While waiting for boring old programs and jobs to run, I peeked in here this afternoon and caught up with most of the blogs I regularly read. I was so happy to see that Ini is okay, and going for job interviews. Ini, guess what? I am officially job seeking as of today. I haven’t been tapped on the shoulder yet to receive a pink slip, but who knows, maybe tomorrow. I’m starting my search while I’m still employed.

I was happy to see Ella here, too, and TJ with her impressive painting. We need to paint at our house, but it’s a job that never seems to be too high on the agenda. I need to take a leaf from TJ’s book and get my arse in gear.

Chel had her baby, a boy, and that makes me happy for her and her husband and their little “Sis”. Annie sounded okay with her peaceful home the other night, and with goals and plans. Feathers, too, running on the tready. SoClose with her Epiphany, Islandgrl hopefully starting back in to running again and Lyn with her trip to Hawaii and only gaining two pounds!, and Round finding her way with a healthy approach to eating and, well, just living, Raven with her good-for-the-arms (wow, really?) yoga, and Sharedbalance - well you haven’t checked in for a bit, but I’m hoping you’ve sorted out which plan you want to try.

Our Thanksgiving was pleasant. As always, lots of good food. My friend J. took some snaps with her handy dandy iPhone, and only after I really looked at them did I realise my girls didn’t really set the table in a very posh way, they didn’t use matching plates and bowls (why not? I can’t figure because we do actually have things that match), and we brought the first course, the soup, to the table in the pot. Must look awfully sloppy. Meanwhile, I had prepared most everything except the turkey in advance, the pots had been washed and the kitchen was actually spotless right up to making the gravy. I was more organised this year than in years past, but I guess at the last minute things got away from me. Oh well. Like I said, the food was good, the company was good. I’m sure I’m back in the 180’s again, and was planning to be really careful this week, but my evil twin, Lumberjack Woman, or maybe it’s Dutch farm girl who pulls the plow, made a rude appearance yesterday and today, and ate enough for two people.

TJ’s thoughts on wine have inspired me, although, maybe inspired is not the best way to describe it. I recognise myself in there, and it’s not inspirational. Nevertheless, my friend J. is giving me a lift home today in her brand new C-class Merc with all the bells and whistles, and we’ve already decided to stop off at the bottle store and purchase wine.

Today was stressful at work, that’s my excuse. We had that demonstration from the European crew who are replacing our system with something from SAP. Good luck with that mates. They say they’re doing a gap analysis and if their system can’t provide some crucial cost benefit to the company they’ll stick with what we’ve developed, but between you me and the gatepost, it’s a done deal. Our system is going to be thrown away. One of my colleagues reckons we have four or five months left, but I think it could be any time. They’ll need a transition team, but I don’t feel like sticking around for it. I’m in “stuff you!” mode.

Now, being in “stuff you!” mode has a few advantages. Anger can clear your head and make you sharper. I never can maintain that feeling, but right now, it’s there. I hope it stays awhile. While it’s here, I’m going to sit myself down and set some goals, both short and long term. Not all will be job related, but that’s the main purpose.

J., my Bolshevik, called me at this afternoon to ask for money to go to New York to see the tree lighting tonight at Rockefeller Center. I had no way of getting it to her, so I suggested she take a quick drive over. She had left things to the last minute, saying she’d just ask R. to drive to my office, pick up my bank card and draw the money, while J. showered. Knowing J., I said, “what if R. won’t do it? Will you scream at her?” (Absolutely no doubt in my mind she would, plus a lot of cussing.) J. said she’d just bug her. She is a Bolshevik, but generally very honest. So I asked her again, why doesn’t she just drive over herself.The office is only 5 miles from home, she had plenty of time to get back and shower. J,’s voice rose a decible or ten, and she shouted at me rudely, “because it takes me f*ing at least an hour to get ready!” OK here’s where my prior “stuff you” comes into play…. “Kiddo”, I said softly (we sit on top of each other in this office), “you just shot yourself in the foot. I’ve told you repeatedly not to address me that way. I have no desire to give you anything.”  At this, she yelled further…. “I’ve had a bad day! I’ve been crying all day!” and… “Why are you so mean to me lately?” and… ”I’m clinically depressed” (self diagnosis, (not necessarily wrong)). and…..”I feel suicidal most of the time!” and…finally…. “I wasn’t saying the “F” word AT you, I have every right to be upset!” and……”I have every right to express myself when I’m upset!”…..

We’re talking your basic plain old garden variety temper tantrum.

J. does not seek me out to tell me she needs help, although I have asked. She refuses all requests at home to help out with tidying or chores, and when she does address us, she often peppers her speech with the good old “F” word. You’d think this was the Sopranos. I have repeatedly asked her to be more respectful, but nothing changes.

So, sorry, mate. “and…..I have every right to choose not to give in to a person who speaks disrespectfully to me”. End of story.

I called my husband shortly afterwards, thinking she’d probably call him and harangue him. Again, speaking softly, this time in good old kitchen Afrikaans, I explained the situation and said, (a little “stuff you” creeping in), you better back me up, well, actually no, it came out more like….”I just thought I’d warn you in case she calls….”

J. is wily, and will even go to her Granny, my mom. She recently burned bridges there, too. Luckily my mom is out shopping.

My niece has an only child, a daughter who is about 5 years younger than J. and her behaviour is along the same lines, just intensified. J. hasn’t gone as far with us, but if you really look at both these girls, it’s the same thing.

I’m not even going to get upset. I’m just not going to put up with any nonsense any more. It’s not doing J. any favours. Heaven only knows what will happen with my nieces daughter, they have much more to give her materially, and she demands it and has always received what ever she wanted. Nothing she can say or do really fazes them. She has not heard the word no very often. Last year my niece phoned me absolutely desperate. She wanted to know if I knew of any places they could send their - you know, places where troubled children are sent into the wildnerness or to military school. She said that she and her husband felt they could longer cope. They used to have two extremely undisciplined dogs. Cute as puppies, but horribly spoiled and then often left too long to their own devices. They eventually got rid of the dogs, but you cannot do that with a child.

Well, here we are again, 4am, been awake since about 2:30. In about an hour, my body will suddenly relax and tell me, okay now, you can sleep, but it will be time to get up. It’s better not to get angry with myself over this, that usually makes sleep that bit harder to achieve.

My mother is a lifelong insomniac. Her litany has been, “I didn’t sleep a wink last night”. I’ve heard it so often that I stopped really listening long long ago. With me, I think it might have something to do with peri-menopause. I’ve never been a great sleeper, but it was never that bad. I wake up and, get this….I have a song playing in my head! A bloomin’ soundtrack! At the same time, I’m thinking about all sorts of things. It’s a regular circus in there!

Deep breathing, picturing that candle, emptying my mind…I give that a go for about an hour. Doesn’t usually work. Herbal tea, hot milk, tried all that. I’ve come to the conclusion that I just have to ride it out. Eventually sleep will come.

