A Dollar In My Pocket

I was talking with someone today, they had pair of vintage dungarees accidentally disposed of. I know the back story and even helped trying to find such a pair. I understood, empathised and advised how to put it into perspective. I have lost some things in my life that at the time were quite devastating. It reminded me of how small things can seem huge.

I was off shopping for Christmas presents when I was 12. I had my own money I had saved, $8.00. I had a job where I got paid $1;00 per day for delivering groceries on a behemoth of a bicycle. On this day I had bought all the presents I needed and had one dollar left. I felt like a rich man, I reached into my pocket and out it fluttered, quickly scooped up by the person behind me whom when I asked for it back said “finders keepers”. I was devastated, I even went to the Police who said sorry sonny, no proof, can’t help. That was it. In the scheme of things it didn’t matter as I had bought everyone a present, the last $1.00 was going to possibly buy me an ice cream soda. Now why would I remember this 50 years later, even now as I think about it I remembered an earlier loss of a coping saw, brand new and left on a bus. Another incident occurred the week of my first wedding (I know married more than once the loss in that is a whole nother story). I was in town to pick up the suits. I got to the shop and reached into my pocket for the $60:00 and it was gone, I rushed off to backtrack my steps but came back empty-handed, the proprietor said I see you have a cheque book sir, I said yeah but not the money in it to pay for the suits, he said post date it for two weeks and then we will worry about it then. Although I was relieved and thankful the fact that it has stuck in my memory indicates to me that it was a significant blow.

I have yet to work out why some of my most embarrassing, hurtful and frustrating moments seem to be indelibly scorched into my memory. Sure there are moments of triumph and wonder that still reside there. Perhaps I will do some reading about it as I think it is an important factor and can bog us down or leave us stuck when what is essentially a moment in time can impact us in a big way yet the thing is really trivial. I know it didn’t seem trivial then and everything needs perspective however the biggest perspective is that we come into this world with nothing and we take with us out of this world nothing material.

I have a judeo-christian set of beliefs about this life however my beliefs about the next are pan, that is they will pan out in the end. In many ways it is not about what we lose in this life it is about what we leave behind. What is our legacy? What memories do we leave behind for others? What impact on others do we leave behind? It is those things that really matter. I am not talking about money here, I am talking about things that help lives change. It is those moments that cancel out feelings of loss. Looking back and seeing the impact on others, (sometimes we will never see that impact).

Psychologist Julius Segal, in looking at what helps children overcome adversity, wrote that “one factor turns out to be the presence in their lives of a charismatic adult — a person from whom they gather strength. And in a surprising number of cases, that person turns out to be a teacher”. Being an influence that overcomes the adversity of others is not limited to teaching we must remember that if we mourn the loss of $1:00 how much more we must celebrate the people in our lives who bring the gift of overcoming adversity. In doing so and realising this we need to be intentional in doing this in any way we can, whether it be small or large actions. We never know when the smallest act can make a difference.

With love

Paul

I’m Tired (its the human condition)

Conflict wears me out. It grinds me down and dries my spirit, soul and body. Sometimes there is no ethical choice apart from engaging with an issue and that often leads to conflict. As much as I will still engage in issues I have learnt to pick my battles, know when to yield, know when to stand and know when to walk away. I should have learnt it a long time ago but there it is.

I walked away from a group recently, theier mysygony, racism, ableism and every other ism in the book you could think of just became too much. As individuals they are nice enough people, they mean well and are generous with their time and money often. They are however dinosaurs who are stuck in times past and cannot break free from their thought patterns, you can throw a dice and take your pick why people choose to remain with beliefs that at the best are immoral. Religion, politics, personality, hurts fear they are all there to choose from. The biggest of these in my humble opinion, (a wee pause whilst you all laugh at my use of the word humble… ) ok that’s enough people.

Fear is based on the unknown and an unwillingness to grapple with that. What if someone looked at their racist attitudes and saw they were wrong, what then? Change, redress, possibilities of vulnerability, relationships at danger? All real fears. I am happy to go out on a limb and say it takes real intyegrity and bravery to admit you were wrong, the older you are the harder it gets. We that is in the communal we actually reinforce the notion of not admitting our failings. From Kings and Queens to Politicians, Prime Ministers, Presidents through to the completely average person have grown up in a world where being wrong is hard wired to feelings of fear of the consequences.

Much is said of restorative justice, however in a world where injustice prevails everyday, enabled by society, the state the church, clubs, individuals, political parties justice is a a very rare beast, almpost as hard to find as rocking horse scat. Martin Luther King said “Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable… Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals”. This is why I still engage because not to do so is unjust. The key to surviving is to detirmine what you can do and when, how much can you care, surely one would go mad if one was to rail at every injustice in the world (externally). It is fine and healthy to be aware of injustice, doing so makes sure your reflective lens is in place and it keeps one honest.

I have realised that my limits are somewhat smaller than what I thought them to be which is a nice segue back into the title of my blog. As you may or perhaps may not know I have had cardiac rythym issues, they seem to be well managed however one of the medications just knocks me I can wake up tired and continue in that for the rest of the day. The post concussion syndrome doesnt help either. The good news is that eventually I will be able to stop that medication and very very slowly my concussion symptoms are abating, (hence the writing). The bad news, well it could be 6 months to a year before I can change medications. The problem with the medication is that my pulse rate sits at around 54 and doesn’t increase to much above 70 when under load, which doesn’t allow enough oxygyn to power the exertion.

