The power of the eyebrow

Did I ever mention the fact that I have a fascination with eyebrows? No? Well I do. I like checking out people's eyebrows. Eyebrows really are intriguing. Some are carefully coiffured with eyebrow pencil, some have been violently plucked into shape, some are untouched by human hand, some continue unhindered across the brow in a rebellious single brow and believe it or not some people do not really have eyebrows.

You would not know this of course unless you have studies people's faces the way I have.

I think my interest in eyebrows began with the Six Million Dollar Man. He could  lift one eyebrow higher than the other to give someone a puzzled, querying sort of look. I would watch all programme for the moment when that eyebrow would rise up. It was a very cool trick and I decided that was the kind of look I wanted to be able to give people. It took a while but I eventually trained the muscles on the left side of my eyebrow to go up and the muscles on the right to frown.

Aside from my triumphant eyebrow raising trick, the rest of the time nowdays, I find my eyebrows somewhat of a hassle. This is partly because for one birthday my brother and sister-in-law kindly shouted me a facial which included free eyebrowing shaping. I really liked the new shape but since that day I have felt duty-bound to pluck my eyebrows and keep them in order.

Unfortunately other the years my eyesight has deteriorated and so I need to wear glasses to see the hairs that need plucking. Not being able to see well has led to a few disasters when I have pulled out a few more hairs than the eyebrow technician did. So now my eyebrows are not as long as they once were which means if they grow back and I do not pluck them fast they look rather weird. Almost a bit Frankinsteinish.

I also can not see my eyebrows that well so I often forget to pluck them. It is fortunate really I do not have good eyesight because I think if I knew how Frankensteinish they looked I would be very embarressed.

You always.....

What I have noticed lately in life is human beans are particularly complaining sort of creatures. People complain about all kinds of things- some of which they have no control over it all. Like the weather. Complaining about the weather is an especially futile type of whining if you ask me. Does complaining about the weather change anything? Do the rain clouds take notice of the complaints? Does the sun resolve not to hide behind clouds any longer because of the comments it overhears? I do not think so.

 

I have decided never to complain about the weather again. Life is too short to spend time on matters I can do nothing about. Besides which whatever the weather does someone will complain. If it is hot people say it’s too hot or we need rain. If it rains people say it is too wet and we need to see the sun. I can see why the weather does it’s own thing- it is damned if it does and damned if it doesn’t.

 Another thing I have noticed about complaints is they are usually made to the wrong person. For example if I eat a meal at a restaurant and the cheese cake tastes like it was made several days ago, this is a true life story, do I

a)      take a bite and think this cheese cake tastes stale, refuse to eat any more and politely and respectfully report this to the waitress.

b)      eat the cheese cake anyway and the next day complain to my friends about what a stale tasting cheese cake it was.

The chances are I will take option b) to my shame.

Sometimes people make complaints about their workmates. Complaints about workmates fall into three categories.

1. Complaints that are justified.
2. Complaints that are only partly true.
3. Complaints that are false.

I regrettably have experience of all three. I have the following wisdom to offer about how to deal with complaints.

Category 1 complaints are ones that deal with our stuff-ups, failures or bad behaviour. My best advice is suck up your courage and fess up. Don’t deny it. Take responsibility like a big girl or boy and don’t pass the blame. Say sorry, promise to try better and if appropriate make restitution for any damage caused.

Category 2 is a tricky one to deal with because only part of the complaint is true but usually comes with emotional hype attached. If someone gives you a long list of your failings in a torrid verbal attack especially if they start the sentence with "you always…." it may take some sifting to find out what you should own up to. Also sometimes people jump to conclusions about a person’s behaviour and accuse them of a motive they might not have. eg "You never empty the rubbish tin because you think you are too good for the job." The truth may be you don’t empty the rubbish tin but because you forget or it is hidden from your sight or something. In this situation you can own up to not emptying the rubbish tin but not for feeling the job is beneath you.

Category 3 is when someone completely misunderstands your behaviour and jumps to scurrilous conclusions about your moral fibre and accuses you of shortcomings that would make Genghis Khan look like a saint.  My only advice is to thank them for sharing, which is an euphemism for dumping on you, and say you will give what they shared some thought.  Then go to Fiji for two weeks.

