Fashion.
Well to be precise being told what is fashionable and only being able to buy clothes someone else thinks is fashionable.
All I want to do is buy lovely, comfortable, cotton checked shirts that keep me cool in summer and go with jeans, skirts or three quarter pants. The sort that are not tapered and stomach hugging. The sort that just sort of hang.
Is that too much to ask. Yes. Yes it is.
There is not a cotton shirt to be found anywhere.
(Except in men's shops and I would buy them but they are too big)
Being a I-do-not-conform-just-for-the-sake-of-conforming-kind-of-gal I don't give a monkeys what someone else thinks is fashionable. Cotton shirts are what I consider the piece de resistance of my wardrobe.
Because take away my qualifications, my clever wit, my extensive travel experiences, my sophistication, wit and aplomb I am just a simple, country girl.
WHO LIKES WEARING COTTON SHIRTS.
SHIRTS I SAID.
NOT BLOUSES.
Tuesday 27 December 2011
Friday 9 December 2011
The inflationary power of words
I have recently been thinking about the power words have. Many years ago someone told me that if you use a word like war zone to describe a situation and the situation wasn't a war zone just by naming it one, it becomes one in your thinking. The effect of this can be rather depressing and self-defeating.
Being a lover of hyperbole and finding it funny to blow a situation out of proportion I realised I did this a lot. But I could see how negative that habit could be so from that time on I was careful to use words to accurately describe what was going on.
However, in the last few months I have noticed that I have again started to use words that exaggerate how serious a situation is. Disaster became one word I used frequently. It actually became a source of entertainment to me to call a situation a disaster. If I couldn't get hold of someone it was a disaster. If I ran out of coffee it was a disaster. I went from one disaster to the next.
Then people in my sphere of influence started to do the same thing. And suddenly we were all experiencing cataclysmic events on a regular basis.
At some point I realised it wasn't helpful to call a situation a disaster even if it was funny to do so. So I stopped doing it. But the people around me are still calling situations a disaster.
And I have to confess I find it a little depressing when they do so. It no longer seems funny. The power of words, eh?
Being a lover of hyperbole and finding it funny to blow a situation out of proportion I realised I did this a lot. But I could see how negative that habit could be so from that time on I was careful to use words to accurately describe what was going on.
However, in the last few months I have noticed that I have again started to use words that exaggerate how serious a situation is. Disaster became one word I used frequently. It actually became a source of entertainment to me to call a situation a disaster. If I couldn't get hold of someone it was a disaster. If I ran out of coffee it was a disaster. I went from one disaster to the next.
Then people in my sphere of influence started to do the same thing. And suddenly we were all experiencing cataclysmic events on a regular basis.
At some point I realised it wasn't helpful to call a situation a disaster even if it was funny to do so. So I stopped doing it. But the people around me are still calling situations a disaster.
And I have to confess I find it a little depressing when they do so. It no longer seems funny. The power of words, eh?
Saturday 26 November 2011
Who dares wins
I have to confess to being a little obsessive and competitive when it comes to my garden.
I blame the weather. Not in a complaining whinging kind of way. No that would not do. But in a matter of fact this is the way it is, how I can I beat the weather and grow what I want, kind of way.
If the climate was reasonable and delivered adequate sunny periods followed by just enough rain to refresh the plants and keep them growing I would not be at all obsessive. If the climate did not send howling winds and pounding rain or if it did not serve up snow and frosts at unseasonable times of the year I would not be obsessive. But sad to say the weather around here is totally non-interested in playing fair and sends all sorts of isobaric challenges to confound the home gardener. And so I have resorted to obsessive tactics to get the upper hand.
Like making little plastic shelters for my plants and covering the ground with sheep dags to keep the heat in. It is of course questionable how effective these measures are. If I was really honest I would have to admit they are not really effective at all. The weather usually wins and it would be cheaper to buy vegetables rather than wrestle with the elements and try and produce my own.
However, while the weather seriously influences the success of crops like beans, corn, pumpkin and tomatoes, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, cabbage and yams do grow well no matter what the weather. So I can win if I am selective about which crops I grow but there is not much of a challenge in that is there? And incidentally I should add broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, cabbage and yams grow well only if the foraging chickens do not scratch them up. Yes I battle chickens too.