My week-end eating was not all that good. I tried to keep an eye on portion sizes, though. I’m not too bothered about this. Tomorrow - make that today - is a new day. It’s much easier to be in control during the week. My boss and lunchtime exercise partner is off this week, so I’m planning to do my lunchtime walks alone. She feels the cold more than I do, and quite a few times we’ve walked the building and done the stairs on fair days when I would have liked to have been outside in that cold air.

I realised the other day that I am the only person, up to my own generation, in a rather large family (more than 40 first cousins, and we’re not even Roman Catholic) that did not grow up in Africa. I got my spark, my start, in Central Africa, nearer to to equator, where it’s very hot. My mom left there and sailed for Canada when she was 7 or 8 months along with me. My dad had taken on a job there working for a nickle (nickel?) mining company. She must have sailed from Cape Town, which meant a long train journey from Luanshya, Zambia. The boat must have gone to England first, then from there to New York, then the train to Winnipeg, bus to Flin Flon, then my dad picked my mom and sister up and drove them yet further north still, to Thompson. Now then, Thompson is really cold. In some places in town, you couldn’t build because the ground doesn’t really thaw out all year - from about 2 feet below ground. I think that’s called permafrost.

No matter how cold, as children, we were bundled up and put outside. I have photos of us sitting on a frozen looking swing in a snow bound back yard, pink faces smiling for the camera.

At the age of 8, I started with a strange allergy: cold urticaria. Basically, when my skin was exposed to cold water or air, I’d break out in hives. I would start to tingle, and they’d show up, uneven, like paisley, and thick and raised. It would look like scars of a burn victim. At school, in Michigan, I’d have to bundle up when all the girls were wearing open jackets and letting their long hair blow free. I looked like he Michelen man. Great way to catch the eye of a boy, aye? I loved swimming, but had to be careful. Once I started to tingle, I’d have to get out of the water fast. As I got older, it became worse. My heart rate would speed up and I’d get a wooshing sound in my head, and my vision would cloud, like when you stand up too fast, and I would experience the most awful nausea.  An extreme allergic reaction. How weird is that? Gradually, from the age of about 28, it went away. No one I’d ever met, no one in my family had ever seen or heard of this, I certainly had no idea what it was. On one occasion on the beach in SA, I passed out after staying in the water too long and woke up in the lifeguard’s station. They were alarmed because some number to do with blood pressure was at or over 200. The whole rest of the day, I barely had the energy to get from the bed to the bathroom. This must be how it feels when you have a faulty heart. So finally, I went to see a doc, who listened to my “symptoms” somewhat skeptically, I think, and had no idea what I was talking about. At least he sent me to a skin specialist, who did know. After two minutes in his office, he announced cheerfully, oh! that’s just cold urticaria. It’s hereditary. All you need to do is take an anti-histamine an hour before swimming, for example, or any other activity where you’ll be exposed to cold. He prescribed something called Periactin. Now then, that was when I was about 21. At the time, my sister’s son was about 3 or 4 and was a terribly poor eater. Her doctor had prescribed the same drug as an appetite stimulant. As soon as he said Periactin, my brain went….Whoa! Are you kidding me? You want to take drug that STIMULATES THE APPETITE! Nah. I’ll live with the hives. Anyway, it went away.

I have a strange affinity for cold now. It’s the one thing I hang onto if I’m feeling sick. Just stick my nose into some fresh cold air and I’ll be fine. Right in the throes of labor, with Roseannie, my second child, it wasn’t going all that well. I was so tired and was getting panicky. Would this never end? I was on an old metal framed bed, and my hands found the cool metal bars behind my head and I just hung onto them for dear life. Neil kept trying to hold my hand, and I just batted him away. I couldn’t speak to tell him that I couldn’t bear the warmth of his hands. The nurses kept urging me to let go and sit up to allow gravity and body pressure to help me, but I didn’t dare let go of those metal bars. To this day, no matter what the weather, I crack the window open at night. In winter, I gather the blankets tightly over my shoulders and inch my way closer to the edge of the bed so that my nose is right up next to that gap in the window, and that ice cold air feels divine, like a drink of fresh beautiful clear water.

Funny to think of having started out this life in a hot, hot place.

Well, here it is, Monday morning 8am. In 30 minutes, my boss has called a meeting, ominously called “Information”. She had a meeting with the CIO on Friday, and she mentioned to me only a moment ago that the news is not good. I am quite terrified to lose my job. We have no cushion whatsoever, and my dh does not earn very much. He works so hard, too. He’s been doing private jobs every week-end for months, and I can see how tired he is. Ugh.

Well, I did pull out the old resume a couple of months ago, and polished it up a bit. I don’t even want to work in IT anymore. Never really did. It just paid well.

I’ve been marching around this new office complex like a lunatic these last few weeks, with my scented wipes at the ready to freshen up when the walking is done. Did I say I hate that part? Yeah, yeah, I’m kvetching too much. It paid off though. I lost 5.5 lbs this month. I had gone up and now I’m about one pound lower than my lowest this year. Might as well continue to march. If I have to go for job interviews it’ll be better if I’m not so heavy. Shoulda’ gone for that botox, too.

9 Hours Later…

Well, the meeting was ominous. The European ex owners - and somehow still involved - branch of our company has a system that can supposedly do the same thing as the system I support, and they want to eliminate ours if possible, to save money. So, we have to compile a report of everything our system does, and they’ll do a gap analysis. So we have work - basically, it’s to dig our own grave. It sounds mean of me to say this, but so much of the stuff I’ve seen produced (well, sometimes not produced, just presented and talked about for a long time) from this particular IT group is pretty but has no legs, no substance. They’re very stylish and come over to the US with their funny shoes and haircuts (ok, yes, that’s bitchy) and are extremely self congratulatory, but most of their stuff seems buggy and s-l-o-o-o-o-w. It’s as if all the design efforts go into the front end screens, but the meat and potatoes part is lacking. Not that our stuff isn’t pretty. It’s not bad - but importantly, the meat and potatoes are there, they really do work, and they’re very very powerful.  Oh well. The only plus is that these folks take forever to do anything.

I marched around the campus today, had a slice of toast with peanut butter for breakfast, tea with milk & sugar, coffee with half & half and sugar, half of a rather large tuna sandwich on crusty bread and a few sweets. The sweets are not my normal thing, but they were floating all over our office and I had a bitter taste in my mouth for some reason. I’ve given up on sweeteners. I’d rather just have that little bit of sugar in my tea or coffee and limit myself to no more than one or two cups of tea/coffee a day.

Maya was so desperate for a walk tonight that I took her on a rather long, brisk walk as soon as I could change. She greeted me at the door great enthusiasm, all but doing back handsprings and acrobatic leaps. She harangued me as I changed out of my work clothing, pushing me with her nose, mouthing my hands a bit, as if to pull me along. She makes a peculiar kind of yodeling sound, which is her version of talking. “Oh please please please hurry up, I’ve been waiting all day, come ON, please!”. I finished dressing and needed the loo…..when I went into the bathroom she sat outside the door and cried and yodeled some more. Our walk wasn’t enough for her though, she keeps trying to engage me in play even now. I feel so very sorry for her. She’s lonely, too, without Shelby and J. and her bf are worse than useless when it comes to meeting her needs. They want her to cuddle, and think that tying her up on a rope in the back yard qualifies as “she was outside today” when I ask if they’ve taken her out. They aren’t prepared for the walking and poop picking up and all that other stuff that goes with the territory. I wish they’d try a little harder. I’m tired of being mad at them. I’ve been mad so much lately, I’ve just got to let it go.

