Tuppence For My Thoughts : 1998

Found in the box of coins.

Found in the box of coins.

This is a slightly late response to the Daily Post entitled Buffalo Nickel:

“Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you find. What were you doing that year?”

I made an eyes-closed dip into the box of coins which I keep in the den and drew the coin you see pictured above. The coin is a 1998 two pence piece, known as a “tuppence” in ye olde Englishe, is made of copper-plated steel, but is often just referred to as a copper coin.

I was slightly surprised to find something over 10 years old, but old coppers are hardy little chaps.

Anyway, back to 1998. This post has not only made me think about what we were doing, but what weren’t yet.

Home Sweet Home

We were both still in our thirties. This was the first full year that my much beloved and myself spent in the first (and only) property that we bought together. It was home and still is. We were having all the window frames replaced, although we had the original 1930s leaded lights re-fitted, and were facing up to the responsibility of a slightly larger than average sized garden. It was the garden that help sell the house.  We’re lucky to have good sized gardens to front and rear, giving privacy and space. I vividly remember us standing at the bottom of the garden looking back at the house in the previous summer. Despite a few issues with the house, we just knew it was right. Nearly 18 years on, we are still here. I think that we made the right choice.

In 1998, we hadn’t yet had the pleasure of tasty home grown produce. We’re still beginners on this front, but I’m always willing to learn.

 

On The Road

Automotively speaking, my pride and joy back then was an old Rover Mini Mayfair called Henry. Si  gave him the name when I had test driven Henry and another mini, a Mini Sprite. The Sprite was a more basic model and when we walked past the smart little Mayfair, Si said “He’s so posh. We would have to call him Henry”. Well, a car named is a car sold, so I extended my budget and the deal was done. Henry had a walnut dashboard. I bought him alloy wheels and a gear knob to match the dash. I sill have that knob somewhere.

Henry the Mini Mayfair

Henry the Mini Mayfair

Me and Henry visited local craft fairs, where I sold my hand-crafted jewellery and beads. It was no mean feat fitting two folding display boards, signs and stock into that little motor, but I did it and Henry and myself had a fun time on the road. I was sorry to sell the little chap, but he was getting a bit long in the tooth and felt rather small and slightly vulnerable on busy roads. In an old mini your body is the crumple zone. But he was great fun to drive, especially around roundabouts. Sometimes I would deliberately miss a junction just to go around one more time.

Much beloved drove  a blue BMW 328 with more grunt, but a lot less personality.

 

New Best Friend

1998 saw our first cat share our home. He was called Hughes and had a very calm personality. Hughes knew things, which he kept to himself.

The Very Thoughtful Hughes

 

We took Hughes in when a friend’s mother died and he needed a home. He was initially quite concerned about his change in abode and kept hiding, which is common for a cat facing upheaval.

On his second day with us, I had been left in charge, and settled down to watch television coverage of the Italian national football team in the World Cup in the room where Hughes  was currently hiding. Unfortunately for Hughes, just as he had mustered up enough courage to venture out from cover, the Azzuri scored. I expressed my pleasure at this by shouting “Yes!”, and Hughes scampered back into hiding, which sadly was the moment when I noticed him. Oops. Treats and soft words won his confidence and things improved between us after that!

 

Technologically Speaking

I should point out at this stage that we still have the same TV (bought in the mid to late 80s). Yes, our big fat Cathode Ray goggle box at the time of writing was displaying the Manchester City vs Barcelona game, which I was not watching, so our current cat slept undisturbed.

Talking of technology, which I wasn’t, things were quite different.Our PC  in 1998 ran Windows 95. Minesweeper was my preferred game and my mobile phone (Panasonic) was, like the TV, fat and clunky. Unlike the TV, I no longer have the phone! Our connection to the internet was on a 56k modem which made emitted a screaming binary chant (some of which I can still ‘sing’) as it formed a communication link to the outside world. There was no broadband.

In case you have never heard the sound of the modem dial up, or for those who would like a little trip down memory lane, click here.