My ultimate coup against the weather is growing chillis and okra. Impossible, I hear you exclaim. Not so. Last year I raised four okra plants and one chilli on the window sill at work. I took them on holiday with me over Christmas and brought them back to work in mid-January. They flowered happily and produced a crop which I joyfully ate.
Admittedly it was not a bumper crop but it still counted as a victory which makes me the vanquisher I believe.
I blame the weather. Not in a complaining whinging kind of way. No that would not do. But in a matter of fact this is the way it is, how I can I beat the weather and grow what I want, kind of way.
If the climate was reasonable and delivered adequate sunny periods followed by just enough rain to refresh the plants and keep them growing I would not be at all obsessive. If the climate did not send howling winds and pounding rain or if it did not serve up snow and frosts at unseasonable times of the year I would not be obsessive. But sad to say the weather around here is totally non-interested in playing fair and sends all sorts of isobaric challenges to confound the home gardener. And so I have resorted to obsessive tactics to get the upper hand.
Like making little plastic shelters for my plants and covering the ground with sheep dags to keep the heat in. It is of course questionable how effective these measures are. If I was really honest I would have to admit they are not really effective at all. The weather usually wins and it would be cheaper to buy vegetables rather than wrestle with the elements and try and produce my own.
However, while the weather seriously influences the success of crops like beans, corn, pumpkin and tomatoes, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, cabbage and yams do grow well no matter what the weather. So I can win if I am selective about which crops I grow but there is not much of a challenge in that is there? And incidentally I should add broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, cabbage and yams grow well only if the foraging chickens do not scratch them up. Yes I battle chickens too.
My ultimate coup against the weather is growing chillis and okra. Impossible, I hear you exclaim. Not so. Last year I raised four okra plants and one chilli on the window sill at work. I took them on holiday with me over Christmas and brought them back to work in mid-January. They flowered happily and produced a crop which I joyfully ate.
Admittedly it was not a bumper crop but it still counted as a victory which makes me the vanquisher I believe.
Saturday 19 November 2011
Testing one, two
I had a revelation this week I am hoping will help me deal with life better. The revelation was simply that each day a series of tests will come my way. The way I respond to the test will determine whether I pass or fail it. Staying calm, patient, polite and self-controlled equates to a pass and losing the plot, panicking, getting angry and rude is a fail.
I am sure I already knew life was full of little tests but as I was reminded of it again, I thought I had better take more notice of it this time.
It all started when things did not go to plan for some of the people who are part of my life. Safely from the sideline I watched them respond to various situations mostly with complaining and criticising. I thought to myself, in a sanctimonious sort of way, their response to what was happening to them was not helping them much.
And it occurred to me, as I watched from my comfortable chair on the sideline, life is a series of tests and challenges. The way we respond to them has the ability to either make us feel worse about the situation or help us come to a place where we find a solution. Sometimes there may be no solution but to walk through the situation. Whatever the case if we can respond calmly and not get too emotional or defensive then the situation will not threaten to swamp us and we will feel much better about ourselves. Because I think that is one of the biggest challenges of a test. I suspect the thing we have to learn to avoid in a test is the negative way it makes us feel about ourselves.When things turn to custard we often blame ourselves or end up feeling a failure or attacked or worthless. We also tend to attack others.
While I was pondering the subject of tests in other people's lives and feeling rather smug that I was not experiencing too many difficulties, things started to turn custardy for me. And I have to say it is much more fun watching other people being sifted than being sifted yourself. During a two day period at least three situations occurred that really challenged me. I noticed that even though it looked like I was passing the test on the outside, because I appeared calm and was not complaining, on the inside I was a dithering, woe-is-me mess. While my thoughts were in turmoil I was not good at relating to people and there was a greater chance I would say the wrong thing. I also noticed that that some tests were harder to pass than others and some required time and effort to pass. Tests could be as simple as responding to someone not filling up the kettle to as difficult as someone complaining about the way you completed a job.
From all my musings and philosophising about tests I have concluded that I am not that well-equipped to deal with them and need a plan to help me as they pop up in my life so I have developed a two pronged approach. Firstly I need to have my official position on tests sorted. I need to live my life with the philosophy that tests are inevitable but they are also good. I need to welcome and not avoid them. A test is an opportunity to stay calm in the midst of a crisis, an opportunity to stay self-controlled and practise patience. An opportunity to grow up some more. Secondly I needed to know what steps to take when a test appears. I decided a good response to a test would be to quickly take a deep breath and a step back from the situation and respond calmly with the thought goody-another-test-I-wonder- what-I-can-learn, before responding to the actual test itself.
