Travelling write along…

Okay, yesterday’s post was a bit of a downer

I’m fine. Not perfect. But who is perfect? Exactly. I am fine. I have lots of great things in my life. Like chickens!

Hmm…not the most uplifting photo.

How about one of the dog?

Now look at that. Pure, pure, happiness on the beach. You can practically hear Born Free playing in the background of that one.

Anyway – Good news! Well, for me, anyway. I’m going to the Cape Town Book Fair to, er, gawk. These book events are kind of like my own private Hollywood. I sit there going ‘oooh, oooh that’s…’ and laugh like a loon (inside, if I did it out loud people would give me the sly eye) and become rather delighted with life.

So I am going. Very happy.

I am also looking forward to meeting Rachel Zadock in person. Yes, the woman who is charge of this Short Story Day Africa festival of madness. (Oh, it isn’t driving you mad? Fair enough.)

In the meantime, I am polishing up my plans for the writing workshop I’ll be doing on the 20^th of June. I am thrilled about this. But in the back of my mind there is always this worry the kids will turn on you.

Like zombie garden gnomes*. Did you hear about them? (Google at your peril!) And yes, these garden gnomes are another thing I’ve picked up from Rachel.

Internet friends: they can be a bad, bad influence.

*I do not seriously believe children are in any way like zombie garden gnomes. They are always perfect angels whom I love dearly. All of ‘em. Even that teething baby in the back sporting a double ear infection. And that toddler over there who has ingested every E chemical under the sun with a healthy dose of high-fructose corn syrup. Darlings. Love them!

Pity party for one, your table is ready

Bit blue last night. There I was, at the dojo, standing on the sidelines doing nothing. It was not a kicking day. ‘Maybe I should quit,’ I thought. Not for the first time. I mean, who needs to punch something?

I walk about three kilometres a day on a very pretty route. That’s nice. I do it with my dog. He occasionally pulls the lead. That’s bad. I do no less than 3K because it helps my core stability. (That’s a necessity!) But must be careful not to walk incorrectly or I could cause problems in my knees, pelivis, shoudlers and...

I swim four days a week, now. That’s good.

Don’t ask me how many laps I do, because swimming fast? That’s bad.

The one or two days a week I swim laps I have to do a modified crawl stroke while my legs alternate between kicking and “frog legs.” But I have to be careful because while some of this is good for stretching out the muscles (tight muscles – that’s bad) too much can lead to more damage on the ligaments. That’s bad.

The other days I swim are these very small exercises that probably burn three calories in the 20 to 40min I am in there. Moving an arm back and forth across my stomach while standing still. Must have resistance. But not add weight to the arm (that’s bad) or pull on my arm, as what happens with a resistance bad (that’s bad). But I must do them somehow some way to gain stability (That’s a necessity!)

Typing? (It’s, err, okay, sometimes, if I follow the list and…)

Mouse? / Editing? (That’s BAD!)

I do Tai Chi once a week. (That’s great ! Core stability!)But have to modify the moves that pull my arms out too far from my body or over my head. (Oh. That’s bad.)

I’m no longer supposed to:

Garden

Knit

Toss a ball to dog or child

Pick up my children

Surf

Swim freestyle

Row or paddle a boat

Sew

Tug on things

Play the piano

Yoga

Pilates (well, some of it)

Sit cross legged (pulls on lower back, hips, pelvis and knees)

Pushups

It would have been better if I'd been kicked in the shin and punched in the face

Ah life, you are hilarious. I was having a wonderful Monday: wrote a blog post, did some ground work for Short Story Day South '12 and even chipped away at my ms. No, my arms (yes, we're having trouble with both now, although left still much better than right) have not made a miraculous recovery - but for me!, this was a good day. 

Then I went to school to fetch my children.

We all make mistakes.

Children were happy to see me, one grabbed my left index finger just so, squeezed and yanked in a manner probably impossible to replicate and - ouch.

I was sore. As mentioned above, left wrist has had some problems, so I assumed it was simply touchy about being yanked on.

I wished fellow parents good day. I had a brief chat with a child's teacher. I calmly got children into car. I drove off to swim lessons and...

My fingers began to tingle. It traveled up the entire arm into shoulder. I started to feel nauseated. By the time I reach swim lessons (6min drive?) I was ready to throw up, my arm was both in pain, yet I couldn't really feel it - and whoa. Began to panic that I'd really damaged something.