 

That’s Entertainment

There was also no Geocaching, but the first recognised cache was only two years away. It took us another 12 years to join in…We hadn’t discovered the local network of footpaths.
Musically, amongst many others, we were listening to post-Marillion Fish and post-Fish Marillion. Much beloved prefers Fish-led Marillion but I prefer them separate. This Strange Engine was probably being played a lot, including the beautiful but haunting Estonia .

 

Physically we were both a little slimmer with less grey hair. Himself was still clean shaven and had shorter hair than me – that’s changed.  But we are still the same crazy, sarcastic, loved-up couple that we were then. Long may it last.

 

MinG

Endless Impossibilities…

The most recent post from the blogging101 course has probably been the most inspirational one for me. I have enjoyed the various exercises, but I felt that my blog was lacking direction. I knew that I had things to say but I wasn’t sure exactly what and why. What would I write? And why would people continue to follow and read?

The idea of building in a regular feature, filled me with dread. How could I keep that up? What common theme? But the suggestion of looking at what had brought the most positive responses gave me a “eureka” moment.

 

I was so excited in the car hat I started talking to myself, and selling myself the idea.

 

This might only be based upon limited feedback (I don’t have many followers), but it created that spark which had eluded me for the past week or so. The inspiration came from an earlier post : Dear Sweet Impossible You.

My theme is “Impossible Conversations” (this is a working title and may change). The basis is a series of conversations that have not taken place and, for various reasons, just cannot. They might be:

  • A discussion with a person who I only met briefly, but who I found inspiring and/or interesting in some manner;
  • A conversation with an inanimate object;
  • A tribute and response to and from someone who has touched my life without our paths ever crossing;
  • How I imagine a chat with an animal would be if we could have such an exchange;
  • What I might learn from a tree or building who had seen their surroundings change.
  • A meeting with someone special who has left my life.

There are endless possibilities, and I find the idea of blending a real encounter or experience with fiction to create an impossible exchange that could have been.

I’ve started work on that first conversation…

 

More later,

MinG

Pleased to meet you neighbour, part 2

Musings on a Comment

Sorry neighbour, but this one is about me, me, me.

In the final assignment from last week’s blogging101 course, we have been encouraged to blog further on a particular comment left as part of a previous exercise. In that exercise, we chose four+ blogs which we had not previously visited and left a comment.

One of my comments was at Words Like Honey  on a post Sweaters in Waiting

Such evocative photos of yarn. I have never mastered any form of knitting, but your call to action has me reaching for the sewing box….

And that summed me up. Or at least where I am at the moment, recently.

I hear a call to action…

and I reach…

I might even grasp…

And start to…

… but rarely complete.

When it happens, I might beat myself up (not literally) about yet another unfinished project – sometimes not even started.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

And then I mulled over whether this is a recent trait or something more ingrained in my character. And why might this be. The above proverb has been interpreted in a number of ways, but I think that you can see how I’m reading it.

This blog might seem a little self centred when it started with a reference to another blogger, but this is where my train of thought took me, and given that I at least want to complete this post, I’m sticking with it.

So, back to non-completion. Why? It could be any one of the following:

  • Lack of real intention
  • Procrastination
  • Too many commitments
  • Lack of skills or resources to complete the task
  • Laziness
  • Fear

I don’t think that I suffer from a lack of real intention. Previously I was  occasionally be guilty of the false acceptance of an invitation that I didn’t really want. I’ve just about given this up and learnt to say “No”.

Procrastination. I hope you don’t mind if we come back to that later. No really.

I do sometimes lack the skills or resources to progress sometimes. And I’m too bloody independent for my own good. I just do not like asking for help. That’s a whole topic in itself. But this blogging101 project has made me have to ask questions. Small steps, small steps.

Very few people would call me lazy, but I do feel that I don’t quite reach my full potential. Is that a form of laziness? Perhaps.

Which brings me round to…

Ah yes, fear, my old friend.  Fear has “guided” me on many occasions. The reunion invite I accepted, but I was too scared to attend because I worried that I wouldn’t live up to the achievements of others. The geocaching social gatherings that I am too scared to attend alone. The walk up the hill that I didn’t undertake in case it started raining. The unanswered question in the staff briefing because I thought everyone else would know and I would look like an idiot, or worse still an idiot who had not paid attention earlier.

