blame for a lot of things in my life) and rather than run the gas central heating all day and waste all that energy, I’m huddling over a column oil heater while I work in the office most days.

I’ve noticed it’s drafty and that there are humongous gaps under the doors. During an energetic renovation, we removed multiple layers of carpets and linings and whatnot to reveal stunning 100-year-old baltic pine floorboards. We also unveiled door to floor gaps of up to 4 centimetres.

A small dog (or a tall dachshund) could slip under there!

When I saw those scarves, I envisioned the solution … and at $1 each, who was I to fly in the face of creativity?

Once home, I measured and found the longer scarf would suffice for both the single and the double door to my office. Even better!

I folded the scarf in half, machine-stitched a seam along one short end and the long edge, turned it back right side out and stuffed it full with cut-up remnants of and old drop sheet.

Perfect!

Well, almost. In hindsight (and hindsight has a lot to answer for) I probably should have invested in a commercial stuffing product, which would have delivered my door sausages a smooth, well-formed look. Instead, they are a tad lumpy and ill-shaped.

But very, very practical. They are malleable (like gold) and I can squeeze them in under the doors to get an airtight fit.  They just look a bit … well, lumpy.

I can live with that, because they work a treat and life is choc-a-block full of compromises.

With no drafts, extra sound-proofing and my column oil heater off more than it’s on, I’m happy for form and function to remain strangers, this time.

While form has been left out in the cold on this project, function is warm and toasty in the office with me.

Mother’s Day Classic …

Being fifty-something doesn’t make a 6.30am Sunday alarm any easier.

Today, being Mother’s Day, I would have loved a sleep in – especially on this dismal rainy morning.

But I had something fun and more important to do … cheer Wonder Boy across the finish line of the Mother’s Day Classic 8km fun run.

There he is, on the right of shot, in the long-sleeved red top:

I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

You see … he was running for me.

I had hoped to run the 4km event myself but my Achilles tendon plotted against me, as it did last year (see my bucket list for that story).

When it became obvious I wasn’t going to be ready (even to walk or shuffle the distance), Wonder Boy suggested that his Mother’s Day Gift to me would be running the 8km event (4km for me, and 4km for him, I figure).

He knew how much it meant to me. We both knew it.

So on this dreadful, drizzly early morning we joined the sea of pink (the main and really important story is that it’s a breast cancer fund raiser) at Geelong’s Eastern Beach.

Every one of the thousands of people involved in the walk or run events had their own reason for being here today.  There’s a lot of emotion and an ambience of positivity that’s hard to beat (and easy to get swept up in).

In contrast to the bright atmosphere, weather conditions were crap.

I waved Wonder Boy off, clutching his water bottle in one hand and my brolly in the other, and made my way to the the finish line to snap the moment.

I’m so poud of him, not just because he ran, but because he knew how important this event is to me. Now we have a new goal … to complete the 2013 event together.

And like a perfect metaphor for that goal, this rainbow appeared above the sea of pink. I’m not even going to articulate what this might have meant to the different people here today.

It’s just cool, right? Magic happens.

We headed home where Mr P’s mum joined us for lunch (prepared by my faves, of course). Lunch grew into a lazy afternoon of chatter and laughter around our family table, easy conversation fuelled by several pots of green tea.

My girl surprised me with an amazing gift: an original watercolour by … My Girl. Like her brother, she knows what’s important to me and that putting thought and creativity into a gift rather than money is the way to make my heart sing. She is so talented and I know she paints when she’s happy (and that makes me happy).

Today I couldn’t be prouder of my offspring or more grateful for the day we’ve all shared.

I only wish my mum could have been here to chat and laugh along with us.

Like me, she’d have been proud that my kids approach Mother’s Day with mindfulness … not materialism.

I hope she’d be proud of me, too, for having instilled those values in my kids, as she did in me.

Miss you, Mum. Happy Mother’s Day.