Reasons to get up

In December I wrote that the loss of Django had left a huge hole and a feeling of having nothing to care for, and how it felt as though there was no reason to get up in the morning.

Now we have a new reason to get up in the morning, in the form of Lazlo.... 

 

Lazlo, aka Hawkfield Tamarack

 

With the hillclimbing we are doing with the car, we didn't intend to have another puppy until later in the year, but when the right one comes along there's nothing you can do!   Lazlo comes from a laid back home and shared his first 8 weeks with 7 brothers and sisters, poultry and ducks and rabbits. It was after a visit to see Wendy at Hawkfield with a view to getting a pup later in the year from the same lines, that we met her pups and decided that we wanted one from her - we liked the way they were being brought up, and our approaches to dogs and puppies seemed to match!  We reckoned that these pups have had a brilliant start to life and would fit in with us just perfectly, and thankfully Wendy must have decided that we were suitable to be trusted with one of her pups.

 

Lazlo was born on 8th May so turns 9 weeks old today.  We picked him up last Friday night and he has settled in brilliantly, seemingly already house-trained (no need to keep getting the free Telegraph from Waitrose then!) and interested in EVERYTHING.  He loves the garden which has plenty of obscure places to explore and birds to stalk, and likes to sit on the edge of the veranda and watch what's going on in his estate.

 

 

Going back to my December post, I feel incredibly protective towards this little man, and Mr H says his life is now complete again.  Lazlo is not just a puppy, he is a member of our family that depends upon us completely, and that is definitely a good reason to get up in the morning.

 

   

 

 



Mixing sails and wheels

Some of you will know that in my day job I work in the technical and measurement side of yacht racing and have done for nearly 29 years; over the years sailing has inevitably been a part of my life, which really only changed after the crash. Now that Mr H and I are involved in motorsport I have a whole new set of friends and the two areas of my life are totally separate; there is an overlap of interest between the two sports but I would never see any of my sailing friends at a hill climb, and vice versa. In conversation there are often cross-overs between the two and I'll sometimes allude to an equivalent situation in boats, levels of the sport, grand prix owners etc., but that's as far as it goes.

At one recent hill climb at Wiscombe Park, in conversation with a few of our hill climb friends about kids doing karting with pushy parents, I said something about it being the same in dinghies. Another chap on the edge of the conversation immediately picked up on this, and it transpired that he had done quite a bit of yacht racing down in Devon so we ended up talking about that a bit. After a couple of minutes it was clear that our hill climb friends were totally out of the loop, and I was thinking "Actually I really don't want to talk about boats and my work when I'm here enjoying car stuff".

The situation hadn't come up before, the closest I'd got to talking about work was a vague explanation to driving friends about what I did, mainly because the event commentary form asks for your day job! I keep changing what it says and have just about simplified it down to 'yacht racing admin' which is close enough for the purpose.

At the last event we were at, somebody mentioned boats and said that they sailed and I kept my mouth shut; Mr H commented on it later, having realised that I wanted to keep the two things completely separate he hadn't blurted out 'Oh, J works in yacht racing!'.

It's not that I don't love my job, it's just that I deal with sailors all week, day in day out, and at weekends I'd rather be discussing horse-power and the best line round the hairpin...

Gold stars?

I feel like a kid going to report to the headmaster, as I have my annual 'MOT' check-up at the doctor's this afternoon. 

This time last year I was still a bit discombobulated from Mr H being away and then being home, he had been back about a month at that point.  I was on 2 painkillers a day and was 71kg, the heaviest I've ever been.

This year things are settled down with Mr H home and everything's going well. I've been going to the gym since May and am now just about 65kg, and more inches than that smaller (since I have put on muscle which is heavier than fat).  I stopped the painkillers in January for a couple of weeks, but found I needed them to cope with going to the gym!  I am now on 1/2 or one a day depending on what I am doing that day.  I'm certainly happier than I was this time last year and hopefully won't burst into tears in the surgery as I have the last 3 or 4 times I've seen her, when she's asked how I am. That will be progress in itself.

So, I'm hoping this afternoon my doctor is going to pat me on the head and give me a gold star for progress!

