Just as a note.
Part privacy protest. Part just downsizing. Along the lines of this post from MacSparky
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So I was forced by circumstances and exhaustion into a shell this week, which was interesting. But it was nice to notice that I missed updating here.
The week was filled with lots of self management around the various whims and mood changes of others, organisations and individuals alike. The self management involved dealing with exclusion again, sometimes by friends seeking annulment and forgiveness. Or the alternative, was flaky friends or associates. Given my health I struggled with mental gymnastics of that. But I’m flexible and strong as any good willow should be
Its a new week, so onward.
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Described more fully here, its basically to describe your life in that moment or a thing in your life in a phrase containing 6 words. During this disciplined blogging exercise I thought I’d try it.
Quite sorely, listening to audio Austen
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I’m just back from a five day trip to Melbourne with PB.
It was largely a good trip – more play than work. It was nice to spend time with PB and have time not to rush. We both love Melbourne, the culture, the conversational opportunities, the coffee and the shopping.
The excuse was the birthday party of VW (read more about him here), a disco party complete with light ball and the hustle.
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The end of this piece sounds like a promotional piece. It’s not. No sponsorship is in place.
When I was in primary school I had a simple text-book on touch typing or at least typing efficiently with one hand. It wasn’t really a text-book in the traditional sense; rather a case of 100 typed pages, somewhat yellowed and simply stapled. My school at the time decided (with my parents I’m assuming) that it would be useful for me to learn to type. My hand writing though neat was incredible slow and unlikely to improve substantially with an ever-increasing volume of material through high school and later university. It was also not an efficient use of resources for my one good limb.
I remember sitting in a cozy room aged about 11 with this booklet, an electric typewriter and Mr Campbell the vice-principal of my primary school a man I liked running through what I now know as drills
frfrfrfrf fvfvfvfv
etc.
I liked those classes. That school particularly was good at making what we now know of as reasonable accommodations for me their first student with a disability without needing to know the right forms to fill in. We all just (seemed at least) to get on with it. I wasn’t left feeling bad for any of it and this was one “special” class that I looked forward to. I loved the teacher. I loved the book and I felt accomplished.
From memory those lessons did not last very long. We moved interstate soon after they started. I held on to the book everyone hoping I would continue. Things changed after that though, personally and at school. It was a different system.
I was soon trained up on dictation and voice recognition systems, given scribes for exams and other good accommodations were made. In typical style I regularly misplaced than relocated the typing book. I never used it, but was glad to look through it, almost like a year book. Eventually in one of my many house moves through my 20′s the book did its usual disappearing act and never reappeared.
Voice recognition software is very useful for some times and in some places. Academic and business writing where the thought process is more factual and formal. But typing, however badly seems a key activity. It’s very tactile and active as well as being cerebral. You can type with music playing, as I am now. If I can find keys I can find a way to make myself heard, regardless of software installed.
While using and enjoying my software solution I started periodically “googling” “one-handed typing” solutions. Just curiosity. Although most of the offices I have worked in, have been too ambient noisy to dictate super-efficiently without being quite rude. I also think more stiltedly if I have to remember to say punctuation marks. But mostly I was interested in the progress that I assumed had undoubtedly been made since the 1980′s.
I was wrong. Until recently I found very little for standard keyboards. There were options, good options I’ll bet for half qwerty keyboards, but until recently it seems no good options online for teaching myself one-handed typing on a standard keyboard. Given that I prefer writing on my laptop that’s what I need, to improve my own skills. In my case I know I’m skill deficient. I’m actually fast-ish at the “hunt and peck” method because I know basically where the keys are on the keyboard, but I need to look. My fingering is all off though. I’m slow if I try to use the right fingers and the right keys!
So what I have found and am using is Custom Typing which offers standard typing tutoring as well as one-handed (l and r). Its got programs for group work and has programs and words for children as well. There is an animated tutor (which I think is only for the standard two-handed modules 
) which supposedly provides encouragement. It’s free for a month. I’ll see if it’s still interesting/useful after that.
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If I’m honest. I’ve always fancied myself as a one time writer. I have visions of filling notebooks, of sitting in a corner somewhere expressing myself in hard-fought-for phrases that somehow become morphed into sage or entertaining prose that would somehow, one day either pay the bills, or earn respect. My “vision” is as varied as the days I have it. It comes and goes. Like most things.
