Thursday 18 December 2014

Happy Christmas to all readers of this blog

I am gearing up for Christmas. My trip to Germany and tour of the Christmas market have got me into the excitement of it all.  I love everything about Christmas starting with the first Sunday of Advent when the first candle is lit on the Advent wreath.  In Germany everyone has a festively decorated plate with oranges, nuts, apples and homemade (or shop bought in my case) cookies which they put out on the coffee table so that you can pick at all the delicious bits and pieces all afternoon.  The smell of woodland from the wreath combined with the aroma of gingerbread, cinnamon, cloves, honey and mulled wine really goes to my head!  Outside it is growing dark and it is so comforting to be in the warmth looking out at the houses with their Christmas lights.
Last evening I went to a church carol service.  It was all so peaceful and pleasant to be singing the old familiar carols and a few I didn't know. The church is really old and looks like something out of a nostalgic Christmas card. I walked the few blocks home afterwards feeling at peace with the world. 

When I was a child we got a lot of Christmas cards and I loved looking at the various pictures:  snow covered streets, old churches with the warm yellow light of candles showing at the windows, horses and carriages and ladies dress in long skirts.  I really wanted my Christmas to be like that but mostly we didn't even get frost let alone snow and we walked to Midnight Mass.  I do recall one frosty starry night which held a special magic because I could imagine the shepherds guarding their flocks on such a night.
  
I can think of no better quote for this time of year than from Charles Dickens:  'I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.'
Happy Christmas to everyone wherever you are.

Sunday 14 December 2014

Fly-away

I am currently reading:  Almost English by Charlotte Mendelson and enjoying it very much. 

Last week I was in Germany to visit my daughter and grandchildren.  It always fascinates me that a two-hour flight means a total change of culture.  The things which bother everyone at home are not even mentioned.  Jane Austen remarks on this in her novel Persuasion when her heroine goes to visit her sister in a nearby village and is amazed at the difference in interests and concerns.

Something else had changed, too.  For my return flight I went to Terminal One at Frankfurt airport as I was flying Lufthansa.  Everything is now being automated at this terminal and I must say I didn't like it.  You now get your boarding card from a machine - well I don't have a problem with that - but then you weigh in your luggage yourself including affixing the baggage tag to it.  Security is followed by automatic passport control where your passport is scanned, you walk into a small space and wait for the green light which opens the door to let you through.  I felt like I was in a cow pen. Surely part of flying was that nice smiling ground hostess who took your suitcase, called your attention to your departure gate and wished you a good journey?  Having to do it all myself made me think I had been co-opted onto the staff and there was a chance I'd be asked to do some tasks before take-off - maybe steer the plane down the runway or something of that nature.

I guess I'm old-fashioned but I don't approve of a world where so much money is saved on staff and you are expected to do everything yourself as if the privilege of using the company just can't be compensated by paying for your purchases.  And it gets rid of jobs big time.  But the companies still expect people to have money to spend on their services.  This has never made sense to me.

Enough of my ranting for today.  On the brighter side, I may have my Irish driving licence next week.  I now have all the papers for it so the application should go smoothly.  It means a trip to the city so I can combine it with some (more) Christmas shopping.  Lovely thought.

Wednesday 5 November 2014

A Driven Woman

I decided recently to get my German driving licence exchanged for an Irish one. Now that we in the EU are all one big happy family it should be easy peasy, I thought.  I checked out what I'd need in the way of documentation on the online website and made my appointment.  So far so splendid.  The lady on the other side of the desk looked through my stuff and picked up my tatty, dog-eared German licence.
'I've never seen one of these,' she said and up she got and walked away with it to confer with her colleagues.  I would have thought that in these days of data share the information should only have been a mouse click away.

Now, admittedly the licence is 30 years old and I never had it upgraded to one of those smart cheque-card-like jobs.  And I do look a bit older these days - yeah, OK, I look like the mother of that lady in the photo.  But it is me, I swear.  I remember exactly the day I got it.

It was Ash Wednesday and city traffic was light.  I didn't make too many mistakes following my first disastrous test a few weeks before on which I shall be discreetly silent. The driving inspector looked deeply into my eyes and said - wait for it - 'shouldn't you be wearing glasses?'   I hastened to assure him that I was wearing contact lenses and he really had no option other than to believe me.  He then signed the licence and handed it over to me, shaking hands with me as well.  It had all been prepared in advance and only needed his signature to make it legal.  I was so relieved I could have kissed him, well maybe not but I felt as if I'd been given a gold medal at the Olympics. I'd finally done it.  And thus I embarked on a fraught relationship with my driving and the realities of traffic and road signs, kamikaze pedestrians and your-driving-sucks-other drivers.

So how could this lady say she didn't accept this piece of paper which is proof positive that anyone can drive if I can?  That's what she did, though.  She advised me to contact the German driving licence people and get confirmation that they did issue me with this document 30 years ago.  So I went home, wrote a humble email to the people in Flensburg and now await their reply.  Maybe they'll be sympathetic, maybe they'll laugh their heads off, maybe they'll ignore me.  My driving future rests in their hands.  If they don't cooperate I won't get issued with an Irish licence.  I could of course sit my driving test here but I doubt if I'd pass it.

So will I be a driving woman or a driven woman?  I'm not taking any bets either way.

Friday 17 October 2014

Is having it all possible or even desirable?