Sometimes we may feel the urge to complain about our workmates. I have some guidelines for this as well.

1. Figure out whether the complaint is a category 1,2, 3. If it is category 1 go to them and explain politely and respectfully how they stuffed up. Be specific. Make a list so you keep to the facts. Don’t get hysterical. If they won’t listen talk to the boss about it.

2. The chances are complaints in category 2 and 3 are not about the person’s failure to perform their job but more about our reaction to their personality. Sometimes unresolved issues in our own lives are triggered by someone else’s funny little ways. For example if someone’s comments make you feel stupid it may be because you feel insecure about how intelligent you are. Of course they could be playing psychological war games to make you feel stupid to keep themselves entertained during those long days in the office.  Whatever the case, figure out if there are any category 1 behaviours that can be addressed. If there aren’t deal with your crap and grow up.

I told you that

I have been thinking lately that humility is such an important character trait to have.

Now I am not exactly sure how to define humility. I know it is the opposite of being proud and I am fairly sure I know when I have taken the humble option as opposed to the proud one. I am also fairly confident I can recognise humility in the lives of people I interact with.  I know it has to do with being other-people-conscious rather than being self absorbed. Humble people do not call attention to themselves and tend not to talk too much about their latest exploits. Humble people tend not to argue, don't need to be right all the time or have the last say or get their own way and usually take the smallest piece of cake. They also listen to instructions to the end of the sentence, are open to new ideas or someone else's way of doing things, are happy to do as they are asked and give way to traffic who failed to give way to them.

"I told you that" or "I told you so"  are two phrases you probably will not hear out of the mouth of a humble person.

If one stops and think about humility, one could well discover it is a necessary attribute to many of the activities we involve ourselves in. It could determine  whether we succeed at these activities or not. For example if I am going to be a good friend I need to be a good listener. To be a good listener takes humility. It is impossible to listen well without humility. It takes humility to keep your mouth shut while someone shares with you. It takes humility not to butt in with your side of the story or another similar story or a solution to a problem that might be shared.

If one works in a place where one needs to interact with people, one needs to be humble. Humility is an important characteristic for sales people no matter what they are selling. It takes humility to find out what a customer wants and then find a way to meet their need. For example I like my coffee very hot and I always ask for very hot coffee because I have learned from experience that not everyone makes coffee as hot as I like it. It amazes me when I make that request to a sales person and they say 'we make all our coffee hot". It especially amazes me when the coffee they make is not very hot even though I requested it.

But the thing that most cheeses me off about being given a not-so-very-hot coffee is the dilemma I am now in as a person who is trying to practice humility. Somehow I have to figure out what the humble option is in this situation. Is it drinking the coffee anyway or do I respectfully ask them to heat up the coffee in the microwave for 30 seconds? Life is fraught with challenges for the proud person who is trying to be humble.

And proud people is what I suspect, we human beings basically are. I think we have a default programme that inclines us to be proud. As we grow up, being proud becomes entrenched in our behaving. If we choose to override the programme and be humble, it takes training before we become  practised in the art of humility. And even then if we are not watchful the default setting boots back in with a toss of its head and a prideful snort.

No buts allowed

Starting a new career later in life has hidden surprises in store for the unsuspecting pilgrim. I first noticed it 30 years ago when I started off training in a career where older students, they call them mature students nowadays, were training with those of us straight out of school. We used to pull faces on the inside every time one of them contributed to a class discussion. What they had to say had integrity, born of life experience - we had none and it was obvious. They had observations to make learnt from real life. We had read about what they were talking about in books.

Lately as I have observed older people starting new careers and done the same myself, I have realised it is not only when one is training for a new career there are obstacles to overcome, but it is also when one starts employment in the new career the challenges really begin.

The conclusion I have come to is humility is the key for successfully hurdling the obstacles. It takes humility to learn the ropes in any new position but for older people I suspect it is harder to take the humble option.

Here is some advice I would give myself if I was ever in that position again: 

1. Be prepared to be very humble. Old people aren't used to be bossed around and told how to do their job but that is what will happen to you when you start a new career. You will start the position as a learner whether you like it or not so you might as well have a teachable attitude. Worst case scenario you could find yourself being bossed around by someone years younger than you but experienced in the position.