It all seems a bit simplistic and naive to think that this two-pronged approach could work but I do not want to live my life being sabotaged and ambushed by things that happen to me. There seems to be something powerful and releasing about recognising life is not always easy and challenges will come my way. When a test does come, being able to identify it as such, seems to take the sting out of its tail.
I may not be able to control what happens to me but I sure can control how I will react. Responding calmly, patiently and politely is something I want to be consistently expert at and it will not happen unless I am purposeful and deliberate about it.
I am sure I already knew life was full of little tests but as I was reminded of it again, I thought I had better take more notice of it this time.
It all started when things did not go to plan for some of the people who are part of my life. Safely from the sideline I watched them respond to various situations mostly with complaining and criticising. I thought to myself, in a sanctimonious sort of way, their response to what was happening to them was not helping them much.
And it occurred to me, as I watched from my comfortable chair on the sideline, life is a series of tests and challenges. The way we respond to them has the ability to either make us feel worse about the situation or help us come to a place where we find a solution. Sometimes there may be no solution but to walk through the situation. Whatever the case if we can respond calmly and not get too emotional or defensive then the situation will not threaten to swamp us and we will feel much better about ourselves. Because I think that is one of the biggest challenges of a test. I suspect the thing we have to learn to avoid in a test is the negative way it makes us feel about ourselves.When things turn to custard we often blame ourselves or end up feeling a failure or attacked or worthless. We also tend to attack others.
While I was pondering the subject of tests in other people's lives and feeling rather smug that I was not experiencing too many difficulties, things started to turn custardy for me. And I have to say it is much more fun watching other people being sifted than being sifted yourself. During a two day period at least three situations occurred that really challenged me. I noticed that even though it looked like I was passing the test on the outside, because I appeared calm and was not complaining, on the inside I was a dithering, woe-is-me mess. While my thoughts were in turmoil I was not good at relating to people and there was a greater chance I would say the wrong thing. I also noticed that that some tests were harder to pass than others and some required time and effort to pass. Tests could be as simple as responding to someone not filling up the kettle to as difficult as someone complaining about the way you completed a job.
From all my musings and philosophising about tests I have concluded that I am not that well-equipped to deal with them and need a plan to help me as they pop up in my life so I have developed a two pronged approach. Firstly I need to have my official position on tests sorted. I need to live my life with the philosophy that tests are inevitable but they are also good. I need to welcome and not avoid them. A test is an opportunity to stay calm in the midst of a crisis, an opportunity to stay self-controlled and practise patience. An opportunity to grow up some more. Secondly I needed to know what steps to take when a test appears. I decided a good response to a test would be to quickly take a deep breath and a step back from the situation and respond calmly with the thought goody-another-test-I-wonder- what-I-can-learn, before responding to the actual test itself.
It all seems a bit simplistic and naive to think that this two-pronged approach could work but I do not want to live my life being sabotaged and ambushed by things that happen to me. There seems to be something powerful and releasing about recognising life is not always easy and challenges will come my way. When a test does come, being able to identify it as such, seems to take the sting out of its tail.
I may not be able to control what happens to me but I sure can control how I will react. Responding calmly, patiently and politely is something I want to be consistently expert at and it will not happen unless I am purposeful and deliberate about it.
Friday 11 November 2011
One of my favourite things
I must confess I have a fascination for medlar trees. It all started one night when I walked around a certain town's public gardens with a garden club and someone commented in passing "that is a medlar tree". It was March and the cream coloured medlar fruit hang down on the tree stoicly waiting to ripen.
I remembered seeing a certain tv journalist-come-cook make medlar jelly and chutney with the leftover pulp. So I started to visit the medlar tree and researched when the fruit would be ripe.
According to my research the tree has delicate white flowers and some people grow the tree just for the flowers. It is also an ornamental tree shaped like an umbrella. It is belongs to the same family as roses, quinces, apples and pears. The fruit are golf ball size but if you cut it in half there is a six chambered hexagon shape that has a pip about the same size as an orange pip in it.
Medlar fruit are rather unusual in that when they are ready to eat or cook the flesh inside the skin is pulpy and brown. It has the consistency of stewed apple. Some would call it rotted but the correct term is bletted. Bletted the flesh has an interesting flavour - lightly spicy, fruity but somehow musty. An acquired taste really. Unbletted fruit leave an astringent rather unpleasant taste on the tongue.