Some time ago I read an article about career women "having it all".  Indra Nooyi, chief executive of PepsiCola, was interviewed on stage at the Aspen Idea Festival and she related what happened on the day her appointment as chief executive was announced.  She was overwhelmed (who wouldn't be!) and decided that instead of working until midnight (clue to being appointed here perhaps??) she hurried home to tell her family.  When she arrived she didn't get a chance to tell her news immediately because her mother asked her to go out and get some milk as there was none left with the remark "your news can wait".  This throws up a lot of questions (why had no one thought to stock up on the milk?  couldn't someone else have got it?) but it illustrates a point or at least the point that she was making "I might be chief executive in the office but I'm mom at home." Does that mean she doesn't really have it all?  How do you define "having it all"?

The average working mother knows that when she comes home there will be a dozen different things calling for her attention.  She will have to cook the evening meal, touch base with the kids on homework/school, most likely put a load of washing into the machine, maybe iron a few shirts/blouses for the morning.  And she has to keep juggling dentist's appointments, sports days, shopping, birthday presents and birthday celebrations with all the other things on her agenda.  Even if she has a child minder or a cleaning lady she still has to organize things around this.  The kids get sick and she works from home if she can or has to work round the problem. Men, on the other hand, take out the rubbish and do all the DIY jobs around the place, maybe a bit of gardening too but do not put in as much time on these chores as women and are not responsible for the overall running of the household.
I know, I know - there are exceptions to this where the man of the house shares in all of it and is a tower of strength, it's just that I never met such a paragon.

Mumsnet http://www.mumsnet.com, the largest UK website for parents and a terrific place to visit as it has just about everything, recently surveyed 1000 working mothers.  The survey showed that women spend 10 hours a week on housework and men spend 5 hours.  A separate survey by the BBC's Radio Four Woman's Hour ( http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes and look under the letter "W")  presents more or less the same picture.  The programme is launching an online "chore wars" calculator intended to enable couples to settle who does most around the house. I am inclined to think that if you have to start checking off on a calculator what each partner does, then you don't actually have a partnership.

So that's it.  You might have it all at work but when you come home it's all gone.  Or you might decide that having it all isn't what you are about and take on a less demanding job.  This has to be decided on an individual basis.  Currently, women are the ones who give birth and by virtue of that fact they automatically become "homemakers".  This is an honorable profession - and profession it is, to be ranked right up there with running a company.  So you can have it all once you have defined what "all" really means.  The main thing is you feel comfortable with your chosen role whether that is full time mom, career woman who is also mom, or more mom than career.  It's your decision and you don't need to explain it to anyone.


Saturday 4 October 2014

A Sunny Morning

It rained all day yesterday and most of the night so it was a pleasant surprise to wake up to a sunny morning.  I went for a walk to the beach as soon as I had done my shopping - 6x apples, 6x pears and a small bag of potatoes all for €2 on the SuperValu 3 for 2 offer, I added unsmoked bacon and a head of fresh cabbage - that's Sunday dinner and my fruit for most of the week sorted. 

The sky had that it's-going-to-be-showery-later blue look and there was a brisk wind so it was ideal for my half hour walk to the beach. As I passed the quays I noticed that Rebecca was gone from her moorings, no doubt off on one of her deep sea fishing expeditions. A few boat owners were pottering around either getting ready to go out or just coming in, a group of young men were readying their sailing boat, the sails cracking in the wind.  It was all pretty exhilarating and made me wish I could be off somewhere too. When I reached the beach the tide was coming in, the sun glittered on the water and I thought of Shelley's description and how aptly he described it all:

I see the waves upon the shore,
like light dissolved in star showers, thrown

Isn't that just beautiful?  OK, OK I'm getting carried away.  The poem was written in dejection near Naples and I have often wondered how you could ever feel dejected when you sit and watch the sea and write such beautiful poetry.

I watched a sea-gull strutting around in the shallows all on his lonesome.  Every time a wave engulfed his feet he moved back further apparently not wishing to be drawn into the ocean.  Eventually he got bored and flew away.  I envy the sea-gulls, the way they ride the waves or simply take off over the water.  A few families with children and dogs were taking advantage of the small strip of sand left before the tide reached it.  It could have been high summer except that everyone wore jackets and no one ventured into the waves.

That walk has set me up for the day.  I come here nearly every day and every day I find something new to discover.  I hope the sun is shining where you are!  Happy weekend everyone.


Saturday 20 September 2014

The Padlocked Bridges of Paris





Paris is for lovers and indeed for anyone else who has a romantic streak or simply loves old cities and their culture.  This picture shows a bridge spanning the river Seine which is groaning under the weight of padlocks left here by lovers over the years.  Paris officials are in the process of putting up plastic panels on the Pont des Arts bridge near the Louvre in an effort to stop this practice.  In June a section of the footbridge collapsed and in fact serious damage is being done to all the old bridges of Paris (and no doubt in other cities, too).  According to City Hall over 700,000 padlocks were attached to bridges in Paris this summer alone.  The City fathers are appealing to lovers to simply take a selfie on the bridge but many tourists reject this idea.
Maybe I'm insensitive but I cannot see the charm or indeed the significance of putting a padlock on a bridge in Paris or indeed any other city.  What happens if you split up?  Do you just shrug your shoulders and obliterate from memory the day you and your lover were so sure of an enduring passion that you just had to lock it up - symbolically - on a bridge in Paris?  Do you even remember that you did it say five years down the road?  And if the break up was particularly acrimonious do you grab a hacksaw and cut through the ties that bind the lock to the bridge? I am sure the City Fathers would approve of that idea!
I love Paris, I must admit.  If I ever win a few billions in the lottery I would buy an apartment in one of those lovely old buildings not too far from the river. I'd spend part of every year there, sipping coffee at a street cafe or wandering along the river bank or around the back streets and soaking up that special Parisian atmosphere.
 I am indebted to Messynesschic's blog to keep my love of Paris alive and kicking.  Take a look at this MessynessChic's hideaway hangout in Paris, for example, and you'll understand my fascination.