Mortality

I apologise for this seemingly morbid topic.

At 46 many people might start thinking about dying... I don't mean considering doing it, I mean thinking that they are getting older and that they are mortal, and that we won't be here forever.

Nobody said this to me, but in the newspaper report of our crash I red that my injuries were 'initially thought to be life threatening'.  I thought about this and wondered what it would have been like to die, given that I was so drugged up on morphine there are bits I can't really remember clearly.  I came to the conclusion that I wouldn't really have known about it and that it would have been my family and friends who would have had all the suffering.

I was thinking about it the other day, and realised that although I am scared of getting old and infirm and losing my mental abilities; and of suffering and pain for both myself and my loved ones, I'm not afraid of dying itself. 

It's not that I believe in an afterlife or heaven/hell, I just feel that it will be a long and very peaceful sleep (hopefully not involving strange dreams that involve having to hide the duvet).

Psychology of City Cats

As the furore over Barclays (and what other banks...?) and the Libor Scandal goes on, with discussions over resignations and the question of appropriate justice, I started thinking about the employees behind it.  To work in the finance arena, I'm presuming that you need to be a sharp, hard-hitting, manipulative type of person who is basically out to make as much money as possible (do correct me if I'm wrong - if you work in the City and are a fluffy type who knits at your desk and eats home-made lasagne every night).

I can imagine such a personality getting obsessed with performance, with working out how to make the bottom line look better (for the company and for themselves); at any cost, or without consideration of the cost...?   Did those who manipulated the figures stop and think for one moment about what would happen if they were caught?  Or do they think that they are above normal humans and untouchable, and 'getting caught' did not enter their minds? Did they even realise that they were doing anything wrong, or do they get so enmeshed in it that they are blind to that.

There is much talk at the moment of how it should be treated, of banks getting away with a large fine, and a few individuals resigning or being fired rather than being treated in the same way as others who commit serious fraud (or other more minor infractions) - ie. prison.


How do the untouchables feel when the axe falls?  Maybe they are losing some sleep now, now that this particular bubble that they were flying on has burst...

Pushing the limits

I'm just back from the gym and for the first time in 5 weeks I was in tears in a class because I'd overdone it and my hip hurt and I hate that it is still controlling my limits after 2 years.  

It was my own fault.  So far in my gym classes I've been quite wary of anything that *might* hurt, ie. star jumps, running etc. Today for some reason I thought "well I've got to try it sometime" and for a bit it was ok, but then it all went wrong.

I've taken two steps forward over the last month, I guess this was my one step back.. time to back off a bit again.

But if we never push ourselves to our limits, how do we find out what our limits are....?

Mind over matter

On Monday we hiked up The Old Man of Coniston at 801m (about 2670 feet), 7 1/2 miles - my first proper hike after the broken leg, it felt great to be looking *down* on those sun dappled fells again.

Walked another 8 miles today.

Ok yes it's aching a bit now BUT I don't care!

:-)

Different shoes

Having raided the social science section at the library, I am reading a book called "Dis/connected. Why our kids are turning their backs one everything we thought we knew" by Nick Barham .

The author travels around talking to teens and trying to find out 'what makes them tick', have a look at the reviews in the link above for more description.

One of the things that I noticed reading it was my reaction to some of the activities described in the book, such as groups of 150 souped up cars gathering in a public car park with music blaring, or large groups of teens hanging around with Death message t-shirts on, drinking Vodka RedBulls.  He talks about how some city centres have become no-go areas at night, and I'm thinking 'too bloody right, I don't want to be beaten up or vomited on thanks!'.

I realised how ingrained my middle-class-ness is by my automatic response, namely that many of the described situations would make me anxious or disapproving.  At some points I felt anger towards the author for generalisations and suggesting that kids behaviour should never be threatening, when clearly sometimes it is. Then again, is that me jumping to my own defense, because does he actually suggest that?   The book doesn't suggest everything these kids do is fine, and that we should all accept their behaviours as unproblematic, but it is trying to explain the reasoning behind it and does a good job of that.

