"Change happens in an instant." I keep wondering whether that is true. Even if not, even if the instant marks the awareness of change rather than the change itself, that would be fine. It would mean any single instant of the many ahead could be one where I find I've been positively transformed. There! it is. And again!
I have a lot of these moments - sweet, bright, welcome awarenesses that I am growing stronger. Becoming more resilient. Responsive and ready to help.
And then, I feel weighted down by my failings for a moment again. Some things really sting. Some hurts go on informing me for far longer than I'd rather. Missteps of the past are done, part of mine and others' history - there's no going back to correct them.
Today, I've had a rich experience of sadness and the agony of possibilities long gone. Triggered by my cookbooks, which record choices, failings, wishes and happenings with a richness that goes a way beyond a series of photos. I wish, though, anyway, that I had a photo of Gerald for every day of his last year.
Oh ...
Thursday, 28 May 2015
Wednesday, 27 May 2015
Celebrating failure
Is celebrating a series of actions? Does it have to include a glad, grateful heart? I thought so. Celebrating while experiencing a feeling of knock-down seems a hollow, possibly useful thing to do. What is your fallback "celebration" activity? My thoughts go to space, warmth, delicious tastes, other people feeling good.
I can't control whether other people feel good, of course. I can care about it; I can take practical action; I can listen.
Hollow. Brittle. Irritated. Raw. And yet I want to learn from failure (the lessons are not always obvious when the failure is new and public) - and I'd love to have a nother spin on failure that added some warmth to the harshness of the experience. For me, and for others, there are plenty more failures to come.
It's an(other) important time for self-listening, self-validation and self-trust. Nurturing is a stretch. So stretch. Check on my nurturing of others. What does it feel like, look like, sound like? How do I make a difference? Is this coming from a caring and open heart, and an understanding that people matter most? Does that include myself? ... my Mum is unwell. She needs nurturing. My daughter and son have exams. Same. People are seeing people being killed and tortured in Syria. Same. The horror.
I can't control whether other people feel good, of course. I can care about it; I can take practical action; I can listen.
Hollow. Brittle. Irritated. Raw. And yet I want to learn from failure (the lessons are not always obvious when the failure is new and public) - and I'd love to have a nother spin on failure that added some warmth to the harshness of the experience. For me, and for others, there are plenty more failures to come.
It's an(other) important time for self-listening, self-validation and self-trust. Nurturing is a stretch. So stretch. Check on my nurturing of others. What does it feel like, look like, sound like? How do I make a difference? Is this coming from a caring and open heart, and an understanding that people matter most? Does that include myself? ... my Mum is unwell. She needs nurturing. My daughter and son have exams. Same. People are seeing people being killed and tortured in Syria. Same. The horror.
Sunday, 17 May 2015
A role to play, a game to learn, a life to live
Fortunately, this is an experiment. Unfortunately, I'm not sure what I'm trying to demonstrate.
My boss once suggested he was expecting me to blog. That was news to me, possibly good news, only - he had suffocated and stifled my voice, treating it of no account, for too long. It had become a poor, thin excuse for a voice, a voice that wavered knowing the buzzards of judgment were pre-emptively swooping and beeping. Intermittently dis- and re-appearing, with effort.
Still. Writing can be a good way to discover where I'm at. It clarifies muddle; it's fun to play with words. It feels like an opportunity; a tool and a school.
I want to take people places they may not otherwise go. Ooh, la la, really? Why?
P S I'm discovering my new role over these next months. It's been fun so far; I've felt well-received and I've enjoyed being recommended by friends, industry colleages and acquaintances. What I want is a matching excitement on both sides of the new partnership - me and my new boss. And a big but congenial role where I make things happen, and grow my effectiveness muscles through just the right amount of overuse.
Thursday, 16 May 2013
Mind games
The last chance.
The end of the road.
Sucking it up.
Settling into the future.
It is what it is.
I had it good.
Things change.
Bodies are disappointing.
Constraints inspire creativity.
I've had the (last?) operation. 9th July will be the 3-month marker.
It has been quite a ride.
Gerald got ill.
He was scared that he might have something really wrong with him (he's hardly ever ill). As he shared his fears, I calmed him by listening. And by suggesting that whilst it may be the case that he would get iller, hurt, and die young - that this particular outcome was only one of a number, and really rather unlikely.
Gerald turned out to be going to get iller, hurt, and die young, as we discovered a few days later.