I hope tourists and lovers of all nationalities will realize that a padlock on a bridge in Paris is not going to guarantee enduring love.  It might guarantee the closing of ancient bridges which are crumbling away under the load.








Friday 5 September 2014

The Selfish Herd Theory

We take so many things for granted, don't we?  Mother knows best, swallows fly south before winter sets in, the cuckoo comes to our shores in early spring, the fox is a sly animal, red sky at night shepherds delight.  That kind of stuff, based on decades of observation which is passed down to us, we believe it or most of it and feel a certain sense of security.

I was a little taken aback by a new study which says there are two simple rules to explain sheepdog behaviour. Now, I have always understood that a sheepdog rounds up the sheep for his master because that's his job, and the sheep are duly grateful to him because if the wolf knocks at the door of the fold, the dog will protect them.  But maybe I got that idea from one of the many fairy tales I was told as a child, a sort of mixture of Little Red Riding Hood and The Three Little Pigs. 
Be that as it may, research published in Journal of the Royal Society Interface and remarked upon by several learned publications see link to Science Daily for example, tells us that they have found the key to the sheepdogs' behaviour.  I, for one, am totally disillusioned and not for the first time in my life.  It seems to me that you just can't believe anything any more or if you do, some one (usually a scientist) will come along and explain the whys and wherefores of it and ruin the magic.  But I digress. 
Here is the substance of the study:
GPS devices were strapped to sheep in order to track their movements and a GPS device was also strapped to the dog (I bet that was a hard morning's work but no reports of anyone falling asleep as they counted how many sheep they'd GPS'd).  Researchers claim that this procedure helps to explain why one shepherd and a single dog can herd an unruly flock of more than 100 sheep.  It doesn't say they put a GPS device on the shepherd but maybe they simply forgot or he got lucky, who knows? 
To continue: The first rule (remember there are two rules according to the scientists) is the sheepdog learns how to make sheep come together in a flock.  The second rule:  whenever the sheep are in a tightly knit group the dog pushes them forwards.
Does that all make sense to you?  I mean, supposing the sheep are near a cliff and the dog "keeps pushing them forward"? 

The scientists remarked that one thing sheep are good at is responding to a threat by working with their neighbours.  (NATO please take note).  This behaviour is known as the selfish herd theory:  put something between the threat and you.
I, for one, will never be able to watch the English sheepdog trials with the same amount of pleasure I have in the past.  And all because a couple of scientists couldn't leave it alone and let me believe that sheepdogs are highly intelligent and it is their nature to look after sheep - you don't see a poodle rounding up a herd of sheep, now do you?  (No, I have nothing against poodles, I love all animals.)
So there it is.  Another illusion gone belly up. 

Thursday 21 August 2014

Paper Clip Chains and Other Tales from the Office.

Back in the Sixties my big ambition was to be a high-powered PA or at least an executive secretary to some important company director.  The first step in my not-so-logical plan was to learn how to type so I hired a rickety manual typewriter and a friend gave me a book on the art of typing letters.  I learned to touch-type (more or less) and then another friend said I should learn shorthand so I did a Teachers' Diploma in Pitmans.  It was a struggle I will admit, a struggle I never really won despite achieving the Diploma.

Armed with this dubious qualification and a professed, though somewhat false belief that I could type, I set off from Ireland for the fleshpots of London. In those Swinging Sixties days you could earn double the normal hourly rate for office staff if you went temping.  The downside was you weren't paid if you didn't work.  The upside was the hiring company didn't test my typing or shorthand skills.  I went temping.

My first assignment was in a big advertising agency in London's West End.  I arrived neat and clean in the invoicing department and was asked if I preferred a manual or an electric typewriter?  I was gobsmacked because I did not know there was such a thing as an electric typewriter.  In answer to my undignified splutter they told me they only had electric typewriters and suggested I sit down and play around with one until I felt confident enough to do some real work.  It took me a week to get one puny invoice correctly typed up.  The supervisor was a lovely lady and I think she knew from the start that I hadn't a clue but she let me soldier on and by the time I moved on to a permanent job in the autumn (temping jobs were mainly in the summer months) I could type reasonably well. 

In my next job I had to use my shorthand skills and here I think my first spark of novel writing was ignited because most of the time I couldn't read back what the boss had dictated so I had to be creative.  I made some huge howlers but most of my bosses were both patient and amused and only occasionally irritated.

I was reminded of all this a few weeks ago while reading in The Sunday Times about the "score-settling memoir" The PA by Victoria Knowles which has received mixed reviews.  To be honest I haven't read it so can't comment on the actual memoir.  It seems that Ms Knowles has been very unfortunate in the bosses she encountered.
All I can say is that any boss I worked for as a secretary deserves a round of applause for overlooking my lack of secretarial skills.

Saturday 26 July 2014

You talkin' to me?