Small steps towards more cardiac fitness will help as will weight loss. As to my brain fog well being hit on the head witha 900 gm stone doesnt help, nor some subsequent falls however re-engaging the left side of my brain does help, so trying to instill discipline back into my writing will eventuall help that it does tire me as does conflict however that which doesn’t kill me, postpones the inevitable but it does help climb above the walls, swim the moats and walk the fields.

Paul

Shall I comment?

Facebook and other social media are an everyday part of many peoples lives.  Some  say that there has been a new level of harm done because of people who comment on others posts and these comments are hurtful

Too Thick To Drink and Too Thin To Plow

Such is the description of a number of muddy waters, the Waikato River is one of these it goes from the beautiful blue crystal clear water that comes out of Lake Taupo

Waiting for God

I have been corresponding with a friend of mine recently, her mum is seriously ill, hanging on to life by a thread, she has had a reasonable innings and also has cancer, so if her current illness doesn’t get her the cancer will.  She is waiting for God, I haven’t met her at all but from what I know she has had a full life

I hate bare floors

So said a cousin to me recently.  We were discussing the carpets in his home that he had been renting out.  It brought back to my mind my childhood.  We were renters until I was 12, when my parents bought a home.  There were quite a few that I remember and some I can’t however one of the enduring memories was the cold floors.  Insulation in homes at that time in the 60’s and seventies was unheard of. The homes we rented were old, and generally had no curtains, perhaps roller blinds (that’s another story). Invariably they had some sort of a passageway which as soon as mum was able would be furnished with a runner of coconut matting.  This was hard wearing very coarse fibre, it served a couple of purposes, one was decorative.  Greeny blue kind of hues from memory, bound down the edge either side, it was probably sold by the yard. It did a good job of trapping dirt, akin to sandpaper it would scrape the sand or dirt of your feet waiting to be gathered at some stage.  I have vague memories of a very old vacuum cleaner, electrolux most likely but I remember the carpet being taken outside and beaten and the remaining dust and dirt being swept off the floor.  It also served as an instrument of torture, ideal for dragging siblings along resulting in some pretty impressive carpet burns!

I did not equate bare floors with poverty, not one of the things in my mind really, most of the houses I have lived in as an adult have been carpeted including one which had shag pile in the dining room…. go figure.  these days I equate carpets as places where dust mites can congregate, at some stage i am most likely to pull up the carpets in my wooden floored house.  The native tongue and groove flooring is too beautiful to be hidden really.  I prefer wooden floors, they have spring in them, perhaps if I owned a house with concrete floors I may have a change of heart.  Poor curtaining I certainly equate with poverty and other more nefarious and darker things. There are some things that I equate with poverty.  Boiled mince is one of those things.

I remember with some shame in the early days of my marriage my wife (now ex) served up boiled mince for dinner.  I was how shall we say this, intemperate in my response.  You see it provoked a reaction in me.  We as children ate pretty well, the staple meat was sheep meat, rarely beef,chicken was even more scarce and pork well I remember roast pork for New Years Day, I don’t remember it any other time.  Mum was an enthusiastic cook and everything was made with love, which made up for most things, dad made a superb gravy! Potatoes came in a sugar sack 40 pound at a time, when dad didn’t have them from his garden.  We were never in danger form under-cooked vegetables!  Desserts were simple, My favourite was bread pudding, dago, rice and tapioca well not for me is all I will say.  Home preserved fruit and fresh cream straight from the dairy factory where dad worked well that was something else!  But I remember boiled, grey, gluggy,glutinous,mince on occasion and to my mind that was poverty.

I cook mince often these days but it is varied from sphag bol to lasagne, mince chowmein hamburger patties, meatballs. More versatile than sausage but good value and quick to prepare.  Today as I thought about this post i was thinking of how much I would like a leg of Mutton, not lamb or even hogget but old-school mutton.  Way beyond my price point these days the cheapest meat would have to be chicken, a far cry from my childhood.

Tomorrow I become unemployed my contract is finished at school.  Right now if I were a horse I would be shot, I have a couple of severe injuries and according to the specialist probable permanent nerve damage, it is frustrating to sit around, and be able to do so little at the moment.  i rebel against it every now and then but then pay a high price for even very moderate activity, the other day after i got out of a swimming pool, ( a hot soak after a gentle 4 k circuit around  Mauao or Mount Maunganui or the Mount as it is known by many) I had to sit down where I was before I fell down.  I contemplated seeking assistance, however the thought of getting a wheel chair and the attendant fuss of that gave me determination to grit my teeth and make it to the changing sheds.  the narrative of disability like that is really unpleasant.

Unemployment in the past has not particularly bothered me.  I am versatile I have earned money in various ways from milking cows, swinging a hammer, driving trucks. it doesn’t  matter i like work.  Not even being able to mow my lawns that is another matter.  Not working equates with poverty in my mind. I hate it and the attendant issues it brings.  The pressures and lifestyle choices that it impacts upon one and my family above all is particularly unpleasant.

I know we will be ok,I know how to live cheaply, I have good friends and great kids that has to be enough for now and i am grateful for it in my life.

Paul