I approached the council watchman of the certain public gardens about taking some of the fruit. With his approval I picked some just as they were beginning to blet. I left them in a box until the whole fruit was brown and pulpy.
Then I found recipes and made jelly and chutney. Both were a resounding success but I am keeping rather quiet about it because I don't want everyone visiting my medlar tree in the certain public gardens and knicking off with my medlars.
I remembered seeing a certain tv journalist-come-cook make medlar jelly and chutney with the leftover pulp. So I started to visit the medlar tree and researched when the fruit would be ripe.
According to my research the tree has delicate white flowers and some people grow the tree just for the flowers. It is also an ornamental tree shaped like an umbrella. It is belongs to the same family as roses, quinces, apples and pears. The fruit are golf ball size but if you cut it in half there is a six chambered hexagon shape that has a pip about the same size as an orange pip in it.
 |
| The medlar flower |
Medlar fruit are rather unusual in that when they are ready to eat or cook the flesh inside the skin is pulpy and brown. It has the consistency of stewed apple. Some would call it rotted but the correct term is bletted. Bletted the flesh has an interesting flavour - lightly spicy, fruity but somehow musty. An acquired taste really. Unbletted fruit leave an astringent rather unpleasant taste on the tongue.
I approached the council watchman of the certain public gardens about taking some of the fruit. With his approval I picked some just as they were beginning to blet. I left them in a box until the whole fruit was brown and pulpy.
 |
| This is a ripe (bletted) medlar ready to eat or jellify. |
Saturday 29 October 2011
The most important thing
Once upon a time, not that long ago, I heard a whakatauki/proverb from Maori culture that tends to dog me wherever I go. The shortened version of the proverb is He aha te mea nui o te ao? What is the greatest thing in the world? The answer is he tangata, he tangata, he tangata. People, people, people.
This proverb has the ability to pop up completely unexpected and unsolicited and slap me over the head like a stout piece of timber. Every time it does I remember how important people are.
When I go to the supermarket and see the automatic checkout that has a machine instead of a person manning it.
When I meet someone who genuinely seems interested in me and hearing what I have to say.
When someone laughs at my jokes.
When someone takes time to answer my questions kindly and helpfully.
When someone welcomes me into their home and shares a meal with me.
When one of my friends tells me about travelling on a train overseas and strangers who did not speak English shared food with her.
When someone mocks something I have said.
When someone interrupts me.
When someone goes out of their way to help me.
Sometimes it is not always easy to treat everyone you meet with respect and with a servant attitude to put their needs before your own but I think it is a noble asiration to at least try. Afterall he aha te mea nui o te ao? He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
This proverb has the ability to pop up completely unexpected and unsolicited and slap me over the head like a stout piece of timber. Every time it does I remember how important people are.
When I go to the supermarket and see the automatic checkout that has a machine instead of a person manning it.
When I meet someone who genuinely seems interested in me and hearing what I have to say.
When someone laughs at my jokes.
When someone takes time to answer my questions kindly and helpfully.
When someone welcomes me into their home and shares a meal with me.
When one of my friends tells me about travelling on a train overseas and strangers who did not speak English shared food with her.
When someone mocks something I have said.
When someone interrupts me.
When someone goes out of their way to help me.
Sometimes it is not always easy to treat everyone you meet with respect and with a servant attitude to put their needs before your own but I think it is a noble asiration to at least try. Afterall he aha te mea nui o te ao? He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
Friday 7 October 2011
Pardon me your furball is making me sick
One day, many years ago now, a friend of mine said to me that the foibles of other people would test my character and make me a better person if I allowed them to. I had never really given much attention to the word foibles before he said that to me even though I was aware some people had funny little ways which were downright irritating. However, now I know what it means, it has become one of my favourites nouns.
Foibles has a lovely ring to it. Foy bulls. Apparently foibles or furballs as I like to call them are a minor weakness or eccentricity in someone's character. It is a minor defect and does not deserve punishment but it can be irritating or annoying. And if you think about it for a second furballs, the collection of fur that a cat sometimes coughs up and foibles, a minor weakness or eccentricty, are quite similar. Let me explain. And I must warn you this is no explanation for the weak stomached nor does it really have any scientific merit.