How often have you talked to yourself? Pretty often?  Hardly ever?  Ashamed to admit how often?  According to recent research talking to yourself in the second person is highly motivational.  If you tell yourself "I can do it" it is not half so compelling as saying "you can do it" to yourself out loud or in a whisper or deep in your mind  That might be why President Obama's "yes we can" slogan has faded a little -'cause no one was specifically delegated, now if he'd said - but I don't want to go there.

I read an article on the findings of some research for this on the Forbes magazine website. Apparently some research results were also posted in the European Journal of Social Psychiatry.  I'll be honest, I skimmed through the article in Forbes and I didn't read the other one. The study was not considered complete because it was not known how this approach actually affected the carrying out of tasks. So your guess is as good as mine as to whether this really works. 
My guess for what it's worth is that it will work sometimes and other times not simply because in our deepest depths we know what we can and can't do.  I do not have a head for heights so it's no good me psyching myself up to climb a mountain by repeating "you can do it".  Sure I could do it - if there were 10 hungry grizzly bears on my tail and even then I have my doubts I'd get beyond the first ledge. But I wouldn't need to talk to myself about it, I'd just run and start climbing and that would be adrenalin and the determination to survive which is inbuilt in all of us.

I talk to myself about all sorts of things.  "Now where did I put that?" is a very frequent question.  It's normal and it does help.  I don't think we needed a clinical study to find that out.  Either it works for you or it doesn't.  With so much written on human behaviour, how to understand it and get the best for yourself out of it, you'd think we should be beyond all these new ideas and concepts.  The first work of this kind which I ever read was the Dale CArnegie classic How to Win Friends and Influence People.  I find it fascinating to this day.  Nothing has really changed in human nature since he wrote that book all those years ago.  The basic principles still hold good today.  It's both a sobering and a comforting thought.

So keep talkin' if that's what works for you.  






Friday 18 July 2014

Writing is fun

I feel a bit like a secret agent.  I've just uploaded my third novel to Amazon under yet another pen name, Death in a Lonely Place by P.B. Barry.
The reason I am doing this is because it is a crime novel and my last book Love at a Later Date is a romance, so I don't want to get people confused.

The idea for Death in a Lonely Place came to me nearly ten years ago while touring the Ring of Kerry.  The landscape is so wildly beautiful down there that I wanted to capture some of the feel of it.  I then combinded this idea with a legend about the river Blackwater which is reputed to claim three lives a year (although few people have heard of this).  I simply transferred this myth to a total fictional mountain in Co. Kerry and the idea for Death in a Lonely Place was up and running.  Not quite.  It took a lot of writing, editing and tweaking before I was at all satisfied with it.  It is not a police procedural although I had debated making it into one but I know far too little about the workings of any police force to even try.  I do envy authors who thank all those high ranking individuals with fascinating titles for their assistance. I'm afraid I don't know anyone to ask (said she wistfully) not even a traffic cop.

Someone asked me the other day with raised eyebrows why I write.  She really meant why I waste my time writing but it's a reasonable question since I am neither rich nor famous and never likely to be. The answer is that I have no idea.  These people trample about in my brain and become as real as a wet Monday or whatever, but real anyway as soon as I put down their story on paper.  Sometimes I have to alter their destinies, their characters and adventures but that's the fun of the game.  I love it all.  Of course there are days when my brain refuses to work, when everything I write seems dull and stupid.  But there are those wonderful days when the words flow.  Agatha Christie once wrote in the preface for one of her novels (I think it was Endless Night) that she'd had a lot of fun writing it and wondered if readers could tell this - and she said that a lot of what she wrote was hard work.  What a comfort to know that such a prolific author had her struggles, too.

Be all that as it may, I hope some of my readers will take the time to check out my latest baby, here is the link if you are interested. Death in a Lonely Place

Have a good week everyone.



Friday 4 July 2014

Happy Chocolate Day on Monday

Monday July 7th is designated Chocolate Day so that all lovers of this sweet stuff can celebrate.  Chocolate is the perfect accompaniment to so many things.  If I've had a really busy week I like to kick my shoes off, slouch on the sofa and have a bar of chocolate with a cup of tea.  Or if I need a bit of time to chill out I'll grab a book, cup of tea and bar of chocolate. 

Or that's what I have been doing in the past.  But since I am determined to lose weight and live a more healthy life, I have restricted my chocolate intake to very special occasions.  I don't even find this difficult, which never ceases to amaze me as I used to be such a guzzler.  We all have depths of strength and self control we never dreamed of, I guess.  Anyway, nowadays when I do buy a bar of that delicious stuff I find that I enjoy it far more than when I ate it more often.  It's a real special treat, a ritual almost.  First of all I enjoy selecting what flavour bar I'm going to buy.  Currently I like mint flavour, so that's what I'll go for.  The week before last I was into nuts and raisins.  Yummy.  Then I give myself plenty of time to anticipate eating it before I finally sit down to enjoy it.  You know what?  No matter how I savour the process, I find it all goes much too quickly.

What makes us want treats in our diet?  The other day when I walking out to the beach I watched some crows circling the refuse bins.  One enterprising fellow pulled out a tinfoil container, plonked it on the pavement, held it down with one claw and pecked the food scraps with obvious relish.  Other crows were fighting over bits of bread or hamburgers or indeed anything of the human food variety that had been discarded.  There is more than enough suitable and dare I say healthy food available to these birds and yet they flock to the bins every evening to see what tasty morsels they can find.
 Point to ponder: what chance do we humans have when the birds like junk food more than what they should be eating?

Sunday 29 June 2014

Who Reads Romantic Novels?

