Falalalalalalalala

Yes. Christmas is approaching. I absolutely love this time of year but my good will towards men is tainted by the judgemental side of me that lurks beneath the surface.

Christmas is the time of year when my slight (I hope) OCD tendencies brim to the surface. I have appointed myself the Good Taste Christmas Lights Enforcer. Too many houses are falling victim to the Christmas rush and being slapped together with no thought. At least, I hope that's what happened.This year I have devised:

 
 I will update you on this year's best and worst - feel free to submit photos for scoring.

I realise that I sound quite mean. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I blame my childhood Christmas tree. 

Once upon a time there was a small girl who was mesmerised by Christmas. She would eagerly anticipate the day mum said she and her sisters could put up the Christmas tree and would then spend ages gazing adoringly at it while listening to our record of Christmas carols (it had pop up things in the album cover) and dreaming of what Santa would bring. It was magical. One year, however, the scales fell from her eyes and she saw the tree for what it really was. It was a fake tree handed down to her parents from her grandparents and thoroughly showing its age. She noticed that it was, essentially, a big stick with some holes in it that you could poke some branches into.  She noticed that the branches were so sparse you could clearly see the big stick in the middle and that they stuck out at odd angles. The top of the tree was a branch that stuck straight up so that the poor old angel who lived on top of the tree, and who was once an object of wonder but was now losing her tinsel hair, could only flop listlessly to one side. The poor branch couldn't hold her up. In fact, her tree looked a little something like this:

(I only worry that I've made the tree look too nice.)

It was about this time that the little girl started to notice that when she went to visit friends that their trees were filled out and were beautifully decorated (and not with the homemade Styrofoam bells from Sunday School) and that their houses actually had other decorations. Not just some tinsel and paper chains, but lights and ornaments. She returned home and looked forlornly at her tree again. She determined that once she was in charge of her own Christmas that she would make it beautiful - OR ELSE!


Her first attempt was to enforce a colour theme on her family at the age of 17. She spent ages making little red velvet bows with gold trim so they would have enough red decorations - even though she is hopeless at craft. It was a slight improvement.


Her next effort was once she lived with her husband (who comes from a real tree family) and could finally glory in having her first ever REAL CHRISTMAS TREE. Only to discover that in Australia they wilt, go brown, lean, have limp branches and drop needles that the cat eats and then throws up. 


Finally, she dragged her husband around the shops until she found the 'perfect' fake tree (within moderate budget limits) and managed to extract a promise from him that each year she could splurge on one nice new Christmas item.

It's just about decorating time. Good luck people. May the gods of good taste be with us all.

EDIT: I really did make the tree look too nice. My husband agreed. He suggested I draw a frowny face over the top, but I think I need to do another one.

Apostrophe Man

Some people like Superman. Some like Spiderman. Some even like Batman, even though technically, he has no superpowers, just lots of gadgets. I used to like Wonder Woman. However, none of these guys have got anything on:

With his superhuman intellect, his mission is to defend unsuspecting civilians from apostrophe atrocities. Like the wind, you cannot see him, but he will gradually erode away the mountain of crimes against the apostrophe. His weapon of choice is a tireless letter writing campaign. Should this fail,  I suppose he might engage in a little civil disobedience with an eraser or a texta. Or chalk.

I never said he had super strength or super speed or mind control. 

OK. So maybe you will see him. I did tell you about him not having super speed or strength or mind control right? But you can ONLY see him when you're really in need. Like the A-Team. Or Mary Poppins. Or the Thunderbirds.

APOSTROPHE MAN! Sorting the possessives and contractions from the plurals. Whenever you have an apostrophe need, if you can find him, APOSTROPHE MAN will......try to get there. Or at least, write a strongly worded letter to the offending entity.


Disclaimer: Apostrophe Man deals only with offenses relating to the apostrophe. His expertise does not extend to the comma, colon or semi colon. 

