Read Me

I'm a great woman for lists.  My favourite being my to read list.  I used to write it in my diary/notebook but a couple of years ago I started using www.goodreads.com as not only can I add in the books I would like to read, I also now have a list of books that I have already read.  Especially helpful when publishers decide to change the cover of a book and thus trick me into thinking that I haven't read it.  

When I head to the library I usually have a quick check of my to read list to see if  anything is available.  Today was the perfect storm - 5 of my to read books were available.  Considering I am already in the middle of a book, I should probably have opted for moderation and just taken one or maybe two, but moderation is overrated so I took the lot!  

For the foreseeable future my catchphrase is going to be "I'll just finish this page....".

Anchor Me

As a child I remember getting a diary one year for Christmas.  Full of eagerness, I cracked it open and busied myself filling in all the birthdays of my family and friends.  The first week or two were filled with thoughts and happenings of the day.  Then as time wore on the entries became more sparse.

"Ate breakfast.  Went to school. Swimming lesson after school.  Had chicken for dinner".

Rather than a reflection on how my day had felt, it became a list of things I had done.  I was reminded of my childhood diary today when I wrote a list.  This was not like my normal list of things to do, this was a list of things that I had already done.  None of the things I did were on a to do list so I didn't even have the satisfaction of crossing them off.  So why bother?

The why stems partially from a need to justify my existence, partially from the hope that on days when the list is lacking, it will spur me on to get off my ass and do things.  It's also a way to give some sort of definition to my days.  You know on police dramas when they ask the suspect "Where were you on the morning of April 23?".  I would scoff to myself, "like any normal person would have a clue how to answer that question!".  Then I realised that I couldn't remember what I had done on Monday.  And it was only Thursday.  Of the same week.  And I literally hadn't a clue.  

Eventually I pieced together some memories and sort of remembered how Monday had gone.  Now I don't think I am in danger of early onset dementia just yet, it's more a case that my days lack a huge amount of structure so they tend to blend together.  If nothing significant happens then there are very little distinguishing features to identify one day from the next.  

When you go out to work you normally have a routine.  A rough schedule that may differ slightly from day to day but ultimately forms a framework to how your week looks.  When you are at home without any little ones to take care of, the possibilities are vast and endless (as long as they can be done by school pick up time).  But vast is an overwhelming thing to face down every morning.  Especially when you are also trying to figure what the hell you want to do with your life. 

Some days it would be easier to just bury myself in cleaning because it appears there is always something in this house that needs to be cleaned.  If only I didn't detest cleaning so much this could make for a fulfilling day.  Remember when you were supposed to be studying for an exam but instead you would make your bed and tidy your room and do literally anything you could find to do rather than study?  Well that's me with cleaning.  The only reason I ever iron is because then I can justify watching Netflix in the middle of the day.

Much as I like structure and order, I don't want to become the sort of person who always bakes on Monday and does the grocery shopping on Tuesday and has a set task for every day of the week.  I do like the flexibility that I have at the moment but some days I feel like I need to rein it in a bit.  There's a fine line between planning a project and losing 3 hours to Pinterest in the name of "research".  

  

The Little Things

There has been a whiff of the martyr about me of late.  A faint hint of "woe is me" in the air.  When offered dessert, I politely decline with a rueful shake of the head.  Bakeries are swiftly passed with only the occasional wistful backward glance.  Restaurant menus have become a minefield of delicious downfalls.

Bread rolls warm from the oven, wheaten bread with lashings of butter and jam, chewy sourdough, spongy focaccia, oozy garlic bread - you are a fond but distant memory.

But why?  Why would I intentionally deprive myself of such tasty treats?  Why would I choose to avoid so many things I like to eat?  Because dear friends, I have been betrayed by what I love the most.  Damn you gluten and your delicious elastic proteins.

When your belly is so bloated after eating that you look like you are 5 months pregnant and the noise your stomach makes while trying to process your food sounds like that creature from Alien is about to burst forth, something has to change.

After about a year of feeling not quite right and having ruled out anything sinister, I went to see a dietitian to see if we could figure out what was going on.  I kept a food diary for a couple of weeks before I went in and as she read through it there was a lot of head nodding and aha-ing.  At last I thought, an answer to the question of what was causing the problems.  Well everything apparently.

Ok that's probably a slight exaggeration but it definitely felt like it at the time.  The dietitian suspected that Irritable Bowel Syndrome might be the culprit and yes it is exactly as much fun as it sounds.  I had to do a four week elimination diet where I ate a very limited range of foods to try to reset my system.  Imagine the most boring bland things you can eat - no bread, no pasta, no fruit.  The first week was spent in a hangry haze.  The second week felt like I ate rice for every meal.  The last two weeks were more of the same.

After the four weeks were up I started reintroducing various foods to see how I reacted to them.  Badly seemed to be the general consensus.  So goodbye gluten, onions, garlic, apples, pears and cherries.  Farewell bread, pasta, noodles, couscous, wraps, crackers and greasy food.  Hello to the weird "free from" aisle in the supermarket.

I was not a happy camper.  Most evenings when cooking dinner, onions and garlic were the first things into the pot.  Not any more.  Staring into the cupboards all I could see where things I couldn't eat but really, really wanted to.  Breakfast was fine, I just ate the muesli I usually ate.  For lunch on the go I could grab some sushi.  Dinner and snacks were where I really struggled.  No more grabbing an apple and a quick sandwich.  Sure you can get gluten free bread and it is fine when toasted but it's stodge city if you use it for a sandwich.  Plus the slices are tiny and it costs three times the price of normal bread.