This post is going to be a shameless plug for my new novel Love at a Later Date. I finally published it on Amazon as a Kindle e-book.   Here's the cover:


 You can buy the book on any Amazon site including
  USA   UK
I've written it under a pen name, Peggy O'Mahony, because I write other kinds of books as well which are not strictly in the Romance genre. 
I wrote Love at a Later Date while house and dog sitting for my brother last Spring. The house was in the country and I enjoyed beavering away at the story and listening to the birds twittering around the garden building their nests.  There is something so joyous and beautiful about the Spring months I always think.  It was great fun and the words just poured onto the page.  Of course I have edited it to within an inch of its life since then and revised it several times. 
The story is about two friends and the challenges they have to face.  If you have grown up kids or teenagers you'll be able to relate to Ginny and Deirdre. 

I'm working on my second Romance novel so any feedback on Love at a Later Date will be invaluable!



Sunday 22 June 2014

Faery Forts and Hidden People - Do we all have secret places?

I recently read on the BBC website that more than half of the population of Iceland believe in or consider it possible that the Huldufolk or hidden people actually do exist.  If left in peace they do not cause any trouble but if people start digging roads through their rock houses and churches they reputedly retaliate.  There are tales of bulldozers breaking down with inexplicable faults and of workmen having accidents.  Plans for the construction of a road through what is deemed hidden people territory were recently halted in Iceland.  You can read this interesting article here.

In Ireland it is often hawthorn "faery bushes" which are deemed to be home to the faeries.  Roads have been constructed around the bushes so as not to disturb them.  Legend has it that whoever cuts down a faery bush will never get a good night's sleep again.  In 1999 the upgrading of a national route from Limerick to Galway in the West of Ireland was delayed, re-routed and eventually opened 10 years later because the County Council in County Clare had to protect a faery tree which according to a local folklorist was the meeting place of the faeries of Munster (Ireland is divided into provinces:  Munster, Leinster, Connaught and Ulster).  Faery forts are also considered to be places where faeries dwell, the term "fort" meaning a mound of earth. Faery forts are the remains of round dwellings from ancient times and are all that now remain.  If you view them close up there is something mystical about them I have to admit. Roads have also been built around these sites so ensure they are not disturbed.

I think it is very refreshing that some cultures believe in hidden people or faery bushes even in our fast-moving technological age.  I think we all have a tiny drop of ancestral superstition in our blood which serves as a link to former ages.  We all have a hidden place deep within us where we like to go at times and be away from the bustle of the world.  Call it meditation, mindfulness, prayer or respect for the faeries.  It gives us an added depth.

Sunday 15 June 2014

Getting Ratty on your Diet?

Who would have thought that rats can feel regret?  Now, now, let's not get cynical,  I mean the four-legged variety of rat.  Apparently scientists at the University of Minnesota have discovered that rats can feel regret as they ponder missed opportunities to eat their favourite things.  The experiment was pretty elaborate (for a rat) and indicated that the animals had an individual reaction to lost opportunities.  If you would like to read details here is a link to the report on National Geographic Ratty Tests.

Is there a lesson for us all here? Are we cleverer than a bunch of rodents?  Do we feel regret at things we should have done or would have done if things had been different?  Points to ponder, I agree.  And yet isn't that a perfectly normal reaction for humans?  How many times have we sighed and said "why didn't I....?"  If we were sure of doing the right thing and making the right choices all the time we'd be pretty boring and unbearable people.

What is far more interesting in this study is not that rats feel regret but that scientists set up elaborate experiments with rodents to prove something we all know anyway, something which, in my opinion doesn't need explanation or analysis.  Maybe the scientists should do a bit of navel-gazing - can you imagine the comments?  "If only we'd used cats/dogs/sheep instead of rats...."  or "if only we'd done something worthwhile with all that time and money..."

By the way, I do not regret eating that chocolate bar last night as I watched the World Cup Soccer match between England and Italy.  Sigh.  If only I could have influenced the outcome....  Someone send for a behavioural scientist....

Monday 26 May 2014

How to surive your kids - has Spain got the answer?

If your kids aren't listening when you tell them something, it could be "inattentional blindness" according to a recent study.  You can read the full BBC article here.  A lot of mums will think that this is another way of saying they are not paying attention because they have got something better to do.  It's exasperating for parents, of course, but aren't grown-ups just as bad?  How many people do you know who never listen to what you have to say beyond the first sentence because they are too busy thinking up what they are going to say when you have kindly finished?  Yeah, right.

Spain seems to have been giving the matter of children's upbringing some thought.  Under draft child protection laws it plans to make housework and homework for the under 18's mandatory in a section entitled "The Rights and Duties of Children".  Child will also be required to respect their siblings and to "preserve and make good use of urban furniture and any similar assets".  Wow!  If that law becomes successful in Spain and its popularity spreads, it could mean that little Johnnie will get a spell in juvenile detention for taking his little brother's toys or tweaking his sister's hair.  And just imagine the war on home territory that insistence on kids doing housework?  When my two were growing up it was a major effort to get them to put something in the dishwasher.  I would have needed an army to get them to do anything in the way of cleaning, dusting or tidying up.  "Preserving and making good use of urban furniture" sounds intriguing, doesn't it?  I guess it means not smashing park benches and putting rubbish into bins provided. 

