This one is so simple:
The End of Term!
Saturday, 26 November 2011
Friday, 25 November 2011
Day 25 - The contents of my purse
Hooray - an easy one!
First of all purse = actual cash and cards receptacle, or handbag?
Well, one is inside the other, so can do both - mwahahaha!
The bag is a purple Kipling one (because I love the monkey keyrings) and has lots of zippy pockets.
In the main compartment, the following things are stuffed:
In the inner back pocket:
In the small top pocket:
*And in the purse itself:
First of all purse = actual cash and cards receptacle, or handbag?
Well, one is inside the other, so can do both - mwahahaha!
The bag is a purple Kipling one (because I love the monkey keyrings) and has lots of zippy pockets.
In the main compartment, the following things are stuffed:
- Brown leather purse*
- An almost empty water bottle
- An orange (nom nom nom)
- An empty compact flash card case
- An 8gb SD card
- A yellow highlighter pen
- Pink quilted 'Amy Florence' pouch, containing parkrun registration scanner
- Hot Air Balloon 'Amy Florence' pouch containing parkrun dongle, and my dongle.
- The Blackberry
- Old Morrisons' receipt (for £52.78 - that's a lot in Morrison terms)
- Ibuprofen Box (which actually contains co-codamol)
- Dry-wipe board pen
- New cheque book, still in envelope
- Small Welsh flag on a cocktail stick (was decorating a cheese board in Snowdon)
- A hard boiled sweet (from a thai restaurant)
- Two lil-lets. (when I wanted them, could never find them!)
- A ring pull from a drink can
- 65p
- Some dust.
In the big front compartment:
- A photo of me and Phil
- A folded up flyer from Belt Up's 2010 season at the Southwark Playhouse
- A very bent nail file
- 3 rubber headphone ends.
- 2 hair slides
- 3 tooth picks (?!?)
- 1 dymo printer label thing saying 'hoya' (I know why. I'm not telling.)
In the inner back pocket:
- A pair of Gore running gloves
- A tiny sparkly note book
- An NCP ticket from Fairfeld Halls
- Ticket from LOTR marathon showing at BFI imax
- Money off vouchers foe 'Hampshire's finest Gardens'
- A broken yellow lanyard
- Two old teabags, one leaking tea-leaves
- AA battery
- A large paper clip
- A fake moustache
- A small luminous cat sticker
- tea leaves....grrrr
In the small top pocket:
- Ticket from Southwark playhouse - with total cost of £287.30 - school trip, I guess!
- Thread Bear Loyalty Card (I don't believe I've ever been there!)
- Torn ticket stub from HP 7 part 1.
- £10 note - love it when that happens
- Red squeaker from Red Nose Day several years ago (Phil put it there to make me laugh. It does!)
*And in the purse itself:
- Tesco vouchers
- Tesco points coupons
- 5 first class stamps
- My Driving Licence
- A Lottery Ticket from the day after my 40th birthday (it may have won, I haven't checked - numbers are 02,03,04,18,19,36, was for main draw on 10th August...)
- Train Ticket from Kenley to Newcastle - souvenir from the GNR.
- Cafe Nero and Wild Bean Cafe loyalty cards
- A business card for the Rt Rev'd MArtyn Douglas(!)
- A cheque I never paid in (has a v important passcode written on the back)
- Cash (some of which came from the main body of the bag a minute ago
- Cards: Priory Farm loyalty card; Oyster Card; Debit Card; Tesco Club Card; Credit Card; Old Orleans Discount Card; Boots Advantage Card; Fusion Card; EDF thank you card.
Wow. A lot of stuff. And where, please, are my keys.....anyone???? * panic*.......
Thursday, 24 November 2011
Day 24 - Something that means a lot to me.
Ok, so there are all the obvious answers, friends, cats, parkrun, family, my job etc, all of which have already had an airing during this month of crazy blogging. I don't particularly want to repeat any of the things I've said in previous posts - although a spot of cutting and pasting would save a lot of time... Anyway, I kind of had a idea for this post a week or so ago, and had half written it - in my head of course - God forbidden and heaven forfend the pre-writing of blog posts *ahem* - earlier this week.