I changed what I was doing.
A lot of people helped a lot.
Gerald didn't really believe it. And carried on.
I cared for him, with so much help.
Gerald went to the dentist, some months before he died.
The dentist gave him a plan, for getting his teeth in order over the next year or two; several thousand dollars' worth, as is usual. Gerald had not told him he was ill.
Because Gerald didn't really believe it.
But, eventually, he discovered it to be true.
And, near the end, he trusted me with himself; I knew it and felt it to be a precious gift, an almost unbelievable opportunity. A completion of healing, on the road toward an untimely death.
Why now? why am I going over old ground?
Possibly because I've recently had the second of two back operations, and it feels like the end of a road and the beginning of a new one. And I don't know what the new one looks like yet; I haven't even really had a peek at the beginnings of the trail.
I want to be strong and healthy! I know, on the other hand, that if I'm not, I want to pick up the burden and move, finding a way to carry it that makes it an enhancement to myself and my life. I know what I want; I don't know how to do it. Yet. Note to self: this is not brave or courageous; it's simply a way of using a constraint effectively. Bread-and-butter creativity for architects.
Possibly because I've given Bruce, six-months-long-suffering mate and the first of the boyfriends to meet my children, access to this blog, as well as the old "http://www.surprisedbygerald.blogspot.co.nz/" blog. Hoping that whilst I may be exposed, hypothermia won't ensue.
Possibly just because it's around 2 1/2 years since Gerald died (6th November, 2010), and I didn't remember on the date. I think this is progress. Or age. Or self-pre-occupation.
Sophie's Scholar's badge (5 or more NCEA subjects achieved with excellence) was presented to her this morning by Stephen Joyce, along with those of many others at her school. She seemed happy to see me there. Alex let me hug him goodbye. Moments to pickle (concept (c) Christie Fountain).
There's always enough.
The end of the road.
Sucking it up.
Settling into the future.
It is what it is.
I had it good.
Things change.
Bodies are disappointing.
Constraints inspire creativity.
I've had the (last?) operation. 9th July will be the 3-month marker.
It has been quite a ride.
Gerald got ill.
He was scared that he might have something really wrong with him (he's hardly ever ill). As he shared his fears, I calmed him by listening. And by suggesting that whilst it may be the case that he would get iller, hurt, and die young - that this particular outcome was only one of a number, and really rather unlikely.
Gerald turned out to be going to get iller, hurt, and die young, as we discovered a few days later.
I changed what I was doing.
A lot of people helped a lot.
Gerald didn't really believe it. And carried on.
I cared for him, with so much help.
Gerald went to the dentist, some months before he died.
The dentist gave him a plan, for getting his teeth in order over the next year or two; several thousand dollars' worth, as is usual. Gerald had not told him he was ill.
Because Gerald didn't really believe it.
But, eventually, he discovered it to be true.
And, near the end, he trusted me with himself; I knew it and felt it to be a precious gift, an almost unbelievable opportunity. A completion of healing, on the road toward an untimely death.
Why now? why am I going over old ground?
Possibly because I've recently had the second of two back operations, and it feels like the end of a road and the beginning of a new one. And I don't know what the new one looks like yet; I haven't even really had a peek at the beginnings of the trail.
I want to be strong and healthy! I know, on the other hand, that if I'm not, I want to pick up the burden and move, finding a way to carry it that makes it an enhancement to myself and my life. I know what I want; I don't know how to do it. Yet. Note to self: this is not brave or courageous; it's simply a way of using a constraint effectively. Bread-and-butter creativity for architects.
Possibly because I've given Bruce, six-months-long-suffering mate and the first of the boyfriends to meet my children, access to this blog, as well as the old "http://www.surprisedbygerald.blogspot.co.nz/" blog. Hoping that whilst I may be exposed, hypothermia won't ensue.
Possibly just because it's around 2 1/2 years since Gerald died (6th November, 2010), and I didn't remember on the date. I think this is progress. Or age. Or self-pre-occupation.
Sophie's Scholar's badge (5 or more NCEA subjects achieved with excellence) was presented to her this morning by Stephen Joyce, along with those of many others at her school. She seemed happy to see me there. Alex let me hug him goodbye. Moments to pickle (concept (c) Christie Fountain).
There's always enough.
Wednesday, 15 May 2013
Don't get around (here) much anymore
Well! I don't write here any more.
