Abaculus

As seen here and here, we've not seen the kitten (also called Kitten because it kind of stuck), for a week.

My theory: its real owners (although it lives here most of the time) have gone on holiday, and currently in a cattery. The owners could have moved away. Hope it comes back soon, because I'm sick to my back teeth of my parents asking about "Where's Kitten?" Like there's no other topics of conversation in the universe. In fact, half the town probably knows about The Missing Kitten; and even with that we still don't know who the real owner is.

Posted by alison at 7:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Remember this mad purchase, that caused my dad to have a semi heart attack in front of me? In all honesty, a good time investment. Games aside, its a way I can check my e mail without turning my laptop, and subsequently don't get wrapped up online.

So Wii Fit was launched a few months ago, except purchasing this in the UK - at least at its RRP - has been a near impossible to source. In fact there's websites that send out alerts, with the said stock disappearing in the space of two minutes.

A few days ago by chance I checked the Argos website, and Oh. My. God.! They had one Wii Fit in stock at a store 50 miles away. Before all you townies think 50 miles is on another planet, its our nearest big town. I live in a place where there are no chain stores of any description unless you count a small, and I mean small, supermarket. I didn't exactly want a Wii Fit this week, but in a moment of urgent madness, I reserved it for collection the following day. Because, who knows when I would be able to get one again? Strike, whilst the iron is hot!

Had I lost my mind? Impulse spending! I told J that I was going to get it, keep it in the box and sell at Christmas for an inflated price. "Personally I think you have your priorities in the right place and you should have fun with it yourself!!!!!!! Glad to see you're doing something nice for Alisonio. God knows you deserve it!"

I really needed that justification.

Returning from my shopping trip, I actually hid the toy (yes, even I have to admit it as such). I might be an adult, but! Even more so this was me splashing out the birthday money my parents gave me. The horror.

"So what did you buy?"
"Erm, nothing"
"Where is it?"
"In my bedroom"
"So its going to stop there?"
"Yes!"
"So, its only come out at night when I've gone to bed?"
"Yes!"

/mum fetches

"I knew it! Only yesterday I saw one of those on tv and wondered why we didn't have it already"

One thing that bores me about using a gym, my head isn't entertained enough and can be a deterrent. I like exercise, but mental stimulation is a must. Television interaction, as brainless and indulgent as it is (yes, a double edged sword), for now alleviates this. However, I can see me using this more for its balance exercises. However, I'm totally skipping that football head butting, its totally not my cup of tea.

The best thing about Wii Fit, however, has to be watching my parents use it. Its damn hilarious, and that laugh alone is worth it. Try watching dad follow a yoga instructor, the hula hoops, getting confused at aerobic exercises and not cracking up. Its impossible.

Posted by alison at 10:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So this week I started writing poetry. Before I go on, the first and last time I wrote poetry, I was in primary school. The title, "What is Grey?" was given by a teacher who was possibly the bitch from hell. She really should not have been teaching, because the only effect she had was to terrify the entire school. Furthermore, at school I used to have to wear a radio hearing aid, and she used to curse having to wear a microphone. Look, I didn't exactly choose that pleasure either. In fact, she used to sellotape the ariel around its body, the only result was a crackling mess.

My relationship with English continued to be much one of turbulence. All English teachers talked too fast, fail number one. The texts required too much verbal interaction, that sent me straight through the net. It was too closely related to speech, too. The list goes on, as to why I could never get out of my English classes fast enough preferring to run straight to the Maths block. Inner rebellion occurred, and I didn't want to know.

So someone suggested I wrote poetry. I'm all like, have you lost your mind? I don't know the first thing about poetry! I can't write! Automatic rejection, based on past experiences. However, since we were having a parallel discussion, a light bulb went off how it possibly could be a gateway to expressing visual language (where I had narrowly interpreted this to just be sign). As someone who was brought up between two existences, perhaps a double identity, this could be an English-visual representation. Perhaps not a revelation to the masses out there, but for me something clicked. Oh, how I had been so dismissive. Dismissive as I might be, I didn't think I could do anything with it and with it perhaps some envy which translated into frustration.

