Elvis and I

For some quixotic reason, I have an affection for Elvis Presley.

He died the day after my 3rd birthday.

I don't like his music.

But I do like this:

 

Everything and everyone has something good in them.

Everyone is wise.

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Hope

An eye-opening talk with my work coach yesterday - on feelings of anxiety and then the inevitable avoidance-strategies that I apply.
Gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, I am able and willing to change my ways.
We're working on a change-my-life-strategy, setting smaller goals, letting go of my it's-got-to-be-perfect-or-you-might-as-well-leave-it (which I inevitably leave then...).
I'm starting to sound like a perfectionist.
This morning, I woke calm and semi-rested.
Breakfast.

Happy kids.

I have been working all morning, preparing a lecture on global organized crime for early tomorrow.
Riveting stuff, even if it is work and that I would like to limit work to time spent at work and not at home.
Finally, at 5 to 12, I jumped out of my pajamas, into my clothes and fetched the boys from school.
To the dentist for Son#2.
Home.
Lunch.
Now we wait for the rush to swimming lessons.
Son#1 has 2 parties this weekend, and my depleted funds will have to go towards cheap gifts for the birthday boy & girl.
I have never been this poor before.
It worries me (when I'm not avoiding it, haha).


Meanwhile, the husband is still miffed with me from a war of words on Monday night, but that's just the way it is.
We all row our own canoe.
He's going running tonight, and I'm taking a long walk when he's back.
Then a shower to get rid of the cold in our bones from autumn that has arrived in blustering fashion (fallen branches, pears knocked out of my pear tree, and gusts of wind and rain).
Reading.
Sleep.


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Mission statement#1

Yes.
Just had a wonderful conversation with a colleague about writing one's own manifesto, mission statement, that will get me to happy.
And happy is a destination.


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Thanks Mom

Gheobhaidh tú bás agus imní ort;
Gheobhaidh tú bás agus gan imní ort.
Cén mhaith í an imní?

  

 It's a Gaelic saying.  

Which roughly translates to:

You'll die with worries,

You'll die with no worries.

So what's the point in worrying? 

My mother is so damn wise.

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Fabulous Farming

We went to our local organic farm's Harvest Festival yesterday morning, and ended up spending more than 3 hours there.

The biggest highlight was most probably the tractor ride through the fields.

My friend Karen, highly pregnant, and her 2 kiddies came along.
The kids found an old canon from the Second World War in the fields, and Son#2 found and hogged a toad, which he refused to set free.

 Sigh.

The husband bought ice creams, twice.
(But I suspect that he felt bad after Son#3 split his lip when Daddy unexpectedly threw a handbrake turn in the parking area.  Tut tut.  Men = Boys).

We ate cake and drank coffee and the kids made vases out of pumpkins and decorated cupcakes.  
We bought apples and plums (which have gone into a jar with gin and sugar for delicious plum gin which we'll be gulping in a few months' time).
Son#1 made a beeswax candle, we spoke to the beekeeper and learned about bees, and the husband had a long and interesting conversation with the farmer on how he chooses which crops to plant.
A nice guy.
The farm is so lovely, because they also provide work and care facilities for people with all sorts of handicaps.  
A system which cares for the more vulnerable ones amongst us, is surely to be commended.

We returned home satiated and happy.
It's wonderful to be outside when it's sunny.
And then the husband went to play guitar and I painted for an hour.
Bliss.
Small joys.

I feel better.
One needs to be hysterically pathetic every now and then.
Whatever happens now, is what I can handle now (as my Zen teacher said).
Contented sigh.



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Young & Jung

And I like Carl Jung.

A lot.

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Saturday morning

 

Tea in my cup that my friend Karen gave me for my birthday.

I took a lovely sleeping tablet last night, and slept like a babe.

After yesterday's self-pity, I feel OK-ish this morning.

We're off to an organic farm this morning - picking our own veg, buying cheese, looking at goats.

The boys are fiddling with Lego in the playroom.

I'm joining them in a moment, taking my book and tea with me.

My dad is doing well-ish in South Africa.

He has a lot of pain.

My poor dad - within a period of less than a year, his body broke down.

Big time.

 

My mother is starting work again in 3 weeks' time.

Things must get organized to help my dad during the day.

I admire my mother so much.

So very, very much.

Even with all the crap regarding health issues, I'm so lucky, you know?

Husband, kids, parents, in-laws.

All good.

I feel blessed. 

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C'est Le Weekend: Pretty Darn Flabbergasted

And now it's Friday afternoon again, and after this past week, I am speechless.
Which is a good thing, because sometimes, one needs to just shut the hell up and grin.

I spent this gorgeous morning in the hospital, having my mouth, ears and neck checked by a Ear/Nose/Throat specialist.
Something is amiss in my mouth.
He mentioned words like 'Leukoplakia' (sometimes a precursor to oral cancer) and then 'Atypical Hyperkeratosis'.
Don't look it up, it's depressing.

I've had this burning sensation in my mouth now for 3+ weeks, and the lump in front of my ear for 2 months-ish.
The good doctor thinks I probably caught some virus, and that is causing my slightly swollen face, big glands in neck and the lump.  
Then again, it might all be part of Fibromyalgia, and might never go away.
I got a bit miffed at this point and told the doctor that it's an easy cop-out to blame everything on fibromyalgia.
I'm going back in 3 months' time.
He can't do anything for me.
I'm thinking, I might go for a second opinion in Belgium.
Where they have real doctors.

Luckily, after bawling my eyes out like a baby, I got lots of kisses and Son#2 smashed rocks for me in the garden, bringing me the super special remnants.
Bless.

Would love to have a glass of wine now, but hell, wine seems to be an aggravating factor in the development of oral cancer.
I'll abstain.
Tonight. 
Or not.


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Words to Live By

I understand.

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It is September

It is September and the garden is filled with happy, gluttonous spiders.

How do I know that they are happy?

Because they are well-fed, and everything 'well-fed' is happy.

Although this might just apply to me, and me alone?

I hope they got fat by eating gazillions of mosquitoes that have been eating my boys alive.

Literally.

According to the garden-person I met the other day, spiders come into the houses and buildings in September.

Am keeping windows and doors hermetically sealed from now on.

Bugger fresh air.

Especially Hogna snodgrassi a.k.a. the plain old Wolf Spider, likes to come for a visit (and does so often, on my side of our bedroom).

I'll just Snod him back into the Grassi on the other side of life.

Or get the husband to do it.

Getting rid of spiders and other bugs must be the #1 reason why women get married.

They are allowed to live when they stay outside.

Inside, that's a whoooooole different ballgame.