So began months of trial and error, a bit like moving to a new country and trying out different brands and foods you've never seen before.  Some things worked, some not so much.  Quinoa was better than I thought it would be, once I figured out it needs to be made with stock to have any semblance of flavour.  I found a nice gluten free pizza base and a ready mixed chocolate brownie pack.  I have officially given up on GF wraps as they taste how I imagine soggy cardboard would and as for konjac noodles, they had the consistency of an elastic band and were binned after the first mouthful.

I have tried to minimise the impact of my change in diet on my family.  Dinner now involves a lot more washing up as my pasta or sauce is cooked in a separate pot.  We eat way more rice and potatoes than we used to.  Mostly I have accepted the changes with good grace as I do definitely feel better but sometimes I still feel a bit hard done by.

Last week taught me to get over myself and appreciate the little things.  I had a stomach bug so had  nothing for three days apart from 7 up and re-hydration sachets.  Once I was over the worst of it and starting to feel hungry again, I decided to chance some toast.  The unbridled joy of a piece of warm toast (even GF toast) dripping with melted butter.  It was a gastronomic delight after three days of a gurgling empty stomach.

Maybe it's time to leave behind what I can't have and start focusing on being grateful for what I do have.

When is a Blog not a Blog?

In amongst the timber varnishing and the school field trips and the myriad of other random jobs I have been keeping myself busy with lately, I found the time to do something that most definitely forced me out of my comfort zone.  I made a piece of art and submitted it to a local exhibition. 

When I first saw the call for artists for the exhibition I thought "hmm maybe" but dismissed the idea because I've never done anything like this before.  Then I thought about it some more and bounced a few ideas around but I couldn't figure out how I could make it work so I gave up.  But it kept niggling away at the back of my mind so I had a word with myself about how 2019 is supposed to be the year of opportunities and if that was really the case then how could I let this one pass me by.  The hardest part, other than figuring out what I was going to make, was believing that just possibly I might be good enough. 

So I starting working on it, still thinking that I was just doing it for myself, to see if I could and that I probably wouldn't go as far as submitting it.  The submission deadline loomed closer which gave me the incentive to get it finished but even then I wasn't sure I was going to enter it.  I mean this was an exhibition that proper, real artists were going to have pieces in and here was I, so clueless I had to ask the organisers what I should put for "medium" on my registration form.  Talk about imposter syndrome!

In the end, I decided that if I didn't at least submit it, I would always wonder so I took a leaf out of Eleanor Roosevelt's book and did something that day that scared me.  I was so nervous dropping it off that it was only on the way home that I realised I hadn't even taken a picture of it!  

To my great excitement (and enormous relief), it was accepted and has been on display this month as part of the Words exhibition.  I am a little bit proud of myself. 

  

Teenage Kicks

Mary's got a new job, she's working in the bank.....

If you know the next line to this song then chances are you were a teenager in Ireland in the early nineties.  I came across a box of old tapes recently and as luck would have it I still have an old boom box that can play tapes, which practically classifies it as an antique these days.  Teenage memories abounded as I cleaned bathrooms accompanied by the soundtrack to my youth.

In this modern world of skipping ahead to the song you want, I had forgotten how long it takes to rewind and fast forward.  The guess work of how long to let it run before checking if you were in the right spot.  How is it that I can't remember things that happened last week but I can remember the words to songs I haven't heard in literally decades?  Memories of nights out and concerts and road trips came flooding back.  Today I was physically in New Zealand but mentally I was back in Nijinsky's, The Ambassador, the road to Killarney before the motorway was built, summer time in Germany.  

This isn't a cassette tape, it's a time machine.

  

Nothing changes if nothing changes

We often linger for years in spaces that are too small and shabby for the grandeur of our spirit - John O'Donohue.

After three and a half years in a negative, unpleasant working environment doing a job that offered little challenge and no scope for growth, I finally decided enough was enough and quit my job.  I figured that nothing changes if nothing changes and the end of the year seemed like a good time to draw a line and move on.  My month's notice was spent veering from freaking out that I had made a huge mistake and wouldn't find another job to feeling like a huge weight had been lifted.  Life's too short and all that.  

What am I moving on to?  Well the short answer is I have no idea.  Maybe I will stay in events, maybe I will try my hand at something completely new.  I have decided to look at 2019 as the year of opportunities.  Bring it on!

Hooked

You know that feeling when you're reading a book that hooks you right from the start and you just want to keep reading it all the time and things like feeding children and going to work are mere distractions to get through as quickly as possible so you can get back to reading?  It happens all too rarely these days, maybe I need to pay more attention to the books I am choosing.  A Little Life and My Absolute Darling were the highlights of my 2017 reading but so far this year it was slim pickings until I came across Asking For It by Louise O'Neill. 

I flew through it, stopping only to throw the occasional after school apple to the kids.  It was brilliant and awful and terrifying all at once.  Forget Pride & Prejudice, Asking For It should be on the required reading list for secondary school students.  In this day and age, surely it's more important for young people to learn about consent than alliteration or pathetic fallacy.