And yet, I’ve stood up, played and sung my own words in front of that most critical audience, my peers. I’ve asked the question that everyone else wanted to hear the answer to, but were too afraid to ask themselves. I do talk to strangers, actually that’s a cheat because quite often you won’t see them again so you won’t have to know what they think of you. And at the last reunion invitation which I accepted, people found me and my life interesting (I was quite surprised!).

And yet, I’m always scared to be judged. Even if it means approval.

And of course, fear drives procrastination, if procrastination can be driven!

So what now? Is it all about fear? Fear of being judged? Fear of failure? Fear of what others will think?

A fellow blogger has written a post,  “four kinds of people on earth” , where he suggests that the most common type of person is the coward. Well at least I’m not alone!

Yours, going back behind the sofa for a while,

Min6

Un-Themely Behaviour

Ok, so I’m a little late posting about Friday’s assignment (“Love Your Theme”), but this smug student tried out several themes last Sunday.

I had reduced a long list of eleven down to two, and opted for the Hemingway Rewritten theme. Clean, tidy and with my preferred size of font (although I know that there ways of changing this).

I didn’t want to get over concerned about colours. A suggested palette which can take minor tweaks will do. The exception being my  “About Me” page, which I have opted to change colours of key words. I found the following link useful for coding colours:

http://www.w3schools.com/tags/ref_colorpicker.asp

I so very nearly moved to Twenty Eleven this morning. Purely because I could move the side bar to the left, Crikey! I could lose days of my life playing here, so enough. Hemingway Rewritten it is.

More later

Min6

Dear Sweet Impossible You

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Dear Dream Reader, my sweet impossible you.

 

You cannot exist. Or can you?

 

You are the person in the office who knows that this blog is mine, but you don’t mention that to me because you know that I would prefer that it remains anonymous. You never change your manner towards me if I write about a contentious matter or if I launch an blog-attack on a workmate.

 

You are the person in the café that I do not have time to visit on my way to work. You blog too, and we pass each other knowing smiles as we huddle over our notebooks and cappuccino.

 

You have walked along the same beach as the one in “day 6 on the island” https://minor6th.wordpress.com/2014/09/26/on-the-island-day-6-toll-to-toll/. You already knew that the arrangement of pebbles was called a berm.

 

You have the same sense of humour as me and you laugh at my references to cows and broccoli.

 

You sometimes reply to my posts, and frequently like them.

 

I read your blog and I am in awe of your inner strength.

 

You don’t mind that I am not given to writing long posts. You too appreciate that sometimes there isn’t much so say. Sometimes a picture will do. And if I haven’t written for several weeks, you are still out there, waiting.

 

You are my father. Long gone but never forgotten. Stolen from this world before the technology that you loved so much really became interesting. How you would have loved the gadgets available to us now. How much fun we could have had together.

 

Stay with me …

 

… until the next time we meet.

MinG

xx

Why Am I Here? To Find Out?

Blogging 101, Assignment 1, Introduction

What I’m looking for here is, ironically, difficult to put into words.

Hello, I’m Min and I have a problem. How to introduce myself.

In conventional terms I am a late forties, semi professional married woman. I have a cat (no children). I like the usual things:

  • music (fairly eclectic tastes, recently listening to Sibelius, Foo Fighters, Bjork, Brian Eno and 80s pop);
  • food (especially fish at the moment);
  • gardening (or so  tell myself, but the garden is currently a state, and I don’t mean Kansas);
  • geocaching (especially in spring and autumn);
  • wine (enough said).

Why am I here and doing this?

I guess primarily to express myself in a manner that someone, anyone, might enjoy or at least relate to. It’s definitely a form of therapy, and I expect that I will be ranting a few times.

It will give me an opportunity to express what the rules of society do not permit me to say to someone’s face.

But there will be joy and photos and silly stuff too. My life’s semi-rich tapestry hung up for all to see. And because nobody out there really know me. I don’t have to face you in the office tomorrow and explain my bad behaviour.