Significant Running Episodes - Part 2

Cross Country Glory

If you have read about my tormented relationship with running already, then you will understand that the day of the cross country carnival was not the highlight of my year. I mean, I liked being outside all day with my friends and all that. But cross country participation was COMPULSORY. It was not just a picnic day in the park, we had to RUN. FOR EVER.

The lead up to the cross country would start with our teachers taking us for 'practise runs' around the course. Perhaps they were making sure we didn't get lost. Perhaps they were trying to make sure we weren't completely unprepared and unfit. Probably both. At this stage, I had not yet learnt that running was not to be my thing so I was reasonably enthusiastic. I was certainly keen to appear as if I was in control, like all the super athlete kids. I tried to act cool, like: "Yeah, just gonna do a little cross country. All you suckers are gonna eat my dust, but you know, I'm a gracious winner. Do not be afraid." I think this is where my Little Athletics family expectations may have set me up a little bit. My sisters used to win this stuff for real. When I first attempted it, despite my dismal Little Athletics experience and lack of understanding as to the point of just......RUNNING, I was sure that I, too, would win. How hard could it be?


This is what happened.

Do you see where this is going? Of course you do. You're clever. Unlike I was. It's a hot day. It's the start of the race. There's a steep hill.

 
And that is how I ended up coming 112th. Even though at the start of the race I was coming first. I spent the rest of the race dawdling with some intermittent running. I dawdled through the shady bits (to escape the hot sun) and would then make a dash for the next shady bit, where I would dawdle again.

They even gave us each a small certificate with our place on it. Mine said:

"Congratulations! You came_______112th______!"

I can still picture it. I can still remember the moment I handed it to my mum who just sighed.

And thankfully, at my high school, cross country was optional. Oh yeah.

Next installment: Erin lied to me about 'Fun Running'.

Significant Running Episodes - Part 1

I am not a runner. I have not yet accepted the fact that I will never be a runner. I see people jogging along the street/on the beach/around the park and I really feel I could be part of that. They're so fit! Being fit feels awesome! I should be fit like that! For a moment, my lifetime of shattered running expectations vanishes and I feel I could totally become a fit, toned person like them.

This is a mistake. 

AND this has been the cause of all my running related humiliations. I honestly think that something in my brain tells me that running is easy. Toddlers can run. It is a skill we learn early, like walking, and should therefore be equally as simple. This is not how things have turned out for me. In fact, for me to be successful in the running department I need to trick my brain into believing that I'm not running. 


The delusions I need in order to mask the fact that I am running.
1. I am not running; I am playing netball/soccer/hockey/lacrosse/european handball
 This is the most successful option and usually results in my brain thinking instead about how much fun I am having. April Fool!!

2. I am not running; I am defending my goal/teammate/fortress
This is closely related to delusion number 1 but is bursting with determination and stubbornness. This kind of delusion will force me to keep running even when I really should stop because: a) I am about to collapse or b) everybody else is over it already.

3. I am not running; I am going to catch that ball come hell or high water (where does that phrase come from?)
This works because I'm not looking at my legs. I've got my eyes on the prize.


4. I am not running; I am excited to swim in the ocean/see you/be at this concert
This kind of running is generally interspersed with jumping up and down, which interrupts the flow of the run and thus distracts me from the running.

5. I am not running; I am chasing you/beating you/winning!
This is a fairly tenuous choice as the moment I cease to be winning it ceases to function.

6. I am not running; I am being chased by a child/husband/serial killer/killer goose
 Has not been thoroughly tested.


Any failure to select and utilise one of these delusions results in great inner torment. As evidenced by this, what I like to call, 'significant running episode'.


Episode 1: Little Athletics
This needs a little background. I am the youngest of four girls by a lot. Between me and my eldest sister is 11 years, then 9 years, then 7 years. You may have noticed how evenly and systematically my sisters were produced before I came along and messed it up. This evenness meant that they went through a lot of their growing up together, including childhood activities, while I was more or less fending for myself. My older sisters all did Little Athletics. They all loved Little Athletics. They all had some degree of success with Little Athletics. I remember being dragged to athletics carnivals in my pjs and dressing gown when I was very small. This was vey exciting as I usually got a sausage roll. After bedtime. 
Once I came 'of age' (in my family, this means the age you can start Little Athletics) my mother signed me up, despite my protests.