And then there was yesterday. Yesterday was a day trip to Hell, entered by the portal of the gynaecologist's den. Among other things, this delightful little experience made me think again about things that mean a lot to me. Unfortunately, the tone of a post which goes with this train of thought is going to be somewhat different to the initially planned one. It occurred to me that there are probably a number of people out there who may not want to know about the evils of hysteroscopies and who may flinch away from mentions of stirrups...and then it occurred to me that anyone reading this blog can probably handle it!
Mind you, they may not WANT to handle it.
So, there are two sections to Day 24 of 30DHN. Those of a sensitive disposition (particularly male persons of a sensitive disposition) should probably not read past the first section of the following. You've been warned!
I'm guessing that people who know me are expecting a tree-hugging hippy type response here. Well, prepare to be amazed, because the thing that means a lot to me is my mobile phone.
At this moment in time, it happens to be a blackberry, but through the years I've felt similarly about every phone I've owned - from the face changing nokia (I SOOOOO loved that phone) to a variety of other nokias, to the motorola razr - in pink (what was I thinking? my least favorite phone ever!) to the joys of the sony-ericsson walkman phone, to the present bb (and the future android or iphone, doubtless!)
The phone of the moment, whatever it may be is important because of what it represents - contact with the people I care about. Having a (reliable) mobile meant that I could stay in touch with Phil whilst gallivanting around in the West-Midlands, it meant we never had to worry when one of us was later than expected (which only happened, oh, five times a week) and via the magical medium of text messaging it meant many a rapidly smothered burst of laughter during meetings and late late rehearsals. Towards the end, our phones allowed us to communicate continuously, allowing me to get some work done whilst he was in hospital, and ensuring I had a means to communicate the bizarre tidbits of everyday life which made him smile. It also meant when I was needed, I could be there, fast.
My phone has many photos - it's always with me, even when my camera isn't. It contains phone numbers of everyone I need to contact, ensures people can always reach me, and as the sophistication has increased, has games to while away the hours, internet access, and email access. I can always contact people, and they can always contact me. The blackberry has removed the 'no webmail' scenario at school (virtually every member of staff has a smart phone these days. All the kids do!) and also has allowed my twitter addiction to flourish. When the blackberry servers went down, I had a horrible couple of days... although it was also strangely peaceful... feeling very cut off from the world.
My phone also has all sorts of info stored, contacts, passwords and dates - all backed up on the computer, but even so, without my phone, I feel naked. and helpless... I suspect some kind of detox may be required!
The second version - Not for the faint-hearted (or squeamish)
So, got a lie in on Wednesday. Bonus. And why was this, I hear you cry.... 'twas because I had an appointment in the middle of the day for a hysteroscopy and (possibly) a polypectomy.
I wasn't exactly looking forward to the 'procedure' (very few women of my acquaintance relish the prospect of removing the clothing from the lower half of their person, lying on a trolley bed with their feet in stirrups whilst a latex gloved (usually male) member of the medical profession peers into areas which shall remain nameless - for now! and that's before anything is inserted to scan, probe, remove samples or have a better look) but the amount of blood I lose every month, coupled with some very spectacular pain is starting to seriously inhibit my life.
I don't really feel that I should have to take three or four set of clothing to work with me, or constantly buy new knickers because of all the pairs that have been totally wrecked by my period each month. Spending 3 days curled up in a ball of pain each month and trying not to kill anyone who gets in my way isn't too much fun either. An unpleasant but not intolerable set of ultrasound scans (internal and external - oh yay!) had created a bit of panic, but a whole heap of blood tests had calmed that down, and I first met my gynae consultant knowing that I have a chocolate cyst (oh the irony!!) on my left ovary - which is probably the source of a lot of the pain - a thickened endometriotal layer (mild endo has been an ongoing diagnosis) and some kind of mass in my womb. The blood tests said all the cancer markers were normal, so no active malignancy, and in all probability a fibroid or a polyp nothing more sinister.