Maybe it's not just that some of us have inbuilt prejudices caused by a) our upbringing and b) the media, though this is undoubtedly the case.  Maybe some of it is fear of people who enjoy themselves in a different way to us, who get a kick out of doing things that are illegal (or borderline legal), who make people like me seem 'boring'.

Recently I seem to keep reminding myself of that phrase about "walking a mile in another man's* shoes", I guess we should all try to do that when we start judging others on their behaviours or attitudes, it's a good start at least.  


*I refuse to change it to "person's" for the sake of political correctness!

A week of reality - or was it?

As Karen S. noticed, I didn't have the time or energy to post last week!   It felt as though Mr H was home for about three weeks not one (in a good way haha!) and yes we were still speaking to each other by the end of it. We were both exhausted though, having worked our way through the list of things we wanted to do!

It was a suspension of reality in a way, because we wouldn't normally spend a week's holiday at home together - it was a bit like having 4 weekends back-to-back.

We both noticed how these days we are so much on the same wavelength, I think being apart has improved that (you'd think it would be the opposite, wouldn't you?).  On one day I gave him a hand to put the engine back into his A35 van... it was tricky and involved trolley jacks and blocks of wood, mixed in with brute strength and brains to get everything lined up.  Although it is years since we worked in an old car together, it just fell into place totally naturally, each knowing exactly what the other meant.  It felt really good.

(Not that we always agree on things, and sometimes talk at completely cross-purposes, but then we normally end up having a joke about the fact we don't have a clue what each other is talking about...!)

On Tuesday we drove 250 miles for an interview - for him not me - in an urban woodland area.   When we arrived we thought 'oh my goodness' as it was quite busy with visitors, it must be absolutely heaving on a bank holiday. The district was lots of small woodlands in a built up area so would have involved lots of driving on busy roads - the complete opposite of where he is now!  But it was half the distance away from home so that was a big plus point.  The interview went ok but we suspect that Mr H was the 'token outsider' since the other applicants were from that district; he didn't get the job, but he said that saved him having to decide whether he wanted it or not. Something else will come up, no doubt.

Walking Django after Mr H's interview

The other big thing last week was that I had x-rays taken. It turned into a bit of a long, stressful morning not helped by the fact I was really tired from the weekend, thankfully Mr H was on hand to rescue me when my emotions got the better of me.  The long and the short of it is that the x-rays looked ok apart from one area at the top break, which doesn't look as though it's got new bone growing, so I've been referred for a CT scan to check it out.  I'm not sure when that will be, sometime in the next couple of months I guess. I was glad about the referral as it is something positive to do, rather than just being sent away with a 'yes it's all progressing fine, see you in another 6 months'.  

The rest of the week we spent gardening, Mr H worked on the van, and other bits and pieces. Oh and I picked 206 quinces!  Oh My Goodness..... I am now down to 95 having got rid of some to friends and family and made two batches of quince jelly (so far). They are too good to throw away, so I might get imaginative with the preserving/recipes!

206 quinces

Oh and how could I forget? it was Mr H's birthday on the 4th... I baked a birthday cake and we had a nice day together. He was on his own in Scotland for it last year, and for quite a few before that we have been away for it, so it felt extra special this year being together at home.

So that was our week... he is now back north but Django is here for a couple of months.  It's good to have the company, and a reason to go for walks - it just doesn't work without a dog!

Got the Blues...

I've not had a good day and a half..  Today I had an afternoon of lachyrmation* and felt just generally miserable.

Partly this is because I am desperately missing Mr H, and I know that he's been missing home. Somehow knowing we are both lonely makes it worse.. I even looked at flights today, for this weekend, but they were far too expensive at this late stage.

I've been trying to reduce my dihydrocodeine (again) because I feel as though that's what I should be doing, although no-one (ie. doctor or consultant) has suggested or requested it.  Over the weekend when I was away, I accidentally ended up on just one a day on the days I should have been having two; and coupled with tiring myself out driving about 250 miles it's knocked me for six, and it came to a head this afternoon.  My leg's been aching much more as well, maybe those tablets are still required to do a job.