I certainly have the notebooks. not full by any means. I seem to like the idea of collecting the tangible instruments. I scribble in them, without much rhyme, rhythm or discipline I lose interest. I get distracted by downloading instant gratification tv shows or more kindly by life itself. Then in predictable order I pick up a book, and if its interesting or easy I devour it. I rapidly pick up a second book, expecting to devour it like the first and welcome back a childhood pass-time.
Somewhere in this second read (whether I even finish that book) I re-entertain the thought of writing myself. It’s not I hasten to add usually born of any sense of my being able to improve on the book I’m reading. I become interested in words and their ability to transport one from the land of the reader to the land of the writer. I also have a period of confidence during this cycle in thinking that I might have something interesting/entertaining to say. I head out and buy another writers’ guide, google another writers’ prompt site and crack the spine of another journal, scribble a day or two of exercises without much of what feels like success and wake up one day staring at the white page. Boom. That’s it. Without the structure of deadlines, I head to iTunes.
It was during one of these “writer” cycles some years ago I purchased On Writing 
Last week was that day. This writing cycle is being maintained by careful management, more time, more urgency. I’m on an economy drive so after discovering some of my writers guides in a box in the shed I decided to pick up one I could just read as I got on with “Life”, and not be expected to have notebook too. So his was it. I’m glad of that. I’m enjoying it. I like him. I get him. I almost want to read him.
It is a book in two parts. I have just started on the second part – the toolbox — like writers boot camp without the exercises, after finishing the first part. Times past I would have started with the toolbox and wished the author well. However it is described as a memoir of his life by others; King is clear, the first part is his CV — the forming of the writer. So I read the “CV” at his urging as you would want to before taking too much advice.
These collection of memories paint a fascinating picture of key memories as defined by Stephen himself, focusing on his mobile childhood, his relationship with his brother and the early development of his writing talent. Quite bravely he addresses his period battling his addictions alongside starting his early married life. It’s selective, but nonetheless brave.
The bridge between the CV and the toolbox is a wonderful chapter titled “What writing is”. This is where Stephen and I meet most closely and where he cements my trust in him as my teacher (at least for 100 pages). He argues that writing has the power to transport the reader into the mind of the writer, much as I had always beleveed. He calls it telepathy. Regardless of time and space. He argues as much for the “spaces between the notes”.
My favourite passage so far:
You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair–the sense that you can never completely put on the page what’s in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page. Page 117-8
Thank you. Permission to come lightly. Instruction to see it as work?
More quotes and a better review from 37 Signals.
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I feel truly blessed. I’ve had two weeks of interesting conversations, strong connection and social stimulation.
One such blessing: the weekend just gone was filled with beautiful food, organic food markets, conversations about social and environmental responsibility and change management, tree planting laughter, love and hope.
We asked these friends; a couple nicknamed here VW and VM to come and visit us from Melbourne after we did “a heavy mile or two” by phone before Christmas and on the 4th they rang and by the 8th we were hugging and laughing like no time had passed.
VW — is a placemaker with a Mauritius heritage that I met through work. In fact he met PB first. He specialises in bringing people, place and environmental consciousness together, with very loud suits, amazing love and passion and laughter coupled with an incredible deep and profound spirituality that never fails to move me. He has studied under Al Gore’s “Inconvenient Truth” environmental movement. In addition to this though he connects the dots between environmental and social sustainability and inclusion – which is where I’m passionate.
His wife the wonderful (whom I will call) VMis a skilled and talented musician with a more quiet but no less veracious passion for place and purpose, the environment and those she loves.
On the initial evening a warm balmy night light tapas and wine flowed with beautiful light but smart conversation flowed. On the Saturday which was an incredible hot day we trotted of to the Orange Grove Organic Markets — which demonstrates a good example of the sort of places VW aims towards. Despite walking around and not spotting food VW and VM seemed to conjure an armload of fresh produce. The wish on their part and agreed by us was cooking us all a “feast”. And what a fun time that was. We talked. We laughed. My newly beloved kitchen was filled with beautiful sights sounds and smells, with a pleasant subtlety and freshness to the footprint left on me, the house and with a bit of luck the planet.