Mr Latex (as he shall be known - you never know who reads these things!) had declared that a proper look with a camera was required, and as I tend to be vvv ill after a General Anaesthetic, he suggested that have it done with only mild pain relief as an outpatient would be cool.
Long story short, it wasn't cool. At all. It fucking hurt. (apparently, not so bad once you've had a vaginal birth - that's helpful, right?) Having the cervix forcibly dilated when it's never been dilated before is definitely not a fun thing. And for those of us who are allergic to local anaesthetic, it's basically torture. I requested - without screaming or swearing - that things stop, at the point where the cervix had been opened, and fluid pumped in to complete the dilation process. Mr Latex did as asked - fortunately - but the pain was worse as he pulled his instruments out, and the room went black - apparently I announced very clearly 'I'm going to pass out' and did so. When I came round, it was to utter bedlam. The bp and heart rate monitors had alarms going off - heart rate over 200bpm, bp at something like 194/152, all very very bad news. Mr Latex is shouting for oxygen - which is rapidly on my face - and my leg is somehow trapped under one of the stirrups. The bp monitor was removed, and they took it in the old school way - not so high - dangerously low in fact. Pulse rate also plummeted as I came round. Oops. Maybe should have gone for the GA route.
The initial verdict was that some kind of tonic/colonic seizure had occured, brought on by the pain, and that as I had a similar episode five years ago, (which led to a set of epilepsy investigations, all of which led to nothing, and I have a letter from a neurologist saying my brain is normal!!) Mr Latex felt that I shouldn't drive and should be referred to a neurologist immediately. And yes. GA and inpatient procedures only from here onwards.
I left (and drove home, in spite of the 'advice') feeling very very scared. It didn't occur to me that he might have it wrong, and in my mind a minimum of a six month driving ban was inevitable, along with more hospital trips. At this point, I was feeling very sorry for myself, battered and bruised (try having a 'tonic/colonic episode' when you're strapped into stirrups and see how your legs look afterwards!) and as if I'd been kicked in the gut repeatedly.
Once I got home, before Kaye arrived to chase away the demon of depression with cake and fish & chips (note the order of that list!) I had something of an epiphany. It suddenly occurred to me how much my health means to me. Initially this was kind of a negative, fearful, 'how will I cope without it' experience, and as the painkillers wore off, the abdo pains increased, and I could barely sit up, let alone walk anywhere.
This morning, after a sleepless night, I got myself to the doctor's surgery, and my lovely GP fitted me into his already full schedule. His approach was somewhat different to Mr Latex's, as he pointed out that a fit wouldn't have been over in less than a minute, I wouldn't have been lucid and coherent as soon as I came out of it, and if my blood pressure had really been as high as the initial readings suggested, I would have sustained permanent damage, possibly a stroke or a heart attack. (as I have a heart murmur!) The very low readings were more likely to be accurate, as he diagnosed a vasa-vagal faint, not a seizure... The stomach cramps are apparently normal after the intrusion into the cervix, and some mighty painkillers have been administered. Much as I hate taking pills, they may have saved my life today!
So, all's well that ends well? Kind of. I can still drive - although I am intending to try and walk more as a way of life. And I've decided something. I need to do everything in my power to preserve and nurture my health. I do not want to be constantly functioning at 90%, in and out of hospitals and doctor's waiting rooms. So, no more fannying about (pardon the pun!) with the occasional healthy eating day, and a half-arsed exercise regieme. I am going to get fit, and lose weight. I can't change the gynae problems, or the heart murmur, but I can look after what I've got. No more excuses! So there.
And then there was yesterday. Yesterday was a day trip to Hell, entered by the portal of the gynaecologist's den. Among other things, this delightful little experience made me think again about things that mean a lot to me. Unfortunately, the tone of a post which goes with this train of thought is going to be somewhat different to the initially planned one. It occurred to me that there are probably a number of people out there who may not want to know about the evils of hysteroscopies and who may flinch away from mentions of stirrups...and then it occurred to me that anyone reading this blog can probably handle it!