As I walked/ran with Maya, I tried to remember to be present in the moment, enjoy the cold air, the moon, the trees and notice my heart beating. I wondered if I’ve lost, or if I ever even really knew how to be happy. I just can’t seem to remember how that feels. Happy moments here and there: enjoyment at a good joke, a good movie, a good glass of wine, good food. Looking at photos of my family, I feel proud and pleased and love them. But I don’t remember, even on those days long ago when those photos were taken, just feeling content. Always worried, seldom relaxed. Is that all there is? Is that all you get? Yes, I’m greedy.

I have the day off today, in honor of voting day. If I could vote, I would. This year I was supposed to apply for my citizenship, but with one and another drama, I didn’t get to it. Sounds like a big old excuse, but I am making it my goal to have applied by next year. I was born in Canada to South African parents, but I’ve lived here for most of my life, and spent 13 years in Africa. It’s a funny thing to have a frame of reference that encompasses two different cultures. I’ve always felt betwixt and between, even my accent changes depending on whether I’m speaking to my mother or a friend. It’s time to get off the fence, and I’ve made my choice. It only took me 40 years!

I’m still slogging it out doing my walks at work during lunchtime. I love being outside, but I still HATE the part where I have to change back into my work clothes feeling less than pristine. At least now that the weather is cooler, I’m not as sweaty. At the last office building there was a shower, and I took full advantage. This time there is a beautiful, state-of-the-are gym on the premises, but I haven’t joined yet. There are showers there, but I’m doing things on the cheap. Walking around the beautiful grounds of this new complex is 100% free, and in this economy, with job cuts looming in our company again, I feel like it’s better to wait and see. Plus, the trees are just glorious outside, and the air is fresh and bracing. So, I bought unscented baby wipes, and poured some of my expensive Este Lauder toner on to them, so they smell lovely, and just “rinse” when I get back from the walk. We usually do 40 to 45 minutes of really brisk walking, and when I wear the pedometer, it comes up to between 4,200 and 5,000 steps, pedometer readings not being a very precise science. I thought the idea of pouring toner onto the wipes was fairly brilliant. It won’t be Estee Lauder next time, just Ponds or Oil of Delay, as long as it has a fresh scent.

Food wise, it’s just the usual….trying to be very conscious of what and how much I’m putting in my mouth. Luckily I do not have too much of a sweet tooth. There are always cakes and muffins on offer at work, and in this new office the snack table is smack-dab in front of my desk. So far I’ve managed to handle it.

Family wise, I called my sister today. I am still, what, not angry, but really disappointed that she and her new husband couldn’t have just apologized to my mom over how badly her visit went with them in May, June this year. My mom is still hurting, and if there is one thing my mom is good at, it’s nursing resentment. I can’t stay mad forever though, and although I still feel disappointed, I can’t just never call my sister. I do love her, I always will.

My own family wise…J. is still being so difficult. I find myself biting my tongue pretty much most of the time when we’re together. We seem to clash terribly. I see her as someone who is super sensitive on the inside, and has developed a brittle shell for protection on the outside. Thing is, most people that you meet in this life who have those brittle shells, the ones you come across who are ever ready with the nasty or sarcastic comment, probably started out the same way. At some point you no longer say, Ag, shame, it’s just because he/she has a little chicken heart beating under there. At some point, the person is just thought of as a jerk. The thought of this happening to J. breaks my heart.

My other two dd’s are fine, and dh is fine. He is working too hard and I want to get him booked in for a complete physical. Typical of some men, he is resisting. Good thing I’m the boss.

My mom is okay. She and I seem to have parallel emotions. When I’m up, she’s up, when I’m down, she’s down, or maybe it’s visa versa. Right now she is in classic Iris mode, mad at everyone. She has missed out on a lot of good things in life - opportunities for friendship and bonding because of that rigid sense of what she thinks is right or wrong and what she deserves. It’s too bad, but what’re ya gonna do?

Maya the puppy may be going into/onto (what is the right terminology) heat again. I hope not, I was hoping to have her spayed this month. She is very cute and smart, and yes, I’ve told you this before.

But I still miss my Shelby-lou.

It’s 21:10, I’m sitting at the desk in the family room, the Food Channel is on, Bobby Flay? maybe. I’m not listening really. Neil is upstairs watching baseball. C. is in VA, R is in her room doing homework, J., the Bolshevik is not home. My mum is in her room. I am lonely. How is that possible in this house full of people? I had a rough day at work…many production problems and I find myself in the middle of all of it. I’m not the cause of the production problems…it is not my code. I am not the manager either. I am in a dangerous place, jobwise.

I saw Barack Obama’s 30 minute spot tonight. I so regret not being a citizen yet - I cannot vote. I had the wonderful luxury of voting for Nelson Mandela in New York at the embassy in - when? 1994? I felt so good about that. Meanwhile, I have heard all sorts of dire predictions about this man, Obama, - that he is really a bad person and all that, but I watch him and I want to believe in him. I think he could be, might be, truly special. To all the cynical people out there…..what if he really is special? Are we all so cynical these days that we are no longer sure that anyone can be smart, honest, and deeply caring of the country, of the world? Am I really as green as I sound? According to my former really smart work companions, I’m below the acceptable norms of IQ in that department.

But, Damn, Damn, Dammit, just about every time in my life I’ve had a sure feeling about something and told that I’m wrong, things have panned out as I predicted. Shouldn’t that mean something?

Okay. Diet Stuff…

Walked approx 5,000 steps in the bracing autumn air today at lunchtime. It was glorious.

Food? never good enough, but not as bad as it could have been: Toast and Marmite (or Bovril) for breakfast. Ham sandwich on a roll plus veggie soup for lunch. A couple of slices of leftover ham for dinner and three Cherry Coca-Cola’s.

I have total common sense about dinner food for anyone else but me. I don’t even like soda, but 3 cherry cokes was my dinner.

Well, the about-to-go-bang company I work for has moved some of us into our new offices. They’re so nice that one of my colleagues remarked that he was wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. “This is too nice for us, it’s almost scary”. I know what he means. The place has huge windows, which, after years of not knowing if it was dark or light out, or raining or not, is just plain wonderful. It also has a beautiful cafeteria, a post office, gym, hair salon, convenience store, travel agency and child care. Oh, and a bank. I’d love to join that gym, but for now, I go out in my lunchtimes, still, with my boss, and we walk briskly for 40 to 45 minutes. Our policy is strictly no work talk. Yesterday was a rainy, blustery day, so we changed into our gym things in the ladies room, and walked the buildings. There are two that are connected by an atrium. We walked all around the place, and went to the tall building and climbed the stairs to almost the top - to the tenth floor. I think the next floor up is the roof. Our goal is to walk to the tenth floor without being too winded.

