Entries Tagged 'Random thoughts' ↓

Mother sent us an article the other day on a woman who’d given a monarch butterfly a wing transplant – a potentially upsetting article given our experiences with a poor unfortunate butterfly at their place last summer.

Apparently this woman had saved a dead butterfly in a flower arrangement last year and when a recently hatched butterfly had trouble getting it’s wings to unfurl, she cut off the dead butterfly’s wings and stapled them onto the crumpled fella’s stumps. Ouch! Although I guess wings might be like hair and you can’t actually feel that stuff. According to the article the butterfly had survived a couple of weeks at the time of publishing the article so I don’t know the eventual outcome.

It’s in the latest NZ Gardener magazine if anyone wants to hunt it down!

Found an envelope of poetry that I wrote during my first stint at university, those moody years transitioning from teenager to adulthood – well so it would seem for me looking through these old pages typed on my electric typewriter. Produced a few depressing pieces, seems I had a problem with finding somewhere to be alone in the city and sunset! Here’s one as a #keepsake.

Ode to Denton Park

‘Til blue dusk the hands approach
Like the beginning of some bizarre horror movie.
Shadow crawls
beyond the soft breeze.
The breeze which ripples
But gently
The swings in Denton Park.

Patches are the rays
which once warmed the sunny yellow faces –
of daisies now enclosed in white.
Bent heads.
Fading are the rays to a world beyond
Up there –
cotton wool paradise
A muser’s haven.

Is this city silence?
The traffic away but here –
A faded sound.
The city surrounds, but –
only glimpses invade this green land.
Where life passes –
and the occasional creak, of
a swing, where
I
am the aerodynamic being
A blur of colour with
A beat of heart.
Heart

Heart

Sinks to the pit. I am suspended.
Again
I think. I muse and contemplate
Life … which I shouldn’t.
I can’t
without tears

The cold now prowls
bringing grey to this green.

The hands take flight –
Rushing
To a new, new day.

5 November 1988

Wow, I’m so grown up and chirpy now!

Cleaning out the beside cabinet I came across a pad where I’d written down a few things that The Mister had called out in his sleep. In fact twice in many cases because I got woken up the first time and asked him what he said and luckily for me instead of mumbling something else he just repeated himself louder!

Thank you for your maintenance of my bissi once colour.

I know you’re rolling your decimals. Go for it.

It’s a lady bug.

Probably never had HTML before in that way.

Where’s my bag? I can’t find my bag? I love my bag!*

Various late nights between 2004 and 2011

* This one had actions, he’d lifted up the covers and was calling down to the bottom of the bed!

I cry every time I come across this and read it. The pencil is faded and the paper thin. #keepsake

Sometime after March 2, 1990

The hole is huge – and so is the ache. I just can’t explain the feeling – the force that hit me when I heard that it was Uncle John. I heard and saw the event twice on the TV news. The first time I was drawn to listening by the key words … Ardmore … Harvards … aerobatics team … and then I saw it. The ruin. The once handsome, proud world war fighter, a crumbled wreck – a mere sheet of distorted corrugated iron after a cyclone. But – a green Harvard – relief. He has a green one. Until but a few terrifying minutes later when it dawned on me, a creeping crawling realisation that made me feel ill, that one of Uncle John’s new toys was a GREY Harvard – like the mess on TV. The phone rings, and a distraught father on the other end chokes to a hysterical daughter, the ghastly, horrific news of a dearest friend once alive, now dead. I was shocked of course, and all I could do all day was think about how utterly repulsive it was that Uncle John lay mangled at the bottom of a six metre pit with his plane, his dream, passion and life destroyed on top of him – never to let him free.

Many horrible hours passed as I drifted about, stunned – the picture in my mind of Uncle John – his smile, his sparkling eyes, his tallness and amazing strength, his love of life and willingness to do everything and help anyone. Years of memories kept flooding back – best not to shut the door – smile and remember fondly the man, love him still – these things don’t have to stop just because his life did. Boy it’s hard to convince yourself of this – but you have to.

Many days also passed – always filled with happy memories but so much disbelief. Horrible times of choking and crying, a slow dawning that it was true and no amount of grasping was going to bring him back – just the kite-tail of memories floating above.

And in a minute of relative calm I all of a sudden sat bolt upright – Auntie Catherine … what was she going through? And their sons Paul and Colin? Their husband and father – never to return. It’s just too, too tragic. Nothing but. That’s what makes it so unbearable. Their house will be empty, the bike, Porsche and plane will roar no more. How will Auntie Catherine sleep? And then thoughts wander and more terrifying possibilities creep in, what if it was my family? Just can’t shut them out.