2. Never argue with the boss or your workmates. They are always right even when they aren't. If you make a comment the boss or a colleague immediately takes umbrage to, do not continue the conversation. Change the subject the first chance you get.

3. Never assume you know what the best approach to take is in any situation. Always run your plan of attack past the boss. Ask questions to avoid potential stuff-ups.

4. Be slow to speak and quick to listen. Try not to talk about your past achievements or past experiences too much. Try not to come across as someone who knows a lot even if you do.

5. Avoid making black and white statements that people can instantly feel affronted by. Ask questions rather than making statements. That is turn the statement into a question. For example instead of saying "The councillors are paid too much money" turn it into "Do you think the councillors are paid too much money?"

6. Do whatever it takes to succeed in your new career. You are older, it takes longer to learn new skills so do overtime if necessary to get yourself up to speed. Be kind to yourself.

7. Be prepared for the inevitable drop in pay. When you start a new career especially one you have retrained for, you very likely will start on the pay scale as someone who has left school and undertaken the same training. All the life experience you have gained do not count when it comes to pay calculations.

You reap what you sow

Lately I have become aware how important choices are in our life. The choices I make today will have consequences tomorrow. My life today is an assortment of consequences that have resulted from earlier choices I have made. I am reaping the consequences of choices I have made earlier in my life which is quite a scary concept really. Some of those choices were made thirty years ago or more which tells me the effects of choices we make as a young person can ripple throughout a lifetime.

What started me thinking about choices was listening to people talk about their lives. It would appear that many feel entrapped in their situation like they have no choice about what happens in their lives. It may be a little simplistic of me but I think that is a load of cobblers. The only thing that traps most people is attitude. We always have a choice. Even shackled hand and foot by heavy chains in a dark dungeon we have choices albeit limited.

Some choices revolve around the thoughts and attitudes I choose to have. The attitude I choose in response to a situation can seriously influence my  perspective of that situation and whether I prosper or decline in it. I know the difference choosing to have a positive attitude can make.  I have just completed two and a half years relatively happily in a job I did not especially feel at ease in just by choosing to tell myself the positive aspects of the job, being careful not to give the negative side any attention.

Some choices are more tangible like where I have chosen to live or work or how I decide to spend my spare time.

I suspect that many of the choices I have made up to this point of my life have not been particularly well-thought out. The bigger decisions probably were but there have been times when I have been careless to consider the long-term consequences of a decision. For example my decision  to train and work as a journalist. What possessed me to do that? I am not so sure in hindsight. I have never been interested in reading the newspaper. What made me think I would have the heart to write news stories? I am not saying it was not an enjoyable experience or that it has not had huge benefits to my character but I do not have much in common with the media industry.

If I am making sensible, calculated choices the chances are the choices I make will be determined by what I value. If cats are my favourite animal it is hard to see myself getting a puppy and taking it to dog obedience classes. If my family are important to me the chances are I will prioritise spending time with them.

So I think in future I will start making choices far more critically by examining what I value and then making choices accordingly. Which brings me to the coup de grace of my ruminatings about choices.

Why do I complain about my life when who I am today, living the life I have today, is the result of choices I have made?

I have a secret enjoyment that I am almost too shy to admit to - I have a fondness for war poetry. Well to be specific World War I war poetry and in particular Wilfred Owen.

I think it is the raw-boned honesty of the poetry I like. You can imagine when a poet was up to his kneecaps in water and mud in a trench, surrounded by dead bodies and rats, with an itchy skin because of the lice and someone was either trying to gas him  or bomb him, social niceties and conventions would be stripped away. In those days of uncertainty and despair one would be reduced to being honest.
 

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

             Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
             Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
             Can patter out their hasty orisons.

wrote Wilfred Owen who tragically died a week before the armistice was signed. His parents found out about his death on Armistice Day. Can you imagine how they would have felt when they heard the armistice had been signed but too late for their boy?
Owen told it how it was.
       
            Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
            Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
           Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
            And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
            Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
            But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
            Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
           Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind

This is an extract from his poem Dulce et Decorum est. (It is sweet and right) At the end of this poem he concludes if you had seen someone dying of gas poisoning you would not be so quick to believe the lie that it is sweet and right to die for your country which was the prevailing belief of the day.