I was supposed to be going to my parents' for supper tonight as my sister was visiting, but I knew that it would make me feel worse not better, so I cancelled. I'll see them at the weekend instead.  It's a shame that once one reaches adulthood, parents are so often *not* the best people to cheer up a depressed mood, not in the same way that friends can.

My self-treatment consisted of a large portion of chips from the fish 'n' chip shop (it was a 'small' portion, heaven knows what size the 'large' portions are!) with tomato ketchup.  

Now what I need is an early night and good sleep.....



*the medical or literary term for shedding of tears

The here and now

This being Easter Sunday, all sorts of questions have been going around in my head. Now I know that this is probably a sensitive subject and if it upsets anyone then ... well I suggest you stop reading if you get to that point.

I was raised as a Christian, low key but weekly church and we sang in the choir.  Mr H was brought up with a similar background but probably ducked out earlier than me. In fact I met him at a Christian Arts Festival, he was there for the music and I was there for.... I'm not actually sure.  I started going with my brother and sister in my teens, and I suppose we also went mainly for the music, and it was a 'safe' festival to go to.  It was just something I did.

In my twenties, after I was married, I stopped going to church except at Christmas.  Now I don't even go then because I don't want to be one of those people who only goes to church at Christmas.  Mr H and I didn't have much in common with the people our age at church; instead we'd go out somewhere, to the sea or the forest, because we didn't believe that God's presence was restricted to a stone building. .

Over the last few years, both Mr H have realised separately that we're not really sure what we believe in..  Is that age? or education? or just that we've both become more questioning of things that were previously taken for granted?

Everyone believes that their religion is the 'right' one (although so many of them overlap), but now I don't know if it is.  I feel a bit as though I was brought up being told that Ford was the only make of car, but no-one gave me the opportunity to test drive any of the other makes. I'm not saying I don't want a car at all but in this enlightened age who has the right to tell me it has to be a Ford.  I also don't like the idea that the car manufacturer is responsible for everything, including filling the tank with fuel when required (if you can't keep up with the metaphor, I'm talking about taking responsibility for ourselves, our actions and what happens in our lives instead of relying on Somebody to sort it all for us).

Ford: "Any colour so long as it's black"

Today, as I considered for half a second that I might go to church, I checked myself.   Why did I think I might go?  I realised it was because I thought I ought to be thinking that I should go. Not a good reason.

Then I started thinking about the afterlife, eternal life, eternal damnation, and how some people spend their whole lives worrying about it.  I realised that right here and now I'm not bothered about the afterlife, I'm quite satisfied with the present life.  We think about the past and the future far too much as it is, and thinking beyond death too regularly seems to me to be.. well, odd. I suppose that the reason is that this earthly life is supposed to be just a stepping stone.  But what if this turns out to be it? All of it?  I'm not saying that everyone should go out and party and get hammered every night. I'm just saying that I prefer to make the most of the here and now,

And if when I die I get a shake of the head at Heaven's door, well I'll just have to take responsibility for that.

The Leg Says 'No'!

Sadly the Holiday Anaesthetic has worn off....  I might Want More but my body doesn't currently agree with me, it's gone on strike!  I was feeling so good after our holiday, and the fact that I managed to do more walking than I thought, that I was all fired up with enthusiasm when I got back.   Couple that with the cost of running a car 1.5 miles to work and back every day (I can't believe how quickly the tank empties doing those short trips) at over £1.30 per litre and I was determined to use Shanks Pony or my bicycle for my commute. 

So on a couple of days I cycled in the morning and drove in the afternoon (have already established that once there and back is enough at the moment).

On Tuesday I decided I'd walk to work for the first time and take Django with me.  Well, walking to work on your own, on pavements in soft shoes is so much harder than walking in good company on grass in walking boots with a lovely view...who knew?  I reckon if you multiply the miles by about 6 then you get the equivalent. 

By the time I was half-way to the office my leg was complaining. By the time I got home in the evening I had slowed down to half my speed and was ready to cry.  I felt so pathetic - for heaven's sake it was a 1/4 of what I'd walked last week if I include walking around town and shops etc. 

I grimly had to write a note to myself - I am not ready to walk to work yet.

