Shall we come to an arrangement?

So, I'm thinking of taking up flower arranging.

I feel my list of "accomplishments" are insufficient to qualify for a proper Regency/Victorian Lady.

While I did learn to play the piano, I haven't practised for decades and will never be able to provide suitable entertainment for guests in the family parlour.  And my needle point is currently restricted to cross-stitching small birds (exactly two, to be honest).

I can recite poetry, but that is a little further down the rankings of "accomplishments", I believe.

So, flower arranging seems appropriate - nay, necessary.  How else can I prove my street cred as a proper lady?

Last weekend the priest at my church was handing out a list of jobs people could stick their hands up to do, and he lamented that no one ever picks "flower arranger".

Apparently we've had the same plastic flowers at the front of the church for almost three years because the last lot of flower arrangers gave it up for lent (or perhaps old age or a lack of appreciation).  I hadn't noticed.  I'm not sure if many people had (apart from the priest.  And the old flower arrangers, I guess).

So, anyway, I suddenly thought to myself:  "Flower arranging, eh?  That actually sounds kind of like fun."

Flower arrangement is an interesting art form, when you stop to think about it rather than just saying "oh, look, pretty flowers" and moving on.  It's not trying to make or replicate something, like painting or stitching.  You have a number of items, and you must arrange them into something dynamic and visually stimulating.

It's so very simple, but it has the potential to be really deep and meaningful.  The old "language of flowers" used to allow elaborate messages to be displayed in an arrangement (although, these days it seems to be more about symmetry, colour and fulsomeness of display - at least in the Western tradition).  The Eastern tradition of flower arrangement involves more of a juxtaposition and balance of different elements - far beyond "just flowers" - to tell a different kind of story.

I've seen really striking arrangements involving only one "flower" - the rest was all bark, twigs and rocks.  That sort of thing may not be to some people's taste, and that's okay.  When it comes to flower arrangements, it is reasonable to think that there might be a few flowers involved...

I was just thinking that it's strange we don't make a point of decoratively arranging other things, but then I remembered:  Christmas  trees.

I haven't stuck my hand up for it just yet.  Partly because I've never arranged a flower in earnest before, and partly because I'm not sure I'm ready for that sort of responsibility.  But I'm thinking about it.

And while I'm thinking about that, you can think about this:

Floral arrangements in church - purely decorative, or an act of worship?  You are, technically, bringing an offering to the altar...  Discuss.

The Bear Diet

So, I'm thinking of going on the Bear Diet.

"What's the Bear Diet?" I hear you ask.

Well, it's complete and utter tosh that I've just made up myself based on the fact that the Paleo Diet is 3 parts "well duh" to 4 parts "stupid", but seems to be a huge commercial success.  Of course, if it does look like there might be some money in it, I'm totally changing this blog post to get rid of this paragraph.

Following roughly the same quota of 3 parts "anyone with a vague knowledge of nutrition could have figured out that would work" and 4 parts "this idea is ludicrous and full of logical flaws", the Bear Diet involves taking on a diet plan similar to a wild bear.

Why?  Because bears, like humans, are naturally omnivorous predators.  They occupy the same place in the food chain we do.  But that's not the only reason I'm picking on them.

In the wild, they forage for food and eat a diet rich in fruits and vegetables, augmented by protein that largely comes from small sources (like fish, snails and insects) and a bit of red meat every now and then.  They also eat seasonally, and in small portions scattered throughout the day.

Call me unspeakably naive and ill-informed (go ahead - it's entirely justified)... but doesn't this sound kind of like a) the diet our hunter-gatherer foremothers used to eat,* and b) the health advice we often get from dieticians writing for magazines?

It's gold!  It'll make a fortune!

Okay, so that's the 3 parts "well duh" - now for the 4 parts "stupid".

Bears only eat one thing at a time.  They don't eat big elaborate meals consisting of several ingredients, they have small "meals" consisting solely of berries, or honey, or ants, or salmon...  So, for the Bear Diet, we'll focus on simplicity.

There can be one multi-ingredient meal per day (because cooking is the high point of human achievement, after all),** but the rest of one's food consumption during the day will consist of "foraging" portions of of whole foods (preferably unprocessed, but not necessarily uncooked - food poisoning is taking the "stupid" bit too far).

Eat a piece of fruit.  Then a little later eat a handful of almonds.  Theoretically, this would also apply to sources of protein - you'd just eat a serve of meat or fish.  That sounds a bit unpalatable to me, but it would certainly make it easier to recognise when you've had enough of that thing, and you should stop eating.

When eating at a restaurant, or in non-ursine company, you can make a point of ordering the dishes with the least number of ingredients, and try to eat your meal one food-group at a time.  When you have had enough of eating any one thing, stop eating it and don't go back to finish it.  Yes,  on several levels this is daft - and I suspect this would lead to eating a meal like my dog used to (eating all her favourite bits first, and then leaving the least favourite bits in the bowl if she's had enough).

Additionally, bears do that whole "eat significantly less over winter" thing, otherwise known as hibernating.  Now, humans can't actually hibernate, and malnutrition (like food poisoning) is a little bit too stupid, so to minimise the risk of potential hibernation-attempting death we'll spread the period of reduced caloric intake throughout the year.  For two days out of every week, go a bit hungry.

That sounds kind of like the 5-2 fasting diet, but we'll recommend putting those two days consecutively, rather than spreading them between days of normal eating.  And, just to liven things up a bit, as well as having two days of sparse food, we'll throw in one day of abundance.  It will be just like the wild, where some days you get a boon while other days you don't find much to eat.

So, in summary, the Bear Diet involves

• Having a diet consisting of 60-65% fresh fruit and vegetables, 30% protein from fish and small critters, and 5-10% red meat.
• Eating whole, mostly unprocessed foods, and eating one item at a time over the course of the day, with only one (or maybe two) multi-ingredient meal(s) a day.
• Altering the amount of food you eat over the course of the week to include two low-consumption days and one high-consumption day.

And all of this can go with an exercise plan that involves hiking in the woods (or at least walking on uneven ground).

The only trouble with inventing a cockamamie diet that could make millions is that I'd have to actually follow it myself.  You can't just say "Eat like a bear!  It will do wonders for your health!" while you're still eating like a 21st Century human.  It would be frowned upon, I think.

I'm not 100% sure how I'm going to get the "small critters" part working, as I suspect I should by rights be upping my consumption of snails and insects (my consumption of both of these being currently zero).  I may have to get a bit seafood dependant.

But it will all be worth it once I sell the diet plan, cook book and T-shirts.


*Our forefathers wished they ate the Paleo Diet, but our foremothers probably actually did eat like a bear.  
** Especially cake.  Any and all cockamamie diets endorsed by me shall allow cake.

Adventures in buying new crap

So, I've been on a bit of a spending spree at present.

I do this thing where I look at things but don't buy them for quite a considerable amount of time, and then suddenly realise I've been thinking about buying something for years, and go "You know what?  Let's just have this thing".  And then it's kind of like breaking the seal, only with less drinking.

It started with a bicycle.  I stumbled across a sale and decided to go ahead and buy that Strida I've been staring at for years.  Sadly, it's a bit disappointing.  On almost every measure possible, it's not as good as the Brompton.  It doesn't fold as well as the Brompton, it doesn't handle as well as the Brompton, it's not as easy to tuck away in the corner of a room as the Brompton, it's not as easy to adjust the seat height like you can with the Brompton, it doesn't have a built-in kickstand function like the Brompton...

