Calming down, sorting out, digging deep...

Hello blog,

Somehow since last week and the depths of abstract anxiety-coping mechanisms, I have found the middle ... sort of. I blame Cath, she made me get up on Saturday and go to Bungendore for a cooking class with native limes. It's hard to be deep when you're whisking lime sabayon and making your first successful shortcrust pastry for 12 years. I won, I won the whisking! Everyone else had to swap with other ppl, but I being ambidextrous as to whisks, was able to make it all the way through about 15 minutes of sabayon creation without a pause. Even Mr Cook was impressed. AND the lime tart was delicious. I enjoyed the vinaigrette in that the ingredients were quite fancy, but I can't say I'll use it again - I don't really like salad dressing. And the third option - native lime and gin icecream - moves me not at all. I can't taste icecream, for one, because it's too cold. It seemed a waste of lime, cream and gin to me. I thought, as I watched the icecream machine whirring, that it would be much nicer if it was all being whirred in a blender with a bit of sugar syrup and turned into a cocktail. But that's my sad preference!

Then, abuzz with achievement, I reviewed myself. After the cooking class (and the rather fine lunch it led to), Cath and I took to wandering the other shops. We passed by the Woodworks, because of serial cafe offences earlier in the year. I went straight to the Secondhand and Antique Emporium on the corner ... where ... I ... bought a hall stand. You know how you do? I HAVE been looking for some time for such a thing, finding it difficult to locate a stand which was narrow in width and depth, for a particular not very spacious place in my house. And there it was - on sale! You just can't argue with the gods when they provide so spectacularly as this. I will need to work out how to get it back here, but I think my sainted father (hi dad!) will lend a hand with a trailer and some lifting muscles.

My next satisfaction is to announce that all the mats have been hosed. What with contributions from cats, winter feet, and less-frequent cleaner activity, they were kind of furry. So I've been giving the geraniums under the washing line a real bonanza of furry water - they seem to like it, and the mats are immatulate!

Sorry.

All this led to a determination to finish unpacking the posted boxes of stuff from Over There. It took ages to get into the extremely well-packed breakable items - clearly I have no faith whatsoever in post-handlers, because some of my things had three layers of bubblewrap, over tissue, then bound all about with wide sticky tape, and then stuffed into socks, jumpers, hats and the like. Then again, this obsessive packing meant that nothing got broken, cracked, chipped, not a skerrick. Wonderful!

This (are you still with me?) meant that I could then make up the spare bed, cos it wasn't loaded with boxes any more. THIS means that if a marital partner needs to bail in the middle of the night cos the cat is snoring too loudly, there's somewhere else to sleep. Cos, like, the arse fell out of the sofa while we were away...

To complete this list of virtuosities, I have made a huge leap forward in study (the room, not the process) management. I have seen the top of my desk, and it is dusty. I have inspected the contents of storage tubs, shuddered, hastily closed them again, and put labels on them. I have established that my mobile phone is far too missing to expect it to ever be seen again. I even found the Lego (WHAT was it doing in my study? The last time an offspring of mine used it was about 15 years ago!). Oh well. I guess if I get really bored when I'm losing my Curse of the Pharaohs game, I can build another squared-off dinosaur or something.

Today I did even more useful things. Tomorrow I will be mobile-phone enabled at last. All I'll have to do is re-establish my address book, which is a pain. I bet, I just bet, that after the last 9 digit number of the eleventy-three ppl I know is entered, my old mobile leaps up from its hiding place and gives me back my old SIM card.

Life, always, is like that.

I have to go to Adelaide on Thursday to see the uber-doc. Again. He will inspectigate me, sigh, and write me prescriptions for uber-drugs which will have to be applied in unladylike ways to work properly. They will only be available from special compounding chemists, and it will be a PAIN. He will tell me that ... I have a tricky problem. Yeah? BUT in breaking and super-wonderful news, my darling dorter is coming with me. She's never been to Adelaide before, so the rellos are lined up ready to meet the princess-goddess-wondergirl. I've given them the protocol, signed off on the security system, and ordered the caviar. I just hope my brothers remember the colour-coordinated Holdens...