I knew at this point that mum was firmly committed to sending me to Little Athletics. I had also grasped that this was largely because sending me to Little Athletics with my sisters would be very convenient for her but that she was trying to make it sound like it would be fun. I knew what she was up to. She was not going to win. She even tried to bribe me with the promise that in a year, I would be allowed to wear the proper athletics UNIFORM. Nice try mum.


She sent me to Little A's. While I was there, I had something of an epiphany.

My mum picked me up. She asked how I went. 

And that's why I only went to Little Athletics once. My mum still sighs if anybody reminds her of this story. And I still don't understand the point of running round in circles if nobody is chasing you.


I googled 'running is not fun' and I found a link to 'Helpful Hints for Making Running Fun'. Let me share with you.

First, you want to figure out what is keeping you from working out on a regular basis right now. Is it because you think running is not fun? Is it because you think running can be way too hard? Whatever your reason is for not liking to run, you need to work on changing that. Get out the door on a regular basis and get to work. 

Well, I guess that's problem solved then. I just need to change my opinion of how fun running is. Then I will find running more fun. It goes on to say that if you just think running is not fun, to take an mp3 or run with someone. I'm not convinced as I didn't find either of those things on my list of acceptable delusions.

Next time: Cross Country Glory

The Best and Worst Books I Have Read- A Summary

Let me preface this list by letting you know that I am a big reader. I always have been. I could read a bit before I started school and at bedtime I would insist on multiple stories and re-reads. When my parents or sisters tried to skip pages I would get very cross and make them go back. At the breakfast table, for the lack of anything better to read, I would read the back of cereal boxes, including the nutritional information. I worry that perhaps I was like that kid 'Brick' (seriously, how is BRICK a name?) from the show 'The Middle'. I reassure myself that I did have social skills, friends and other interests. 

Even now, I read while I eat breakfast, I read on the train, I read over lunch and I read before going to sleep. I have lists of books I want to or 'should' read and in my early twenties my book purchasing choices were made by how intellectual a particular book would look on my bookshelf. WRONG. This is how I ended up with Chaucer's 'Cantebury Tales' which I have never read.

WORST

1. Crime and Punishment: this may be a controversial choice as it is generally considered to be great literature. BUT.....

 

Stretch that out to about 656 pages of internal angst and....WHY WOULD ANYONE READ THAT?

2. Vanity Fair: another 'great classic'. I quite liked the story it was just the author's interjections with things like......

 

3. The Zahir: A far more obscure book which I am currently reading. Well truthfully, forcing myself to finish because I cannot face the shame of giving up. This actually explains how I survived through all the books on the 'worst' list. Where do I start with this one? OK, so the plot centres around a guy who is....an author. His wife (a war correspondent) disappears and what is his reponse? After being released from police custody in relation to said wife's disappearance he's all:

'Oh well, I guess she left me and I'd better get on with things.'

Over the next few YEARS he travels a bit, writes a book about how he realised he truly loved his wife and hooks up with another woman. Then at a book signing someone turns up who tells him that his wife is ok and acts all mysterious. And....do you know what goes through the guy's head?

He's actually kind of disappointed. But he 'loves her'. So now he is trying to get the guy to tell him where she is.

I bought this book from a market stall and it was 'two for $5'. Now I know why.

4. The Crimson Petal and the White: This book actually has a story. Not a plot. Just a story about how I came to read it. It's a short story. I found this book on a plane so I kept it. I was living in Dublin at the time and had left most of my books behind in Australia so a free book seemed like manna from heaven. I read the book. It was a kind of cross between My Fair Lady, Pretty Woman and porn. It was not good. Apparently it is an 'international bestseller'. I always intended to pay it forward and leave the book on a plane for somebody else to find but there's still that part of me that can't bear to discard a book from my bookshelf. And yes, I brought the book home to Australia.