That's not to say it's completely sub-par.  It does do at least two things better than the Brompton:  It provides a more upright angle for riding, so it's easier on the back than the Brompton is, and it fits into a guitar stand.  The Brompton does go in the guitar stand, but it's not something I'd do again in a hurry.  No, seriously, I keep the Strida in a guitar stand.  My banjo is feeling decidedly unloved.

 

 I have to say that, if I had an ongoing back injury or complaint, I'd probably think the Strida was one of the best bikes on the planet.  Instead, what I have is a slight problem with getting the stupid magnetic clamp to work.  Either it's so strong I can't separate the wheels, or it's so week it comes apart at a moment's provocation.

Just work you stupid bicycle.  The Brompton can keep its act together.

Oh, well.  At least it's giving me the opportunity to use the Carradice seat bag I bought to go touring with the Brompton and never used.

Other recent purchases include a Buck Lancer knife, which I bought for the purpose of teaching myself to whittle.  I bought this knife because one of the whittling books I borrowed from the library had it listed as a decent whittling knife.  My research was a bit poor, though, because nothing I saw gave me a really good sense if just how small it is.  It's a tiny, slender little thing.  Folded up, it's roughly the same size as my pinky finger.

I haven't tried whittling with it yet.  Partly because that requires me to actually get my act together, and partly because I'm slightly wary of it's size, now that I've held it in my hands.  I would have preferred something a bit more substantial in the grip.

Last, but not least, my Alto/Tenor horn arrived today.  A second hand jobby that's probably twice my age, I've bought this instrument because it was cheap.  After months of wondering whether to get a French Horn, a Baritone Horn, a Euphonium or a Sousaphone, I've finally settled on an Eb horn simply because I liked the price better than everything else I was looking at.

I've had a bit of a play, and I don't mind the sound of the thing at all.  The case is a complete wreck, though.  I knew it was going to be a bit spartan, but I didn't realise it was going to be so beat up.  And it smells a bit.  I'd say the last owner was a smoker.

Smokers shouldn't play wind instruments.  If you are a smoker, and you play an instrument that produces wind in any way shape or form, you need to stop being a smoker.  It spreads your bad breath to all future owners of that instrument for generations to come.

I once had a second-hand accordion that had been owned by a smoker, and that thing just pumped the smell of stale tobacco into the air every time you used it.  Highly unpleasant.

Besides, smoking is bad for your everything.

Can we just skip to the bit where I've done that?

The biggest problem with taking up new hobbies is all that guff at the beginning when you don't know anything and can't do anything.

I want to be able to sew/whittle/paint/play the horn, but I want to just *do* it, if you know what I mean.  The bit where you're learning to do it is just so much... crap.

I understand that you have to be in that stage where you are learning how to do the thing you want to do before you can get to the stage where you can actually do the thing you want to do, but it takes foooorrrrrreeeeeevvvvvveeeeerrrrrrrrrrrr.  And you are crappy at doing the thing you want to do during this time.  Your efforts are clumsy and stupid, and it can take so long before you see improvement.

The longer it takes me to get vaguely competent at something, the more time I have to get distracted by something else.  It's a dangerous period of time.

I have made a toy!

I promised photos, didn't I?

Okay, so, when push comes to shove it's really more of a "Manxvole" than a "Manxmouse" (I'll probably discuss that book at some point over on my other blog) - and it's riddled with errors.  But that's what first attempts are for, right?

Yeah, it took me a while.  When you only give something a few minutes a night, and you take a week or so between nights, something that might only be a couple of hours' work can stretch out a bit.  Especially when you've never done this sort of thing before, so everything takes a bit longer anyway.

I'm now starting on the second vole/mouse, and it should be a bit of a smoother process.

I shall make a slightly better mouse/vole.  And it shall have a tail that has been tested for disintegration (so hopefully won't do that).

The important thing is - it has begun.  I have started.  If I can just make myself continue, then I'll be onto something good.

Cabbage and Mince (Eesti toit)

I've been hankering for cabbage and mince for a while now.

It's hard to explain it, but I have some sort of deep memory of this dish - like I ate it once a long time ago and can no longer remember where, when or under what circumstances.

I expect my grandmother probably made it once.  She made cabbage rolls on more than one occasion.  My grandmother left Estonia when she was a child, and the only part of her culture she really kept was the food she made on special occasions.  Sauerkraut and skumbria, mainly, but occasionally cabbage rolls and brawn (we never called it "head cheese", and I refuse to).

My mother was never keen on cabbage rolls, so actively avoided encouraging the combination of cabbage and mince.  I made them once, under my grandmother's guidance, and realised that the amount of work involved wasn't worth it just for the delicious goodness of combining cabbage and mince.

Some time ago I bought a dual-language Estonian cookbook, and one of the recipes was for cabbage and mince.  I filed it away in the "I must try to make this" compartment of my brain.

Well, recently I've just been craving the dish.  I have no idea why, but something deep inside me has been saying "do you know what would be awesome?  Cabbage and mince."

So I rustled up a couple of different recipes, and sort of weaved a path between them that struck a balance between "tasty" and "lazy".

The results?  Good, wholesome food.  It really is awesome.  Plain, simple, yet tasty, and with a goodness that warms you from the inside out.  It honestly seemed like I've been eating this stuff my whole life.

And I fed it to my mother and she didn't hate it.  That's a success in anyone's books.

I think my grandmother would have enjoyed it, and it's a shame I didn't try making this years ago.

The recipe I cobbled together from a few different ones was as follows:

400g lean mince
1 onion, cut in half and thinly sliced
2 carrots, coarsely grated
1/2 a large head of cabbage, thinly sliced
beef stock (I used a heaped teaspoon of Bonox, but a crumbed stock cube would work)
Salt and pepper to taste
Cup of hot water
Bit of oil for browning the meat 

I also added about 100g of diced bacon, because one of the recipes I'd seen in the past had asked for a mixture of pork and beef mince, and my mother seemed more likely to eat it if the bacon was involved. 

Cook the cabbage in a pot with the cup of hot water, being careful not to overcook it. 

Meanwhile, in a deep frying pan, fry the onions and meat until the onions are soft and the meat is completely browned, then add the carrots and seasoning with a little bit of water to dissolve the stock.  Stir through, then add the cooked cabbage to the meat (including the water in the pot) and stir through.  

Cook for another ten minutes until the cabbage has infused with the flavours of the pan and the liquid has reduced. 

Serve with boiled potatoes and rye bread.

Of Mice, Shoelaces, Toys and Books

Well, I've actually started making some toys.  I will be a toymaker, and I shall be a toymaker.  One day I will be able to introduce myself to people by saying "Hi, I'm Sharon and I'm a toymaker".

I'm starting with a pair of pocket mice.

They are "pocket mice" because I'm making them out of the pockets of a recycled pair of denim shorts.  The process has not been without some complications.

I chose to start with a mouse because it's one of the simplest patterns I've found - a simple body with some ears and a tail sewn on.  It's supposed to be made out of man-made fur and felt, but I had the denim scraps handy, so denim it is!

I had only intended to make one, but I stuffed up a rather simple step - reversing the pattern to get both sides of the mouse.  I had two left sides and no right sides.  Fortunately, I may be an idiot but I'm also a thinker, so I just made the same mistake in reverse and decided to make two mice instead of one.

Then there was a slight problem with the tails.

The wool I was going to use to make the tails had been damaged (a storage issue), so I decided to use an old pair of shoe laces I had lying around the place.

As I was tacking the shoelaces in place, it occurred to me that I was actually using a spare pair of laces from my old school shoes - 25+ years after I'd thrown out the shoes in question.  A) I still had the laces, b) I knew exactly where they were, and c) I was getting some use out of them.  If this had actually worked, I might never be able to throw out anything else ever again.