This week has been a difficult one, so I started to write poetry, not a conscious geared act. To my surprise I wrote four poems in the space of 12 hours. It perhaps paints me as more crazy, wondering how my head is wired up. It causes me to re-read and shout: get a grip! Yet strangely offers structure, and insights that I never knew possible. I can analyse, talk myself to death, and get no-where. Poetry is an interesting process, as its in total conflict with my logical self, and a side of me that traditionally likes to dominate. In all irony, pushing this logical - or perhaps analytical - self pushes me into deeper confusion and leaving a knotted mess. Where I'm quite aware I can send those around me nuts. With poetry (well at least for me because I don't know the rules), feelings dominate which cannot be mutated by logic or analysis. Just write, and leave be.

I'm not about to share what I've written, as the content is way too personal. However, one thing I do know, if poetry is inspired by hurt its a hell of a profession.

Posted by alison at 9:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Last night, spaced out on the sofa dad started chanting, "I will crack thy bones for thee, I will crack thy skull for thee" then bursting into some hysterical laughter. Of course I wondered if my parental figure had suddenly been possessed by the devil. Either that, or lost the plot completely.

Dad grew up on a coastal village, which basically consists of one long street, and not a lot else. It turns out the village hall used to screen a series called "Scorpion". Whilst a series, apparently it was never shown in order because that was the way things were done. Be grateful you can see anything at all. On leaving the cinema his uncles (Caradog and Lewis) sometimes used to hide in shadows chanting the above; Caradog wearing some disused policeman's coat wrapped around his face. Since there was only two street gas lamps along a couple of miles of road, thus pitch darkness coupled with an overactive imagination spurned on by the cinema; it left the kids running up the street. Process repeated every week. All these screwed up genes were obviously handed down, so next time I'm being purely sadistic, you'll know why.

The above tale made me glee. At a similar age - I'm talking about 6 or 7 here - we watched a film about the Egyptians. Through a woman's greed for the treasures the Pharaoh was going to take into his next life, she made a decision to stay in the pyramid and in doing so became locked in. Cue: huge concrete doors slam down, woman panics. Of course the treasures or she does not physically go anywhere to some afterlife. She's stuck. So I ask what was going to happen, and got the details that she was going to suffocate. She won't be able to breathe? Questions go on, and we get to the dying a slow and painful death description. I then burst out crying, and my family ribbed me for it, "Its only a film, look at you". My sister - who is younger than me - never lets me forget it (yes, ammunition that will slink out of the depths of memory). Since then, let it be known I've never cried at a single film. The whole room can be crying buckets, it can even be a translation of reality and I'm totally NOT GOING TO CRY is etched a bit too well in my neurons. I will leave spelling out my relationship with horror films for another day.

I've attempted to locate Scorpion online, with the view of possibly buying a dvd for dad's birthday (I've got a few months, but skipping ahead a bit here, dad is the most difficult person to give presents for - he hates materialism with a passion), and running into a dead end already.

Dad thinks he was aged 6 - 8 at the time, which makes it 1946-1948 or thereabout. Given there would have been little or no film production in the first half of the 1940s and mid Wales was hardly the cutting edge, its very possible this could have been produced pre-war days. A simple search for "scorpion" on IMBd leads to these results, but it doesn't help. I'm looking for a series, I'm looking for something scary in the eyes of a kid that was around 1940s or before (1950s at a push, if dad is bluffing his age). Film buffs out there, got any ideas?

Posted by alison at 1:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This morning a bank statement arrived, not my current account but a savings one. I saw the envelope and left it untouched on the kitchen worktop (where it was to begin with). This afternoon, I noticed the said envelope had gone AWOL.