Today brought to you with optimism, a cat full of bloody burrs, and a good dose of Toni. You should all try this, except she's my special mate and I don't know if I'm generous enough to share her with everyone. But you can try the Trussardi "Inside" perfume, that's open slather. It's potent, smooth and long-lasting. Hmm... sounds like a good drink. I'm off, then!

Buzz buzz..

So, what does the intrepid blogger do when she isn't packing, unpacking, finding herself or losing herself?

Not much ektually... bumped into friends at Tilleys ... topped up the scripts (sigh) at the doc ... pulled up the first zillion of a trillion forget-me-nots .... cooked twice! ... spent time with friends and family trying to re-engage in what I longed for so much - my real life.

This is clearly conceptual: I longed for tangible things, but now I have them I find they are only tangible physically. Robert Dessaix writes (I paraphrase) of the difficulty of travel being 'boredom - the boredom of oneself'. So true. When you are pooped to pieces and you need a big wow to motivate you to do anything, it is not the travel experience which is letting you down, it is your own poor, raddled, incompetent self. I have been reflecting on how much this is true and how much it sucks. MORE things one has to find willpower for!

Or maybe not ... the work I'm doing on anxiety recognition, management, 'control', coping mechanisms, etc, is focussed very much on the 'chatter of the mind' principle. And why, I ask, is the mind such a mean, negative, nit-picking, critical, doom-saying and downright nasty piece of work? Why are we apparently programmed to think only ill of ourselves? Critical, judgemental, adversarial, self-talk you wouldn't find in a bunch of drunk Harleys, all kinds of shit. Easily. Any old time. In fact, difficult, bloody very difficult, to escape. When I find myself struggling to get up and face the day, do I lie thinking "well that's alright; yesterday I weeded and cooked and made my dorter's life wonderful and I didn't murderate anyone or neglect a cat'. Oh no. I lie there thinking 'if I were a better person; a competent, capable reasonable intelligent person I'd just hop out of bed and get on with it, no mulling it over and feeling awful and wondering why and BLAMING MYSELF'.

It's just so ineffective. As a work practice it has all the efficiency of ... a championship delegator who can find and fling, but never fully understand. Never manage, create, contribute, control or complete a task or challenge.

Sheesh.

So, I'm up against it. Arguing with myself is a good game, it can take hours; days out of my life. All completely useless of course, achieving nothing but the semblance of activity of the mind, but only leading to stronger feelings of crapitude, downness and general pointlessness.

What is the antidote? It's very simple, you just let go. Let all this chatter flow right on through, past you and your conscious self and off somewhere, it doesn't matter where. Just be in the now.

An elusive place! Think about it, when was the last time you were sitting somewhere, engaged wholly in your surroundings but not yakking away to yourself in your mind, or dreaming up a list of to-dos, or regretting something, or chivvying yourself to stop all this foolish blobbing around and go and DO something.

I'm working on it. And, sorry, but you haven't achieved now-ness if you are fully engaged in saying 'SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP' to yourself. It's SILENCE in the mind; full engagement in the moment we're looking for. Physical stillness might help but walking or swimming (anything soothing, repetitive and meditative) might do the trick.

How are you doing??

Today, deeply felt, brought to you by a new one: Trussardi's "Inside" (for women; there are two variants). Leathery, intense but not musky, and quite sexy. I think. I hope!

Brunch, aaahhh...

M pointed out to me that one thing we did not do, Over There, was brunch. There were many lunches masquerading as brunch, but as an entity in itself, brunch did not happen.

To redress this awful lack in our lives, I am ignoring the fresh eggs, english spinach, and sourdough bread - not to mention the international range of coffee I have to hand, thanks to assiduous posting - and taking ourselves to Ironbark, and Manuka, to see what there is to see. And eat it!

Wattleseeds, quandongs, rosella jam and whom nose what else.

Today brought to you, so far, by Dioressence, which I can sort of smell! Yah roids, their only happy side-effect, imho...

Re-entry, Mark 2

Hmm...I am Officially Not Well.

Again.