Fortunately, cheap Chinese shoelaces from the 80s actually are crap.  They didn't break on me all the time when I was a kid because I was incredibly strong, they were just rubbish.  So I would have been perfectly justified in throwing them out, and should have thrown them out years ago.

Unfortunately, I discovered this when the tale on my first mouse disintegrated as I was turning the body right-side out.  Replacing the tale would have required unpicking most of the dang mouse, so I just said "This one's a Manxmouse" and left it sans tail.

That, of course, made me want to reread Paul Gallico's Manxmouse, which has a dear place in my heart.  It was one of the first chapter books ever read to me when I was a child - and it was read to me by my aunt when we were on vacation.

I can't remember much about that vacation, but I can remember my aunt reading me this book every night.

I've kept that copy all these years, but I realised that I hadn't actually read it for myself.  So now I'm essentially reading it for the first time.

After reading the first few chapters, I had a brief moment of doubt when sewing the ears on my pocket Manxmouse.  The blue colour of the denim was actually spot on for a Manxmouse but, by rights, if I was making a Manxmouse I should make the ears long and rabbit shaped with pink insides.  My ears were cut out when I thought I was just making a mouse...

I just decided to give it normal ears.  Partly because I already had them, and partly because I didn't have anything pink to turn into new ears.  If I ever make a Manxmouse on purpose, I'll make sure I get the ears right.

I'm starting with the mice.  Then I'm going to try a duck, perhaps.  Maybe graduate onto bears at some point.  The key is to do it again.

I have a tendency to do something once and then neglect to get around to repeating the effort.  If I can make a few mice, I'll get better at the mice.  If I can make a few ducks or bears or what have you, then I'll get better at making toys in general.

When I get to the point where I regularly make toys and feel as if I could say to another person "Yes, I will sell you this toy for actual money", then I will feel confident to say I am a toymaker.


Yeah, yeah, pictures are coming.  Give me a break - I can't think of everything, you know.  Besides I've been too busy taking pictures of the new bike.  Post on that coming soon.

Things that keep me awake at night: Beans

Like many people who have difficulty sleeping, I find I lie awake at night have thoughts of deeply important and worrying things run through my brain.

Like that night a few weeks ago, when I was still awake a few hours after going to bed, pondering the following deep philosophical question:

How did soy get to be The Bean?  Why is it the foodstuff that replaces everything?  

You think of any foodstuff you want to replace, and someone is probably using soy to replace that.  We probably have soy in more foodstuffs now than any other ingredient.  Why?  What's so special about soy?

Can you make milk out of other beans?  If you can, then why don't you?  Like butter beans.  Butter beans sound like they'd be a perfectly legitimate fake-milk ingredient.  You could make butter out of butter beans, I warrant, and people would probably think "Oh, okay" because the word "butter" is legitimately involved...

Actually, I've just looked it up, and butter beans are in the Phaseolus genus while soybeans are in the Glycine genus, so maybe they don't have the same properties.

But still, the question remains:  How did soy become The Bean, and why don't we use other beans in a similar fashion?

I'm telling you, this stuff is deep.

BAS is a thing. I have it.

Well, I've just officially started my folding bike collection.  Prior to approximately 10 minutes ago, I only had one folding bike, so it was just part of a larger bike collection.

However, I've been umming and ahhing about maybe bying a Strida (for quite some time), and the online shop I occasionally stare at just slashed the price by $200.

This means I could get the bike, a bag and a couple of other accessories for less than what the bike usually costs.

So, I've now ordered a Strida (a cream one) and I'll probably be posting photos of it soon enough.

Two folding bikes = folding bike collection.

Alternatively, two folding bikes + penny farthing + unicycles I still haven't sold/given away/disposed of = "novelty" bike collection.

It's probably best not to question too closely the reasons for buying another folding bike when I'm currently riding my "regular" bicycle to work due to the fact that I've blown out the rear tyre on my Brompton and I've decided I can't be bothered changing the tubes when I want to try buying some Tannus tyres anyway.

Bike Acquisition Syndrome is a bear of a thing to live with.

Gaming

So, wait a minute...

The Nintendo 2ds is about $100 cheaper than the Nintendo 3ds, but it plays all the same games and the only differences are:

It has a weaker graphics thingy whatnot (which I don't care about)

It only has a mono speaker which isn't as good as the other speakers (which I don't care about)

It doesn't fold up like a clamshell (which would be nice, but it's not a deal breaker - and it does improve the structural integrity)

It doesn't have 3D capabilities (which I don't want - if I got the 3ds I'd turn that off, so it's a waste of tech)...

That sounds like a pretty good deal, to me.

I wonder if it plays old knock-off games from the 1980s?  My favourite game when I was a kid was a cheap Donkey Kong rip-off called Jungle Kong.

This is why I'm not buying Apple Products any more

I have a beloved iPod touch.  It's about five years old.

Although I'm not much of one for shiny tech toys (the only reason I have a tablet is because I need one for work), something about this particular gadget found its place in my life.

I don't want or need a new gadget to replace this one.  I like this one.  It has my favourite things on it.  I've had it just long enough for it to become something I regard as part of my standard kit, but nowhere near long enough for me to think "oh, this old thing!  I ought to have that replaced".

I neither want nor need to make calls on the thing I use to listen to music and podcasts.  I'm happy for my "taking phone calls" device and my "general entertainment" device to be two different things.  Right now, the iPod is the thing that I have, and the thing that I want.

Apple is rendering it useless.

It's an iPod, right?  As in "Pod" for "podcast".  I can't get any new podcasts on it.  Apple has changed the podcasting function so that it is dependant on an app.  The app won't work on the operating system I have on my iPod.  I can't upgrade my iPod to a higher operating system, because it's "not supported" any more.

I also have a MacBook.  Its also about five years old.  It's not as beloved, but I was still liked and appreciated.  And then it too became un-updatable.  I can't update it to the latest operating system.  I can't get the latest version of programmes like EndNote without having the latest operating system.  Ergo, if I want to keep using "a Mac" into the future, I have to buy a new Mac on a regular basis.

So I now know this to be true:

Essentially, any Apple product I buy will be completely obsolete within a few years.  Its not just a case of "you won't have the best and shiniest of things" but rather "you won't have anything functional at all."

And Apple products aren't cheap.  It's a throw-away product that is sold at a "something special to keep" price.

Additionally, I've never been able to get my iPod to talk to my MacBook when I was offline.  If I wasn't connected to the internet, not only could I not move files between my iPod and my MacBook, but my MacBook would try to delete everything on my iPod.  I'm guessing it's because it couldn't keep tabs on me when I wasn't online and report my every move to the mothership.

Now, I'm not a complete idiot.  If you tell me "you can buy Product A or Product B.  Product A is more expensive than Product B and will stop working sooner - it's also not as forgiving or as flexible as Product B..."  Well, I can't make a good argument for buying Product A.

I've been thinking lately about whether I want to replace my MacBook, and I have to say I'm definitely leaning towards "Not particularly".  I also have no interest in buying an iPhone.  I'd get better mileage out of almost anything else at all, as far as I can tell.

So that's why I'm probably not going to buy Apple Products any more - I like value for money.

Band width

I have developed a sudden but growing infatuation with "Band" music.

I blame John Philip Sousa.  I had part of "Stars and Stripes Forever" stuck in my head for a couple of days, and had to go find the whole number in order to get myself off that particular section of the piece.

Of course, I noticed that it's actually quite a good piece of music.  And one Sousa piece leads to another, and then you move onto "marches" in general, and then...

Well it all just escalates, doesn't it?

As an Australian, I grew up with images of American marching bands in movies and television programmes but not in "real life".  It seems to be a Big Thing in America - particularly high schools and colleges.

