Finding joy in little things

by ⋅ Leave a Comment ⋅ Aside

As is the way of things, I was vaguely listening the wireless en route to work last week, tuning out the adverts, hoping for a traffic update and generally bopping along to whatever muzak the morning show threw in my general direction. Sometimes lyrics catch my ear and stick with me for the day, an earworm that interrupts me at odd moments as it plays and replays some part of a tune. This time I could blame the earworm on John Mellencamp – or on Jack & Diane, depending on how you look at it. Either way, the refrain of Oh yeah, life goes on… long after the thrill of living is gone… stayed with me long after the work day was done and dusted.

Thinking about it later I realised that every time I hear that song I reject the notion that life can become joyless, that it can become something so mundane and ordinary that it just goes on because it hasn’t yet ended. I view joyfulness – and enjoyment – as a skill, something that can be learned and then honed, be practised and taught to others. It’s a state of mind, a way of looking at both yourself and the world around you in a way that allows you to see the positives.

I understand that different people at different times have more or less capacity to cope with life, with personal and interpersonal problems, stress and conflict. Learning to be joyful is about expanding that capacity. Not necessarily by making more time for yourself or following some 10-step plan for a better life, although both of these may be valid options, but by focusing your attention on the present moment. I find that it’s about being IN that moment, being mindful of it and making the most of what can be found there. It’s about capturing what is found – however small it is – and holding it for just long enough to make your day feel worthwhile.

Joyfulness can be learned. I believe it can also be relearned – as long as you don’t let yourself believe in letting go of the thrill that is life. Today I noticed that our rosemary bush at the front gate has started to flower. It made me smile. That smile made me feel good about the day. Feeling good about the day helped me to be more tolerant, to find some pleasure in things that might otherwise have slipped my attention. Each time I do this, each time I find something to make me smile, it makes it that much easier to do so the next day. And the next.

My joyful – and lasting – moment today started with it being a lovely spring day. Since I was working from home, I chose to have lunch outside in the garden. This is a happy thing in its own right, but was enhanced by our puppy rushing over to say hello to me. Her tail was wagging madly and, as soon as I sat down, she dropped her very chewed bone on my lap. She then pushed the bone into my hand and stood leaning against me, gnawing on the gummy end in a very companionable (and sticky!) sort of way. Pure gold!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Confidence in Strangers

by ⋅ Leave a Comment ⋅ Aside

I’ve often wondered why it is that so many people seem to have a tendency to want to share intimate details of their lives with complete strangers. Whether it’s on a plane, at a bus stop, at the hairdressers, in a checkout queue at the supermarket or in any number of other situtations, unsolicited confidences are routinely both given and received. Since friendship is held to be an idealised bond of great significance, a relationship that overcomes isolation and provides support in an otherwise unsympathetic society, why turn to strangers?

What brings this to mind is my regular visits to the local indoor hydrotherapy pool to indulge in what I like to call exercise. In reality it’s an hour or so of wallowing around in deliciously warm water (now geothermally heated!) and indulging in moderate activity, often to the sounds of whatever audiobook I happen to be listening to at the time. Of late, however, my MP3 player hasn’t been cooperating, so I’ve been subjected to the sounds of the spa pump and the general conversation of other pool users, both of which I try to turn into white noise to accompany my exercise routine.

Striding determinedly up and down the pool in chest deep water wouldn’t, at first glance, appear to provide an ideal opportunity for someone to try to share details of their life with a fellow pool-user, whether a stranger or otherwise. Despite this, my experience is that many people go out of their way to strike up a conversation, keeping pace with their chosen confidant or waylaying them at one or other end of the pool with an open-ended question to do so. I always find it confounding when people do this to me, as I’m pretty sure that I don’t have the sort of face/demeanour that necessarily invites confidences. Nevertheless, a great deal of rather personal information is often shared with me. Frequently it appears to be information that the self-same people seem unwilling to share with friends or family, but is laid out in surprisingly intimate detail in the pool with what appears to be little or no compunction. Why is this so?

This week I ended up performing the function of stranger-confidant for an elderly gentleman (EG). I was caught unawares and answered a question in passing as I started walking a lap of the pool, after which escape would have required a level of brusqueness not available to me. I submitted with good grace, but kept walking – which required EG to stride along with me and work for it. He was not at all put off and went on to tell me in graphic detail about his even more elderly sister (EMES), whose attitude to life in general appears to frustrate him enormously. It turned out that EMES is over 90 and underwent hip replacement surgery four days ago, as a result of a nasty fall few days earlier when she fractured her hip. Since then she’s apparently been abusive and angry, says she’d be better off dead and seems to have a fine job in alienating everyone who cares about her. EG admitted that his tolerance is particularly low at present, having fractured his shoulder three months ago. He confessed to being in constant pain as he tries to remobilise the now-frozen shoulder and to regain some movement in the joint. There was more – lots more – about both subjects – before EG’s time was up. He finally headed for the spa and sauna (to ease the shoulder), after which I kept my head down and was careful not to make eye contact with anyone else for the rest of my session!

Then – and later – I started thinking about why people choose to confide in random strangers. My conclusion is that we are all simply keen to talk – particularly about ourselves – and sometimes it’s easier to do so in situations where we’re away from the usual distractions and demands of everyday life. Perhaps this separation provides a space for a people to foreground issues of interest or concern and address them by articulating them to strangers – as often as not to clarify the issue, rather than to ask for advice. I wonder if telling me about EMES helped EG in any way? Will he feel better able to cope with EMES or at least with his frustration about her outlook on life?

