Packing

If you know me at all you know how much I hate packing. I simply loathe the very idea of packing items into a bag. I lack spatial awareness and an ability to really plan out the outfits I will need. I have got better but am still challenged by bags and stuff to put in them.

I know the tricks of rolling items up and sliding them into other things and making a padded area for wine and breakables. I had shoes stuffed with chocolate for the girls when I came back from New Zealand.

I usually get help by pretending to be utterly useless and overwhelmed by the whole process. There is a slight element of truth to this.

Once when I was staying on a British Army base in Germany I was so paralyzed by packing for a return to trip to my then home in Austria that a friend called the guard room and 2 delightful young uniformed chaps arrived and with military precision fit the proverbial elephant into a matchbox then drove me to the train station. How can I top that? I get guys to do my bidding!

The routine is something along the lines of I select my clothing and dump them on the bed then hubby comes along, laughs and culls my choice. Then we can pack. I need the company and support.

This has now become such a ridiculous psychological barrier that I am unable to get passed it. I panic at the thought of packing for a long trip and I am off tomorrow.

I sometimes think that knickers, passports and a toothbrush is all you need and I could pack that all by myself but what about the shoes?

I am delaying the inevitable by writing this instead of looking through the wardrobe and gathering outfits for 9 days. I will need warm, waterproof clothing and my killer dress for the reunion. Easy you cry. I think not.

I will have to build in a reward for this. Chocolate? Nah. I have 1 last piece of my delicious fudge from the Fudgehenge I made for a friend for his birthday. It is time to savor this last morsel and what better reason that this? At least it won't take up extra space in the case!

Catch Up

Has a week really passed? Either I am getting older or time is really flying. Anyhoo a veiled excuse I suppose for not writing.

I have had a bit of a cold. It is roughly the same thing as man flu without the whining, staying in bed and demands for sympathy! The voice has dropped and the barking cough is progressing nicely. It is a cross between Mutley's aspirate cough and a large gruff dog actually getting angry.

I only mention this as I am about 2 days away from leaving for my trip. Yup time to be locked into a lozenge and propelled at 500 miles an hour across the Atlantic. These are germ fests and I only hope that my existing cold does not want to make new friends and invite them to stay.

Oh yeah they smoke in public places in Europe and are not treated like pariahs so I will be inhaling all manner of stuff and my dormant asthma will be re-awoken. My magical cure? Nothing. Get an inhaler, be grateful and happy that I can experience different lifestyles and stand outside for a bit.

I haven't started packing yet and I am appalling at this job.

Bangin' Tunes

I am a music junkie. I love it in all its forms. As I write I am digging some ambient trance. I love the crafting of a good song, harmonies, funky bass lines and serious beats. I need to connect with the music on an emotional level and this connection is my focus of an article I am writing this month for an online parenting magazine.


I recently read that teenagers seek music as more of a way to conform and seek approval than rebel. I was horrified as I was not listening to the Smiths, Cure, Stone Roses, Sundays, Sex Pistols etc. to conform. What they had to say resonated with how I felt which was dislocated from society. I had no idea where I fit in but these bands had a sound I liked, an image and some of Morrissey’s finest lyrics. I loved his irony and observations and still do.

I thought harder and realized that I was listening to these bands because some of the boys I liked loved them and what way to better endear myself to these divine creature than professing a love for Black Sabbath, Sisters of Mercy and All About Eve? So I was conforming.

It has always been easier to be a geek who knew a few decent bands and be accepted than just a geek. I was not a geek more the arty type with hair wrestling itself free from the French plait down my back, bags of something tripping me up, clarinet case and rucksack slung over shoulders as I ran for the bus.

In fact my husband was the only one I knew who had Peter Murphy’s “Strange Kind of Love” and loved it as much as I did. This was a bonding moment almost 20 years ago. Boys again!