Growing up with American media the way I have, I've heard a lot of that music over the years without really paying attention to any of it.

Here in Australia, we don't really do that sort of thing.  You have to find a community band to join.  There are still band competitions and all that stuff, it's just more of an extra-curricular hobby.  A bit like ballet or squash.  Perhaps we're closer to the British model.  I don't know.

But I've quickly developed a desire to know all about that stuff.  The colour guard, majorettes and associated crap.

But not just the typical American-college-style band.  I also want to know about all those variations of bands.  Pipe bands, brass bands, concert bands, military bands, drum and bugle corp, fife and drum corp... all those things.

There's much to learn.  Now, where to start?

I sometimes wonder how my head works.

So, for a few months now I've been promising myself that, if I have fewer cups of coffee during the week and save up my "pocket money", I can spend that money on a toy.

The toys I'm tossing up between buying include:

1. A plastic euphonium, valued at approximately $700 (incl. freight)
2. A folding bicycle (Strida) valued at approximate $700 (incl. freight)
(yes, the fact that both of these cost the same amount does make choosing between them difficult)
4. A travel ukulele, valued at approximately $400-$500 (depending on brand)

So, here I am, reminding myself at every stage that I can't just buy these things.  I must set aside money for them.  I must save for them.  They shall be my reward for spending wisely in other areas.

And then I go and buy a $400 pair of boots, just because I walked into a shop looking for a pair of shoes around the $200 mark, and these looked pretty.

Heck, I still bought the other boots!  I spent $650 on two pairs of shoes without thinking about it!  No saving up.  No careful consideration.  Just spending.

I didn't need a $400 pair of dress boots that, so far, I've only bothered to wear twice (I wear the "cheaper" boots all the time).

That money could have - nay, should have - been spent on a fun toy, not a pair of shiny shoes.

What is wrong with me?  Why are the different parts of my life so compartmentalised in my brain, that I can't register how silly it is to deny myself on one hand and splurge on the other, just because what I'm splurging on isn't something I usually regard as fun?

Low Brass, and other shiny things

Following on from my last post about brass, I wanted to point out that I actually do have a euphonium hero:  this guy.

Who is he?  Well, he's just some guy, you know?

(Please excuse the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy quote, sometimes I just can't resist).

 Peter Opaskar is an arranger and a music teacher who gets around the Internet under the name Tuba Peter - and in addition to playing and teaching tubas, euphoniums and baritone horns he also arranges music specifically for low brass instruments.

Euphoniums and tubas are kind of like the double bases and cellos of the brass world.  But, while cellos frequently get to play centre stage, low brass tends to get stuck with the supporting roles.  The really interesting music is usually given to trumpets, cornets and trombones (which are actually in the same range as baritone horns and euphoniums, but for some reason get to come out and play more often).

Tuba Peter arranges music for solos, duets, trios and quartets consisting almost entirely of lower brass.  Imagine a brass quartet consisting of two tubas and two euphoniums.  If you are wondering what that sounds like, the answer is "awesome".

So, he arranges the music for low brass, and then plays all of the parts of an ensemble himself, which admittedly treads a fine line between "that takes a lot of talent" and "don't you have any friends?"

But, yeah, I like what he does and I like the fact that he does it.

Sousaphone by Tyler CC BY SA

I'm still thinking deep thoughts about euphoniums (I've been doing it for years, and will probably do it for years to come).  But I've also been thinking of late about a sousaphone.

This isn't exactly new, either.  I've often looked at sousaphones and though "man, I'd love to play with one of those..."  I just love the look of them.  They are basically tubas, though.  And oddly, I've never really been interested in a tuba.

Show me a tuba, and I'm all like "okay, so that's a tuba."  Wrap it around your body so that it's part instrument and part wearable art, and suddenly I'm all "Ooooh!  Can I have one?"

General dissatisfaction is my special skill

A new(ish) colleague from another town is coming to visit in a few days, and we've been tasked with chatting to her about what we do and what sort of things we're particularly suited to helping with.

The person coordinating this visit said something along the lines of "just tell her what you're good at."

She then paused for a moment, looked up with a gleam in her eye, and asked, "What *are* you good at?"

It's a surprisingly hard question to answer.  Just stop for a moment, and imagine someone turned around and asked you that question.  What's one of the first things that pops into your mind?

If you could set aside any and all social conventions concerning modesty and what you think people expect of/from you, and you had the opportunity to stand up and declare to the world something you honestly believe to be a special skill that you have (whether you utilise it or not), what would you say your "special skill" is?

Being "churched", I often come across references to the parable of the talents.  Jesus tells a story about three servants who are given talents (coins) by their master while he's away on business.  The first servant is given ten talents, and he invests the money and earns ten more.  The second servant is given five talents, and he also invests it and doubles the amount.  The third servant, given only one talent, is too afraid of stuffing up - so he buries the talent in order to give back exactly what was given to him.  Not a penny less, but also not a penny more.

The master comes back and rewards the two profitable servants, but throws the cowardly one out onto the streets, then gives his talent to the servant who had the ten talents to begin with.

The "moral" of this story is what has become distilled into the saying "the rich get richer and the poor get poorer" (although I can't say that's what Jesus actually meant).

This parable might very well have been an economic treatise, but if you give a Christian a parable, they're going to find something warm-and fuzzy buried inside it.  This is why we tend to latch onto the word "talents" and talk about how, when it comes to the metaphysical gifts we've been given, we need to use them or lose them.

Whenever I come across this parable I find myself wondering "What *is* my talent?  What can I do well that I could be putting to good use?"

It's sometimes not the best trail of thought to follow, because there's a fine line between "what am I good at?" and "what am I good for?"

Depending on my level of general dissatisfaction with my life at that point, the answer I often come back to is "nothing".

I do a lot of things, and I have a lot of interests, and I'm not particularly bad at anything (except, maybe, fencing, time management and anything to do with remembering what I'm supposed to be doing), so I usually get by without noticing I'm not particularly good at anything.

Jack of all trades, master of none.

When my colleague asked the question "What *are* you good at?", my first instinct was to hang my head and say "nothing", but then something else popped into my mind.  A different answer to what I would have expected:

"General dissatisfaction."

And I realised it was entirely true.  This is my special skill - this is what I'm particularly good at:  Finding things that need to be improved.

Now, you could argue that that's not really a skill, it's just whinging.  You'd be right.

But I take some comfort in the fact that I don't just find faults - I also think of solutions.  I'm an ideas person, as lame as that sounds.  I keep nutting over "problems" until I work out what I might do if I was in a position to fix it, or produce something better.

My biggest problem is that I don't know what to do with those ideas.  I'm usually not in a position to fix it or produce something better.  Nine times out of ten, I don't even know who is in a position to do anything about it.

I offer suggestions when I can (and I can tell you from experience that most people actually aren't interested in being offered suggestions), but usually I'm just standing at my desk thinking "you know what would be really great...?"

If I was a proper inventor, engineer or developer, I'd probably be able to turn a lot of my ideas into something real, tangible and worthwhile.  Unfortunately I'm a person who writes FaceBook posts for a living (okay, that's not my whole job, but it's part of my job, so it's still true).

However, I feel a strange sense of hope, now that I've finally identified my "special skill".  The first step to putting your talents to good use is figuring out what they are.

And, if "general dissatisfaction" sounds like a pretty lame talent, allow me to rephrase it:

"I want to change the world."

It means more or less the same thing.

Things that should exist: Horn Mufflers and Practice Closets.

So, here are a couple of things I want to exist, but I don't have the wherewithal to make them myself, so I'm giving the ideas to the world for free:  Music "Mufflers" and Practice Closets.