Blank faces, many of them look at me: faces that don’t know, faces that don’t understand, faces unsure of emotion, faces of fear – fear of not knowing what to do. Sue, Gareth and Damien helped me to regain a little strength, we talked openly – talked about the accident and life before it, for me, for Auntie Catherine.

And to the funeral. To be in Auckland – I was going that day anyway, Uncle John was going to pick me up from the airport – I was going to stay with them – what a terrible terrible turn of events. I clutch Mum at the airport and cry – she has taken it really badly – Uncle John played an important part in her life when it was difficult. Mine too. How can I help her? Everyone cries. They play his music. I hold back tears. The service was lovely. Brian spoke beautifully. I cry hard only when I see Auntie Catherine and the boys leave, even more when I step out into the sun and I’m alone. Many faces of strangers pass by me – everyone is comforting someone else. Mum and Dad meet up with old friends united by the worst of reasons. But we were all there for John and Catherine, all grieving in our own way, and all loving them as we never have before.

I love you Uncle John.

About a week after 2 March 1990

John was a friend of Dad’s from high school, part of a three-some who were lifelong friends, friends of your parents who you call ‘Uncle’. I can still remember his face, smile and sparkling eyes vividly to this day.

Not sure what prompted me to scribble this down, probably another Sunday evening when I realised the weekend was over – it does seem rather targetted towards housework!

I hate

• tissues lying around
• going to the supermarket at the weekend
• doing the washing at the weekend
• crumbs on the floor
• being inside when it’s fine
• the rubbish

I like

• cups of coffee
• picnic in the car with the planes
• washing the car
• going for  a drive
• watching movies
• going for a walk

2002

I still like all those things and have pretty much eliminated or accepted the hate list! Achievement!

I’ve got more readers on my blog now than a few years ago when I posted a bit on the choice to be childfree – haven’t much lately – perhaps that’s because I hope everyone’s accepted it by now or at least accepted it’s none of their business. But judging by some ramblings on a little folded up note I found in our storage locker, I didn’t post everything. However, now, for #keepsake’s sake, I am. Usual disclaimer – these are my own thoughts (probably should be private and not shared but why shouldn’t they? it’s my blog) and doesn’t mean I think any less or want to spend any less time with those who’ve chosen or got children and yes I know the world wouldn’t go on if there weren’t future generations. If you don’t like what you’re seeing, judge for yourself if I am a horrible person and de-friend me although I reckon if someone raved on about having children they wouldn’t come under any such scrutiny … hence my ramblings!

Random yet fairly serious thoughts:

I get irrationally annoyed at societal norms surrounding people with children – things like: wide carparks near the front door of the supermarket – I know I should be grateful that people with kids park there because kids won’t open and bang their doors into my lovely car or scratch their toys or greasy fingers down the side of it (a lovely car by the way that I am “so lucky” to have because I am “so lucky” I can afford such ‘luxuries’ because I don’t have kids); work compromises and acceptance to accommodate children – long phones calls with the partner who is at home with the child, timing of meetings, domestic leave, job share, lateness.

Do you have to produce medical proof that you are pregnant in order to qualify for maternity leave? Despite being necessary, this is time and money for people who make this choice, and there’s no equivalent for those who make a different choice.

Many women take 1, 2, 5, 10, 15 years out of their working life to raise a child. No-one questions their decision. If I choose to take 1, 2, 5, 10, 15 years out of MY life to *live* or do something that’s important to me, I can guarantee you I will be questioned. No-one asks a mother ‘Why aren’t you working?” Other than the question of who will support me financially, I wonder if I’ll ever be brave enough to do this? And for those who think about when the best time is for them to have a child, I wonder when the best time would be for me to be out of the workforce. My 33rd year? My 35th? 35-40? Entering the workforce again at 40 could be difficult, especially in these technological times when everything is changing so rapidly. I’d face similar difficulties to people who’ve taken time out to raise a child. Whilst age is no employer’s business I bet they’d more readily accept ‘I raised my children’ over ‘I took some time out for myself’ as a reason for not working for an extended period. They’d probably think I had mental issues.

5 February 2003

Hmmm, as I’m now closer to meno-pause years than I am to prime breeding years I think my time for a ‘life break’ has passed me by!