I’m not liking changing in the ladies room (at least it’s private to our office suite (oh I SAY!)), and giving up my lunch time to walking, but I know I have to do it. I’m still so vain, and hate going back to my desk feeling the least bit disheveled. But I know it’s got to be done. I’ve got to keep moving. Once outside, though, I do love the brisk, cool air.

I started that knitting project. Oy vey, am I terrible! I have pulled out the first part (70 stitches, k1 p1 for 48 rows) at least 4 times. The wool is not just wool…it’s wildly expensive string and ribbon and hairy stuff imported from some ’stan country, and tangles when you pull it out. It is much more difficult for a novice like me than plain old wool. I think the ladies might have met last night, in which case I missed them.

It was a long day of many problems at work, and I arrived home and decided to take a bath, first thing. My mom hunted me down (privacy? me?) and sat on the loo telling me about how upset she felt because my youngest daughter had been incredibly rude. I couldn’t even repeat what she said, it’s that horrible. Youngest daughter can be like this, and too often, is. If this was 1950, I could probably give her a good swat, but times have changed, and although I feel like I could wring her neck, that won’t do. But what will? Talking to her about it usually results in one or both of us losing our temper and it gets ugly. I am at a loss and terribly worried. I can’t fix this one right now. What do you do? For now, I guess give it up to God. Sir? Are you listening? A little help here, please. (note to self: fix lock on bathroom door).

Food wise, I did not eat a lot yesterday, but it hit me that I consumed all starches: toast for breakfast, then at 10-ish, feeling desperately hungry, I bought a carrot muffin which is really just cake, isn’t it? I nipped down to the aforementioned cafeteria for that muffin. Warning! Danger Zone! I wasn’t hungry for my soup at lunch time, then had a banana at about 3pm. I made macaroni and cheese for dinner and dished up pretty generously for myself. I did make some peas just for me just so I could say I had some vegetable, but peas are a starchy vegetable. For someone who has been doing Weight Watchers as long as I have, those are terrible choices. I notice my apetite has come back, and I think its probably to do with PMS. I read about the cause of this surge in hunger, once, a long time ago, and it made sense. But boy, talk about your body sabotaging your efforts, or is it your sub-conscious?

Still, I think I have made it to the top of the next decade. The scale has finally moved. It hovers between 177 and 180. Still a big girl, just not as big.

And I’m still missing my Shelby.

Out of habit, I popped in here at 3fc to check my blog and to catch up with others, and as I read the title of my last post, “Monday Musing”, I felt oddly surprised that two full days had already passed since then. They weren’t particularly good days, but they weren’t a total loss, either.

Memories of my beloved Shelby have been hovering at the edge of my thoughts all the time, and as soon as I stop doing any task that requires concentration, they play like a reel of old film. Actually, it’s more than film, because I can call up the feel of her soft ears and cold pink nose. I did not grieve this much for my father, which probably says something not so good about one of us.

The last two days were filled with all the usual things, I even managed to accomplish 3/4 of a small development task at work. Nothing fancy, just the right size of a job for a week like this. I am finishing it off today, at this point, I am just playing with it. I had to steam clean the carpet in the living room on Monday after Shelby’s last accident, and since I was already at it, I did a bit extra. We had our comfort food on Tuesday night - those infamous meatballs with mashed potatoes and peas and carrots, and on Wednesday I made more banana bread. I exercised on Tuesday and yesterday during my lunch time, really throwing myself into it, and I can feel it in my sore muscles. Last night I (reluctantly at first) went for a long walk with Roseanne and Maya, Jessica’s 9 month old puppy.

Maya is a wonderful dog, and also very very different to Shelby. Where Shelby had this soft, gentle quality, Maya is sharp and alert. My mother used to remark, “Shelby is a very refined lady, you know.” I wish you could hear how she used to say that, with her South African accent…she would lean forward and look at you knowingly, dropping her voice and stage whispering, conspiratorally. Meanwhile, Maya is all dog, of the private-part-licking-toilet-water-drinking-foul-wind-breaking variety. She is also a joyful creature, full of bounce and very smart and will never know how close she came to ending up in some shelter in North Carolina. Oddly enough, it is her blithe spirit that endears her to me. 

Alright, I know, I know, I’ve been going on and on about dogs for days. Well, you know what they say…if you want to know what’s on a person’s mind, listen to what they talk about. I remember the first time I heard that. I couldn’t decide if it was really dumb (well, DUH!) or, in it’s simplicity, extremely clever. My  opinion leans towards extremely clever, since so few people practise active listening.

Here it is, Thursday already. The week-end looms. I do believe I need to make a plan, otherwise we’ll all wallow in our now too-quiet house. The leaves are looking glorious, still, and in today’s newspaper, I read about an easy hike. North of us there is beautiful place called Bear Mountain State Park, and I’m thinking maybe my mom and I and whoever of my girls will join us (Neil will be working) should pack a picnic and load ourselves into the car, Maya in the back, and drive up to the park. My mom is most definitely not an outdoor girl, but I’ve learned that she can be convinced to do things outside of her comfort zone. Alternatively, there is a closer park, Nyack Beach State Park, which has a beautiful walk along the Hudson. Whichever. We just need to get ourselves out and moving and enjoying the sunshine.

Now then, some planning needs to be done…… 

Today has been one of the saddest days I can remember in a long time. I had to take our beloved Shelby to the vet so that she could be put down. Put down. What a lousy phrase to have to write. I can’t think of anything else though. Our beautiful girl, so sweet and loving and innocent. She’s had it rough since early May. She started to have seizures, and we thought we had things under control, but in the last weeks she has become progressively more sick. Yesterday she had three, and after each one became less and less able to get up, let alone walk. When she did manage to get up, she walked in circles, sticking her face in tiny corners and just standing there for a few moments, then turning around and staggering a bit, bumping into walls. I think she may have been in pain as well, since she cried. My youngest daughter and her boyfriend came with me, and we stood around her and held her and stroked her as she gently slipped away. I thought my heart would burst.

Food has been the farthest thing from my mind these last weeks; I find myself feeling nauseous at the thought of certain things. Ah well, I suppose it will pass.

It’a almost 5:30 am, I’ve been up since about 4. Is this one of those symptoms of peri-M? Your eyes boing open on the dot every day at 4am? I went to bed really early last night, so I’ve had enough sleep. Neil mentioned he’d love some banana bread so I made some just now….it’s got about another 20 minutes to go in the oven. We have too many bananas! Now then, banana bread is not a good topic for a diet blog, but then I am not actually on a diet.

I have a family of 5 at home at the moment, if you don’t count 2 dogs and a cat. Our eldest is coming home this week-end to take her sisters to a concert and be with Neil on his birthday. This is a busy household, and I can’t be doing special foods just for me. So, yes, I will bake a banana bread and yes, maybe I will take a slice with me to have with coffee when I get to work.