"Where's that envelope that was on here this morning?"
"What envelope?"
"The one with my bank statement in"
"I didn't know it was a bank statement"
"Well where is it?
"I think I may have put it through the shredder"
"Think?"
"Er, I'll have a look for it now"

INTERLUDE - I GO OUT - COME BACK

"Where's my bank statement?"
"I shredded it"
"How could you do that?"
"I thought it was something about computers"
"You could have checked with me"

SNARLS - INTERLUDE

"What's a matter now?"
"I'm annoyed with you"

INTERLUDE

"See, this is how much you have in your account," passing me a shredded piece of paper.
"Some shredder that is"

GOES AWAY

"See, the last payment was 20 July and this is the interest you've earned"
"Bloody useless shredder. Next time shred the other way".

Posted by alison at 5:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

A helicopter hovers around town several times, flying low ....

"God! Will that thing quit? Its buzzing around like a blue arsed fly, and just being annoying"
"Its the Welsh Assembly is having a day out. Rhodri Morgan is surveying his estate"

Posted by alison at 2:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Here I'm going to write a rambling very belated birthday post, because otherwise I'll get nagged to death. Look I was brought up to go to church every Sunday, and the number one emotion that is cultivated: guilt. My lame excuse, I've not felt well for over a week. First it was a sore throat, and now I can't stop shivering.

So this post is going to be superficially centred around loot, which really wouldn't go down well with dad. He's the least materialistic person I know of; more on that another day because really, its deserving of a blog post by itself.

First up is my sister's birthday card.

A card that sums up our relationship very well. When my mum saw it, she was crying with laughter so much that she could not talk for at least half an hour. Sibling rivalry between us was really that hilarious. Count the lines on the sheet, so the other doesn't have more than half of the bed. We did it. Don't you as much as put your toe over that line, because this side of the bed is mine. BOG OFF! Then one of us would do it, just to annoy the other and all hell would break loose. Count the cornflakes in the bowl, just in case your sister was outdoing you? Been there. Tell your sister to touch some stinging nettles, because you could. I did it. Parents' refusal to give us bunk beds, because they had a very good reason to. Rip up homework after spending hours at? My sister did it. Even now, we'll just wind each other up, just to relive old times: [asking our parents] "Who do you love the best?" Mum and dad are now stupid enough to play along, and will usually side with HER. Simply because she lives far far away in America. "See mum/dad loves me more than you," said in as much gloat as one can muster.

The real world has to be a complete doddle by comparison.

Despite all the above, did get these shoes as a present. Which incidentally are the most comfortable shoes I've worn for a long time. A sure sign of old age: stuff looks, go for comfort.

Moving on. E, P, J and C brought me some massage vouchers! ::bounce:: Its a long time since I've had a massage, I'm talking years and years. In fact, I don't think I've ever had a professional massage, unless you include the massage course I attended back in 1995, which doesn't really count. Neither does several visits to an osteopath due to a parachuting injury, the physiotherapist because of a RTA, the trial Indian Head massage, or reflexology. I love water, and traditionally spas is what I've always gone for. However, I'm totally up for some tactile treatment, believe me my shoulder needs it. No doubt I'm going to be nagged to death, and I will be on my merry way.

JHB turned up in Wales a couple of weeks ago to dress up, where I felt way too old.

When you're 18 you know half the party, at my age you don't. I did see a couple of relatives, here's one (I failed to recognise him at first, do you blame me?) with mum:

As previously seen in this blog post. See, I'm related to crazy people, and people who would be terribly proud to admit it.

JHB turned up armed with a wrapped up box; and threats all evening that he was going to take the said box back, should I not stop going around the town squirting everyone with a water pistol. And more specifically him, read: his, water pistol. I mean, hand me an exciting toy and I'm going to max out on it; even if it does include squirting Lembit. Hello, euphoria! The water pistol did encounter a sudden death. Cause: the bottom of my dad's shoe.

Possibly because of this, I got to keep the said wrapped box, and it contained the first series of West Wing, w00t! Several days later, he said, "Giving you the West Wing was supposed to be for entertainment not a career guide, you off to be the pollster for the White House now?" I've only watched the first disc so far, because I've really been junking out on American TV of the late, via my dvd rentals. British comedy, what's that? I'll give you my verdict when I've finished the first series, but one thing I will say. I'm cursing this present. Do I really need to feel obligated to get through yet another American TV series? I'm certainly playing catch up here, for a decade of missed television.