I wrote myself a list in 2000 of what I like in a job, most to least. I think it related to the job I had at the time but suspect it was one of those reflective times when I was thinking about what motivated me with a view to finding the perfect job, rather than seeking to fix something in the one I currently had. Wonder how it maps to what I do today?

1. focussed work on one project
2. control, central knowledge of project – specialist position
3. some hands on e.g. enough to know basic workings of a system
4. technical involvement even if at a high level
5. writing specs/guidelines
6. control of work and workload
7. implementation work – client side i.e. working with clients as they understand and use a new system and feedback/suggest modifications to development company
8. self-delegation and responsibility
9. processing feedback and requirements
10. flexible work hours and telework environment

A process or system gives a sense of expectation.

20 March 2000

At the time I was working at Innovus which had recently bought out Extrados/Spunk Media so having our small web services company swallowed up by a larger corporate probably brought on my evaluation.

Now, as the Community Manager at Xero I’d say this list if applied practically is flipped on its head – I probably still value all these things but in reality:

• I don’t have focussed work on one project, in fact my work is not a project
• My days are interrupt driven by whatever comes my way from a selection of social media sites so in any day I could do one thing or a hundred things. I have no control over my workload in that sense but I also have a manager in a different location and not much contact so am totally autonomous in that regard
• I do work remotely quite a lot but always feel terribly guilty about it
• My entire days are filled with processing feedback and requirements with a certain amount of helping our customers understand how to use Xero and interpreting/translating/feeding modifications back to our own product and development teams
• I don’t have control at a project level or control over my day but I do feel in control (mostly) of Xero’s social media – I am totally responsible for Twitter and other means of responding to customers using social media sites
• I’m getting less and less hands on but I still know the product. I don’t write much any more, let alone specs and guidelines
• My work is all public now like it’s never been before, public and attributable, not just content on a website
• I’m developing a thicker skin – everyone’s watching, colleagues are questioning, the CEO sees what I do

Interesting. Would be good to see this again in another 10 years.

Fancied myself as a bit of a poet in 1988 – here’s one of the not-so-depressing ones I found when cleaning out the storage locker.

Once upon a shadow
upon the pavement.
Dark but no –
Transparent.
Sometimes life and sometimes
Solid.

But never stands as a barrier –
to any
But the tiny creature
afraid of the night.

1988

This time last year we were almost at the end of our fabulous 4 months in New York. It was really hot and muggy and we went on board the Intrepid to watch the 4th of July fireworks with hundreds of others. A really great experience.

Packing, shuffling, recycling, shredding, documenting and shipping is almost complete for the move to San Francisco.

I don’t think I have any maternal, sentimental or genealogical genes, although perhaps by my age you’d expect I might, so it means this move is going to be a great cleansing for me. Everyone knows you collect up a lot of stuff when you settle somewhere for a few years and as well as the stuff in this house, I’m still trundling about with stuff from my whole life, and despite your gasps of horror, I’m up for a new start, so out it goes! It’s liberating. If I haven’t cared for it all these years then here’s hoping those genes don’t fill me with regret in a few years – I’m moving to the other side of the world after all. I’ve rifled through everything, crying and laughing over memories in the decision to keep stuff or just let it go.

However, some stuff I wouldn’t mind immortalising on my blog (if today’s electronic means of publishing could be considered immortalising) so will reproduce various items in the days to come in a kind of keepsake series, and perhaps raw look into my psyche! #keepsake

Today’s exercise was going through some very old paperwork, stuff that The Mister hadn’t seen – those old reports and testimonials from high school – so he got a good look into the freckly, brace-faced, surly, girlie-swat teenager that I once was. Amidst my tears of laughter as he read things out and him roaring with amusement at some stuff he discovered, I took down a couple of choice quotes:

“Oh god, you failed Grade 6 [music] theory pretty badly – you were shit at ornaments!!” and some time later “Ha ha ha and when you sat it again you would’ve got distinction except you were STILL shit at ornaments!!!”

On reading the examiners notes from my Grade 5 piano exam – he laughed hysterically “Oh my god, check this out “Try to enter into the spirit of the pieces and convey it. You seem reluctant to relax and let yourself go.” God your personality hasn’t changed much in almost 30 years!!” Errr, thanks loving husband!

“Ha ha ha ha!!! “Catherine is a fit healthy sportswoman. She belongs to a tennis club and enjoys jazzercise.” – ha ha ha!” Can’t believe how much he laughed over that one.

“Oh, you studied accounting principles for a term – really?”