Mind you, they may not WANT to handle it.
So, there are two sections to Day 24 of 30DHN. Those of a sensitive disposition (particularly male persons of a sensitive disposition) should probably not read past the first section of the following. You've been warned!
I'm guessing that people who know me are expecting a tree-hugging hippy type response here. Well, prepare to be amazed, because the thing that means a lot to me is my mobile phone.
At this moment in time, it happens to be a blackberry, but through the years I've felt similarly about every phone I've owned - from the face changing nokia (I SOOOOO loved that phone) to a variety of other nokias, to the motorola razr - in pink (what was I thinking? my least favorite phone ever!) to the joys of the sony-ericsson walkman phone, to the present bb (and the future android or iphone, doubtless!)
The phone of the moment, whatever it may be is important because of what it represents - contact with the people I care about. Having a (reliable) mobile meant that I could stay in touch with Phil whilst gallivanting around in the West-Midlands, it meant we never had to worry when one of us was later than expected (which only happened, oh, five times a week) and via the magical medium of text messaging it meant many a rapidly smothered burst of laughter during meetings and late late rehearsals. Towards the end, our phones allowed us to communicate continuously, allowing me to get some work done whilst he was in hospital, and ensuring I had a means to communicate the bizarre tidbits of everyday life which made him smile. It also meant when I was needed, I could be there, fast.
My phone has many photos - it's always with me, even when my camera isn't. It contains phone numbers of everyone I need to contact, ensures people can always reach me, and as the sophistication has increased, has games to while away the hours, internet access, and email access. I can always contact people, and they can always contact me. The blackberry has removed the 'no webmail' scenario at school (virtually every member of staff has a smart phone these days. All the kids do!) and also has allowed my twitter addiction to flourish. When the blackberry servers went down, I had a horrible couple of days... although it was also strangely peaceful... feeling very cut off from the world.
My phone also has all sorts of info stored, contacts, passwords and dates - all backed up on the computer, but even so, without my phone, I feel naked. and helpless... I suspect some kind of detox may be required!
The second version - Not for the faint-hearted (or squeamish)
So, got a lie in on Wednesday. Bonus. And why was this, I hear you cry.... 'twas because I had an appointment in the middle of the day for a hysteroscopy and (possibly) a polypectomy.
I wasn't exactly looking forward to the 'procedure' (very few women of my acquaintance relish the prospect of removing the clothing from the lower half of their person, lying on a trolley bed with their feet in stirrups whilst a latex gloved (usually male) member of the medical profession peers into areas which shall remain nameless - for now! and that's before anything is inserted to scan, probe, remove samples or have a better look) but the amount of blood I lose every month, coupled with some very spectacular pain is starting to seriously inhibit my life.
I don't really feel that I should have to take three or four set of clothing to work with me, or constantly buy new knickers because of all the pairs that have been totally wrecked by my period each month. Spending 3 days curled up in a ball of pain each month and trying not to kill anyone who gets in my way isn't too much fun either. An unpleasant but not intolerable set of ultrasound scans (internal and external - oh yay!) had created a bit of panic, but a whole heap of blood tests had calmed that down, and I first met my gynae consultant knowing that I have a chocolate cyst (oh the irony!!) on my left ovary - which is probably the source of a lot of the pain - a thickened endometriotal layer (mild endo has been an ongoing diagnosis) and some kind of mass in my womb. The blood tests said all the cancer markers were normal, so no active malignancy, and in all probability a fibroid or a polyp nothing more sinister.
Mr Latex (as he shall be known - you never know who reads these things!) had declared that a proper look with a camera was required, and as I tend to be vvv ill after a General Anaesthetic, he suggested that have it done with only mild pain relief as an outpatient would be cool.