If Spain really does introduce all this legislation for its youngsters I think it will open up a whole new industry there.  Imagine parents reclining in the garden under a shady umbrella and sipping delicately at an exquisite white wine, and saying to guests and neighbours:  "The kids?  Oh we packed them off to Spain for a year so they can learn how to behave.  Johnnie's just been released from a week's detention for failure to clean his shoes when he comes in the kitchen and not listening to adults when they tell him something." 
Viva Espana! 











Monday 19 May 2014

Working Late

I hear that in France there are plans to ban the reception or sending of emails after 6 pm for some professions/businesses.  At this moment in time I do not know if this has been made official or not. At any rate it got me thinking how nice it would be to ban some things in the evening.  Just imagine switching off to your kids as soon as the magic hour arrived?  "You're late for supper, it's after 6 pm, get your own meal" instead of "OK I'll whip you up something" when your twelve-year-old arrives in the kitchen an hour late and with no other excuse than he/she "didn't realize the time".  And what about that friend who always telephones for a chat just as you are settling down to watch your favourite soap - sometimes the only soap you keep up with?  A quick look at your watch and you can refuse.

It's not going to happen is it?  We - women that is - have never really learned to say "no" when asked for help.  That's nice actually.  It means we are not selfish or cold-hearted, we are warm, loving, helpful people - most of the time anyway.  So maybe we do need a rule which tells us when to start thinking of ourselves.  That doesn't mean we don't care, it just means that our kids, our family need to be aware that we require that all important "me time" once in a while.  Dream on everyone.

Sunday 4 May 2014

Superwoman?

Are you a star, a superstar or a celebrity or even a scandal celebrity (a description I read somewhere in the online edition of a newspaper this morning.)?   Do you feel "super" when you copy the dress your favourite star, superstar, celebrity wore to some fashionable event?  It seems that a lot of women do feel the need to buy an outfit which looks like one that, for example, the Duchess of Cambridge has worn. Once some clever fashion reporter reveals where Kate got that coat or little dress or whatever, the shop is sold out of the item within a day.  And why not if it makes you feel good? 

Do you really want to be a celeb, though?  Look at poor Pippa Middleton. Stephane Bern, a French author  maintains Ms Middleton wore a "fake bottom" at the wedding. It was all just well placed padding, she says.  Just imagine scrutinizing Pippa's bottom over the past few years and coming up with this idea. It sounds a bit as if the green eyed god has poked someone in the eye, doesn't it?  Mon Dieu!  Get a life, pleeeasee.

 If you are a celebrity people consider you fair game for all sorts of comments in what often seems to be an never-ending put down game.  Life's too short isn't it?  I'd advise Stephane to get out there in the fresh air, buy some French bread at the market and drink a big cup of freshly ground French coffee.  It'll make her feel better and the rest of us can continue enjoying ourselves with or without that ooohhh-to-die-for dress that - er - whatshername wore to that -er - event last night.


Sunday 27 April 2014

All About Women

 Science Daily reports on research that suggests the width of a woman's hips is connected to her sexual behaviour.   The researchers, Colin A. Hendrie and co-authors Victoria J. Simpson and Gayle Brewer, surmise that women with wider hips are more likely to engage in sex because the birth process is generally easier and less traumatic for them than for smaller-hipped women (below 31cm).  Click here Science Daily report to read the full article.

As usual this got me thinking about all the research that is carried out and all the conclusions that are reached based on the results.  Did I really need to know that my hip width might influence my sex life?  Of course this knowledge has its advantages. As an interesting topic for conversation at the next dull party, it might be a show stopper.  Can you imagine hungry males eyeing up the girls and wondering what the chances were?  Or women anxiously checking their hip widths to see if they are sending out the right message?  It would kind of put a stop to all the hype about being thin enough to fit into a toilet roll tube.  Broader hips would signal attractiveness.  Women could always knock 'em dead with the remark "I have the most fabulous child-bearing hips, darling."

I have the utmost respect for scientists and researchers and the work they do. But I think that in this case humans are more than statistics.  They are not objects to be assessed and classified except in the broadest of terms (and no, this is not a pun on broad hips).  Every single one of us whether small, tall, thin or broad-hipped is an individual with our own very personal likes and dislikes.  And we don't need everything we do to be explained to us in scientific terms.


Sunday 6 April 2014

Scaredy Cat

I'll admit it, I am scared of those elegant women at the make-up counters of department stores.  Their sheer elegance, flawlessly made up faces and terrific hairstyles make me cringe.  I envy anyone with the self confidence needed to sit down in the public eye so to speak and have a makeover performed on them.

I once got trapped into having a makeover of sorts or at least of trying out some new make-up.  I was prowling as inconspicuously as I could at my favourite cosmetics counter when an assistant pounced on me.  'Can I help you?' she purred and then on my mumbling something about 'just looking at some make-up', she produced a tube with lightning speed and suggested I try it.  Before I could gather what few wits I have, I found myself seated in a chair with the assistant applying make-up and advising me at the same time on what to do about my red and dry skin, all of which could be helped by one cream apparently.  When I looked in the mirror I had to admit that there was a general improvement and I was persuaded to buy the moisturizing cream to help my "little skin problem" as she put it.  In the end I bought the new foundation and also the magic cream, both excellent products I hasten to add, but way above my modest budget.  I know it's worth paying for quality cosmetics but having had to economize all my life, I always feel a bit guilty spending a lot on myself.