BEST

1. Harry Potter books: at first I was all 'I'm too grown up to read KIDS books' and then I read one. The rest is history.

2. Pride and Prejudice: Because every time I read it, I feel like I have just married Mr Darcy and moved in to Pemberley.

3. War and Peace: this one makes the list because I read it expecting a heavy Russian epic (which it absolutely is) but found myself actually enjoying it. Way to overcome obstacles Tolstoy.

4. Bridget Jones' Diary (1 & 2): hilarious and true.

5. The Count of Monte Cristo: the ultimate 'up yours' story.

And there you have it folks.

Two cats, one dog and a flute.

Let me tell you a bit about me and stuff I like.

I like animals. I am constantly aware that I am just one sympathetic animal adoption away from being 'that crazy lady with all the pets'. I wonder if, in fact, I already am but nobody has told me. It's not really the number of pets I have that I think is the problem (is two cats and a dog too many?) but more the obsessiveness and the assumption that all animals want to be my best friend.

Reality is often more like this. 

I talk about my pets a lot. I tell my friends about what they're doing. I point out when they're being cute and I talk both TO them and FOR them. My brave husband humours me and indulges my pet habit. I am thinking about getting another dog so my dog can have a friend. He goes to daycare. In fact, he goes everwhere with me because he is so needy.

I like music. A lot. However, the world of cool people music is a bit beyond my reach. 

I am a big music nerd.

Luckily for me it's my job. Kind of. I teach children of varying ages and abilities how to 'play music' on their flutes and pianos. Maybe I would be cool if I toured with famous musicians....But sadly, I chose to play the flute. Well, it was handed to me by a music teacher at school instead of the clarinet that I wanted to play (what was I thinking?). 

I think I would have played the bagpipes I was so desperate to learn an instrument. But anyway, the flute. I didn't start until high school (age 12 in Australia) so I was a bit behind everybody else by the time I made it to university. But I was keen and I tried very hard. Sadly for me again, orchestras usually only take two flautists and it's not a very adaptable instrument. Well, there is jazz flute, but I'd rather not go there. So...teaching it is. I do actually enjoy it (except for those few painful students every teacher is burdened with). I tried being a classroom music teacher for a brief period of time but it almost made my head explode. 

 

 

I like doing stuff. I like rehearsals. I like water sports. I like learning languages. I like board games and trivia nights. I like dancing (if somebody shows me what to do - freestylin' aint my thing, unless it involves the sprinkler and the shopping trolley). 

I generally like learning new things. I like talking to people. I like travelling. I like decorating. I like eating good food and drinking wine (wine doesn't have to be good, just not be rubbish).

I have lots of ideas about stuff I want to do. I want to take up French again.

 

I want to have horse riding lessons.

 

I want to take a painting class. Given my obvious 'Paint' skills, perhaps this is not a good idea.

I want to learn to surf. I want to play netball again. I want to travel. I want to swim with humpback whales in Tonga. I want to have a trapeze lesson and other equally awesome things.

Now. Some problems.

I have a lot of ideas. What I don't have is a lot of money (because of my career choice - which at least does make me happy). I also don't have the time to devote to all these things I would like to be brilliant at. That's not completely true. I could have the time if I would just pick something and go for it. So I'll be all "I'm going to do some serious practising today" and I will for a while, but the whole time  I'll actually be thinking, "I wonder how much surfing lessons are."

 

Maybe I am ADD. My husband has wondered sometimes, that can't be a good sign.

I also have a disastrous back, the result of years of flute playing with bad posture and last year's spinal infection fiasco. The least amount said about this the better, but I am not physically able to, nor have doctor's permission to, participate in any of the physical activities I have just listed. Boo.

So I continue to try to reconcile my imaginary life (where, obviously, I am brilliant at everything) with reality (moderate abilities in a wide variety of areas). The expectations I have for myself and the world around me often have no bearing on reality. This was once dubbed 'Nicoleland'. I like Nicoleland. Can I live there please?