Where I shoved my children at the swim teacher and began phoning various people for help. Then I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon in the physio's office.

Apparently (and I am no doctor) it is just a freak thing, managed to upset a nerve, which alerted some defense response and my body basically freaked out over something that was incredibly minor. Unfortunately, the nerves freaking out upset the muscle system, which decided we needed to fight - so they started tensing up ready to battle. This helped those headaches right along, and gave me a very sore arm. One that even when all was said and done, still didn't want to type. It was too tired. It had a day.

Ridiculous.

But true.

So I felt like utter crap - ill, sore, missing sensation in my entire arm - yet actually fine. There is no damage. One simply needs to relax. Oh yes, this is common enough there is reading material on the subject. It suggests things like candle lit dinners, reading poetry, baths...

Yes, because when I'm dizzy and want to hurl I'm all over that poetry.

?

But physio kept poking me, then having me rest, then poked again and rest (while focusing on important breathing technique) and so on until I could sit up without risking losing my lunch and actually feel my fingers.

Thus, since Monday evening, I've been spending my fine time trying to chill while sort of keeping up with the rest of my life. The loser in all of this is my poor dog, Orwell. Because while I am supposed to keep walking (a relaxing activity) there are no arms left willing to hold a lead.

Dog is not amused. Pulling sad faces at every opportunity.

Fellow walkers yesterday were also not amused, worried that 'The dog lady' (yes, I was called that) had something bad happen to her dog.

Dog is fine. Just pathetic.

Dog will be walking tomorrow should recovery continue to progress as nicely as it has.

 

Kermit the Frog was a major influence in my childhood

'What do you write?'

I've struggled with the question for years. It was asked again this weekend.

'The little things,' I said.

I have been described as a 'broad strokes' writer. The story, not the word for word prose, is what appeals. I do not disagree. It is also true that a fair chunk of the stories tackle bigger issues, but they always do so in the details of the every day. The pesky human interaction of messy life.

Which reflects how I have lived. A person who has moved between various countries, camps with bears and gives birth to children in a comedy of errors that Hollywood would never try to script. But my day to day life is rather dull. I enjoy my quiet. I make the kids spend quality time playing without a parent directly hovering overhead. But when asked if we can go chase a rainbow, as we did on Friday, I am right there with the car keys. It was stunning.

 

The Book Club

Today marked the third Book Club meeting for a handful of local children (with more hopefully to join next month!). Have I told you about this? Book Club. For kids.

Marvelous idea. Wasn't mine. Grateful to the brain whose idea it was.

I suppose you could run it any number of ways. Because ours is a mix of gender and ages it is very casual. The children mostly treat it like a playdate, getting rather dirty and stuffing their faces as children do. Each parent has scooped up some books that the children are willing to swap and they are all put on a table to share. At some point we herd the kids together, have them look through the pile and then (this is key!) the adult in charge makes sure to keep track of who borrowed what from whom in a diary. (All books have the owner's name inside, too.) 

We don't have them sit down and discuss what they've read. But what they've read, what they'd like to read and (more adorably) what they think their friend would enjoy does come out naturally - be it on other playdates, the playground, or simply slipping one into the pile because, 'I really think Y would like this, because Y is interested in Z and this is the best story with Zs in it ever.'

If you love the language, the greatest thing you can do to ensure its survival is not to complain about bad usage but to pass your enthusiasm to a child. Find a child and read to it often the things you admire, not being afraid to read the classics. - Robert MacNeil, Wordstruck: A Memoir

We believe in books. Somehow we want to make childhood better, and we believe that a book given at the right moment can work magic in a child's life. - Ann Schlee

In the beginning the word was with God; all explanations, physical and moral, rested on the divine. And now for storytellers, even though those patterns of explanation are strictly human, the word has not lost a superhuman power to connect young and old, writer and reader; to connect us with each other and with the causes and consequences of what we do. - Jill Paton Walsh

Confession

I have a confession that may leave Paige Nick gasping for breath: I love Mondays. I explain why on my BookLive post Confession.

 

There is a life lesson here

My parents have come and gone. (Although technically they may still be flying through the friendly skies. That is one long trip home.) Being the typical international family, we pulled the typical stunt: cram a year of visits into three consecutive weeks while dragging people across the country going 'Look! Look! Look!'