I will also take a container of wonderful vegetable soup that my mom made yesterday. She made about 18 quarts in April, and I froze a lot of it in small containers and have been using it for lunches at work for ages. I’m sure yesterday’s batch is 20 quarts, she used the biggest pot we have, which is one of Auntie Sylvia’s AMC Waterless Classic pots and it is enormous. My mother adores those pots; they were Sylvia’s pride and joy and my aunt gave each of her nieces a starter set as a wedding present. There are at least 15 or more of us first cousins, all women. She should have just bought the company.

I walked, make that ran…this week during lunches and I finally had the courage to step back on the scale after my two weeks of incredible apetite. I believed I must have gained about 4 or 5 pounds but was too afraid to look. I took a pass at my weigh in at Weight Watchers on Saturday. By last night I was feeling better and I had the courage to stand on my scale at the end of the day. I felt sluggish last week, and is it any wonder! This business of being afraid too look at the scale is really nonsense, I know. Especially since I am trying to just live a life here, and when you live a life, you go up a little sometimes. If you’re plump, as I am, you watch yourself, but you don’t go overboard and become obsessed. Being afraid of the scale is a warning sign that I’m not being  truthful to my own self. Okay then. I consider myself chastised!

When I say “ran” during my lunch time, I really was walking just really really fast. I walk with a woman - my boss - who is uber fit, and her brisk is my jog. I kept up, though!

With everyone being home this week-end, I am planning a big Sunday meal, and it will be roast lamb with lots of different vegetables. Everyone except J. loves a roast leg of lamb. She’ll be fine though. The girls want to pack so much in this week-end. They always want to go shopping, they have their concert, they want the whole family dinner thing and they want to go apple picking. I researched places to go, and there is a farm about a mile from our home and they said if we get there early on Saturday morning, they’ve got enough apples left for about 100 more people, and then it’s done for the season. So…we’ll see.

I still haven’t connected with a writing class or started a writing blog. It’s interesting. Here, I have a “reason” to write. I have permission, so to speak. When I get to my writing blog, my words dry up. I don’t know where to start.

Work has been stressful these last weeks with so many people gone. The one person who left had a very big personality, and took over a lot of the high profile tasks. You just couldn’t get a foot in. Well, we’ve had non stop production issues since he left, and I’m the “face” of it. It’s stressful, but also a little weird. I had done this all before he came, and knew I hadn’t completely lost my ability, but it just got so tiring to always fight or be on the defensive. The production problem I’m dealing with right now is a big’un, and by yesterday afternoon I had moments when I just wanted to go home - but there was another feeling. It was stressful, yes, because the fallout from these things can be huge, monetarily and politically, but I felt like we were just getting on with it for a change. There wasn’t that added edge that my comrade always brought to the table. I miss him. He’s a smart person and wonderful to talk to, but I don’t miss the maneuvering and the “spin”.

So, we will see how this plays out. The economy is so bad that predictions are dire for sales of our product, and there are more layoffs coming. Please, quick, somebody tell me what else I could do for a living?

Oooh, gotta run, I can smell that banana bread/cake.

Sometimes the most annoyingly chatty person on earth (me) dries up and has nothing to say. That’s where I’ve been at for weeks. Perhaps this is a blessing to all the people in my life to whom I talk!

Funny thing, at least to me, is that I remember being exceptionally quiet as a child, from the age of about 8 right into my 20’s. Things changed after I got married and had kids….and found myself stuck in a dorp for ten years in a place where I felt like I had been buried alive. I was desperately bored and desperately lonely, and I began…..to chat. I knew I was talking too much, telling people too much, giving too much away for free. There were a couple of woman that I came to know who had husbands as deeply involved in club sports as mine. In fact, these women, their husbands, my husband…they had all grown up together. What are club sports? You don’t see it here in the US, but in the UK and South Africa, New Zealand and Australia, every little town has one or more clubs and people join them and play sports through them. The provinicial and national teams for squash, cricket, rugby and I don’t know what all are (used to be) drawn from club sports. My own husband was always a provincial baseball player - granted, not a hugely popular sport in South Africa - and played at the highest club level (the A-side) of rugby. He was also, before I knew him, a provincial diver and gymnast. He is the most athletic person I have ever met, and his love of sports is so pure! But back then, it seemed like it never ended! It was customary for the wives to go along to all the games, taking their little ones and sitting in the stands for hours and hours, whole days even, or else they’d work in the club’s kiosk, selling hot dogs and “cool drinks” (sodas) and chips and sweets. People’s whole social lives revolved around those clubs. I made friends with a few of the women, and would call them up occasionally to go for a visit. There was one woman in particular of whom I was very fond. We had our first babies on the same day, and sort of “met” in the maternity ward. I’ll give her this….she was patient with me and a good soul, and did occasionally reciprocate and visit me with her little ones. The other women almost never called me. I was pretty desperate, though, so I kept trying. I’d go home after my little social calls and feel physically ill, feeling as though I had offered up pieces of myself for nothing. I never became really close with anyone and I think I was probably viewed/tolerated as an oddity - the one who grew up in America! Gradually, the need to connect like that wore away. Finally, in my thirties, having left the old dorpie years before, and on one very cold night in a hotel room in Sweden on a business trip, quite suddenly realised I was fine just by myself.

I still can get a good steam going if I’m comfortable with a friend, and I do still go overboard at times.

For a few years, here at work, there was a woman who was an incessant talker. On top of that, her voice happened to be naturally strident (she could give Ethel Merman a run for her money). Her subject matter invariably settled on her two sons, who, our whole office came initmately to know, are both at the genius level when it comes to IQ, but both have “issues”. I  grew to intensely dislike using or hearing the word “issue” used when what was really meant was ”problem”. She drove everyone nuts. Me included. It was hard to get angry with this woman because in most other respects she was actually a very nice person. I know she was kind, I think she was probably pretty smart and she had a good sense of humour. Secretly, I harbored a horrible thought: is this what I did to people? Is this how they felt about me? Did I drive them nuts? Is this divine retribution?

Ah well, let me be merciful and release you, dear reader.

Not a lot to say chickees. I did have two paragraphs of kvetching, but deleted them.

I’m hangin’ in.

My dance card has been full these past weeks. Same ol’ same ol’, though: work, home, housework, laundry, cooking and all the things to do with family - husband, mom, kids, dogs (dog hair!!!), & cat and now, a new “guest”, a mouse in the kitchen - trying to find balance. I’ve been watching over my mom very carefully since she returned, determined to not let the events in South Africa send her into a downward spiral. The need to be ever vigilant has lightened up a little, and my mom is doing well.

More folks were let go at work, one of whom I’ve mentioned many times in my blog, a “frenemy”. I’ve worked with him for 10 years or more, he’s one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met, but was also, occasionally arrogant and sexist - you know the drill. He drove me mad sometimes and I’ve already said I’ll miss him terribly. His last day was Tuesday. There were other losses too, I know, I know, you must be sick of reading about it! My old friend and my sister. Could this be a catharsis? Can I even spell that word? I have mixed feelings on the whole matter of losing these people in my life. On one hand, yes, sad. On another, light.