Does it help in any way to tell strangers things about our lives? Does the relative anonymity, the absence of shared social circles allow for sharing of this sort without fear of an emotional or social backlash? Strangers are, after all, strangers. As they aren’t part of our social milieu, it removes the need to worry about over-sharing, of burdening them with our concerns or about any associated social consequences. In addition to this, strangers may possess objectivity possibly not available to those close to us and as a result sometimes offer surprisingly useful insights or suggestions. Whilst there is no obligation (real or imagined) to take on board any of the comments received, having shared the issue with a stranger and received such comments could plausibly make articulating it again at a later date to someone closer (a friend or relative) easier. At the very least it might provide some perspective on the issue and thus make it easier for one to manage.

Are strangers then the no-cost equivalent of a psych or pastor? Do they fill the role of someone who has no prior knowledge about one’s life or circumstances and to whom one can unburden woes with minimal risk – effectively a social sounding board? If so, perhaps my retirement occupation could be busking as stranger-for-hire… I apparently have the skills 😛

hire a stranger

4am ramblings

by ⋅ Leave a Comment ⋅ Aside

To paraphrase Billy Joel: it’s 4am on a random day, the regular crowd shambles in, insomnia’s sitting next to me – worn like a loose second skin.

Technically,  insomnia is characterised by difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep as long as desired, by waking too early in the morning and/or feeling tired when one wakes. Despite my best efforts, my shopping basket has come to include all of those items. On the upside, the house is very quiet in the early morning and I generally find that most conducive to creative ramblings and/or catching up on work stuff – so all is not lost.

I usually have something bumbling around in my head when I wake up at oh-my-goodness o’clock – and I mean other than “aargh – it’s oh-my-goodness o’clock – again.” This morning was no exception. With the end of my current work contract in sight (at the end of October), my thoughts are turning increasingly to what I’ll do with what people are referring to as ‘all that extra time’ I’ll apparently have heaps of. All too frequently I’m asked what I plan to do with myself, whether I’ll be going on a long trip, if I intend to hunt for a new job, and so on.

The answer to all and each of those questions appears to be what my brain stews over when I am asleep, although no particular clarity has emerged so far. In essence, and unless I have an early morning epiphany, my plan is to take three months off to contemplate the question. I’d like to get creative in my art shed, garden and kitchen, to finish some projects and start some exciting new ones, to ride my bike and go to the beach more regularly and to generally relax a little. Perhaps even a lot. The New Year will, I feel, be quite soon enough to wrestle with bigger questions – and by then 4am will hopefully be something I know  about, but don’t experience in person quite so often.

In the interim, staying up late, using earplugs to drown out the chickens and determinedly snuggling down when I wake up is helping somewhat: my wake up time is gradually stretching out and I’m feeling more perky as a result. Or could it be that the end of October is approaching and I’m already winding down…?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Tastes of childhood

by ⋅ Leave a Comment ⋅ Aside

For the first time in ages, I had pea and ham soup last week. It was ‘soup of the day’ at the pub we frequented for dinner one evening while we were away on our knitting adventures in Bendigo – and it was certainly the weather for it.  Soup is my comfort food in winter – it’s hot and filling and comfortable and easy. Pea soup in particular brings back happy memories of my childhood, of our family sitting around the kitchen table chatting, squabbling and vying to be the first for seconds. Not that my Mum actually made pea and ham soup, mind you, but she did make split pea soup. Instead of a ham hock, she used some beef shin – which essentially performed the same task. It’s not so much about the meat as about the taste, the beefy (or smoky ham) flavour that permeates the soup and enriches it. Delicious!

Having enjoyed the pub-version immensely, I set about trying to recreate it – and a little slice of childhood – this week. I found a ham hock in the freezer (score!) and a packet of split peas with recipe on the back in the pantry (everyone has a packet of split peas in the pantry, right?). Next I hunted down the biggest pot I own, selected some appropriate veggies (from the over enthusiastic market purchases made on Saturday) and then set about making my first ever attempt at the iconic dish that is pea and ham soup.

Munching my way through cheesy toast and what I think was a fairly reasonable rendition of the dish that evening conjured up thoughts of other meals from my childhood. I found I could only remember happy, tasty things – other than the rare visitation of the dreaded liver-and-onions and the all-to-frequent boiled cabbage. The former was an occasional request from my father (and enjoyed by no-one but him) and the latter I must assume was simply always in season – it certainly felt that way! However, overall, my conclusion is that I either didn’t bother to remember the things I didn’t enjoy or that my Mum was a canny housekeeper and knew her family’s preferences all too well 🙂

Either way, it feels as though my childhood was filled with mealtimes sitting around the kitchen table enjoying plates of oxtail stew, split pea soup, shepherds pie, macaroni cheese, roast chicken (on Sundays), jam roly-poly with custard (a particular favourite), pineapple upside-down cake, flapjacks and eggy-bread. This last was our version of French toast, which was bread lightly smeared with bovril, dipped in egg, then briskly fried in a little butter – and never (ever!) served with syrup, cinnamon or sugar – a taste preference I still cling to, I may add.

Most of these dishes are winter foods, things that fill hungry children and are relatively inexpensive to prepare, which confirms my belief that Mum was a canny housekeeper. I actually have no idea what we ate in summer – the only things that come to mind is watermelon and tomatoes, but I’m pretty sure there was more to it than that!

Whilst I’ve an idea that Mum used to make her version of split pea soup in the pressure cooker (and I may give that a go next time to speed up the process a little), it gave me enormous satisfaction to recreate this much-love childhood staple in my giant stock pot and to share it and my ramblings about childhood food with my family. Best of all, there was some of the soup left over for lunch for today 🙂

tastes of childhood