Looking back I have to admit that the encounter with the assistant was not guaranteed to boost my morale.  She was pleasant but very impersonal and in a discreet way she was pushy.  That's her job and I am not carping at it.  I am only saying that even though I felt good with the results of her labours, I also felt that I must have looked a wreck before she took me in hand.  But that's more down to me than to the sales assistant.  I know lots of women who love having makeovers and don't care if the whole stores looks on.  I even know one or two who will ask to try different things or reject the assistant's suggestions, something I wouldn't have the courage to do.

So if I'm inspecting a cosmetics counter I will still keep a wary eye out for any approaching assistant and I will move on before she can make me over. But I think I've matured enough to know that in the long run, no one can make you feel good except yourself and not all the lavish attention of a beauty expert is going to change that.  Kind of reassuring, isn't it?


Thursday 27 March 2014

Women in Black and White

Lately I started watching old black and white films and I was struck with how mysterious and sexy the women characters appeared.  This is particularly true of the films of Ray Chandler's novels.  The one I watched last night was Farewell my Lovely from 1944 - it was originally called Murder my Sweet and it featured Claire Trevor as the blonde bombshell.  The acting in general might not have been up to much - in the later version Robert Mitchum was much more convincing as the world-weary Philip Marlowe than Robert Powell - but it was fun to watch it.  In his novels Chandler nearly always featured a mysterious blonde with a pouty mouth who while eminently desirable was a bad girl at heart trying to lead the detective astray :  "a blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window" as he describes it in Farewell my Lovely.  This film didn't disappoint in that regard.

I think that the women heroes (we aren't allowed to call them heroines any more are we?) in today's cinema are a different breed, even the ones who seduced Michael Douglas in past films.  There seems to be a lack of that smouldering subtlety that characterised the black and white era.  There were no bedroom scenes but there was no need for them as every gesture told a story and had everyone's imagination working overtime.  I think modern cinema does an overkill on sex and violence, those two motors of the film industry.  In effect it tells us that we don't have the wit to work it out for ourselves.  Mae West is of course one of the best examples here and her "why don't you come up, see me some time?" said in that husky voice is surely one of the best temptress lines recorded.

And the women were more than simple sex objects.  They might have been bad and nearly fooled the detective but they were intelligent, had their own agenda, and defied the role of wholesome stay-home-at-the-kitchen-sink housewife and mother which was so prevalent at the time.  They certainly would not have fitted comfortably into life on Walton's Mountain any more than women in our modern culture do.  I don't want to go back to earlier cinema stereotypes but I think we may have lost something in glamorous femme fatales along the way. 

Sunday 16 March 2014

Dieting and all that

I've read so much about The Right Diet -  eat  less carbohydrates and fat and oh let's not forget sugar and then everyone takes too much salt - that I am considering giving up reading, at least about what's good and bad for you in the food chain.  I recently bought "low salt" soya sauce but when I compared the label to my (nearly empty) "regular" soya sauce, I found the "low salt" contained more salt. Yikes, who do you believe? How about an investigation titled "Is your food label telling you the truth?"

Of course food has to have something added to it to preserve it.  Even naive little me knows that.  Assuming the manufacturers are telling the truth about "standard portions" and "100 grams" worth of their products, it really means studying the labels and making an informed decision.  So there I am standing in the aisle of my local supermarket, blocking the mothers with trollies and grizzling toddlers, reading food labels.  It takes ages and you really need a pencil and paper or something more technical like your I-phone or what-have-you. 

You really have to understand what goes into a product, though, and this requires a lot of label reading.  On bad days and even some good days, I envisage a Reading Room at the supermarket where you can take all the products, read the labels and add up the sugar, salt, fat and calorie content of each one and make your decision accordingly.  By the time you've finished you will either a) have fainted with hunger and been shipped off to the local A&E, b) been shipped off to the local A&E because of supreme agitation, c) decided you will never buy a packaged product in future even if you don't know how to cook the next meal or....  but let me stop there.  I think you get the picture. 

Having driven myself crazy for a few weeks, I now just do an "informed estimate".   I check the recommended daily portion for fat, sugar and salt on each label and go for the lowest.   It's surprising how much more fat there is in some low fat spreads than in ordinary ones, for example.  I give starchy foods a wide berth, only buying wholegrain bread, rice and pasta.  But I do allow for treats now and then - life is too short to cut everything you love out of your diet.  Knowing that Friday night I can have half a bar of my favourite chocolate is a real incentive to bypass the stuff for the rest of the week.  The real solution, of course, lies in limiting the damage and enjoying your meals. I've combined this with exercise - just walking and climbing stairs - and I have lost a few pounds in weight, a fact I enter in my weight diary.  The feel good factor associated with this is a powerful incentive to continue and to have fun at the same time.

Sunday 9 March 2014

Finding Yourself - Who are you really?

In the 1960's and 1970's a lot of young people set out for far flung places in search of their personal identity. They sat at the feet of a guru in India or studied transcendental meditation, they believed in flower power. Nowadays, there are people who take a selfie and post it on Twitter, letting others find them as opposed to finding themselves.  Sort of like the guy who joined the Navy to let the world see him as opposed to the old British recruiting slogan "join the Navy and see the world".