Long story short, it wasn't cool. At all. It fucking hurt. (apparently, not so bad once you've had a vaginal birth - that's helpful, right?) Having the cervix forcibly dilated when it's never been dilated before is definitely not a fun thing. And for those of us who are allergic to local anaesthetic, it's basically torture. I requested - without screaming or swearing - that things stop, at the point where the cervix had been opened, and fluid pumped in to complete the dilation process. Mr Latex did as asked - fortunately - but the pain was worse as he pulled his instruments out, and the room went black - apparently I announced very clearly 'I'm going to pass out' and did so. When I came round, it was to utter bedlam. The bp and heart rate monitors had alarms going off - heart rate over 200bpm, bp at something like 194/152, all very very bad news. Mr Latex is shouting for oxygen - which is rapidly on my face - and my leg is somehow trapped under one of the stirrups. The bp monitor was removed, and they took it in the old school way - not so high - dangerously low in fact. Pulse rate also plummeted as I came round. Oops. Maybe should have gone for the GA route.
The initial verdict was that some kind of tonic/colonic seizure had occured, brought on by the pain, and that as I had a similar episode five years ago, (which led to a set of epilepsy investigations, all of which led to nothing, and I have a letter from a neurologist saying my brain is normal!!) Mr Latex felt that I shouldn't drive and should be referred to a neurologist immediately. And yes. GA and inpatient procedures only from here onwards.
I left (and drove home, in spite of the 'advice') feeling very very scared. It didn't occur to me that he might have it wrong, and in my mind a minimum of a six month driving ban was inevitable, along with more hospital trips. At this point, I was feeling very sorry for myself, battered and bruised (try having a 'tonic/colonic episode' when you're strapped into stirrups and see how your legs look afterwards!) and as if I'd been kicked in the gut repeatedly.
Once I got home, before Kaye arrived to chase away the demon of depression with cake and fish & chips (note the order of that list!) I had something of an epiphany. It suddenly occurred to me how much my health means to me. Initially this was kind of a negative, fearful, 'how will I cope without it' experience, and as the painkillers wore off, the abdo pains increased, and I could barely sit up, let alone walk anywhere.
This morning, after a sleepless night, I got myself to the doctor's surgery, and my lovely GP fitted me into his already full schedule. His approach was somewhat different to Mr Latex's, as he pointed out that a fit wouldn't have been over in less than a minute, I wouldn't have been lucid and coherent as soon as I came out of it, and if my blood pressure had really been as high as the initial readings suggested, I would have sustained permanent damage, possibly a stroke or a heart attack. (as I have a heart murmur!) The very low readings were more likely to be accurate, as he diagnosed a vasa-vagal faint, not a seizure... The stomach cramps are apparently normal after the intrusion into the cervix, and some mighty painkillers have been administered. Much as I hate taking pills, they may have saved my life today!
So, all's well that ends well? Kind of. I can still drive - although I am intending to try and walk more as a way of life. And I've decided something. I need to do everything in my power to preserve and nurture my health. I do not want to be constantly functioning at 90%, in and out of hospitals and doctor's waiting rooms. So, no more fannying about (pardon the pun!) with the occasional healthy eating day, and a half-arsed exercise regieme. I am going to get fit, and lose weight. I can't change the gynae problems, or the heart murmur, but I can look after what I've got. No more excuses! So there.
 |
| BW parkrun, in thinner, fitter, days! Photo by Richard Carter |
Day 23 - 8 things you didn't know about me (although they may have been revealed in the blog!)
Found this really difficult - everyone who knows me knows almost everything about me - to quote Amy 'you're an open person. Whatever's going on, you broadcast it all on radio Nicki' which is her way of saying I talk too much! The things that aren't 'broadcast' are not for public consumption, and are NOT going on the blog... Dilemma!!!
Here goes:
Here goes:
- As a child I had an imaginary friend called Marley Whale. I can only guess that her name came from 'Bob Marley and The Wailers' - and I have only the foggiest memory of her presence in my life
- I have a doll who was new on the same day as me - her name is Looby Loo, and she went everywhere with me - if I was feeling a bit insecure, I'd pop her in my school bag. (no, not recently!) I still have her, she now lives in a Christmas Stocking made of felt (thanks Kez) and although she looks somewhat the worse for wear, she still gets hugged when I'm feeling rotten, and she is much loved!