J and C also brought me a Crazy Cat Lady action figure. I saw this online a few months ago, and immediately started praying that J would not stumble on it. Obviously it didn't work. Prayer is now on par with the Fail Whale. If J saw, I knew exactly what would happen, i.e. it would be another excuse just to rib me, and I was right. Apparently, as well eccentric, I'm the Crazy Cat Lady. Let it be known I've never owned a cat in my life. That is the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and so help me God you did not. I just happen to be around other people's cats. That I cannot help, and for some reason moggies have set it their mission in life to just bug me. So, there. Ner, ner. In the meantime, I now have an outlet for related frustration.

Fast forward to this week, I got a newspaper in the post. Shudder at the thought, and yes I did laugh. Birthday pranks! My immediate thought, "Someone has been raiding my Flickr account". I really should know better than to put pictures of me on The Internet!

The story contained a piece of information that only two of my friends are aware of, one more with it than the other.

"J - would you care to explain oneself?"
"WASN'T ME!!"

Immediately insinuating association, and asserting an evil master collaboration going on. See, I didn't even have to go into detail here. Great. J knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"E?"
"E is not the only person who knows of xxxx evils"
"I've not talked to anyone else about xxxx evils. You're my partner in crime, we had a discussion with E. That's it?!"
"Think"

Before I go on with this story, let it be known I was awake the previous night until ~4am, trying to sort out a server which was down a few hours. Not something I could postpone until the next day, as a few business websites are hosted on it. Read: the next day my head was not functioning, and in the last position to deal with cryptic.

So this mind twisting as to who sent me such an evil present, goes on for hours and hours. A process of elimination. Bugging friends, however they were just going along with the evil plan. I drag Twitter into it, sending various random people into confusion. Then I question Ce:

"Newspaper"
"What about it?"
"What [do] you have to say for [your]self?"
"No idea what you [are] talking about"
[Explains]
"And [I] am on [the] case as to who sent it"
"Ah so that's what your twit[ter] message was about. Looked at it earlier thought mm what she on!"
"Its annoying me, immediately i thought it was J. Then thought E. No apparently, so thought I'd try you"
"Well its a no sorry"
"I need to figure out who sent it"
"T is now at the top of my list of suspects, since you deny it"
"Does it matter?"
"I would like to thank them for annoying me!"
"But imagine though u a prime minister!"
"LOL - FFS! You sure you didn't send?"
"LOL at the wine abolishment thing! Sounds like something you would do!"
"Apparently xxxxx is my best friend. That's J all over, to include that"

So this conversation goes on for what must be hours. I'm getting more and more frustrated. Then it takes an evil turn where Ce starts winding me up confusing me (big time) about something else entirely. Concerning my e mail address and some prank from last year. Lets not go there. You either know the story or you don't. Apparently it was a clue, hinting at more continued frolicsome antics. Except I didn't see it, because my head was totally mush.

So, Ce lied. She was wholly responsible for that newspaper prank, with assistance from my receptionist.

As annoying as the people in my life can be, and it pains me to say this: I'm extremely lucky. :)

Posted by alison at 11:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

No, really. Amongst a lot of other blurb, I get this message:

I noticed that online marriages are turning out to be successful and so I decided to give it a trial.

So, excuse my naivety. Is there an internet chapel? Do you turn up using your Second Life avatar? Or do you just conduct the entire thing via IM, and not even worry about the hassle of meeting up? Success can be attributed to never actually having to be in each other's physical presence? Trial? Does the Alpha Male enter into Marriage Beta 0.9, and which can be relinquished before reaching 1.0? Kids? Just put the eggs/sperm in the post on dry ice? Or do give birth to an avatar, the advantage being that virtual nappies are less smelly than the real thing? Kid 2.0. Brings a whole new meaning to a start up.