PB and I had been hatching a plan to plant a tree with the lovely pair. So after a nap and some more philosophical and conscio
usness conversation we planted a “hopi” Crepe myrtle tree — not this one, that we also picked up at our trip to the Market. Crepe myrtle have a particular significance to me, especially the pink ones. To me they mark an arrival. The tree was then duly blessed, both spiritually and in the practical “watering” way.
I felt content, aware and heard in my space. Embraced and conscious. Mindful too of my needs, my prints and my intelligence which has felt slightly dorment but is re-awakened with a heavy dollop of social justice again.
I feel more alive and we feel supported.
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This is a photo of this evening’s labour. My first attempt at baking in this kitchen, with this oven since the move but more importantly for me it’s shortbread complete with my grandmother’s pricking technique.
It may not have been so evenly spread but for a first batch in several years it smells amazing.
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I’m in the throws of moving house. If you ever saw the ad promoting the Australian internet provider, showing a young woman on a couch while using her laptop as two workmen carry her out, that pretty much describes the flat today and the last few days. You see I only found out that I was “good to go” last Tuesday. Boxes and bags have flowed over the past few weeks including from a storage unit belonging to PB (still half a storage unit), but the bulk of stuff and certainly furniture remained.
So boxes and bages were packed, crates piled with books and papers and 2 garbage bags of clothes for the charity bin up the road. I’m not really sorting, because of the tight timing. I’ll have to do that on the unpack. I’m well aware there is yet more culling to be done.
On moving day itself a mid age blokey bloke arrived with a van – not a truck and a trolley and despite meeting PB was visibly shaken to see yet another person in a wheelchair. He seemed convinced that “the Government” ( without specifing which of the three levels he was refering to) should “fix it up” for us. He seemed genuinely mortified when told that we on fact receive very little if any assistance to fix any manner of things up from the Government.
And then following just the safe removal of two trolley loads the lift gave way. It was as if Irony wanted a hand in reminding me why I was leaving one last time and saying good bye.
So a week later a boxes are starting to be unpacked order is being fashioned, and working lives are being returned to. We are still without Internet which is a strange experience. This is an iPhone entry which is a labour of love.
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It seems flaky to admit it, but the weather is screwing with my mood. I didn’t think I was ever going to admit to anything like Seasonal Affected Disorder. However the weather here in Sydney lately has been so crazy and humid like I think I have to.
I recognise though that SAD and other similar disorders are usually associated with cold and bleak weather. I thought after visiting England I had escaped the most likely place. But I’m now thinking humidity with dark cloud cover like we have been having might in fact be worse.
The humidity has left me with a persistent low grade headache and a lethargy that is more frustrating than debilitating. Strangely I don’t feel hot; more bothered. I don’t crave more cool. I want more dryness to the heat.
Last Friday, I had a drink with a friend of mine who teaches music one day a week to kids from “disadvantaged” schools. I love listening to and enjoying a wide range of music but music classes (apart from choir practise for me) were always a bit wild and laid back when I went to school, worse still on a Friday, and worse again when taught by a substitute teacher. My hats off to JA.
However, I digress.
There was a thunderstorm right in the middle of JA’s most animated class which she thought increased the animation. We discussed the literal energy that causes the animation, not just in kids but perhaps in all of us. The floating of the ions in a more tangible form that both loosens and tightens folk up. Perhaps in a similar way to that of alcohol and drier heat. As adults, on the whole we are perhaps less sensitive and maybe more aware of such phenomena.
My impression is however that it does affect most of us to some extent. Fuses are shorter. We seem to run the dualism of being both less expressive when it comes to engagement with others and much more so when it comes to our own needs and impression. We think less. When mental and social resources are made finite we look inwards and must work harder to gather the strength we need.
So perhaps people have loud balcony parties to cut the think air with the beat that gives them comfort and perhaps control, without the energy to acknowledge the impact of the noise on those close enough to hear but far enough to be excluded.
Perhaps the extra energy in the air explains the very loud dog fight outside my window with no apparent cause. What “charge” is being picked up that we cannot sense…
Yet on the other side of the world, the storyteller has the more typical interpretation:
It’s not so much the early dark in the afternoons that I dislike. ……No, what I hate is having to wake up in the dark, and get up in the dark, and go out to say Morning Prayer in the dark, looking up at a black east window in the church.
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