One of the main reasons why I don't practise any brass instruments on a regular basis is that I'm usually home at night, my walls are thin, and my neighbours don't need a reason to hate me.

When I mentioned to my mother that I was thinking of getting either a horn or a euphonium she practically threw something at me, before saying the immortal words:

"Must you?  You're terrible."

Now, I can't take offence at that, because I *am* terrible.  It's a known side effect of a) inexperience, and b) lack of practice.

To sound less terrible I would have to play more often.  I don't play very often because I sound terrible.

I don't, in theory, mind sounding terrible while I work on getting better.  It's what you're supposed to do.  Everyone sounds like crap playing every instrument, at first.  It takes time to get good at these things.

The trouble with brass, though, is that it's REALLY LOUD.

I mean, REALLY LOUD.

If, like me, you're nervous about ticking off the neighbours too much, then you feel reluctant to practise properly or often, because the sound carries sooooo darn far, and it sounds quite awful.

You can use a mute, sure, but they don't really lessen the sound as much as you may think.  And they make it hard to play.  You don't sound quite right.  You're not breathing the way you would without the mute.

The best thing to do would find yourself one of those sound-proof rehearsal rooms they have in music schools.  But what if you don't have a handy music school?

This is where the Practice Closet comes in.  Imagine a cupboard, just big enough to fit a person with a chair and a music stand in it (tall enough to stand in, wide enough to move your elbows - maybe different sizes depending on the instrument), that's got sound-proof padding on the walls.  Also air-holes, at least one window and a light, so you don't suffocate or freak out from the sensory deprivation.

This would take up about as much space in your house as a regular closet (a bit shorter in one dimension, and a bit bigger in another), and would give you a space to play as loudly as you need to without too much noise getting out to affect the rest of your household/neighbourhood.

I expect the people in your house would still cop a bit of noise, but hopefully it wouldn't be too obnoxious.

This is something that could work for all musicians.  You'd need a pretty big closet for the pianists and drummers, though.

The Muffler idea is more specifically for brass, and it's an evolution of the mute.  It doesn't wedge into the instrument, but rather boxes around the bell.  There's the same sound-proofing in the box, and some material to wrap around the rest of the horn to dampen the sound coming through the tubing.

It would allow the air to move more freely, so you'd still be playing it more or less like you would au naturel, but the sound would be caught to an extent by the box, rather than squeaking through a mute.

If you decide to make either of these things, please offer me a prototype to test.

“There’s Always Bird Watching”

I thought I’d already written a post with this title a few years back (I hadn't), but the phrase has been ticking over in my mind these past few days.

I’ve recently acquired a cat.  The family cat died just over a year ago and we’d been trucking along quite happily with just a dog, who died at Easter time this year. 

To be honest, it was far too soon to get another pet, but we wanted to get another dog around Christmas time, when people would be home with it for a few solid weeks, and I felt that, if we didn’t get a cat first we probably wouldn’t get one at all.  We’ve successfully integrated a dog into a pre-existing cat’s house-hold, but not the other way around.

Ideally, I would have waited until September to do this, but I thought we were going away at that time, so it was kind of “June-July or never”.  Now it seems we won’t be going away in September, so that would have been a possibility after all.

The plan was to get a kitten.  Preferably grey.  A few weeks ago I came very close to adopting someone’s black-and-white cat when they were in a bind, but by the time I talked the family around to it the cat had been rehomed.

So it was back to the grey kitten plan.  Instead, I came home with a 15 month old cat that is pretty much every colour except grey (well, okay, there's grey in there, too).  She’s a lovely cat – friendly, spunky, takes things in her stride and easy to get along with.  She eats simply (only cat biscuits) and uses a dirt box with aplomb.

But I’m slightly concerned that I’ve jumped too soon.  We really could have (should have?) spent the rest of this year pet free to give ourselves a break from “all that”.  I’m feeling anxious about having her in the house, rather than joyful that there’s a cat around the place again.

I’m also concerned that I’ve doomed her to a life of extreme boredom. 

At the moment, we’re got our leave worked out so that she’s got company for the first three weeks of her time here.  After that, she’s on her own for most of the day.  Every day. 

Granted, she sleeps half the day anyway (she’s a cat, after all) – but when she’s awake she likes company.  When we go back to work, there will be no one for her to talk to, and nothing for her to do.

I’ve starting to really notice how boring life must be for a pet.  I keep thinking of Rapunzel, cooped up all day in her tower, only seeing the one person – and only for a few hours every day, if that.

In Tangled, Rapunzel spends most of her time cooking, cleaning, reading and painting.  Cats don’t do any of that.  When human beings are cooped up in a confined space, we can usually occupy ourselves with something – books, puzzles, needlepoint…  What do you give to a cat?

Is it any wonder some of them just start taking apart the furnishings?

In Rapunzel’s Revenge (still one of my favourite books of all time), Rapunzel is locked up with exactly three books – one of which is titled “There’s Always Bird Watching”.  My last cat took up bird watching.  And car spotting, I expect.  She took turns staring out of every window in the house.

The current cat is starting to spend some quality time staring out of windows as well.  On the one hand, I’m hoping bird watching will be enough to keep her from going completely bonkers.  On the other hand, I wonder if we’re really doing animals any favours by giving them a life that’s safe and comfortable, but so very, very boring.

Or is bird/street watching actually more fulfilling than I’m giving it credit for?  My grandmother used to spend time sitting on her veranda just watching the world go by (and this was back when she could have gone somewhere more interesting if she wanted to), and you often see images of old people just sitting on a porch outside their house or a shop and “taking it slow”.

Just how interesting is the world outside your window, if you give it time to grow on you?

Come, blow your horn

I'm in Melbourne at the moment, for a conference, and the hotel in which I'm staying is located above one of those trendy Lane way cafés they always talk about. 

And a construction site. 

And just a few steps away from a police station. 

And near a tram stop. 

You could call it "central". 

I call it "not particularly quiet". 

Anyway, as I write this, there is jazz and trumpets (actually, I think it's just one trumpet) which would be kind of cool if it was live, but I think it's just a recording. I didn't see any space in the lane where one could fit a piano. 

I've been thinking about trumpets lately. Well, not trumpets, specifically, but brass. 

Regular readers will know I briefly joined a brass band for the cheap lessons and free instrument hire a few years ago, but it didn't stick. I found the timing of both the lessons and the band practice awkward, and I never stick with awkward things for long. 

A decade or so ago, I wanted to learn the French Horn. I have no idea why. It's not like I was a huge fan of horn music. I still can't tell you the name of any great horn pieces. Or composers. Or players. I enjoyed listening to it when I heard it, and I liked the look of it. 

Hardly a consuming passion, in other words. 

Over the years I acquired a third-hand cornet and a cheap pocket trumpet, because that's just what I do, but I'm no more up to date with the cornet than I am with the French Horn. At least I do know some famous trumpet players. I don't really play either of those instruments anyway. 

I still want to learn how to play the French Horn, and for some years now I've wanted to play the euphonium (because it's beautiful, that's why), but I've never mustered up the wherewithal to do something about it. It's not like I have a great love of concert or brass bands (although I do love a good old fashioned dance band), I just want to play with those toys. 

I've been listening to Emma Eyres read her autobiography, Cadence, and she talks about how much she loved playing the viola, and how much she always wanted to play the cello. How she used to listen to cello music, and how she had cello playing heroes, and how she used to get cello sheet music and play it on the viola, but wish she could pluck up the courage to play the cello for real (without worrying about losing her skill with the viola). 