Somehow I do not think we have learned the lessons that Owen tries to teach us in his poems.

I find the subject of opinions rather fascinating. Being an analytical sort of chick it is one of those subjects I like to ponder over and ruminate on.

I would define an opinion as a set of beliefs one holds on a given subject.  I really believe an opinion, the set of beliefs one holds on a given subject, should result from a careful analysis of the facts available and hope my opinions are like this. If an opinion is not based on fact then one starts to get on slippery territory. History is full of examples when someone’s opinion, not based on fact, became the governing opinion of the day and had disastrous consequences. Eg Hitler’s opinion about the superiority of the Aryans resulted in the genocide of millions of non-Aryans.

I have reached the place where I do not usually worry too much if people do not agree with my opinion. I do have some fairly left field opinions that are counter status quo and are a little too confrontational for some. So it is understandable people would not agree with them. But also I have realised thankfully in my old age that an opinion is simply that. It is just what I think. It is my perception of the facts that determines what I believe about a subject. It is personal to me.

So why is it are we so threatened by the opinions of others? I have noticed that this does happen. Is it because we think everyone should think like us and when they don't we get tetchy and defensive? I am not sure. Could it be insecurity, immaturity or pride?

In actual fact instead of reacting to someone’s opinion with an avalanche of reasons why what they believe is misguided, which is what often happens in conversation, I should be mature enough to say….. “that is an interesting opinion - tell me what led you to that conclusion? ”

I would like to listen to people without giving in to the temptation to tell them what they are sharing is wrong, because it is my impression, I was told that in my younger years. To be told that your opinions are wrong can be quite disconcerting. It can cause you to question your own worth. When someone tells you what you have shared is wrong, you can interpret that as meaning everything about you is wrong which of course is an erroneous conclusion.

One of my favourite how-to-communicate books, states a helpful way to think about what other people have to say, is to view it as a gift and be grateful they shared. So I guess that is a starting place then. If what people share is a gift, I can unwrap it, check it out and decide whether I want to keep it or not. I am not sure that is what the book meant but at least I have listened with an open mind and heard what the person had to say. That has to be better than trying to persuade people what they believe is wrong.

Because at the end of the day, when all is said and done, when the fat lady has finished singing, the final curtain has fallen and push comes to shove an opinion is just what someone thinks.  I have the choice whether I believe what is said or not. It has no power over me unless I give it power.

Mrs Newman said

Every since Mrs Newman's sixth form English class, where I learnt language evolves over time, I have had a growing fascination with helping the English language change. I think it is because I am a revolutionary at heart except I have not quite found what it is I am to revolutionise so I have settled for the English language in the meantime.

In fact I would have to say I have a perverse sense of pleasure in taking liberties with my noble mother tongue. The rules of grammar should only be guidelines in the use of the language, I believe. The only guideline that should really be enforced, much like a rule I suppose, is that people can understand you. I am not sure Mrs Newman would approve but it is another way I keep myself entertained.

For example I like modifying existing words. Bettera is the word that describes a situation that has gone past just being better. Brightera describes something that is gaining luminosity. Favouritist is something that is even bettera than favourite. By the way Mrs Newman would have to be one of my favouritist teachers of all time.

My workmates also share this delightful past-time with me and we now a workplace vernacular that really would have Mrs Newman perplexed.

Vanaging is the quick version of saying "We are driving the van back to where it is housed overnight."
Sconage time describes the habit of one workmate who usually at about 9.30am walks down to the shop to buy a scone for morning tea.

Lately I have also been experimenting with the pronunciation of words. For example gurrate is the way you feel in a situation where you feel like grinding your teeth and getting grumpy but in the interests of public decorum or keeping your job you smile sweetly and pretend everything is great. Burrzare is a polite way of saying this situation is bizarre and it gives me the shivers.

One day my aim is to invent a whole new voacbulary. That may be a way off in the distance though because so far I have not invented a new word.

I should quickly add this fascination of mine is a paradox because in my line of work I have to be very precise in the way I use language. I write to the age level of a 12-year-old and I am only allowed to paraphrase and quote what the people I interview say.

This means I have to be very circumspect about when I am inventive with language. Definitely not when interviewing people. Probably not a good idea in front of her majesty, the queen  nor at a job interview. Nor when talking to children, before whom one should always set a good example.