I base my observations from my viewpoint as an agricultural farm girl type of chick. After years of relating to cats I modestly consider myself quite an expert on their funny little ways.
You may not have had the bad fortune to have a cat attempt to cough up a furball on your bed in the middle of the night but I nearly did once. Fortunately the furball did not land on the bed because I woke up in time. The cat plopped onto the floor with a well-aimed shove and delivered a wet, sausage shaped collection of strands of fur there. With an indignant flick of its tail it jumped back onto the bed and went back to sleep. I grumblingly found something to clean up the mess and took ages to get back to sleep because my feet were cold and my hands smelled of disenfectant.
You may also have never seen a furball in real life but I can assure you when someone coughs up a minor weakness or eccentricity it is just like they have egested a ball of fur from their stomach. It's a bit gross and embarressing and annoying.
For example let us think of a minor weakness like not listening. Some people, well many people, are not good at listening. They like to talk especially about themselves but they do not like to listen unless someone is telling them how great they are. It is a weakness in their character. If you spend too much time with them it can get annoying and if you are in a group of people where one person talks too much it can be embarrassing. And depending on the situation it can even be a bit gross.
A bit like a furball really.
The great thing about foibles is we all have them. Little flaws and cracks in our character that have the potential to wind others up.The trick is we need to learn how to deal with the foibles of others which is easier said than done. I do not really have much wisdom on that except to try and deal with foibles in the similar understanding way to how I cope when my furry purry girl coughs up a furball.
I suspect that like cats often get more furballs as they get older our foibles become more apparent and harder to hide as we age. We also are less tolerant of other people's foibles.
The good news is while all humans have foibles not all cats have furballs which is where I guess the similarity ends.
Foibles has a lovely ring to it. Foy bulls. Apparently foibles or furballs as I like to call them are a minor weakness or eccentricity in someone's character. It is a minor defect and does not deserve punishment but it can be irritating or annoying. And if you think about it for a second furballs, the collection of fur that a cat sometimes coughs up and foibles, a minor weakness or eccentricty, are quite similar. Let me explain. And I must warn you this is no explanation for the weak stomached nor does it really have any scientific merit.
I base my observations from my viewpoint as an agricultural farm girl type of chick. After years of relating to cats I modestly consider myself quite an expert on their funny little ways.
You may not have had the bad fortune to have a cat attempt to cough up a furball on your bed in the middle of the night but I nearly did once. Fortunately the furball did not land on the bed because I woke up in time. The cat plopped onto the floor with a well-aimed shove and delivered a wet, sausage shaped collection of strands of fur there. With an indignant flick of its tail it jumped back onto the bed and went back to sleep. I grumblingly found something to clean up the mess and took ages to get back to sleep because my feet were cold and my hands smelled of disenfectant.
You may also have never seen a furball in real life but I can assure you when someone coughs up a minor weakness or eccentricity it is just like they have egested a ball of fur from their stomach. It's a bit gross and embarressing and annoying.
For example let us think of a minor weakness like not listening. Some people, well many people, are not good at listening. They like to talk especially about themselves but they do not like to listen unless someone is telling them how great they are. It is a weakness in their character. If you spend too much time with them it can get annoying and if you are in a group of people where one person talks too much it can be embarrassing. And depending on the situation it can even be a bit gross.
A bit like a furball really.
The great thing about foibles is we all have them. Little flaws and cracks in our character that have the potential to wind others up.The trick is we need to learn how to deal with the foibles of others which is easier said than done. I do not really have much wisdom on that except to try and deal with foibles in the similar understanding way to how I cope when my furry purry girl coughs up a furball.
I suspect that like cats often get more furballs as they get older our foibles become more apparent and harder to hide as we age. We also are less tolerant of other people's foibles.
The good news is while all humans have foibles not all cats have furballs which is where I guess the similarity ends.
Saturday 1 October 2011
Edible friends
I have discovered a good way to think about friends regularly is to associate them with food. I have been doing it for a long time now without realising it but recently two events opened my eyes to this rather curious habit. Let me explain!! Example one I was in the supermarket and I saw crumbed sausages. Instantly I laughed out loud, lucky no-one heard, and remembered Sue who I flatted with in Hokitika. Every so often we would have a meal of crumbed sausages because I think Sue was particularly fond of them. It became a joke between us because she liked them but to me they were like rubber bullets to eat. Not that I have ever eaten rubber bullets.