Photo illustrating the pleasantness of holiday walking compared with work walking

On Wednesday it ached but I was still feeling confident of being able to go for a walk on the clifftop with a friend on Saturday.  

This morning I took Django down to the field, a short 25 minute round trip. I took my walking stick because I felt as though I'd need it and I did, I felt as though I'd stepped back on my ladder by 2 months. I spent most of today at work with an ice-pack down my jeans, eating Kendal Mint Cake as comfort food.  

So, the leg says 'No' and has demanded rest and relaxation.  I have no choice but to submit to it for a few days (except for those short trips down to the field because Django has to be walked).  I'm not particularly good at submitting to whinging body parts but sometimes it has to be done.  

It was probably not a good combination of overdoing it and the come down from a fantastic week with my husband, and the PMS probably hasn't helped how I feel about it.... 

So, I will be suggesting swapping the clifftop walk on Saturday for coffee and a chat instead.

I Want More

So I came home yesterday from a fantastic week away with Mr H. I was well out of my comfort zone, in fact so far out of it that it got quite stressful at times.  But all in all, it was a Very Good Week.

On my way home I was thinking "Right, here we go. On the way home. Back to normal."

But then I realised that I don't want to go back to normal.  I don't want to slip back into the eat / sleep / work / study routine.   I want more.

I just have to work out how and where to create that 'more' in my life.  Just a few small things a week that make it different to the week before.

Now there's a challenge.

Honesty is the best policy

The other day I saw the orthopaedic expert for an assessment and he will report back to my solicitor.  I was (of course) 100% honest in my answers to his questions, and in my assessment of myself and what I can and can't do.

It got me thinking though. How many people in my situation would have limped into the room, groaned with pain sitting down in the chair and then wildly exaggerated how much pain they were in, and how they could barely walk up stairs let alone walk the dog for an hour.  Just so they could try and get a few more quid compensation. Hmmm, I'm thinking quite a lot of people.

I might have mentioned before how anti-spurious-compensation-claims I am, and how weird it felt being involved in a genuine one (let's face it, she has screwed up quite a few months of my life, physically and mentally, and who knows when I'll be back to normal?).  Hence there is No Way I would lie to an assessor who probably has a fair idea of what he's expecting anyway.

I lied to my orthodontist when I was 13, forgive me if I've told you this before. He asked me whether my gums bled when I brushed me teeth. I lied and said 'No', at which point he told me that they would if I'd been brushing my teeth properly. Damn, damn!    It was around that point that I learned that lying to an expert is probably going to backfire.

I always like having my eyes tested because I have no idea what they are finding out from their various tests with different lenses, so there is no earthly point in lying about my answers in an effort to stay out of the Wearing-glasses Club (and no, I'm still not a member, although I think I'd look quite good in them so in a way it's disappointing).

Why do we sometimes try to second guess what experts (or others) are driving at?  even if we don't lie, we are trying to work out what would be the best answer.  They must word their questions very carefully sometimes to try and ensure they get the truth and not what we think is what they want to hear.

Then there's the question of just not mentioning something ("that you may later rely on in court") - does that count as lying?   I regularly don't mention things to my parents because I don't want to have the Whole Conversation about it, but if they asked me outright there is no way I'd be able to lie to them. By the time I'd thought of the lie, my subconscious would have already blurted the truth out of my mouth.

I am generally pretty good at keeping my mouth shut when it matters though, if I'm told something in confidence it stays in confidence.

And now I've strayed off the original subject, so I'm off to make my packed lunch for my train journey!

The innocence of youth

Had a funny moment in the office this afternoon, we were talking about companies persuading you to get insurance against things.  I mentioned credit card payment protection insurance and how expensive it is (which is why I never take it out). I explained to our 22 year old that it's not insurance for the items you've bought, but against losing your job and not being able to make the payments.

"Oh well," she said, "people shouldn't have so much on their credit card that they can't pay it if they lose their jobs."

To which the responses of those of us with rather more life experience was:

"Errr, in an ideal world..."

"Don't get a job with the National Debtline!"

Yes of course in a perfect world none of us would live beyond our means (either occasionally or regularly) or lose our jobs. 

Shame the world isn't perfect though, isn't it?