It is all about remembering who you are and where you are.

DeNiece and I went blackberry picking last week. We had been trying for several weeks to go out but the weather had been wet. We decided it was probably our last chance before the blackberries disappeared.

We have been excursioning into the countryside around the house for the past four years now searching for the tasty berries. I guess it has become a tradition for us.

DeNiece who is now eight years old likes to eat more than she picks. I don't have a problem with that unless she eats the ones I have picked. She tends to be a grazing sort of a picker. She spots a good one, picks it and then moves on. She usually does not notice the other ones on the same bush that could be picked. I don't have a problem with that. I follow behind her and gather the ones left. She also tends to have a short attention span and gives up picking after 10 minutes or so. I don't have a problem with that either. It is nice to have her company.

We have noticed a few interesting things about blackberry bushes in our time of searching out their fruits. For example often the best blackberries are found in the grass. That means if you don't look where you are going you can stand on the berries. The ones that are easy to spot have usually been attacked by flies who seem to suck the juice out but if you look below the bush there is often a branch laden with fruit that is snaking its way through the grass.

We have about five  places where blackberries grow well but each year one of the places has a turn at providing superior, quality fruit. If you visit the same place that had great fruit last year, it won't have such a good crop this year.

When we arrive back home scratched and with purple juice stains around our mouth if we are an eight year old, we make some of the blackberries into jam and put the rest into the freezer.

Later on in the year when we fancy a taste of autumn we can make a blackberry pie, more jam or make flavouring to swirl through homemade ice cream which all sounds Martha- ery Stewartish really.

Blah blah blah

I would like to move a motion that children are taught how to listen actively at school. You know. Show that they are really listening by making comments like
so what you are saying is...
how did that make you feel...
can you explain that a bit more...
have I got this right...
can you tell me more...
I thought I heard you say...

Now I know what you will say to this brilliant new plan of mine - that  the education system is full of subjects designed to fix all the problems of society. And you are right of course. Teachers are supposed to teach kids things like sensible eating, safe sex if there is such a thing, how to exercise, how bad drugs are for you, how to treat everyone nicely even those with different skin colour to you etc etc. Topics incidentally that parents should actually be responsible for.

However, it would not take much energy to teach active listening because in the middle of the sex talk teachers  could invite pupils to ask questions like, so what you are really saying is if you ....

Or in the middle of a don't eat junk food session, children could be encouraged to ask each other questions like have I got this right that potato chips are bad for me?

Now you might wonder why I want the people in the world to be better listeners. Well for a start off it might put an end to wars. And for a second off I am really tired of people not listening. I am tired of being in conversations that feel more like a tennis match than two people communicating.

You know the one? I share a story and then just before I have finished and sometimes even before I am finished whammo the conversation ball is hit back to me with them  telling me a story about themselves that my story has reminded them of.

Enough I say.

I want to take part in more conversations where the people I am relating to give the occasional grunt or mmmmm, smile encouraging, ask for clarification or check they have understood me.


I wonder if I should start doing this too?

Name calling

I was sitting on  my back porch the other afternoon staring across the paddock vacantly as I like to do and I saw a very mis-shapen sheep. It looked terrible. It was lying on its side looking very grotesque like it was dead and bloated. I stared at it for a minute or two and then realised it was not a dead sheep. It was not even a sheep but a pig. A big, white, fat kunekune pig. From the neighbours several paddocks away. It was lying next to our fence snoozing, a long way from home but 300 metres from my house.

Anyway this irrational desire to shout something like "you big fat pig" started to burble up inside me. Trying to resist shouting it out was too much so I gave in and shouted across the paddock "you big fat pig".  Normally calling something a big fat pig is frowned upon. It is not nice to name call. But this time I felt it was ok. It was big. It was fat. And it was a pig. No problem.

There is more to this story.

After a minute I saw the pig wriggle onto its stomach, open its eyes and stare at me. I could feel its little piggy eyes boring into me from 300 metres away. I felt a little bit uncomfortable.

It sat there staring. I sat there squirming.

Then I started to think to myself. How did that pig get there? If it had pushed its way through several  fences to get to our paddocks maybe it would keep pushing through fences and eat my vegetable garden? And although the gate to the paddock it was in was closed, could it wriggle its way under the gate and come up my drive towards my tasty beans?