My brother is my music guru and he introduced me to so much incredible music- Placebo, Mumford & Sons, The Temper Trap, Pure Reason Revolution, Jose Gonzalez to name a few. I gave him Muse, Turin Brakes and The Doves. He has a knack for finding bands with a crafted sound that have yet to hit the big time but do. He wrote incredible and insightful reviews of all the gigs he attended and I felt I was there with him screaming, cooing and whistling. We are passionate about music.

I am still not writing the article I need to am I? I am trying to work out how I feel towards music. I am trying to get my thoughts in order as I only have 300-500 words to condense studies and emotions regarding teenagers and music for the piece. I suppose this is the brainstorming session. Any excuse to listen to music.

All Good Things

I have just thrown away a pair of jeans which is not momentous in the grand scheme but for me warrants a mention.

These jeans were great and made my arse look decent unlike most previous pairs which made me feel I was dragging some humongous covered trolley behind me. Mind you I was bigger then so just a sackcloth would still have looked large and I thought denim might have been flattering- nah!

These beauties had served me well. They had done dinners, gigs, shopping trips, slob-out sessions, date nights, they had travelled and were a beloved piece in the wardrobe. They just fell apart and were shredded. They had serious holes in them but felt they needed a last wear to show my gratitude.

The holes were there through wear unlike a friend of mine's.

'Twas during the 80s when the band Bros entered the fray with ripped jeans and girls decided this was a style to emulate. Said friend dutifully ripped her jeans and was so happy with the result that she slept soundly that night.

When she awoke she was greeted by her grandmother telling her that she had fixed the nasty holes and now the jeans were patched and ready for another day. She was mortified.

Thank Levis for their invention and thanks to an old friend.

Venn Diagrams

I have come to the conclusion that our marriage is more of a Venn Diagram these days. There is only a tiny bit where life intersects and we see each other.

The more successful hubby becomes, the more demands are made of him, the more he travels - the less we see him. I just miss him.

He has a great job which challenges and excites him and he is well respected professionally. I have to be there to support and maybe one day rejoin the teaching profession.

We have been together for a long time and married a long time. In fact I knew the moment I saw him I was to marry this man. I was 19 but it took 6 years to wear the frock. I called my mother to inform her but she probably thought it was just a thing I would say.

My husband is a lovely person who can be infuriating at times but can't we all? He cares, he's funny, he's a very interactive father and he's mine.

As the children get more challenging there are times when I wish I had my partner- in -crime to discuss this all with or at least help me fill out the West Point application for the younger one.

We just have to relish the time we do have together whenever that may be. I did see him over Skpe this morning for a few minutes so at least I saw him.

See you soon.

Please to Remember

... the fifth of November and not just because it is my husband's birthday.

Today is the day we commemorated Guy Fawkes's less than successful attempt at radical politics.

To celebrate this odd British tradition we go to Muir Beach for a bonfire. We take sausage rolls and a thermos of tea and find that there are many people who speak funny like we do. There are Guys a-plenty ready to be burned and for a strange reason a bagpiper makes his annual appearance. This jolly older gent is such a hero at this event that it would not be the same without him.

It is an incredible setting that is so far from Britain or anything British that it makes you homesick. The sunset tonight was incredible. We gazed over the Pacific realising once again we are fortunate where we live.

We have been going to this bonfire for about a decade. There are no fireworks just a group of drunk Brits reminiscing.

This year's journey home alas was made more torruous not by the curvy road that always make feel as if my last feel will decorate the inside of the car but by Dire Straits. Yup, hubby decided that we needed this band for the musical accompaniment.

I have never really liked them. They seemed such an odd mix of almost rock and occasional bouts of smooth jazz. OK some of the guitar solos are sublime but on the whole I could leave them. I felt as it was his birthday I would put on a brave smile and concentrate on not throwing up. I was driving so felt it best not to hurl.

What better way to end tonight than "V For Vendetta"?