I have a lot of musical instruments - mostly because I'm a musical bower bird, not because I passionately love any of them. I can honestly say I hardly touch most of them. I can't think of any instrument that I've bought because I loved it so much I had to make it a deep and abiding part of my life. 

I really wanted the concertina, but I hardly ever play it. Same with the banjo. I used to play the recorders quite a bit back in the day, but I haven't played those for a while, either. 

The instrument I play most often is the ukulele, and I didn't even buy that on purpose. I wondered into a music shop one day, being someone who had no interest in the uke (and, to be honest, little respect for it) and walked out with a ukulele and a chord book. I never intended to become a ukulele player. It just sort of happened. 

I still wouldn't really regard myself as a ukulele player, anyway. Just a dabbler. In spite of all the instruments and all of the years I've been playing around with music, I don't really regard myself as a musician. Just a dabbler. 

Take the euphonium, for example. I'd like to own and play a euphonium, but I don't have a vision of myself as someone who is going to practice for a few hours every day, and play in a band, orchestra or quintet. I don't see myself as a euphoniumist, in other words. Heck, I don't even know if that* is* the right word. 

I don't rightly know if this bothers me or not. When I was studying piano back in the last century I think I always expected to become a "real" musician at some point, even if I never thought the piano was going to be my eventual instrument of choice. Since then I've enjoyed dabbling, and acquiring random instruments. 

I wouldn't want to be so hung up on playing well that I'd stop mucking about for fun. But, still, it would be kind of nice to have an instrument that I had that kind of passion for. To think of myself as a real musician, like a violinist or a flautist. 

I wonder if I will ever be that passionate about anything. 

A fine line between sport and punching people in the head

I saw a T-shirt on a website that grouped fencing together with wrestling and boxing.

I'm not 100% sure about the wrestling (which surely belongs with judo, jujitsu and rugby - you know, sports that involve throwing people onto the ground and sitting on them), but I can see the boxing thing.

I watched a bit of the feather-weight boxing during the Commonwealth Games, while I was waiting for something else, and they almost managed to convince me it was a sport.  It actually looked kind of like what we do with fencing, although with more of an emphasis on punching people in the head.

I've always had a bit of trouble accepting boxing as a legitimate sport, because the entire goal of a bout is to try to punch someone in the head until they lose consciousness.  People have tried to tell me that the "sport" side of things comes from the fact that each boxer is trying to use all of his/her skill to avoid being hit.

Be that as it may, the ultimate goal is to punch someone in the head.  You can't deny that.

But, to be fair, people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones (or walk around naked).

I've made the comment in the past that fencing is kind of like a cross between boxing and tennis.  On the one hand, you have people wearing poncy white clothes, fussing over hand-held doodads and being oh-so traditional as they salute and shake hands and stuff.  On the other hand, you have people trying to do each other harm in the name of sport.

Let's face it, fencing is all about trying to poke someone with a stick.  Or, in the case of sabre, trying to beat them with a stick.  You don't even try to do it lightly - if there are bruises, then there are bruises (and, believe me, there are bruises).

And, yes, there is an element where it's a good thing to aim straight for someone's head (unless you're a foilist, in which case the head is off limits, so aim for the groin instead).  I've had my share of mask-rattling head hits, and I've dealt out a few on occasion as well.

So, there's an extent to which fencing isn't that removed from boxing.

I have to admit, since taking up fencing I've toyed with the idea to trying boxing as well...

And then I remember that the entire goal is to punch someone in the head.

At least with fencing you are also aiming for other parts of the body.  If you're any good, you can win your bouts by constantly tapping your opponents on the wrist - no head shots necessary.  I somehow doubt you can win a boxing match by completely avoiding any attempt to hit your opponent's head.

If it were possible to win a boxing match without aiming for the head, I'd be interested to know about that.

Another one bites the dust

So, that's that.  I finished my last test on Sunday, and I've passed all of the bits and pieces, so I think I'll probably pass the subjects...

And all I have to do now is wait to see if I've ticked the right boxes for the system to send me an invitation to graduate.

That's the Master of Arts in Applied Linguistics done.  Once I get that piece of paper in my hands I'll be qualified to...

Well, nothing, really.  I bugged out of the TESOL component because I hated those subjects so very much.  I was really only doing them so there would be a point to the degree.  Completely trashed my grade point average in the process.  Good thing I don't care about that.

I did the MAAL as a stepping stone to possibly do a PhD later, and right now I'm feeling a bit "Meh.  Who needs a PhD?"

Give me six months.  It took roughly that long after I finished the Master of Information Management before I started itching to do more.

Mind you, I now have a terrible grade point average, so maybe no one will take me on as a PhD candidate.

Oh, who am I kidding - as long as I go regional, someone's bound to take me.

I'm now on a bit of a filing kick.  I've got four degrees worth of paper (journal articles, etc) clogging up my space, and I'm determined to cull and declutter.

Yes, you heard me - declutter.

Declutter my filing cabinet.  My study.  My living spaces.  My life...

I shall do it!  I shall live a less cluttered life!  I shall free myself from my addiction to keeping things!

I shall dig out a patch of simplicity and sit in it, and there I shall find the ability to be still.

Still and cool in my own mind and spirit...

I know that I run around in circles to distract myself from the fact that I never move forward.  One day I'll learn to sit still and accept the world as it actually is.  Then, maybe, when I have finally stopped looking for change, I'll stop being afraid of it.

How's that for a Deep Tuesday?

Small to medium folding bikes - Or "Really? Don't you have enough crap?"

Here's the way my brain works.

I'm going to Melbourne in a couple of months for a conference, and I'll have a few days at the end to amuse myself.

Naturally, my thoughts turn to bicycles.

Strida

I've been eyeing off Strida bikes for a while now.  Not because I need another folding bike.  I'm not sure anyone ever needs more than one good bike of any kind, and I've got a Brompton - which is one of the best folding bikes on the planet.

No, I want one because a) I love novelty bicycles, and b) I'm slightly obsessed with things that transform.  The Strida has a different design principle to the Brompton, so it's a different kind of folding bike.

There's a part of me that longs to be an inventor making my own folding bikes in my workshop.  But I'm not an inventor and I don't have a workshop (or any mechanical skills or experience, for that matter), so I just obsess over the work of other designers.

There's a shop in Melbourne that sells Stridas, so I'll have the chance to take one for a test ride.  Then I'll know if I just want one because it's pretty or if I'm actually likely to ride it.

Now, there is an excellent chance that, if it's magnificent enough in person to impress me, I'll just buy one there and fly home with it.

However, I've gone off trawling the Internet for folding bicycles again, haven't I?  And because I'm now looking for something that's in a different class to the Brompton, I'm now looking closely at a bunch of bikes I dismissed back when I was looking at folding bikes last time.

A-Bike

For instance, part of me really likes the idea of the A-Bike.  I've long thought the ideal folding bike would also be collapsible, and the A-Bike does pack up quite small.  It also has 6-inch wheels, which is a little bit alarming.

I'm sure it rides much better than it looks like it will, but I've had enough experience with scooters and the like to know the smaller the wheel, the more likely it is that a pot-hole will send you flying.

If they had offered a model with larger wheels, I probably would be thinking about it more seriously.

The Carryme
Image from Ridethisbike.com

The Carryme by Pacific Cycles is not quite as compact as the A-Bike, but it looks much more robust, it has 8-inch wheels (which makes more difference than you may think) - and it's got some pretty good reviews on the Interwebs.  Some of them even rank it higher than the Strida in terms of practicality and value for money.

I have to admit that the more I look at the Carryme, and the more I read about it, the more I want one.

Unfortunately I don't think I'll be able to take it for a test ride while I'm in Melbourne.  And something in the back of my head is saying: "It's sort of in the same 'class' as the Strida, and it might be better - so you really shouldn't get both..."