Which is how we ended up in Tsitsikamma, staying in Storm's River Village. All of it was nice. Mostly. Okay, I was a bit blue. I was TRYING to be a good sport about it. But there are just so many fabulous things to do in Storms River and my physio had approved two: the boat ride up the river's mouth and the Woodcutters Journey. Both consist on sitting on your arse and doing jack squat.

Those two activities were actually rather nice. I did enjoy them. Honest.

So I tried not to think about how much fun tubing would be. Or kayaking. Or...

The zip line.

The Canopy Tour zip line that my father, husband and son were all going to do without me while I kept an eye on my daughter, pretending I was happy for them.

I was.

Mostly.

Despite the fact I had wanted to do this for ages, and ages, and ages, and ages. I. Adore. Insane. Stuff. Like. This.

Yes, that is my seven year old son dangling from a small wire high above the tree tops. Yes, he loved it. He even volunteered to go first for a good chunk of the lines. Yes, I did feel like a bad parent from time to time. He looked so small out there, way up high, all on his own, speeding towards a very large tree.

Um, yes. That is me.

But WAIT. I was good. Really. I did not put my hands over my head once. Or put my hands up on the line to slow down. Or jerk my shoulder back. Or do anything to jeopardise my wrist or shoulder. Honest.

Don't believe me. Look:

See that guy behind me? That's the guide. I went dead last because the guide clipped into the back of my harness and did all the work. We learned about this thanks to our Woodcutter guide who explained there is an option for clients who are physically challenged.

Whatever. I'm just grateful there was a way to circumnavigate the obstacle because it was bloody good fun.

I got an A today

Saw the physio and she is so very pleased with me. I am back to where I was before the last dip in my recovery. I have lost a few pounds (and she noticed. Oh dear heavens, my parents are coming and I am such a social eater. This shall be a challenge…) I am even going to have a whirl on her treadmill next week to see if we can incorporate a few days of short jogs into my exercise regime (but not too much). I get to drop a day of 5am swimming (husband is going to swoon with happiness) and do more out of the water.

She recommended tai chi. I pointed out that this is not at all like MMA, and there is nothing like pounding the heck out of a bag to let out stress and become a generally nicer human being for the rest of the week. This gentle exercise is all fine and good, but it eats up time and … well, I make the most of it. But once in awhile I want to let off REAL STEAM. Besides, it is clear all the kicking has given me a nice solid core for my lower muscles, which are just as susceptible to this condition as my arms. Nonetheless, I shall look into it because I’m working towards my gold star.

I should be able to wear the brace less. I hope so, because it is getting colder and the brace does not easily work with the majority of my winter clothes. Big armholes simply don’t keep heat in as well – fact. The only real risk is other people. Other people wanting to shake hands. I may just have to become a hugger. This will either cause people to stop approaching me, or they’ll join in and hug back. For now I keep offering the left. The tape is too discreet, although it is actually what offers the majority of the support. Tape fits under anything. Although tape can cause skin rash. Everything has a knock on effect.

It does appear that I should be able to live a mostly normal life. The difficulty is mastering the balance of too much or too little – both are very bad. It requires knowing how to cut corners – quit apologising for using tumble dryers, electric can openers and *hangs her head * pre cut veg. I also require variety, as too much repetition in any exercise or motion is problematic, aside from walking. Thus, I did ask if there were any job opportunities she was aware of that simply require lots of walking. She laughed. But I was kind of serious, because I have yet to come up with a job / career that would fit in with the amount of breaks and variety I need in order to not over do it.

But never mind the tangent. The good news is that if all goes well, I begin phase 2 next week, which is where I try to build up some muscle. For now I’ve been working on stability, which does have to do with muscles, but in a different way. But the problem is, muscle is weight. I need to be strong enough to do the job for the ligaments, but not so strong my muscles become a burden to those same worn out ligaments. And my body should really only be carrying so much weight.

Which means as thrilled as I am that she noticed that I’ve lost those few pounds, I don’t get to be lazy. Losing weight is bloody tiring. Losing these few measly pounds has been a lot harder than losing that giant chunk of baby weight I shed after the birth of each Thing. Nor do I crave weight loss. I’ve long since passed the age of fantasising of having a fashionably thin body. It seems like a bit of a cheat that when I finally obtain the maturity to realise that as long as I am a healthy weight I’m good, my ligaments move the bar to what now means ‘healthy.’ Thankfully, we’re not talking a lot of weight. Probably six to ten more pounds to go. As the physio keeps explaining, I simply don’t have a very large margin of error. The gap between too little and too much is narrow: be in strength, stability, exercise, rest and now weight.