"V for Vendetta
written by Andy Wachowski & Larry Wachowski, from characters created by Alan Moore & David Lloyd

V: Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. (he carves a "V" into a sign) The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. (giggles) Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.
Evey: Are you like a crazy person?
V: I'm quite sure they will say so."
http://www.whysanity.net/monos/vendetta.html

Voting

Today was election day and I duly voted. How I voted is immaterial but the fact that I can is more the point here.

I am not going to go into huge detail about the suffrage movement even though I find this absolutely fascinating I just want to thank tits members for having the courage to fight. A little fight goes a long way.

Below is an excerpt from a New Zealand website, http://nationalmps.co.nz authored by Nicky Wagner MP and dated September 19 2010 but retrieved today, 2 November 2010.

"The suffrage movement was New Zealand’s first truly mass movement. The Suffragists mobilised tens of thousands of people all over the nation, building momentum year after year until they achieved their goal.

One of the tactics they used was petition writing. Suffrage campaigners organised a series of large petitions to Parliament calling for votes for women. In 1891 over 9000 signatures were gathered and in 1892 almost 20,000. These petitions raised awareness of the cause, and supported suffrage bills before Parliament, but were ultimately unsuccessful.
Finally though, in 1893, nearly 32,000 signatures were obtained – the largest petition the fledgling nation had seen, and representing almost a quarter of the adult European female population in New Zealand at the time.

This was the petition that Kate Sheppard pasted together in her kitchen from individual sheets from around the country. Not all the sheets arrived in time – the post took a little longer in those days – but the roll she made up contained 23,853 names.

This was the roll that John Hall MP rolled down the central aisle of the House of Representatives. I’ve read that the petition made quite a thud when it hit the end wall of the debating chamber. It certainly made an impression because, within months, the all-male parliament had granted women the vote, making New Zealand a world leader."

I have seen part of this aforementioned roll on a recent trip to New Zealand and nearly cried. It was the most powerful piece of paper I will ever be lucky enough to see.

A "fledgling nation" was the first in the world to grant women the vote! Who says we can't change a system?

Whatever you believe have the courage to stand by it and stay true. Vote!

I have unsaddled the high horse.

Halloween

We survived another legal begging session. Even though I have lived here for just about 12 and a half years I still find the whole spectacle of Halloween rather odd. Get children dressed up and get them to beg for sweets at a stranger's house when normally this kind of behviour would be frowned upon.

My daughters whole heartedly embraced this tradition and turned the visits into a sprint and occasional obstacle race when some unsuspecting smaller child got in their way. They remembered pleases and thank yous which was amazing. They were a princess and a cat in case you were wondering.

The haul from last night was impressive and they cataloged what they had. There was a stack of chocolate on the floor so I stole some before they counted. I am particular as to what I take so had to be careful. Anyway the younger daughter went to her room with a goodie bag in an almost pantomime skulk, oh no she didn't! Oh yes she did! She proceeded to eat a few choice pieces and left wrappers on the floor to completely give herself away.

I am not sure if all children think their parents are mentally deficient and incapable of realising that disappearing to a room with a ton of chocolate and closed door equals pigging out. To me this is part of the holiday. If she throws up Daddy can handle it. Incidentally her own word for vomit is "razzle" which has a Vegas showgirl-glitter, Liberace-princess kind of feel.

This whole preamble eventually gets to my point that Halloween is time for the living to mock death/ Death.

America is a deeply religious country that does not see Halloween as a pagan festival but as a time for children to dress up and have fun. The holiday here celebrates the macabre and makes light of all things grotesque. Women dress scantily and enjoy the naughtiness of it all. Children emulate their heroes.

For one night and one night only we do not tremble at the thought of death. Death is feared and the dead revered normally. There is a huge sense of grief and loss as a general rule but almost a feeling that were you to go Halloween would be seen as almost a comic exit.

At Halloween we taunt death with all manner of images and severed body parts. There is an overwhelming sense of mortal superiority. We are living yet simultaneously embracing death.

It is all a bit of a giggle because come 1st November everyone is terrified of dying once more.