The second example was the day I found out Aunty originally from Kolkata had died in Tauranga. I had just been up to her 80th birthday party but a few weeks later she departed this world. I moped around all day at work, knowing I would not be able to make it to the memorial service but wanting to acknowlege the input she had had in my life. So I decided to make a curry for tea. I had beef in the freezer but I knew Aunty would not eat beef so I bought some chicken. I made the curry and some roti and remembered Aunty. It was a great curry and I almost dared wonder whether it would have passed Aunty's high standard of currying excellence.
Now I stop and realise this is what I do heaps of examples flood into my mind. I have a cup of earl grey tea and have a flashback to times when I shared a cup with Jen who is now on the other side of the world. George and pernod, Kim and avocado, Lochumlo and green beans, Gayleen and roti, Annie and cheesecake, Heidi, Raja and marsala, Olly and dahl, Marianne and hummus, Catherine and sticky rice, the list is endless.
I am separated from most of my friends who are spread throughout New Zealand and the world but they seem very close when I eat something that reminds me of them. And I guess if you can't be with people the next best thing is remembering the great times you have shared many of them over food.
The second example was the day I found out Aunty originally from Kolkata had died in Tauranga. I had just been up to her 80th birthday party but a few weeks later she departed this world. I moped around all day at work, knowing I would not be able to make it to the memorial service but wanting to acknowlege the input she had had in my life. So I decided to make a curry for tea. I had beef in the freezer but I knew Aunty would not eat beef so I bought some chicken. I made the curry and some roti and remembered Aunty. It was a great curry and I almost dared wonder whether it would have passed Aunty's high standard of currying excellence.
Now I stop and realise this is what I do heaps of examples flood into my mind. I have a cup of earl grey tea and have a flashback to times when I shared a cup with Jen who is now on the other side of the world. George and pernod, Kim and avocado, Lochumlo and green beans, Gayleen and roti, Annie and cheesecake, Heidi, Raja and marsala, Olly and dahl, Marianne and hummus, Catherine and sticky rice, the list is endless.
I am separated from most of my friends who are spread throughout New Zealand and the world but they seem very close when I eat something that reminds me of them. And I guess if you can't be with people the next best thing is remembering the great times you have shared many of them over food.
The sucker is nailed. ( See earlier post 11/9/2001) It is hard to believe but after nearly three years and well over the prescribed 25 hours (more like 500) I have passed the two typing tests I needed to earn a diploma in journalism.
How do I feel about this I hear you ask? Well actually I felt a bit like the blackbird I hear singing with abandonment and euphoria every morning. Pretty stoked. And that is all I want to say about that.
How do I feel about this I hear you ask? Well actually I felt a bit like the blackbird I hear singing with abandonment and euphoria every morning. Pretty stoked. And that is all I want to say about that.
Friday 23 September 2011
Bring on the flowers
I love words. It is the sound of them I particularly enjoy. Some words are so delicious saying them is like eating something particularly flavoursome like a dried fig or a guava or a tasty curry. Words like sanctimonious and parsimonious and pharisaical. The sound of those three words to me instantly bring to mind a certain type of person that should be instantly dodged once identified.
Then there are words like belligerent that describe exactly what they sound like. The belligerent bull pawed the ground angrily before breaking into a menacing trot towards the picnic goers seated on a rug.
I have always love words. However, some of my earlier efforts to use the gems of the English language were dismissed with the comment of 'too flowery' by the teacher I had for five years at primary school. That is rather ironical considering he was the one who first drew my attention to words like belligerent and benevolent.
Regretably the problem with words like parsimonious et al is they are a bit poncy and not in common use. One needs to be careful in whose company one uses words like that otherwise one can appear ostentatious.
This is exactly the problem I have when I occasionally use one of my favourite phrases epistemologically curious. I picked it up in my university travels from the writing of Donald Macedo. I interpret it as meaning to love learning and knowledge and sometimes although I fight the temptation I can not help but use it to describe someone. I always wish I had kept my mouth shut.
You might conclude in my line of work that having a love of words would be essential. Au contraire. When writing news stories I have to use language a twelve year old would understand. There goes another irony I suppose.
Then there are words like belligerent that describe exactly what they sound like. The belligerent bull pawed the ground angrily before breaking into a menacing trot towards the picnic goers seated on a rug.