I’ve never been a perfectionist. This condition appears to require one.

Versatile Blogger Award

Blogging is a rather odd thing. It is a bit like writing a diary then broadcasting it. Except it isn't, because I edit it - all this stuff in my life that is either too dull or too personal is kept out of the blog. The downside is that the real diary writing has almost ceased and those precious memories I keep from you all never get written down for myself.

Which brings us to this challenge given to me by Amy, which was passed down to her by this person. The gist for those of you that don't like to click is that you write / reveal 7 things about yourself that most people do not already know.

It sounds fun. I did enjoy watching Amy work through her challenge. So I thought I'd give this thing a go.

Then I decided I probably would not.

Perhaps I should have tried to tackle this challenge from a creative angle? Or dig into my childhood and tell you mundane things like the fact I took a course in computer programing? But the thing is, I suspect I already have mentioned that one.

Here is the thing about me: I don't really care what people know about me until I care. Then I don't tell. I am pretty damn open, which any regular blog reader has probably picked up on by now. I've found this a brilliant defence against people who pry because they get swamped with so much info that they never bother to start sticking their noses where I don't want 'em.

Yes, it is possible to be socially awkward, a recluse, and talk too much. See, once they let me out of the cave I make up for lost time. (As everyone who knows me IRL has already observed, to their detriment.)

Thus, you blog readers, most who are probably related to me, already know everything about me that is interesting (and sadly not) that I am happy for you to know. Anything else either:

A - Has not happened yet

or

B - Shall remain offline

(I would love to tell you that those items falling under category B are oh so fascinating, but they are actually are either: 1) boring or 2) not entirely mine to share.)

I am very sorry to disappoint.

Mea Culpa

This time last year . . .

I was moving house. In celebration of this anniversary we...moved. We moved Thing 1 out of the room he was sharing with Thing 2. Thing 2 being 4, is too big for the cot she was sleeping in. Not that we'd left it as a cot. Husband had converted it ages ago. Not that it was a convertible cot. But anything can be convertible; if you saw off the legs to your table it is converted. But two regular sized single beds would not fit in their room. Besides, Thing 1 (boy, age 7) was no longer thrilled to be sharing a room with Thing 2 (girl, age 4).

This created a few problems. Thing 2 moving into Thing 1's bed meant Thing 1 had no bed. Except he did, because the guest bed in the guest room was actually bunk beds side by side. However, returning them to their rightful state of bunk beds meant we had no guest bed. So then our bed went in there and then Husband and I had no bed.

So last week we got a mattress. Yesterday the bed arrived.

This is all good.

But there was another issue: Thing 1's room-to-be was my current office. Obviously I needed a new office. Thankfully, there was a room off our room that could serve such a purpose. It was large, but a bit quirky. It has three doors and a small set of stairs. 

But it wasn't simply a matter of working around these challenges. The two doors to the outside world were not sealed, so you could stick a finger between the frame and the bricks and touch plants. Nor did anybody seal the walls, so when it rained water went straight into the cavity between the double brick wall. Oh, and one last issue: no electricity.

Bit by bit in the spare cracks of time Husband's schedule allowed, he worked at solving the problems. When that was done, he set about designing an office for a woman who has been working on the wrong desk for years. I love my old desk. It has family history. But physio pointed out that enough was enough. So Husband's solution was to 'pass on' the history to Thing 1 and make me a desk that would have me typing away in perfect posture. There was a lot of measuring involved. But after a week of using it I can already tell it is making a huge difference.

He also got a wee bit carried away with design. The 'pin boards' are soft board covered in red felt and blue denim. If he ever does such a thing again, he will avoid felt. It tugged and tore every time he drilled. The denim, however, is a winner. 

Yes, it is done. Well, mostly. There is a filing cabinet to go in a corner. There are a few more shelves to go in another corner. Maybe a bench to go next to the stairs. Oh, and Husband should probably get a desk chair too. But it is basically done.

Not bad for a chemical engineer.