And, really, I shouldn't get either.  I don't need another folding bike.

No, really, I don't.

Are you listening to me, Sharon?  You don't need another folding bike.

“Working from home”, Pt 2

Following on from my last ramblings about “working from home”, I was thinking that it’s strange there’s not more of a trend of working from someone else’s home.  Or having someone else work from your home.

My aunt works from home, and she could probably do with a bit of extra income.  Her son has the front down stairs room, which is a perfect space for an office.  You can get to it from the street without entering the house or yard.  You can cut it off from the rest of the house and there’s a kitchenette and toilet that can be easily accessed...  If she kicked him out to the granny flat, she could convert that room and rent it out as office space.  Parking would be awkward, but I’m sure they’d work something out.

There are probably a lot of houses that could have a section converted to office space.  You hear about people converting part of their homes into a separate living space so they can rent it out, but it doesn’t seem to be a common thing for people to convert a space into an office to let.

From the home owner’s point of view it would be less intrusive than having someone actually living in your house, but still a source of income.  And if you were running a small business and needed an office it would probably be cheaper than renting a space in a commercial complex, and possibly a more pleasant environment.

This way, even if you lived in a one bedroom flat and you wouldn’t particularly want to work there, you could still “work from home”.  Just not your home.

And it would potentially be a much safer investment on the part of the home owner.  People are odd, and treat the place where they live in a way they would never treat the place where they work.  A professional working in an office is likely to do much less damage (I would expect) than someone living in a rented room.  And it would be so much easier to evict someone who’s mistreating the place if they don’t actually live there.

This could be a thing.  How do we make this a thing?

“Working from Home”, Pt 1

“Working from home” is a funny phrase, when you think of it.  Really, you’re working at home.  I don’t know why (in Australia, at least) we us the word “from”.  Perhaps it’s to create some sort of distance from the idea of house work.  Can’t have people thinking all you do all day is vacuum, now, can we?

I was reading something in the paper recently about a company which is encouraging its workers to “work from home” at least one day a week.  I mentioned it to my manager, who then got this dreamy look on her face and said it was a “lovely” idea. 

She maintains the biggest problem she has with getting stuff done is the office environment, and she’s probably right.  We are a nest of distractions – and, ironically, most of the time it’s our work distracting us from our work.  All of the little things just eat away at the time you need to tackle the bigger things.

I suppose you could say I’ve been “working from home” one day a week for the past couple of years – but I’ve actually been “studying at home”.  No one’s paying me to be here on my study days (no one’s paying me at all on my study days) and what I do doesn’t directly benefit my employer.  I know that I have been learning a lot that has helped me do my job a bit better, but it’s not really what people think of when you say “working from home”.

I’m going to miss it when this Master’s degree wraps up at the end of the semester and I have to go back to working full time.  There’s something oddly wonderful about being at home during a weekday.  When my attention starts wandering I can always clean something or bake something, which makes me feel useful.  And just being able to have the place to myself and potter around is lovely.  It’s somehow more relaxing than the weekend, when it feels like everything is being crammed in and shuffled around.

Additionally, because I’ve chosen to keep the Internet out of my house, I’m not fragmented by a steady stream of emails and interruptions (just interrupted by the occasional desire to write a blog post).

Of course, if I ever did “work from home” (in my current job), I’d have to get all connected and let those emails come.  Unless, that is, I could magically create a job for myself that brings in enough money to live on and grants me the freedom to only check my emails a couple of times a week when I pop into a library.

And I don’t think I’d want to “work from home” full time – I do enjoy going to work and conversing with real people.

All I need to do is find a part-time job where I can be with other human beings for half the week, and then a hobby that pays it’s way so I can “work from home” for the other few days.

Simple!

I finally did something!

Sure, it has 10.30 at night when I finally remembered that I was going to start making things on Monday nights, but I remembered!

And I actually did something!

It's this thing:

Okay, it wasn't all of that thing.  I actually only did five rows of it - but still, that was five rows that hadn't been there prior to last night!

What is it, you say?

Well, it's a cross-stitch, obviously.

I did commit the cross-stitching sin of reversing the direction of my stitches, but hopefully you'll be so blinded by the fact that it's an unfinished work that you won't notice it's also badly done.  And badly photographed.

Hooray for doing stuff!

The trouble with stairs

Over the past few years I’ve come to view the stairs in my house as a problem.

Growing up in North Queensland, stairs are a fact of life.  Except for a couple of years when I lived in a ground-floor unit, I’ve lived in high-set homes all my life. 

In the last few years, however, I’ve been seriously questioning the logic of any house design that renders the living areas accessible only by stairs.

It’s all well and good if you are young and fit and mobile and can bound up those stairs with vim and vigour… but the older you get, the more potential those stairs have to make getting in and out of your own home a problem.

My grandmother spent the last few years of her life virtually house-bound because the stairs became more and more of an obstacle for her.  By the time it got to the stage that we had to install a chair lift to get her up and down the stairs, getting out of her own house had become an event in itself.

Not only did she only leave the house when the occasion was worth the exertion – she almost never spent time in her own gardens because the effort it took to get to the lift (which was installed at the front of her house) and get around to the back yard was simply too much for her. 

Without those stairs, she could have just walked out her back door and spent time surrounded by trees and things.  Or, if she wanted to go out, she could have just walked out the front door and saved her energy for getting in and out of the car.

I honestly believe she would have had a better life if she had moved to a low-set house (with few or no stairs) in her sixties. 

In her sixties, she was still young and spritely enough that a move would have been something she could tackle with energy and enthusiasm.  In her late 70s, she was stubborn and grumpy and her health was shattered from 50-odd years of heavy smoking.  She was entrenched and determined to die in her own home (which didn’t happen) and resistant to any suggestion of moving – even though, in hindsight, that house was seriously bad for her quality of life.

For the past year or so, we’ve been watching my old dog struggle with the stairs in this house.  She slept downstairs and spent most of the day there, but when we were home she loved nothing better than to come up stairs and be near us – in the living space where we spent most of our time.

We’d been wondering what we would do when she could no longer make it up and down the stairs.  After all, you can’t install a chair lift for a dog – but being left downstairs would have made her miserable.  Additionally, she’d been very unstable on her feet, coming up and down the stairs.  Yet we had to make her go downstairs on a regular basis to pee, or go out for a walk, or go to bed...  We were honestly wondering if she would fall down the stairs and break her neck before she got to the point where she couldn’t make it up or down the stairs at all.

Well, a couple of weeks ago she tumbled down the stairs and did herself some serious harm.  So serious, we had to put her down. 

I know – deep in my soul, I know – that her quality of life and her length of life would have been vastly improved if we didn’t live in a house where the living areas were only accessible by stairs.  And I’m at the point where I know (deep in my soul, I know) that I could say the same for my grandmother.

It really brought home to me the fact that smart people don’t grow old (and don’t let their loved ones grow old) with what amounts to a feature of an obstacle course built into their own home.

When you are young enough to climb stairs or walk up hills without a problem, you don’t care about this sort of thing.  Heck, you could enter via rope ladder and exit via fireman’s pole, if that’s what you wanted to do.  But the minute you find yourself regularly getting to the top of your stairs (or steep driveway) and feeling a bit worn out by the experience, it’s time to move on.

My mother is in her sixties.  She’s still young enough and spritely enough to tackle a move with energy and enthusiasm – and she has arthritis in her hips and knees and regularly notices the effort it takes to get up and down the stairs.  Because I love her, I’m going to keep pestering her until she sells up and moves to a more practical house. 