- My passport went out of date in the year 2000 and I haven't gotten round to renewing it. I love England and tend to justify my laziness with the passport by saying that I haven't been to half of the places in this country that I want to, so why so do I need to go abroad?
- I HATE airplanes. I hate flying in them (Although the idea of hang gliding or paragliding is AMAZING!) I react badly to the change in air pressure, and (joy of joys) my ears bleed. (there may be a link between the lack of passport and the fear of flying!)
- I was determined not to be a teacher. All the way through school people suggested that this was my ideal career, but I wanted to be a journalist. (given the issues I have with deadlines, this is a non-starter!) I continued to insist that I wasn't going to teach (English Lit was always the suggested subject) right the way through university, during the time I spent in Spain (went to learn the language, taught the entire village of Sant Fileu de Guixols - perfect English, and came back with a smattering of swear words in Catalan!) right up until I went Warwick to do my PGCE. I think the deciding factor for me was working with West Sussex County Youth Theatre, and realising that I could teach Drama.... and thus it all began.
- I never wanted to have children - but spend most of my time with other peoples. Or to put it another way: 'Mummy Clark has hundreds of children. They all live in the world of Drama' (Steven Sayer!)
- I'm scared of earwigs. (evil little fuckers, might crawl in your ears and eat your brain)
- I may, possibly, have left the parkrun volunteer vests on the line last night!
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
Day 22 - Some place I've traveled
To the land of Nod....
(aka: the journey up the wooden hill to bedfordshire)
when I return from this epic voyage, I will do something vaguely sensible in this post.
maybe!
(aka: the journey up the wooden hill to bedfordshire)
when I return from this epic voyage, I will do something vaguely sensible in this post.
maybe!
Monday, 21 November 2011
Day 21 - Something I could never tire of.
Hmm. Not as easy as it sounds, this one.
Once all the obvious things - chocolate, cake, sleep, air, etc - are discounted, it's kind of hard to think of something which, seriously, I can't imagine getting sick of, or at least mildly irritated by.
I was going to say my kitteh cats... who I love love love...
but after the night of hell that sleepless purry ones gave me last night, (I actually put them both outside at 3am. Then felt guilty so had to go and find them ... I'm off kitteh-co-sleeping at the moment!) it dawned on me that they make me tired, even if I could never really tire of them.
Taking photos is definitely on the list - it's a relatively recent addition to my life (I hope that if Phil is watching from somewhere, he's laughing!) I used to be the one who tutted impatiently whilst waiting for someone to take his photos so we could move on... and I've actually said: 'Why don't you go and DO stuff, rather than stand on the edge spectating and taking pictures' more than once in my time ... and I hate having my photo taken still. However, somewhere along the line, the bug for photos bit me (the all-conquering rise of digital photography was involved...) I wish I had more pics of Phil .. and yes, he did tell me so, although not quite in that context. Now I rarely go anywhere without my camera... and hope to improve my skills in the near future. However - it's not top of the pile owing to all the times I've felt hassled beyond belief to get a set of pictures edited and online - not usually for parkrun, but for school events, family events, etc - and the assumption that I'll take photos and process pics quickly for someone else's use occasionally makes me want to leave the camera at home.
Laughter...
Another thing which never grows old. Laughter makes everything better (unless it's mocking, I suppose - although, to be fair, even when someone is laughing at me, I still enjoy the sound of laughter - weird? probably!) many a gloomy day has been saved from descent into despair by something ridiculous (my sense of humour isn't ...usual!) and I've spent many a hours helpless with laughter - in the company of friends. It's good for the soul!
Love may seem a strange thing for me to say - but there are many types of love, and I firmly believe that it's what makes the world go round - life is all about love... on so many levels.
and finally... (at long long last!!) learning.