On a slightly related note, twice this week I've been thrown That Conversation by relatives; as if once really wasn't enough and I didn't take it in, because I did not take any steps in the two intervening days.

So mum is in town and amuses some kid, without prompt. Conversation between mum and the family:

"Ah, I can tell you're a grandmother"
"No! I've not got any grandchildren, it will never happen"

Enter a load of violins, and the whole damn orchestra for that matter. Nevermind exactly how I might feel here, that's totally inconsequential. (Note, I never actually contribute to this conversation). We're dealing with a generation that followed a learnt precedent, where norms were adhered to. In an effort to be positive, I then get "well you never know" line and how I might fall in love. Today my auntie joined in, and the backdrop? A load of baby photos. Implying how really I should be standing on the street corner like right now with a sign over my head KNOCK ME UP ALREADY.

Posted by alison at 6:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Dwindling church numbers for a traditional based service, has meant the evening service is now held once a fortnight, instead of every week. Reality translation: mum is free from about 12.30pm every two weeks on a Sunday. This is a total novelty, since she's been an organist for over 50 years. Just to get how big a deal this is, when I was a kid, we went on holiday after 7.30pm on a Sunday evening and returning the following Saturday. Not even a full week away! Whilst the vicar had his two weeks off, mum was at those organ pedals every single Sunday.

I've offered to take my parents on holiday, and its always "what if there's a funeral?", "I've got a wedding to play for, we can't go then". Here I won't go into the whole church thing of you must feel guilty and devote your entire life; religion plays on that a bit too well as a means of control.

Today was probably the second Sunday into this new routine, and my parents' heads are very much in ESCAPE! mode. You wouldn't find them at your nearest shopping place, Sunday is a day of rest: you don't do anything, except perhaps give up your life for that organ.

The excuse, we'll take you out for a late birthday lunch! I knew this was just an excuse, but I humoured them. Given choice, I would go to the nearest establishment serving way too much garlic; but since dad doesn't do garlic I opted lunch at the top of this hill:

I went here with James a week ago.

Suggesting this, all week I've got comments, "It will be too cold for us", "We're not booking, because there's no way we're going up a hill if its raining". And so it goes on. Knock me over with a feather.

What must be the first time this year, the sun actually decided to put in an appearance, and up that hill we went:

Here's lunch, far too much food:

The suit and top button undone is the straight out of church look, and wanting to be wearing something else already.

Ice cream:

However, it was the views that you eat there for. You could see for miles down the coast (much further than on an overcast day).

We walked down, leaving dad exclaim "There's no way I'm doing that again, I'm walking up the hill only": When you start to hit 70, apparently your knees hurt.

By late afternoon, I was seriously tired and refused to drive:

I needed sleep so badly. Just came home and crashed. 12 hours after eating, I'm still full. That was way too much food. Next time I'm sticking to ice cream.

Posted by alison at 11:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Beyond this introductory paragraph, I typed the remainder of this post a week ago, but held back publishing it for various reasons; including some apprehension around committing such content to public space. That includes elements of making it real, is this really it, etc. Since its my birthday, and the start of a new year in my life it's perhaps appropriate just to jump. The rest of this post was written last Wednesday.

This is going to be very self indulgent writing, no-one is obliged to read it. In fact, I would possibly prefer it that way. To summarise this post in one sentence: I've finally made a decision on what next. Not a forced decision, because someone out there is pushing me or I feel obligated. Because finally I'm ready, and it feels right. Just how important to do it this way, was crucial. Now you may stop reading, because that's the gist of the below.

