Blessed

In many ways, I am blessed. For instance, I never remember being bored. In all my years (83) I have never, ever been bored.

My old school, St. Aloysius School, Cork. Much enhanced and enlarged since my time.

The science lab, in my time. Unheard of in any other girls' school in that era in Cork.

I remember being close to bored with the most appalling math teacher when I was around sixteen. I got myself a small drawing pad and sketched away quietly until one day she caught me and told me I had to stand in the back of the classroom facing the wall for the rest of the term. So, in between wiggling my bum to amuse the other students, I went to the headmistress to complain about the appalling teaching methods of this particular teacher who merely read to us from math books. The headmistress, a brilliant woman, listened carefully and within a week introduced six of us math students to the math teacher at the local boys' school who agreed to teach us outside of school hours.

I had always enjoyed math and under the tutelage of this challenging teacher, the six of us shone. I will never forget her vision for us ("the best," she called us) in an era when girls were educated to be good little housewives and mothers. We all went on to establish professional careers and toasted her memory at our 50th class reunion in 2011.

Maybe I have a rich interior life, but I truly enjoy my own company. I hear so many boredom complaints where I live now and I've observed some, when I pass in daylight hours, sitting staring at the TV screens in the stillness of their apartments.

I knit, I write, I read, I engage online, I limit my activism now, not by choice but by my bodily limits. I write in protest and complaint to the government on many issues. I am enraged at the treatment of seniors who are forgotten and dismissed, mainly by a government hoping they will lie down and just be quiet.

There are never enough hours in my day. I try to incorporate learning something new every day. Today it's my new Fitbit; my old one died a slow and lingering death. I loved it. This one is not user-friendly. At least elder-user friendly. Too many steps to access vital data, too many ads thrown at me about upgrading. All I need are my sleep patterns, my steps, my heart rate (iffy old heart here) and BP (likewise). Simple, right? Not to the new impressive sci-fi looking fitbit. So many steps to reach the info I need. But it's very pretty right?

Life on the Farm Day 5

The editing got stuck today but a story I was working intensely changed direction on me and took me by surprise.
I went off out to ponder and mull in this glorious weather and came across this strand by the side of a lake with the mountains in the distance. I hadn't realized there was a conference going on. A Canada Geese Conference. They all becamet quite irritated at this human intrusion and scattered.

I took another picture of this fantastic place:

And then headed towards the mountains which were breathtaking, the trees just on the point of turning crimson but nowhere to stop and take a photo.

I try and find common ground with the young mister and missus. They don't believe in reading as everything you'd ever want to know is on their devices and the television. He goes off hunting daily to help his buddies bag their moose quotas and as they all have children he lets their moose kills go ahead of him. He also sells a few cords of the wood he has prepared and she crafts some lovely wooden décor for walls. For example one is a box-shelf at eyelevel made out of repurposed barn wood which holds many photos in barnwood frames. Very attractive.

I find their disinterest in my life quite humbling, because in my twenties I'm sure I felt the same way about old people. What on earth could they contribute to a conversation, they were used up, finished, done. So I'm content to ask them questions and think how very fortunate they are to be living their dreams out loud and lustily while still in their mid twenties. They seriously love the lives they're living. And their parents and their grandparents all live within the wider circle. And most of them came back from the tar sands of Fort McMurray to do so. Long before the wildfires.

I'm very much the student here.

Mixed Bag

I'll write of the good stuff first:

One of the highlights of the summer is that Grandgirl is coming here for a month. I never expected this. She will be 18 this coming October and off to university in September. I am over the moon about it as she will see two performances of the play and we can hang out as we normally do.

I'm off to a surprise 60th birthday party tonight which should be fun. We're going to celebrate the birthday of a 'new' friend who is more like family to me. Serendipitous is this rare circumstance when one meets someone and knows right away. In my case it was the right place at the right time. She had just gone through a terrible upheaval at her longterm workplace. I was able to share a similar equally devastating experience I'd had in a workplace years ago and could offer concrete support and advice. Hire a lawyer being the first piece of it.

I've taken on too much and this is the downside of my life right now. Daughter and a long term friend said to me that I've again lost the ability to say 'no' when others ask me to take on a 26 week commitment which holds no interest for me whatsoever and will bleed my energy and will demand skills which repel me - and also being with others excessively. I do not play well with others when they are too much with me. I need a lot of alone time. More than most. I resent intrusions into my creative space and taking on others' ideas of where that can go. No. No. And NO. I am rehearsing the word.

I was reminded of what I love to do. Being creative and in my bliss. Deciding when and where I can be in community with others (and I am surprised by how little I do need outside community stimulation). I'm self driven for the most part. I think other artists are with me on this. Solitude is a balm.

It took me a while but I am cancelling the daily newspaper which occasionally publishes me. Why? I counted the negative articles in the last while. Nearly all. I can almost feel my blood pressure rising as I read an old fart's half page on why feminism has destroyed the world. Seriously. His main point? We are finding fulfilment in outside interests and refusing to breed, thus endangering all countries as decreasing populations can't sustain them. Seriously. This moron has obviously not heard of our existing rampant population growth which endangers the world and starves millions abd millions of children? And he gets a full half page to enrage women and thinking readers?

Enough already.

You can see in some areas I am an extraordinarily slow learner.

And that's /30 from me.

Deadlines

I had a couple of deadlines in the last 12 hours. One was for a tax client who was in an awful mess and needed refilings of incorrectly filed tax returns by another accountant. I hate that taking apart of another's work and finding all the differences and anomalies. I put it off as long as I could and then sorted everything properly into new files and new headings and it all felt a little cleaner and I was able to tackle it with a fresh perspective over this past week.

The other was much more enjoyable in that it was for two stories, one I had to finish and one I had to expand a little and fine tune and then file both by a deadline. I love the process of re-write, though it is always a little nerve-wracking too, reading stuff aloud - I do this as I wander around my house, pages in hand, if anyone barges in (and they frequently do, it is the Newfoundland way after all), I am sure they think me certifiable judging by the slightly raised eyebrows and the pattings of my arm as I try and explain what I'm doing. "There, there honey, you'll be alright once you have this soup I broughtcha!"

One story I was particularly pleased with, as it has taken me a few years to refine it and I have good hopes for it. But then again, I'm never sure. Is any writer ever sure?