(yeh yeh, spot the teacher...) Not necessarily of the academic sort - although an MA or a photography 'A' Level are definitely possibilities for the next year or so. For me, learning is all about new skills, new ideas, developing and growing as a person. It's about not just brushing off weaknesses by saying 'that's who I am. that's how I am' but trying to understand what creates them, and to change constantly for the better. It's about not being fixed into one set of ideas and ideals, but being willing to listen and learn, and accept that there are other philosophies, being willing to try different ways. It's kind of about never saying never. It's about reading, researching, investigating, listening, responding, and first and foremost about growing. (I have a very learned stomach!) It's also - and this is the job - about helping others to explore their own pathways, sometimes giving them the tools to find out for themselves, sometimes pointing the way, sometimes encouraging, sometimes rescuing, sometimes simply standing back and giving them space. Always, about supporting, and listening.
For me, without the desire to seek, discover, think, understand and explore life, learning all the way (I hope) life really would be over - may I never tire of wanting to learn.
Ooer. That all got a bit heavy!!
Once all the obvious things - chocolate, cake, sleep, air, etc - are discounted, it's kind of hard to think of something which, seriously, I can't imagine getting sick of, or at least mildly irritated by.
I was going to say my kitteh cats... who I love love love...
but after the night of hell that sleepless purry ones gave me last night, (I actually put them both outside at 3am. Then felt guilty so had to go and find them ... I'm off kitteh-co-sleeping at the moment!) it dawned on me that they make me tired, even if I could never really tire of them.
Taking photos is definitely on the list - it's a relatively recent addition to my life (I hope that if Phil is watching from somewhere, he's laughing!) I used to be the one who tutted impatiently whilst waiting for someone to take his photos so we could move on... and I've actually said: 'Why don't you go and DO stuff, rather than stand on the edge spectating and taking pictures' more than once in my time ... and I hate having my photo taken still. However, somewhere along the line, the bug for photos bit me (the all-conquering rise of digital photography was involved...) I wish I had more pics of Phil .. and yes, he did tell me so, although not quite in that context. Now I rarely go anywhere without my camera... and hope to improve my skills in the near future. However - it's not top of the pile owing to all the times I've felt hassled beyond belief to get a set of pictures edited and online - not usually for parkrun, but for school events, family events, etc - and the assumption that I'll take photos and process pics quickly for someone else's use occasionally makes me want to leave the camera at home.
 |
| Relatively new friends, at least one of whom shares & exceeds my Dani may not like this photo, but Steve used the one I had in mind originally - the love in the Stockwell family is so strong it's visible - and it brightens up the world on a Saturday morning! |
Next on the list is friends. (Some of whom I may happen to be related to!) I can honestly say that without my friends - both old and new - my life would not be up to much. When things have been bad, when things have been good, when I've been busy beyond belief, or locked in a cycle of inactivity (it happens!) someone(s) has always been there. When things have been ... bad, and being on my own has been the only way through, they've been patient and waited for me to resurface. The friends of long standing - know who they are. The newer (mainly parkrun based) friends may not entirely realize how much they are appreciated - so Dani, Steve, (& of course, young Lime!) it feels like a lot more than 21 weeks, in the best possible way. New friends and old friends, those I'm still getting to know - the conversation, the laughter, the tears, the support, the supporting - what goes around comes around, and this particular cycle is one I will never tire of!
 |
| A photo which shows both laughter (look closely in the top left hand corner) and friends - sharing the love at a post parkrun photo display. |
 |
| well, it made Lime laugh! |
 |
| Mama & Baba |
and Love.
Love may seem a strange thing for me to say - but there are many types of love, and I firmly believe that it's what makes the world go round - life is all about love... on so many levels.
and finally... (at long long last!!) learning.