I am not a twit (I don't tweet, I mean).
I can't write here because there's a mixed audience.
Facebook gets a little bit.
My own file gets a little bit (loismgt.doc, for anyone who ever hacks into my machine)
My little red notebooks get a little bit.
My friends get most of it - talking, texting, a little Skype and phone.
Work benefits from relaxation.
Play benefits from discipline.
The 4 together are a good starting mix.
Going to visit a few countries (Europe, US) in September will be play with a sharp dose of discipline, some relaxation. It will be work inasmuch as developing myself is always a part of my work, never mind who is employing me.
And never mind, too, whether I am current a bojon. Or bojonning. Or having a bojon time.
Whoever deigns/decides/tries/is fortunate enough to employ me next gets the benefit of all the self-growth and resilience gained prior.
Who else is in a serious mood?
Enjoy.
L
I am not a twit (I don't tweet, I mean).
I can't write here because there's a mixed audience.
Facebook gets a little bit.
My own file gets a little bit (loismgt.doc, for anyone who ever hacks into my machine)
My little red notebooks get a little bit.
My friends get most of it - talking, texting, a little Skype and phone.
Work benefits from relaxation.
Play benefits from discipline.
The 4 together are a good starting mix.
Going to visit a few countries (Europe, US) in September will be play with a sharp dose of discipline, some relaxation. It will be work inasmuch as developing myself is always a part of my work, never mind who is employing me.
And never mind, too, whether I am current a bojon. Or bojonning. Or having a bojon time.
Whoever deigns/decides/tries/is fortunate enough to employ me next gets the benefit of all the self-growth and resilience gained prior.
Who else is in a serious mood?
Enjoy.
L
Tuesday, 22 May 2012
Ages passed
Ages passed.
Stuff happened.
Projects were abandoned, ideas had, ways of working tested, baby achievements barely registered.
Life was lived.
Stuff happened.
Projects were abandoned, ideas had, ways of working tested, baby achievements barely registered.
Life was lived.
Saturday, 24 March 2012
Things blue and new
Sophie turned 15.
We had cupcakes, cute and yummy.
Then we 3 had a little Friday night party - with Masterchef NZ omnibus, as requested by Sophie and seconded (surprisingly?) by Alex.
Rack of lamb and more, most successful.
Then we had THE PARTY yesterday, with 12 invited guests, all girls, friendships originating from Intermediate school, Church, and School.
Friendly, mostly gregarious girls ... and the food was fine.
Back healing progress is slow though not absent.
Meanwhile law school has been hot (workload); the General Moot happens for me and partner Stewart as respondents in the Moot Court of Appeal on Monday night at 7. Can an intended beneficiary of a will sue a solicitor for negligence in the preparation and oversight of said will?
All to be revealed, come Monday ...
Meanwhile, bearings have been lost.
Who (am I really), what (is it for), where (are the small rewarding moments)?
But a new poem (only new to me, W H Auden) gave me back a feeling of kinship with other humans:
"As I walked out one evening,
...
The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs on the bed,
...
And Jill goes down on her back.
...
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on."
With thanks also
to Horatio G Spafford re
"When peace, like a river, attendeth my way.
... it is well with my soul."
and Richard Dormandy re "River Peace".
We had cupcakes, cute and yummy.
Then we 3 had a little Friday night party - with Masterchef NZ omnibus, as requested by Sophie and seconded (surprisingly?) by Alex.
Rack of lamb and more, most successful.
Then we had THE PARTY yesterday, with 12 invited guests, all girls, friendships originating from Intermediate school, Church, and School.
Friendly, mostly gregarious girls ... and the food was fine.
Back healing progress is slow though not absent.
Meanwhile law school has been hot (workload); the General Moot happens for me and partner Stewart as respondents in the Moot Court of Appeal on Monday night at 7. Can an intended beneficiary of a will sue a solicitor for negligence in the preparation and oversight of said will?
All to be revealed, come Monday ...
Meanwhile, bearings have been lost.
Who (am I really), what (is it for), where (are the small rewarding moments)?
But a new poem (only new to me, W H Auden) gave me back a feeling of kinship with other humans:
"As I walked out one evening,
...
The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs on the bed,
...
And Jill goes down on her back.
...
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on."
With thanks also
to Horatio G Spafford re
"When peace, like a river, attendeth my way.
... it is well with my soul."
and Richard Dormandy re "River Peace".
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