Sighhhhhhhh...

My respiratory system was, as you regular readers well know, a troublesome travelling companion. Oh well, I thoughts to myself, once I get home things will settle down.

I was wrong. You don't need the details. Roids rool, n all that... re-entry is being prolonged by continuing shit health. I don't know if that is a Medicare item, but it should be!

Meantime, however, between meds, puffers, rests, abandoned plans, and quite a lot of takeaway food, some things HAVE been achieved:

-I have found my socks but not my mobile.
-I have cut some but by no means all of the matted fur lumps off the divine but arthritic Maccy.
-I have enjoyed listening to Alice the Garden singing as she watered the new babies, and talked to Little Miss Wendy, my local buffalo-huntress.
-I have cooked a very good roast lamb, the only change to my usual recipe being to cook it very slowly on a low heat (so I could sleep off something or other). It was moist, tender and YUM.
-I have moved the furniture back to its normal configuration in the lounge, and removed sundry junks, so it looks more homey. But the Great (and bloody endless) New Sofa Hunt will have to resume very soon!
-I have bought two new 'pattern-matching' (anti-Alzheimers!) games for free!!! for my trusty home laptop. And spent a lot of ventolin-fuelled midnight hours playing them while I metabolised said drug enough to stop shaking and go to sleep..
-my Good Wimmin turned up yesterday bearing amazing goodies for me: two bunches of flars (burgundy and cream, oh gorjuss), shortbread freckles, soothing Organic Serenity (TM) tea from Toby's Estate. Their intent was to cheer. It worked!
and
-I have been able to do a small but oh so wonderful bit of socialising - from the purrfect delight of young Aidan (hi baby!) to the extremely violent but perfectly balanced Bell Shakespeare's 'Titus Andronicus' last night. Literally buckets of blood. My play companions and I had to repair for a drinkie afterwards to wash away the images... which were NOT gratuitous. John Bell can use the most minimal set, props, costume, and with the power of words and interpretation, knock you backwards in your seat and peel the everyday glaze from your eyeballs, with a single gesture. Fabulous.

Had some straaaaaange dreams afterwards, but..

Today? There is the possibility of crullers with Cath, I want to sit on my deck, and I'd like to cook again. There is a fridge full of lovely farmer's market veggies to consider. But, sadly, no purrfume, because a) I can't smell a thing, and haven't been able to for about a week, SAD FACE; and b) anyway it might make me wheeze or koff, and THAT is something I can manage to frustrating purrfection all on my own....

Re-entry..

.. is all about the strangeness of the familiar.. gosh, the fridge hasn't moved!! Oh, wow, peanut paste tastes the same! Hey, great, my black shoes!

And things to rejoice in meeting again, like the overgrown, wonderful wild fairy meadow spring garden, and decent cups of tea, and chutney, and supermarkets where I understand every item..

And funny things, like I can't find where I packed away my socks and undies, or remember what the system is to turn on the telly, or what that strange icy object is in the back of the freezer.

And sounds, like lawnmowers, and kids chattering as they walk past with icecreams, and happy magpies, and the way the back screen door bangs when it closes.

And thoughts, about simple pleasures which are very different from those which make travelling possible - my very own pillow, night after night; and predictable shower heads; and being able to find places and things; and how absolutely purrfect it is to be with special friends again.

And funny but weird stuff, like waking up in the middle of the night wondering which hotel we're in and where is the ensuite; and jetlag making me feel like lunch at 4am; and having NO idea where my mobile is even though I know I put it away trying to be very practical about 'obvious places'.

And simple purrfections, like ABC TV, and springtime in general, and the sweet peas climbing up the bamboo, and being reunited with my entire purrfume collection, and decent coffee every time from my very own kitchen, and of course having those two lil furry bottom feeders around again. Having one of them clamped to my leg all night, while the other one snores on the bedroom chair. And the lap cuddles, and the purring, and the nortiness outside running up trees and ambushing innocent ankles as they walk along the path...awww. My catties. How COULD I have left them for so long?

These last few days brought to you by eau-de-home. Whatever that means to you, I has it here. At last.