Second rung of the Juniper revival

The title of this article in Mr H's forestry magazine made me chuckle and I thought it appropriate to share... the text of the article is interesting but not relevant to my blog post!

Today I had a lovely peaceful and fairly productive day.. in the morning there were just three of us in the office, me and my two closest colleagues. Everyone else was out at a measurers' seminar we were running. This afternoon I had a couple of hours on my own. I had thought of going over to the seminar after lunch, but decided the opportunity to get some work done in peace was too good to miss!    Offices feel so different without the background noise of more computers on and people typing and talking.  

In the end I spent most of the afternoon struggling with formatting for an e-mail newsletter which I foolishly volunteered to edit.  But it was much easier to do without interruptions and hopefully I can get it sorted and sent out tomorrow.

I stepped onto the second rung of the revival ladder today and walked to the supermarket as I only needed a couple of things.  I made sure I used a basket and not a trolley so as not to accidently overload (it's never a good idea to impulse-buy loads of stuff and then remember you're walking home...!).   It took me about 15 minutes to walk home with one bag, which was ok. I can't remember how long it used to take me, but then I usually had about 4 bags to carry so probably not much different!

Tomorrow I plan to cycle to/from work at least once.  The fuel warning light just came on in the car, it's amazing what an incentive that is with petrol at £1.32 a litre....

Shorts: still here

I have succombed to my first cold since before the crash, so that's about 8 months. I reckon that's good in anybody's book, especially as everyone around me seems to have suffered from colds/flu/nasty things over the last couple of months.  I guess my immune system (built up by never using any of those things that Kill 99% of All Germs) is still as strong as ever, but taking flights is the worst thing for catching stuff isn't it.

I've got a load more photos from the weekend, some of which I will share with you, but they aren't downloaded onto this computer yet. And right now I'm going to *** off and curl up with Oscar Wilde (well, his book, not him) and have an early night. Because I can.

Be back soon....

Spring, spring, spring!

For all you doubters ;-)  Spring is definitely to coming to us here in the South of England.  Here are some photos of the new life...

Bluebells

Snowdrops

Narcissi

Snowdrops

Clematis (I thought this one might be dead, it was its first winter)

Clematis

Holly (self-seeded)

Laburnum

Why is it such hard work?

I have told the friend that I wish she'd told me she was annoyed, rather than being passive-aggressive via Facebook. Well I didn't actually mention the passive-aggressive part, but that's what it is.  Which brings me on to a different subject - people who hold grudges.

I am not a grudge-holder.  If something goes wrong in a friendship or work relationship (or even worse those that involve both), I just want to get it sorted out and move on.  I can't stand festering atmospheres or ongoing sulks.  In general I just want to get on with people, and if it gets to the point where I simply can't get on with them, then I just stay away from them as much as possible. 

If someone gets the hump with me for some minor reason, I just want to say "What? what is the matter?  What have I done this time? Let's sort this out, now!"   But, some people enjoy holding grudges and having the hump, and sulking, and not talking to people for days/weeks/months.   They'll say things like "how can you just brush that off like that?"  Because life's too short to waste on it, that's why.  

We're all human, we make mistakes. We say the wrong thing at the wrong time, or we don't say the right thing at the right time, because maybe we're thinking about something else or there's a crisis going on which is taking up all our thinking space. To that other person it is huge thing, while you don't even realise you have done/not done it.  You are thoughtless and heartless not to have made that first thing on your mind.  And even if you've already said 'thank you' or 'congratulations' or 'sorry' you still have to say it or mention it for the next 5 times you meet them, otherwise you are rude and back on the Hump list.

And because I hate the brewing atmosphere I end up being the one to apologise, which I'm sure labels me the one who is perpetually in the wrong, even if the problem is them getting things totally out of proportion.

I thought friendship was supposed to be pleasurable and relaxing, but sometimes it can be really hard work.

"I must go down to the seas again.."

Look where I DROVE myself to at lunchtime today...

I stood on the path above the beach, rocks and waves, and surveyed my sea.

It was cold, damp, stormy-grey, fabulous!

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

 

 

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over." 

Poem by John Masefield

Photos by Me