Along the way I thought I'd never get to this point, perhaps gave up hope more than once and tear myself up in frustration. Back in January I wanted to focus this year on faith. This was very much deliberate, I knew my life was moving forward and deep down there was a sense of knowing that I wasn't going to have an affirmation of answers until the summer; yet there were days I became filled with self doubt. Other people pushing some agenda sometimes drove me into deeper anxiety and not helpful. A sense of self needed to be averred, for a myriad of reasons which I'm not going to spell out here. The calendar flipped to February, and I said, "Bottom line, I feel as if I'm going through a prep stage for the next phrase in my life, but the weird thing is, I really don't know what that is". My instinct was telling me something, and I couldn't afford not to listen to it (I've failed on this one before, to negative consequences). When I attended a life mapping session at the end of March, I was offered a window:

E and I decided to attend the workshop on Life Mapping, to give the terps something to do. This was somewhat weird, more to do with the tutor, as E has already noted on her blog. The exercise was drawing or visually mapping out your life to date, however a focus on what you felt. This included triggers for good and bad times. Something we all think about, but seeing this on paper was interesting, as its easier to spot trends. Drawing my life's rollercoaster, there was one recurring remedy, when things went pear shaped. A remedy that automatically went for a few years back, but didn't follow it through, and have since neglected it. This absence was so blindingly obvious on paper, I sat there thinking I was stupid. For all the noise that can happen, sometimes you get directed from you[r] mind's eye. Its something I need to get back to.

(And yes I know how New Age that must read).

Now, I won't quite be so harsh on myself, because other factors entered the equation. However, back in March I wasn't sure I wanted to face up to this practicality, and I was still after certain answers. Before Dublin a couple of friends had made comments on how they perceived my strengths, and perhaps running away from this caused me to become lost.

A few weeks ago I went to London, to do some filming for the BBC. Not because I was jumping at filming - I've actively turned down every TV request in the past 6 years, I actually hate television - but I had my own agenda. I was just rooting for some presentation practice, before Dublin. Instead of practising in the safety of one's home, I do it on national screen (don't analyse my logic). However, what was more interesting for me was the process leading up to this. Another ping.

I knew Dublin would hold some answers, and whilst it threw in some surprises, some moments of just wanting to run away, internalisation of many questions; it introduced clarity. Something that has been missing for too long. In the Emerald Isle, I knew where I wanted to arrive at, but I wasn't quite sure of the form. I had 4-5 potential avenues in my head, some half serious, some not; I even expressed this to a couple of people but that's where it stopped. Ultimately not quite knowing how I would approach this. For that reason alone, I felt somewhat of a fraud. The aim was there, but nothing felt quite right at the form. This bugged me travelling home, I didn't like leaving without all the answers. Anxious to ride a wave, this week, I've done some research, and perplexed how I would solve this. Information really wasn't doing it, and more and more there was a realisation I had a good inkling of my destination but I needed a route.

Finally I woke up this morning knowing exactly what I wanted to do, and I even dreamt about it. I've not been so sure of anything for a long time. Whilst all this is just an outline of where I want to go, I've still got detail to figure out and more importantly I've now got to face the difficult part and execute this in practice. Just thinking about it tires me. Nothing in life is every a smooth journey, and I'm old enough to realise there's a rollercoaster ahead. Yes, I need to get the mechanisms in place, because right now there's none, and then following this through.

As a side note, and rather spooky, last week I was offered a job and also approached to do some work in the States. Coincidentally, all linked to my current anticipated path, yet both were not pursued or applied for. Certainly no dots or crosses have happened, thus could fall through; however I feel totally okay with that, even at peace. Perhaps everything happens for a reason, and finally things appear to be coming together. As much as it is a bit eek to type that, there's a deep sense of knowing and a state that has been absent for what feels like eternity. A distrait that led to being lost; and suddenly being reintroduced to an old friend. That connection to a spiritual self has always been important to me, pushing me forward. Its been missing, I've certainly noticed; kind of banging my head wishing that void would be refilled. Now I'm left with the thought: thank goodness you're back, please don't leave me again.

That's where blogging is going to end on this subject, because I'm not about to lend every inch of my being to cyberspace. I'm possibly not going to want to talk about this much - if at all - because right now solitude is important. Its the only way I can be sure I'm taking the right path, and I'm in need of that inner connection. Certainly I will be seeking out people to assist me, but this will be selective.

I'll end with: I've not been so liberated in years.

Posted by alison at 7:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)