Somehow this catharsis or lightness, or whatever you would call it, has caused me to reevaluate (again) my life. I’ve decided I like it here where I am right now. I’ve taken on quite a few projects at home and at work. Caroline, Roseanne and I walked in that Susan G. Komen race last Sunday. Fun, but hot. I was pooped at the end of the day. It was wonderful having Carolina Mooney Juney home for the week-end. We spent some good time together. I had the girls baking with me on Saturday - old fashioned Dutch rusks. Kind of like the Italian biscotti, but (isn’t this typical) bigger and heavier. We did two double batches (each batch took 9 cups of flour and 1 lb of butter, plus buttermilk and cream) so that Caroline would have a lot to take home. Jessica is installed in cosmetology school. She seems to be enjoying it (we hope and pray). It is her birthday on Monday, and we have plans to spend the day together tomorrow, shopping for her presents, going out to lunch and maybe having a mani-pedi together. We plan to go up to a local outlet mall just over the border in New York.

On Sunday I am planning to go to church, I sloughed off most of the summer, although I did buy myself a Bible, and I am planning to read it. It is a good translation, I believe. I won’t go into what I think makes a good translation, I’m so tired right now! But suffice it to say, I am pleased with my purchase. The stack of books next to my bed has become a dangerously high tower. What’s a girl to do? But back to church…I will try to be more regular. I do not do this out of a sense of guilt. I do it becuase it is the right thing for me. Just showing up and listening to the message helps me to obtain that elusive balance and perspective in my own life, plus, hopefully, I am leaving with something to offer other people in terms of kindness and freindship.

The other projects are: fixing up the broken things in our home, such as our dining chairs. My mom bought the dining suite for me in ’94, second hand, but a very good name (Henredon) and the chairs need re caning and re upholstering. I’ve found someone who can do it, therein lies a story for another time….it’s going to be expensive. Expensive enought that the possibility of just buying new chairs seems to be another option. But I remember that my mom was so excited when she found it, and she bought it out of such love, I couldn’t replace those chairs for all the tea in China. Anyway, this person has agreed to let me do one chair at a time, I’ll pay cash. I don’t care if it takes me six months. First, though I had to order the  upholstery all in one go. I’m paying for it a little bit every two weeks. I have to go over the wood on the chairs with some wood soap and lemon oil before I start dropping them off. Don’t trust the re-upholsterer to clean the wood nicely before he fixes the cushions back in place. Hmph.

I want to sort through all my table cloths, I now have about three or four good vintage ones, (picked a new one up the other day - Irish linen - at an estate sale I just happened to be passing - $8!) and make sure they’re clean and pressed and packed away nicely. Then I want to do my (sad) linen cupboard.

I want to go out to Lancaster county at some point - maybe next spring - and buy three hand crafted chests (kysts?) for the girls, and I’m going to fill them with beautiful things for when they start their own homes. I’ll pass on the vintage table cloths and I’ve collected some Carol Boyes stainless steel utensils (she’s an artist from SA, mainly designs home textiles, works in 18/8 stainless steel and pewter and maybe also silver). I have gazillions of expensive pots. Whoever likes to cook the most can have my two prized Le Creuset (6 qt oval and 2 1/2 qt round). The AMC Classic pots can be divided among them. I’ll see.

Had all my bits and pieces of broken jewellery repaired. I don’t have much, none of it that high quality, but all meaningful to me. Sold the extra gold - unmatched earrings and broken chains etc. which paid for the repairs.

Lastly, I’ve joined a knitting group. We start on October 14th, we’ll all be doing a similar sweater.

Well, not quite lastly.

I’m still looking for a writing class. The person I thought I found as a teacher has not responded to my queries, and I’m afraid it is a dead end.

Oh, and I’m exercising more. I’m either walking or working out at lunch time most days. We move offices in a few weeks, and the new facility has a real gym. You have to pay - if they let me pay monthly, I think I can swing it. They even have classes. I want to lose 18 more lbs by Christmas.

Still using up space here, I am.

I haven’t found another spot to blog yet, although I think I’m on my way. I found a person who offers an online writing course and have initiated correspondence. So far, I’ve inquired about the availability and schedule of the next class, he’s responded, and I’ve enthused. The class involves blogging. It’s probably hosted on something like blogspot. I’ll find out more today.

Yesterday I took a really long walk at lunch time, after which I had a nice cold shower, washed my now even shorter hair and still didn’t make it back to my desk in the allotted hour. I did not even try to blow dry the feathers on top of my head, I just pushed them about with my fingers. Talk about letting go of vanity. It dried alright. I don’t think I scared anyone away. I wore my Weight Watchers pedometer, and with my stride measured at 28 (inches? I have no idea, I just followed their stride measuring instructions), the step total for the walk was over 5,300. I wore two two pound wrist weights on my arms, with the idea that they may help tone my arms. I don’t think they toned anything except my veins and arteries.

For breakfast I’ve been sticking to Fiber One, just over the 1/2 cup serving size, and I usually throw in a handful of raisins and occasionally a banana. I also have a cup of coffee. We don’t bother with skim milk, and I do put 2 tsp of sugar in the coffee. No one in this home is into the low-fat or fat-free diet food offerings that are available. We’re all of the opinion that you should just eat less of the “real” stuff. Should I mention that I’m the only plumpy living here? I do all this very early in the morning because I want to make sure to (this is indelicate) get to the loo before work. I loathe using the work loos.

Once at work, I’ll make a cup, occasionally two, of coffee. Generally there I have Splenda, but I do use half-n-half. I try to fit in as much water as possible throughout the day, but often I forget. It seems ridiculous to buy plastic bottles of water when there is a perfectly good water fountain down the hall that gushes cold water and has a fixture for filling a glass.

For lunch, if I don’t go out with my colleagues….and I’m guessing that whole phase of my life is over now that my one colleague is leaving next Tuesday…..I just have a Slim-Fast or some left-overs from the previous night’s dinner.

Once home, I almost always prepare something for the family. I have worked myself into the position where I am the main one doing food preparation, and this is another thing that is ridiculous, given that there are two grown daughters living in this house, plus my husband and my mom. My mom pitches in occasionally, but her efforts usually use up every ingredient in the pantry and we have left-overs for months. This isn’t always ideal, since I’m the only one who really appreciates her style of cooking. She’s getting on, and sometimes makes mistakes, e.g. mushy meatballs, or generally overcooked meat and vegetables. Neil will pitch in too, occasionally, bless his heart (mostly). He is of the seventeen peas per person variety of cook, and this is a sore point between us. So, this week I did buy ingredients for soft tacos, and told Jessica and her boyfriend (since he appears to have moved in) that they are in charge of that meal one night this week.

Our dinners are not usually too weight loss friendly, although I do always include a salad and vegetables. If it isn’t too weight loss friendly, I just make sure my portion of the heavy part of the meal is small and load up on the salad and vegetables. Last night I made (for the first time actually) rigatoni with vodka sauce and an Italian inspired salad (iceberg/romaine lettuce, lots of tomatoes (home grown, from a friend), thinly sliced red onion, roasted red peppers and fresh mozzarella). We also had a warm loaf of Italian bread.