This house has been in the family for almost 50 years and I love it, but I’m not going to let it swallow up the lives of anyone else I love.  It’s time to go.

If someone you love is living in a house with stairs (or any other obstacles), do what you can to push them out before they get stuck there.  They’ll never notice how much better they have it, but you will be giving them better quality of life in their later years.

Toys R Addictive

Confession time – it has been several Mondays since I mentioned my plan to try to set aside a night a week to make things, and so far I haven’t made a blessed thing.

Well, I did decorate an Easter tree with hand-made paper baubles, but I’m not counting that.  There’s craft and then there’s craft.

However, I have developed a new hobby – obsessively staring at toys to see how they were made.

I’ve lost the ability to walk past a teddy bear.  I have to pick it up and pour over it to see how its butt was stitched together.

I’ve been borrowing books about toy making from my public library – which is the way I usually take up new “hobbies”:  vicariously, through books.  Sure, I haven’t made anything from any of the books yet, but I have developed a much better understanding of and appreciation for how toys are put together.

Most soft toys are actually remarkably simple, and the more I look at them the more I think “I could do that!”

Of course, as someone who hasn’t touched a sewing machine since high school (and was particularly bad at sewing at the time) I may be completely delusional.

But, still.  Even if I haven’t graduated onto making toys as a hobby, I’ve well and truly taken up looking at toys as a hobby.  It’s not as active, but oddly addictive.

A very close friend

My dog died.

She was 15 years old (which is really good innings for a dog her size), and had been getting quite frail and stiff in her old age.  She'd been struggling with the stairs for some time, and we were wondering what we would do when she was finally too frail to make it up (or down).

We've really been expecting her to fall down the stairs and do some serious damage for quite some time.  Last Thursday, she finally did.

She fell down the stairs and broke her hip.  At her age, and with her pre-existing hip troubles (and some dementia), we realised she was not going to recover from this injury with any quality of life, so we had her put down.  It's a kindness we're not allowed to give ourselves, but we can still grant the animals we love a soft death.

As it was, she had a pretty good week.  Right up to the pain and blood and everything.

I've been thinking about this thing we do, with pets.  We know an animal is only going to live for a fraction of our lives. When we bring a dog or cat into our lives, we know that they are only going to be with us for 15-20 years.

We bring something into our homes.  We forge a relationship with them that sits somewhere between "very good friend" and "member of the family" - and we let them live with us just long enough to make sure that their passing is devastating.

I say "my dog died" - but it would be far more accurate to say I lost a very close friend last week.  I feel the same kind of loss and pain I would feel if my best friend - whom I see every day - died.

Because that's exactly what happened.  She was my best friend.

And my flatmate.

And a member of the family.

But, when I say "my dog died", it doesn't really embody all of these things.

She died the day before I took a test.  She died two days before I was booked to leave town for the weekend.

I went ahead with all of these things because I was keeping myself distracted - but I found myself wondering what I would say if I had to cancel anything.

"My dog died?"

It's odd how anyone who has ever owned a pet should understand how significant that is, but no one actually does.  Pets die all the time, don't they?

No, I think I'd go with the greater truth:  "I lost a very close friend."

Easter Tree, 2015

Well, as it turns out I didn't have the energy or time to do much with this.

It could be because I decided to leave the tree at work this year, instead of taking it home to decorate it there.

Hey, at least when I do stuff like this at work, the general vibe is "Oh, that Sharon - she's so eccentric!" rather than "Oh, that Sharon - she's so high maintenance" (which is what I usually get at home).

But, it did mean that I basically used six pieces of memo paper, some staples and a small length of twine to decorate the tree - and in moments snatched during coffee breaks and before and after work.

Still, it looks kind of festive, don't you think?

A tree begins

So, it occurred to me that Easter is coming up shortly.

This is not new information, but it has still been catching me by surprise for weeks.

I haven't got long, but I've decided to make another Easter Tree (or Osterbaum, for all you Germanic folk out there).

I found a suitable branchy thing for a small scale tree and I'm just going to steadily decorate it between now and the end of Thursday.

Look, Cuboid (my little wooden robot, which I may or may not have bought with money I was going to put towards buying a novelty bicycle or a plastic euphonium) is helping:

Which is great, because earlier in the day he was just sitting around the place, thinking.

Such a poser.

Make it Monday

This is a crazy idea that will never work - but I thought it was worth trying and I'd like to invite you to join me in giving it a red-hot go.

I want to make stuff.

This is a long held desire of mine.  I want to have useful, practical skills that will still be useful and practical after the Great Wipe (the time we all know is coming:  when a solar flare takes out all of our electronic-based technology [or eLives] and we have to go back to doing real things).

I also want to make pretty things.  You know, art and stuff.  Just because.

The trouble is, my desire to make things doesn't seem to get past my lack of ability to actually do things.

"I will do it."  "I shall do it."  Except, at no point in time to I actually progress to "I am doing it".

It could be a lack of true motivation.  A "real" writer writes that novel - nothing can stop them.  A "real" artist paints because they must paint.  A "real" maker of things would be driven to making things.

If I don't do what I want to do, then maybe I just don't want it enough.

However, I'd like to think it's actually a scheduling issue.

I don't do anything because I never give myself an actual time frame in which to do it.

I always think "I'm totally going to do that thing", but I never think "I'm totally going to do that thing this Tuesday".  As a result, the weeks just slide by and I end up not doing anything.

So, I'm going to pick a day.  At the moment, I'm thinking of Mondays.

On Mondays, I will make things.  I'm going to start by seeing if I can finally finish some cross-stitch I have lying around the place.  And maybe try to do a few water colour exercises to make use of the fact that I actually took a course last year.

We'll see how we go.  With any luck, I'll be posting pictures of projects actually completed (rather than simply thought about).

I invite you to try it as well - pick an actual day when you commit to doing something you always meant to do, but never get around to doing.  Tell me if it works.

Twenty20 Lawn Bowls? Can I suggest Thirteen13?

"Bowls&Kitty" by Mattinbgn - Own work.
Licensed under GFDL via Wikimedia Commons - 

I recently read this article about a "new", "fast pace" version of lawn bowls that's supposed to make it all, like hip with the kids and stuff, so that the youngsters don't get bored playing the game.

It's supposed to do for lawn bowls what the Twenty20 format supposedly did for cricket (i.e. make it interesting).  Now, I haven't been able to sit though a Twenty20 cricket match, so I can't say the format actually works.  It turns out that cricket is just boring and there's nothing you can do about it.

However, I agree that lawn bowls could do with a shorter version - just because it makes sense to be able to play more than one "game" on that space and with that equipment.  And because 25 ends is way too long for anyone from Generation X or younger to comfortably fit into their lives.

This Twenty20-like version of the game they mention in the ABC article doesn't float my boat.  There's a bit more detail in this article from the Messenger.  I'm sure it would be great if you actually saw it in action, but it seems slightly complicated.

Two sets of five ends?  I don't get it.  Why not just have ten ends?

Petanque and bocce are traditionally played until someone hits 13.  It would make a nice symmetry across the boules sports if the shorter version of lawn bowls was played as a Thirteen13 kind of thing.

Whoever gets to 13 first, or whoever has the highest score after 13 ends, wins.

Done, easy.  No fussing about.  If you play singles with four bowls a piece or doubles or triples with three balls a piece makes no difference - you get to one 13 or another and then the game is over.

But, could we steer away from the repetitive numerical nomenclature?  T20 is a silly name for a sport, and T13 is just as silly.  What about:  "Thirteens"?  It sounds more elegant - more like something you'd do on a bowling green.

"I'm heading to the King's Park Bowls Club for a game of Thirteens.  Care to join me?"