At that point the pig rolled over and shuddered to its feet and at that point I started wondering who would win the race to the gate to my drive. Could I cover 50 metres quicker than an overweight pig could cover 300 metres.

I decided not to wait until the pig started running. Whistling casually I sauntered to the gate and shut it. The pig had not even put its running shoes on. It was munching on grass oblivious to me. Eventually it munched its way over a rise and disappeared.

I am not sure what the moral of that story was.

Fine young cannabulls

When I lived in Kolkata I met a vegetable delicacy that I grew particularly fond of... ladies fingers or okra. I used to fry them up with ground cumin.


Okra and I became a source of entertainment to both me and my Indian friends who while not seeming to share my enthusiasm for the little honeys, were amused by my okra adventures. For example once I was so glad to discover a man selling okra on the side of the road on the way home, I accidentally bought a kilo of them.  I did not realise how light okra were and how many you got for a kilo. It took several kilos of commitment to chew my way through that lot before they went off.


In NZ I discovered I could buy okra in Auckland but south of Auckland sourcing them was very tricky. Until that is I discovered I could grow my own in the tunnel house with moderate success. 


When I moved souther I gave up, thinking it was too cold. However, imagine my joy when I experiemented and discovered last year they grew very well in a bucket on the window sill at work. And if I was lucky I could get four producing at once for a decent feed.

The only challenge with growing okra at work is you have to take them home with you for a month over the Christmas holiday period. That can get tricky if your holiday destination is six hours away. It can also get awkward if the plants grow too big to bring back to work or if you were stopped by a friendly police officer who wanted to check out the vegetation being transported. Lucky I escaped both awkwardnesses.

This year the plants are only producing one fruit at a time. To fruit well they seem to need warm temperatures and sunlight which they do not always get in the southern region. 

The plants start producing flower buds when they are not very tall and then keep growing taller and producing new leaves and buds from the top growing tip. The bud grows between the stem and the leaf. As the plant grows more the leaf and flower bud end up perched on the side of the stem. Eventually the flower, a beautiful butter yellow colour with a deep red centre, opens up and blooms for one day. It would be worth growing okra just for the flower alone.

An okra flower. Okra are a member of the hibiscus family.

A week or so depending on growing conditions the fruit has grown to edible size looking suspiciously like well a ladies finger.


I am not sure why I like okra so much. I like their subtle flavour and the seeds. Maybe it has something to do with the fact they remind me of Kolkata and my dear friends there.

Your pants are on fire

Somebodys lied to me the other day. It should not really be such a big deal. People tell lies all the time.

Except I do not like being lied to.

It was very obviously a lie because they had told my workmate the opposite of what they told me. How stupid is that?

I felt a little disappointed, a little betrayed when I found out. As I always do when people lie to me. How can you trust someone who lies? How can you have a meaningful relationship with someone who lies?

Someone in my family, I can't remember who, said  you have to have a good memory if you are going tell lies. That is true,  I believe. It is no good telling a lie and then forgetting what you said. How can you keep up a pretense,  if you can not remember what pretense it is,  you are trying to keep up?

It is also true if you are going to tell the truth you need to have a good memory. In fact if you are going to speak at all you need to have a good memory, else without really realising it and unintentionally, you could tell a lie.

That is why, while I do not like being lied to, I try not to get too obsessive about it. I do know some people who are rabidly vehement they hate liaring but with my own ears I have heard them  lie. It was worth more than my life to point the lie out to them because they are so anti-lie telling.

However, I believe,  they believed, they were telling the truth at the time the lie left their mouth. Their memory let them down.

And the conclusion I drew from little incidents like that is  unless you have a photographic memory,  the chances are, you are going to misrecall something that happened and tell a porky. And the conclusion I drew from that is walk humbly and be ready to be corrected if someone does catch you out. Don't be dogmatic. Don't be proud. Be willing to accept you might have got it wrong.

So while I really do not like lies, it is lies of the intentional, deliberate sort that really rotate my rotisserie. Lies that try and manipulate me into doing something I might not want to do if I knew the truth. Lies that only give half the picture. Lies that tell me what people think I might want to hear. Lies that are told by people too gutless to tell the truth. Lies that try to get my sympathy vote.