After our evening meal, we don’t usually have a dessert, although there are some Klondyke bars in the freezer this week. There is always a ton of fruit available. I believe that my worst fault, my downfall is the one or two glasses of wine that easily morphs into three. According to my Christiane Northrup book, alcohol is the ultimate sugar high. I just love a beautiful glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Lately I’ve been liking Oyster bay. This is an expensive, fattening and unhealthy habit. Every time I think of having to give it up I become heartsore.

This week I’m trying to be good about that, and so far I haven’t managed it even once.

I tell myself it’s my way of dealing with the tension that I feel. And it is. It was. It doesn’t really work, so I might as well admit it and forgo those extra carbs, since I still remain feeling pretty tense in the evenings. Why is that? Why can I just not relax? Why can I not just fall asleep and then sleep all the way through most nights? Is there something peculiar about my personal chemistry? I’ve been like this since I was 8, long before I was able to try and self-medicate. I was looking at old photos the other day, and noticed that even at 8, I was always pale and had dark circles around my eyes. I’ve tried meditation, I’m still trying meditation. I’ve tried intense physical activity to exhaust myself, and yes, finishing early enough in the day to not cause me to be hyped up at night. Hot baths, warm baths, hot milk. Prayer. Making my bedroom a sanctuary (that was difficult, since my bedroom has some sort of weird static attraction for the flotsam and jetsam of the house). Nevertheless, here it is, 4:09 and I’ve been awake and typing since 3am. Woke up to pee, went back to bed and realized sleep was not going to come and why lie there all frustrated? Enough complaining.

I’ll do the walking again today. I’ve got some leftovers dished up for myself from last night, mostly salad, but I could just take a Slim Fast. It’s another day about to begin….My car is empty of gas, have to leave at least a half hour earlier to fill it up. I need to mail some birthday cards at some point today and I have an optometrist’s appointment this evening. We’ll do leftovers tonight, tough beanaroonies if the kids and Neil don’t want that.

My eldest is coming home by bus on Friday, and on Sunday she and I and my middle daughter are doing the Susan G. Komen walk/run for the cure. That’s something happy to look forward to, eh? Couldn’t talk my youngest into joining us. Damn. She misses out on so much.

The drama with my sister and family, mostly my mom, is still unfolding. I haven’t spoken to her in ages because I just don’t know how to begin. To me, the foundation of our relationship has changed. We’re not in the same place anymore, but where are we? How do you go from here? Carefully, I suppose.

I’ve been whipping through the house, gradually fixing things. I’ll write more about these endeavors some other time. I’m signing up for a Tuesday night knitting group that starts October 14th. I do not knit, but, apart from word crafting, I long to do something creative with my hands. We are each going to knit a beautiful sweater. All exciting things.

Ah Feathers, SoClose, Annie, Ella, everyone, I screwed up again. I did not sign up in time for the writing class. I was worried about the old moola. I was waiting for this Friday’s payday, which was just a bit too late. As it happens, youngest daughter, our Bolshevik, the one who has been trouble finding her way, has asked to go to cosmetology school. She found the school, asked me to go with her for the tour, which was last night. Well, Bob’s your uncle, I applied for a tuition loan right there and then and to my surprise was accepted. So, dd3, in 10 months, will graduate with a license and an accreditization of some sort to be a beautician. She will learn to cut and color and highlight hair and perm it and do it up and she will learn facials and and nail care and waxing. The main emphasis is on the hair part, though, and they have a policy to find their students jobs at the end. Their “products” that they work with are Redken and Mac. There was an immediate $150 registration fee, then another $240 due on Monday. There went Mama’s writing class! Am I a martyr? Heck no. Do I feel like one? No again.

I am searching for a blog site for beginning writers. I am searching also, for a teacher. I think - no - I feeeeel an idea for a book. It’s been there for a long time. I suspect I could only have that one idea in me. On the other hand, I have strong, strong opinions on everything. Please, did any of you ever read Marianna Frederickson’s “Hannah’s Daughters”? I was so moved by this book. My idea, my story is so similar. I don’t want to rewrite her book, I don’t want to do it better, I just want to record the story that I know. I want to acknowledge to the world the marvellous women that I have known. I have not practiced the real craft of writing for many years, and this is why I need a course. I need to learn the steps.

Meanwhile, the lifestyle changes have been, well, evolving!

I am NOT in the weight loss groove that I was in a few weeks back. Groove it was. I do know (intimately, my dears) how to get it back, but I’ve been doing nothing about it.

I told you that I “lost” my sister, well, that’s how it feels. And my 2nd oldest friend of 27 years emailed me that she felt she could no longer be friends with me. The two losses happened on the same day. I thought I was handling both with such equanimity. My sister I will always love, no matter what, I’m just effing mad at her right now. My old friend…well, that’s an odd situation. We’ve been physically miles and miles apart for so many years, and I know our lives are so different. Despite this, she has been a constant in my life, someone I have always believed to be a soulmate, and a touchstone, and I thought maybe I had been the same for her. The one friend you never need to explain yourself to. I never agreed with her politics in the beginning of our friendship - she was, at 19, a recent refugee of sorts from a war - the war of Zimbabwe’s independence and was bitter. Over the years she seems to have mellowed in her opinion towards Africans, but it has always been the stance of a white African. It’s just there. Have you ever read Doris Lessing or Alexandra Fuller? If you are interested in such things, do. Both of them explain this attitude, this position, so truthfully and without guile. Nadine Gorimer is perhaps the classical music to Fuller’s pop. But Fuller writes to the majority; she’s accessible to everyone, whereas, I feel Nadine Gordimer (and J.M. Coetzee, too), despite some content or plot, recognizable to us all, writes to a more exalted group. Anyway, forget white African guilt….since we could never really meet on any real ground when it came to politics, we glossed? (not sure if that’s the appropriate word, maybe avoided is better) over it all. I told you she told me, bluntly, simply, we can no longer be friends. Ouch, that.

On Friday, I was told that my friend at work, J., the Orthodox Jewish man, the obscenely highly paid consultant that noone actually liked except me and two guys from India, had been let go. He’s probably the smartest person I’ve ever met. We’ve fought for ten years, he’s made me so mad I’ve entertained thoughts of sabotaging his PC at work (unplug it a little, so it won’t start easily….dribble water into the monitor). I’ve loathed him. He made me cry not so long ago. He’s caused me to second and third guess myself so many times, and it’s not fair. Sometimes the ideas I’ve had he’s claimed don’t make sense, and then presented them to our team! Shmuck. Bastard. Yet, I’ll miss him like nobody I’ve ever missed before! What am I ever going to do without a truly TRULY educated and smart person to listen to, ask questions of, argue with, learn from? The only other person I can think of that I’ve ever known who is as smart as this person is my dad, except my dad was a shmuck, and drank himself to death before I could get up the skill to argue properly with him.