I have always love words. However, some of my earlier efforts to use the gems of the English language were dismissed with the comment of 'too flowery' by the teacher I had for five years at primary school. That is rather ironical considering he was the one who first drew my attention to words like belligerent and benevolent.
Regretably the problem with words like parsimonious et al is they are a bit poncy and not in common use. One needs to be careful in whose company one uses words like that otherwise one can appear ostentatious.
This is exactly the problem I have when I occasionally use one of my favourite phrases epistemologically curious. I picked it up in my university travels from the writing of Donald Macedo. I interpret it as meaning to love learning and knowledge and sometimes although I fight the temptation I can not help but use it to describe someone. I always wish I had kept my mouth shut.
You might conclude in my line of work that having a love of words would be essential. Au contraire. When writing news stories I have to use language a twelve year old would understand. There goes another irony I suppose.
Sunday 11 September 2011
Character or typing test?
Some time in the very near future I will resit the same typing test I have attempted to pass at least five times already since 2009. Each time I have failed to finish the test in the allotted time. I need to pass this 35 words a minute test to complete my diploma of journalism.
There are several bizarre aspects to this predictament I find myself in. Firstly according to the typing programme that is supposedly teaching me to type most people can learn to touch type in about 25 hours. It has sure had taken me longer than that. Does that mean I am not normal?
Secondly when I say how fast I have to be able to type most people give me a pitiful look and say 35 words a minute is not that fast. And I am sure they are right. Why am I having so much trouble getting to that speed?
Thirdly in real life if I try something and am not that good at it relatively quickly I drop it like a hot potato. I figure why waste my time on something I am not good at. Time is too precious to waste. I am rather intrigued with my doggedness to get the diploma no matter how long it takes and even though it does seem to be taking a long time, there is no doubt that sooner or later I am going to nail that sucker.
And it almost tempts me to wonder what else could I have mastered if I hadn't dropped it like a hot potato....
There are several bizarre aspects to this predictament I find myself in. Firstly according to the typing programme that is supposedly teaching me to type most people can learn to touch type in about 25 hours. It has sure had taken me longer than that. Does that mean I am not normal?
Secondly when I say how fast I have to be able to type most people give me a pitiful look and say 35 words a minute is not that fast. And I am sure they are right. Why am I having so much trouble getting to that speed?
Thirdly in real life if I try something and am not that good at it relatively quickly I drop it like a hot potato. I figure why waste my time on something I am not good at. Time is too precious to waste. I am rather intrigued with my doggedness to get the diploma no matter how long it takes and even though it does seem to be taking a long time, there is no doubt that sooner or later I am going to nail that sucker.
And it almost tempts me to wonder what else could I have mastered if I hadn't dropped it like a hot potato....
Saturday 3 September 2011
The day had begun without me. I lay in bed postponing the inevitable moment when I would have to leave its warm snuggliness. The air in my room was cold which probaly meant there was a frost outside.
Just as I was about to throw the layers of bed covers back and race out to the lounge where the logfire was still burning I heard a blackbird singing. And what a sound it was. It was like that bird was singing for its life. It was a no holds barred, full throated, lusty song straight from the heart. The sound trilled from the pit of its being in wanton, unashamed zeal.
I lay there listening caught up in the exuberance and extravagance of the song, wondering why I was moping about in bed, reluctant to face the world. So I got up.
Later when I went outside I noticed it had been snowing. It was bitterly cold yet the blackbird clad only in its feather suit had braved the weather to sing the same song it sang every day with the same gusto.
Why? Why did that bird sing? And for whom?
And what would happen if I approached each day with a song so exuberant I had to sing it loudly or burst?
Just as I was about to throw the layers of bed covers back and race out to the lounge where the logfire was still burning I heard a blackbird singing. And what a sound it was. It was like that bird was singing for its life. It was a no holds barred, full throated, lusty song straight from the heart. The sound trilled from the pit of its being in wanton, unashamed zeal.
I lay there listening caught up in the exuberance and extravagance of the song, wondering why I was moping about in bed, reluctant to face the world. So I got up.
Later when I went outside I noticed it had been snowing. It was bitterly cold yet the blackbird clad only in its feather suit had braved the weather to sing the same song it sang every day with the same gusto.
Why? Why did that bird sing? And for whom?
And what would happen if I approached each day with a song so exuberant I had to sing it loudly or burst?
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