(yeh yeh, spot the teacher...) Not necessarily of the academic sort - although an MA or a photography 'A' Level are definitely possibilities for the next year or so. For me, learning is all about new skills, new ideas, developing and growing as a person. It's about not just brushing off weaknesses by saying 'that's who I am. that's how I am' but trying to understand what creates them, and to change constantly for the better. It's about not being fixed into one set of ideas and ideals, but being willing to listen and learn, and accept that there are other philosophies, being willing to try different ways. It's kind of about never saying never. It's about reading, researching, investigating, listening, responding, and first and foremost about growing. (I have a very learned stomach!) It's also - and this is the job - about helping others to explore their own pathways, sometimes giving them the tools to find out for themselves, sometimes pointing the way, sometimes encouraging, sometimes rescuing, sometimes simply standing back and giving them space. Always, about supporting, and listening.
For me, without the desire to seek, discover, think, understand and explore life, learning all the way (I hope) life really would be over - may I never tire of wanting to learn.
Ooer. That all got a bit heavy!!
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| Some learning - deep thought/sharing knowledge/learning from those who know more!!! and proof that I'm trying to learn to look at photos of myself without dying. |
Sunday, 20 November 2011
Day 20 - A Childhood Anecdote
I'm fairly sure that I have hundreds of childhood tales to tell, of varying degrees of interest - but I seem to be out of words....
For now, a picture of me as a wee thing (I'm assured that that is me ... scary!)
Ok, a story came to me in a sleepless moment *ahem - night *
Like the picture, I'm dependent on the words of others that this actually happened, because I don't remember it:
End of summer term, 1976. I'm in Nursery School. Everyone else has gone home, but my Mum hasn't arrived. Apparently I informed the teacher, in a very self-possessed manner, that my Mummy is always late at the moment, and that I think she'd be happier if she could just put me in a cage until it cools down. When asked why I thought that, I responded that I'd heard my Grandad say that to her, and she'd agreed. We went to the door to look along the driveway and see if she was coming. My teacher asked what my Mum looked like, and I responded with 'she's very fat'
Eventually my 8 and a half months pregnant mother arrived - and had to go and have a 'chat' with the teacher...
From which she emerged looking somewhat flustered, having explained to the teacher that she didn't make a habit of locking me up - I'd spent the whole day climbing up trees and having to be rescued, which on one of the hottest days of the year was something of a trauma for a very heavily pregnant woman - hence she'd called my Grandad for help, and he'd made the (joking) suggestion that I'd overheard.
Fortunately for everyone concerned, no further investigation occurred - the fact that I'd said 'fat' rather 'pregnant' had me cast as an unreliable narrator, which seems somewhat unfair, as it was accurate, just incomplete!
The fact that I was 4 years old, and can't even remember the event at all, has not in any way reduced the amount stick my family have given me...even now, when the mood takes them!
Like the picture, I'm dependent on the words of others that this actually happened, because I don't remember it:
End of summer term, 1976. I'm in Nursery School. Everyone else has gone home, but my Mum hasn't arrived. Apparently I informed the teacher, in a very self-possessed manner, that my Mummy is always late at the moment, and that I think she'd be happier if she could just put me in a cage until it cools down. When asked why I thought that, I responded that I'd heard my Grandad say that to her, and she'd agreed. We went to the door to look along the driveway and see if she was coming. My teacher asked what my Mum looked like, and I responded with 'she's very fat'
Eventually my 8 and a half months pregnant mother arrived - and had to go and have a 'chat' with the teacher...
From which she emerged looking somewhat flustered, having explained to the teacher that she didn't make a habit of locking me up - I'd spent the whole day climbing up trees and having to be rescued, which on one of the hottest days of the year was something of a trauma for a very heavily pregnant woman - hence she'd called my Grandad for help, and he'd made the (joking) suggestion that I'd overheard.
Fortunately for everyone concerned, no further investigation occurred - the fact that I'd said 'fat' rather 'pregnant' had me cast as an unreliable narrator, which seems somewhat unfair, as it was accurate, just incomplete!
The fact that I was 4 years old, and can't even remember the event at all, has not in any way reduced the amount stick my family have given me...even now, when the mood takes them!
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