So, I find myself in the embarassing position of TEARING UP at odd moments, like some big, effing GIRL! Thinking of my friend not being there for me to fight with anymore just undoes me. I wonder if he even likes or respects me at all? I have never ever never been a crier before. It embarrasesses me no end. I’ve just turned 47, my periods are still as regular as clockwork; am I in peri-menopause? Are these embarrassing moments of tears related to that? I’ve joked about it before in this blog, but the tears thing is new. I wake up in the night drenched, but that’s been happening since my 30’s, so I’m kinda confused.

Oh well, no writers blog, no class, no sister, no friends.

Daughters and husband are well. Mother is okay. My mom was happy from the outings, but a little bit full of small physical complaints, which she describes so well. She even does media presentations (hand gestures) to describes the various aspects of what’s happening to her. At times…TMI. Dogs…okay. Shelby had two really seriously bad seizures this past week after weeks/months of none. There’s another heartbreak for you.

I found a writing class. I’m going to try and sign up on Tuesday… I have to find a new blogspot for the writing.

Here? Well, I’ve been eating all too well lately, savoring my food with appreciation. I live a good life, I enjoy wonderful food. Recent events have me in a spin, fighting really, that temptation to fall into the abyss, (I’m NOT going there anymore, NOT), and trying to notice the good parts of my life. Noticing them, I am. I am asking my senses to wake up, and of course, taste is such a big sense. I love how we eat at home, how we cook and appreciate every bit of what we do, how we live in an area with so many different cultures, and so many wonderful places to experience the food of these cultures. I am loving my bowls and my pots and my pans. I do have excellent things! Now, how to be this way, love these things without becoming the third Fat Lady!

So. Wore the size 12 capris from my week-end in July with our daughter in Virginia. They’re snug. My face is as round as ever. I still have quite a nice bum, though! But my boobs are just too big, and the whole top half of me is that of a hearty well fed Dutch farm girl. Bloody ‘ell. Despite my philosophical leanings to understand what life is about, what it means, I still have a strong sense of vanity. Can you have both? Does the universe allow this?

My mum and I drove up to Cold Spring(s?), a cute little town on the Hudson river in Putnam County, New York. Oy Vey, lovely town with gorgeous old buildings and antique stores. About 8 miles before Cold Springs, on the 9D North, I saw a hand lettered cardboard sign “Tag Sale”. I screeched to a stop. Just checking Mum! Stay here. I bought a brown stoneware (about 3qts) Pfaltzgraf bowl (breaking up a set, how sad) for $5. I bought 3 broaches for $1 each, a fake pearl circle, a big blue stone set in fake marquesite, and a sterling silver cat. I also bought a $3 Claddaugh ring, sterling silver, made in Ireland (so the claim on the inside), for my daughter R, of the Roseannie perfume. When I climbed back into the car, I immediately pinned the pearl circle on my mum’s scarf. She was so chuffed, you would have thought it was real pearls. There was also a ceramic paella bowl thing there for $6 that I coveted but did not buy. I chatted with the sellers. The woman who was in charge told me she was having to sell her home. I said I hoped it was for a happy reason, but she did not reply.

My mother and I went on to Cold Spring, and walked around, had lunch and chatted to people. My mom had a lovely time, so she tells me. I didn’t buy a single thing there, the prices were too far out of my range. On the way back home, we passed the tag sale, and I almost caused a traffic accident (sorry, I am a shit driver) as I tried to stop and turn in. I bought the paella bowl, asked after a second Claddaugh ring I had seen and traded macaroni and cheese recipes with a man from Maine who said he also used the paella bowl as a wonderful mac & cheese bowl. I spent a grand total of $16 at the tag sale and came home as happy as can be.

Tonight’s salad was prepared in the Pfalzgraf dish, and I roasted potatoes and onions in the paella dish. I polished the Claddaugh ring and gave it to Roseannie.

You won’t know this, but Roseannie has her own special smell, I call it Roseannie perfume. It is a “just there”, not very strong, slightly sweet and gentle smell that I’ve always noticed about her. Well guess what? Maya the puppy has it too. It’s just by her soft ears and across the top of her head. I figured it out. This is the smell of a sweet soul.

I’ve been thinking for awhile that the time has come from some changes. I want to write, but maybe this is not the right venue. I still love peeking in here throughout the day to see what everyone is up to and I always come away with new ideas for all sorts of things from how to make exercise more enjoyable, or recipes or great books, or just to connect with another human being in, considering how many people I live with, what sometimes seems to be a lonely day. BTW I’m reading Amy Tan’s “Saving Fish from Drowning”. So far, I am liking it.

It took me an awfully long time to figure out how to pull all of these words out of this blogspace and into some readable/printable format for posterity. Who knew that it would be so hard to convert an xml document to word or text? Blech.

The next bit is only semi Geek-ese. My IT colleagues should/would roll their eyes if they see my solution….hey, I’m a data base gal, they don’t let me write for the front end anymore. Too old, I think. I had quite a job figuring out how to save my words from this blog, and I thought I’d share. I tried to be clear. Feel free to send me a note or a question if I haven’t.

For any of you that have this problem too….here’s what finally worked for me - some of my steps may be unecessary from a tech point of view, and I can’t tell you which ones, but in the end it worked for me:

First - at home I’m running the XP operating system. I used to have XP professional, but I think this one may be a later version. This seems to make a difference to how things came out. My work PC is different and the same things I tried on the work PC came out very differently.

Here, in 3fc, I went to Manage, and clicked on the Settings option, which is now waaaaaaay over to the far right.

From there, under “writing”, I changed the maximum number of posts to display on a page to 500 (I had 277 posts in all, so far, so make that number of posts to display at least as big as the number of posts you have). What this does… is pull everything you’ve written onto the screen after you’ve clicked on print - not just the few pages you’re usually looking at on the screen. I also changed the number of lines to display for a post to 500. This may have been unnecessary, but the idea was I wanted everything, not just half of the post with the little “more” at the end of a paragraph or two. Once you’ve changed these settings, just go and view your blog and click on print. You should get ALL your posts and all the lines in each post. You don’t have to use up all your ink and actually print, you can also just save your print-out to a file (using Microsoft’s Document Imaging if you have it, or, if you’re lucky and have it, Acrobat (usually some part of Acrobat can be downloaded free from the internet) - so you can save it to a PDF), gives you a really nice printable format. You can always really print it all out later. That was my option 1.

Option 2, which worked better for me at home was to use the RSS Feed under the title of “Meta” directly on my blog page to “feed” to myself first the blog, then the comments. Before using that option, I went back to Manage, then settings (waaaay right) and changed the Reading settings as follows (again, to be sure I was able to “pull” everything): Blog Pages show at most 300 posts, and Syndication (that’s the RSS) feeds show the most recent 300 posts. When you click on the RSS feed, smart software pulls your posts and places them into an XML file. If you do this from IE on my home computer, you get a very nicely formatted document that even has any pictures in it that you’ve published. Now this was the bugger - how to get that document saved as a WORD doc? Well I couldn’t. Dammit. I am not clever enough. So I printed it, just as I described above, saving the print-out to a file instead of actually printing. The advantage here, to me, was the prettier (I was going to go all IT on you and say “superior”) formatting.

LOVE,

RubyJean