I thought about this yesterday when I attended a seminar to celebrate International Women's Day.  I have to ask myself if we need an International Women's Day but let's skip that debate.  Anyway, one of the questions the facilitator put to us was "who do you see yourself as?"   This was a tricky one, actually.  Most of the women saw themselves as wife and mother figures.  I had a problem with that.  Yes, I am an ex-wife and a mother but my children are grown up and have their own lives.  I am very proud of them but I don't feel the label "mother" fits any more.  So who am I now?  Retired lady?  Reader, writer, walker, lover of the sea?  Yes, all of that but the facilitator wanted a one word definition.  I plumped for "free spirit" - admittedly the other women gave me some looks of surprise. But I reckon that's what I am and I hope that is what my readers are.  You can be what you want to be but you must make time for it, the facilitator said.  Now, when I was working full time and my children were growing up, there wasn't much time for me.  I probably could have used a seminar like this one to gain a few insights into being there for yourself.  But now I can relax and do my own thing. As I live alone I don't have to put meals on the table, I can stay in bed all day if I want to (I don't), I can even stay up all night without fear of waking someone else.  Don't get me wrong.  I enjoyed my busy life as a mother but now I feel I have deserved my holiday from all that.

It's Sunday, so when I have finished writing this, I'll make myself a pot of tea, put my feet up and read the Sunday papers - I've already been for a walk to the beach.

 Cheers everyone and I hope your Sunday is just as enjoyable.

Friday 31 January 2014

Ready for the Storm

As I write this, my little town is bracing itself for yet another storm.  As far as I can guess, the wind is already around gale force on the Beaufort scale. Sir Francis Beaufort who devised this method of recording the strength of storms in 1805, was an Irishman serving in the Royal Navy aboard HMS Woolwich.  I can see why an Irishman would be interested in gale force winds.  This year we have experienced more than enough high winds and sea surges.  The next red warning is for later this evening and tonight.  High tide, with possible surges to match, is due here in my little town at 5 pm this evening.  The local council is busy erecting barriers but I am not sure that the wall near where I live will be fully built in time for tonight.  

There is nothing anyone can do in a storm except take as many precautions as possible and then simply ride it out.  At some stage it will go away.  I couldn't help thinking that that is what life is like, too.  One day you are in calm waters and all is well, then something happens which throws you off course.  It could be illness, losing your job, being involved in an accident.  You are left punch-drunk, wondering how this all happened, where did it all come from and how are you going to get over it?   And the miracle of life is that we all do get over it.  True, we may have a few scars, we may be limping a bit, but at some stage we shake ourselves and realise that it is behind us, that we can move on with our lives.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer I felt as if someone had pulled not only the rug but the entire floor from under my feet.  I was faced with my own mortality which was a very frightening experience.  But after a few weeks the will to survive, to endure, kicked in.  Now six and a half years later, I am back on track, I often forget that I had cancer until I get my check-up appointment.  And I am endlessly thankful for having my health and strength back again.

So, as I watch the rain cascading down the windows, driven by gusts of wind, I prepare myself for when the full force of the storm hits.  But I also know that "this too will pass." 

Sunday 26 January 2014

Imagine

The Germans say was fuer ein Theatre when they want to criticize all the hype over something insignificant.  To me the expression conjures up people in costume leaping about and making violent speeches.  I suppose that is the impression it is supposed to give.

I had a night out at the theatre recently.  I went to see Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband at the Everyman in Cork.  It was a great night out.  Very different from the usual popcorn munching visits to the cinema, it was what can only be described as an occasion.  You don't go to the theatre wearing jeans and a t-shirt, or at least I feel you shouldn't!   It's a great excuse to dress up.  In fact, I could just imagine ladies in long evening dresses accompanied by black-coated gentlemen sitting in the plush seats or occupying the balconies.  Oscar Wilde's sparkling dialogue coupled with the sumptious costumes of the players made for a wonderful evening.  Interestingly I noticed a lot of young people in the audience who seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely.  The outdated language didn't seem to faze them and they laughed at all the little innuendos which make up Wilde's style.

This is what our "must have it all now" society misses out on.  Oscar Wilde's wit would be thrown away on a tiny screen or even on a big screen.   "Ah, nowadays people marry as often as they can, don't they" says Lady Markby in An Ideal Husband, "it is most fashionable."  This line is hilarious on stage but I imagine that being seen on film with a possible close up of the speaker would spoil it considerably and on a very small screen it would be lost completely.  It is the flesh and blood presence of the actors that makes Wilde's plays so amusing. 

I came away from the Everyman smiling to myself and determined to go to the theatre more often.  I picked up their programme for the first half of the year and there are many performances I'd like to attend.  That is what I call entertainment.

Saturday 11 January 2014

New Beginnings and the Feel Good Factor

I am convinced that once New Year's Day is behind us here in the Western hemisphere, the light changes subtly and becomes softer.  I am just back from a walk on the beach and it was warm enough for me to sit on a bench for an hour and watch the tide coming in.  Local residents were out in force, anxious to see for themselves the evidence of all that damage done by high tides and stormy winds.  The sea was still showing some muscle power with waves a little bigger than usual crashing on the rocks.  All in all though, I felt the first faint stirrings of Spring.  The sparrows and wagtails seemed to feel the same and were darting about busily while the crows and seagulls dipped low over the water keeping an eye out for food left by the humans.  In fact, one father had gone down to the water's edge with his son and left a baby's bottle and a packet of biscuits on one of the benches.  In no time at all a crowd of crows had descended on the biscuits while the father was busy taking photographs of his little boy. Not that the birds suffer from hunger here, there is always more than enough for them to scavenge and here on the coast the weather is never too cold to make a difference to their feeding habits.  But they love things that humans eat.  Once I spilt the contents of an ice cream cone onto the rocks and before you could say "caw caw" a bunch of crows had devoured it all.

Here are some pictures I took the other day when the sun was out. I hope I never forget to be grateful that the beach is just a short walk away.