I try very hard not to tell these kind of lies myself and while I am committed to truth telling, I am not that deluded to think that if put under pressure I might avoid telling the truth. Be careful not to think you are perfect in case you stuff up.

I can cope with lies that are told in innocence. My memory is not as good as it could be. Sometimes I don't remember a situation the way others do.  There is a chance I could tell a lie when describing something that happened.

But I would prefer people didn't intentionally lie to me unless they want to lose my trust.

PS. Mumma said a little white lie never hurt anybody but I am sorry Forrest on this occasion I believe Mumma was wrong. A lie is a lie no matter what colour it is. And that is all I want to say about that.

You are not in Kansas now Dorothy

I know it is a little zany but I like to drop one-liners from movies into conversations whenever I get the chance. I find it somewhat amusing. I do believe one has to create one's own fun sometimes in life.

It is amusing when people recognise the one-liner and laugh. It is also amusing when people do not recognise it and give you a blank look. I like to deliver my one-liners in the voice that mimics the actor or actress who first said it which could be one reason people give me a blank look if they don't recognise the one-liner. Mimicry is not something I am especially gifted at.

Franky my dear I don't give a damn is one of my favourites but you do have to be careful when and where you use it. I first watched Gone with the wind when I was 14 and it was a memorable life defining three-and-a-half hours-long, moment somehow. I think it was at the end of the movie when Scarlett said "tomorrow is another day" that cinched it as life defining. I saw the movie again when I was 24 and it still captivated me. However, and it is a very large HOWEVER, when I saw the movie late last year some 20 years since I had last seen it, I could have slapped Katie Scarlett O'Hara. Someone needed to. I could not believed how badly behaved she was. I struggled to watch it even knowing that two of my favourite one-liners of all time were coming up.

Now, there is a limitation with my one-liner collection because most of my one-liners either are found in Gone with the wind or Forest Gump. Not a serious problem if you have seen Forest Gump as many times as I have which reminds me I have not seen it for a while.

I have to confess I have seen that movie so many times I know parts of it off by heart. Who could forget such classics as Jenny and me were like peas and carrots, mumma always said life is like a box of chocolates, I guess sometimes there just ain't enough rocks, stupid is as stupid does, that boy is a running fool, run Forest run.

There are a few others I use but not as often as Forest Gumpers. Houston we have a problem, You're terrible Muriel, We're on a mission from God, Who you gonna call.

The best part about one-liners is fitting them into a conversation. It takes courage, especially if you are in a job interview and cerebal dexterity, but it really is very amusing and satisfying.

Now I wonder where I put that Forest Gump dvd?

How hard is it to be interested anyway?

I have had two rather burrzar conversations with salespeople of the male variety lately.

These conversations contrast badly with another I had.

It all started when I decided I wanted to update my laptop. However being a money conscious sort of a gal I decided I wanted to pay about $900 for a computer that was worth $1200.

I know that sounds incredibly naive of me and even a little scroogy perhaps. But not really needing one I decided I could bide my time and buy one for a price that suited me.

A major chain of appliance shops opened a store in my little town so I went in for a look. I told the young man exactly what I wanted and told him I was in no hurry - did he have anything in the shop fitting my requirements.

He was so polite. He showed me what was available. And then he remembered a special offer that finished yesterday which would have been exactly what I wanted. Bother I said. I would have bought that computer. He advised me to keep coming in to check on the specials.

I was very impressed with that young man. He went out of his way to be helpful even when I told him my unrealistic expectations.

In contrast to this are two male sales assistants I met last week. I told them exactly the same story and they did not give a monkeys. They shifted from foot to foot not really wanting to talk to me. One went back to unpacking boxes while I asked him questions. He was the one who asked me what was my occupation and did I realise they are lucky to make $50 on a laptop.

Who can blame them for their lack of interest? I don't really. I was very offhand and had unrealistic expectations. But what happens if I had been testing their customer service technique and if they passed I would have bought a computer from them anyway?

Or what happens if I had changed my mind about what I wanted when I realised I was not going to be able to buy the kind of laptop I was after?

I would sooner pay a little more for a laptop from the helpful young man than a cheaper one from those other two.

Which reminds me. I must remember to listen to people like what they are sharing is very important.