And I just want to leave something that I have created “out there”. I used to be in a band who mainly did covers, but we experimented and started to write our own stuff. This is where we fell apart. I didn’t like the sugar sweet input of some of the others and they found my stuff too bleak. It might sound arrogant, but I just believe my own work was better. So perhaps some lyrics will feature.

What topics will I cover? No restrictions. but probably mostly from the list of likes above.

And I hope that being here will introduce me to like minded individuals. There seem to be precious few about in my day to day existence (apart from my much beloved).

Anyway, I’ve been rambling, you’ve been kind enough to “listen”, and if I don’t stop now I’ll make myself late for work.

More later

MinG

On The Island, Day 2. Lights On. Lights Off.

Well, it is our first full day in the wilderness.

I don’t want to go on about the automatic lights but the list of points against are increasing.

I’m generally an early riser, which means that for at least six months of the year it is dark when I wake. When I walk around the house I like to decide which lights I turn on; sometimes I choose none until I reach the kitchen. What I do not want is to be blinded into being full awake in one fell swoop as I step into the danger zone, sorry dining room.

And in the kitchen, I will usually choose a Hopper-esque low level light from the kitchen hood, until I am fully ready to join the day. More so on holiday, when I feel I have the right to move gently to wakefulness.

Not a chance here. “GOOD MORNING” the kitchen lights shout, one set slightly out of time with the other, and, as I am currently sitting quite still, I am suddenly plunged into semi-darkness. It could be a form of torture.

Don’t get me started on self closing drawers and cupboards.

Today we made a couple of outings. The first at one of our favourite beaches. We chose to walk to the headland and round to the next beach to avoid the crowds. Sea air is good for the soul, but selfishy, we would like it pretty much to ourselves. We are more sociable than we used to be, and I made the mistake of smiling at the man in the day-van parked next to us. Every time I turned in his direction he was grinning back while we had lunch in the car.

Our second outing was to be a walk along a reservoir, hopefully enjoying a light breeze and views of wildfowl in their adopted environment. What we were treated to was a trek in an airless tunnel of trees. There was tentative promise of water shimmering one on side, and hopefully it will be presented just around the next turn….

Eventually we reached the end of the reservoir. Much beloved was hot and tetchy, and we had forgotten our water bottle. Ironic, when you consider the view.

Water, water everywhere….. Dam. Damn.

It think that what annoyed us more was that this was not a circular walk, and we would have to suffer the same route in reverse to quench our thirst.

Back at the cottage, at the end of the garden is a chicken run with four or five hens and a rather fine looking cockerel. We had expected that we would be woken by one of nature’s alarm clocks, but no. In fact we haven’t heard him at yet at any hour. Poor chap. Perhaps he is mesmerised by the amazing flashing house.

Min6

On The Island, Day 1. The Power of Broccoli.

On the island. It sounds exotic and remote, cut off from life’s little luxuries and ever-present techno-babble.

Ironic to be using WordPress then, isn’t it? Perhaps not as there is no wifi (“No wifi?), so any uploads will have to be facilitated by parking in the nearest McDonald’s.

Or I may end up posting each day’s rambles a week later after we return (I did).

Not so remote then? Well, as I step outside, all I can hear is birdsong, the wind in the trees and the exchange of calls between nearby cattle.

No luxuries? Actually, our lodgings are spacious, clean and, with the exception mentioned above, very well equipped. Too well equipped in one area, in my opinion.

I am referring to what has become known as the “broccoli-activated” lights in the kitchen and dining room. These are motion and light sensitive, so turn themselves on when it is dark enough and you enter the room. Excellent idea? Nope. At twilight, we had to fool them into thinking it was darker, by partially blocking out the light from the sensor and at the same time presenting it with motion. I chose to wave a small handful of tender stem broccoli. Seemed to do the trick.

Some people may like automatic lights as they no longer need to worry about switching them off when they leave a room possibly saving energy and therefore doing their bit to save the planet. I don’t like the abdication of responsibility. Call me a Luddite, but is it really that much effort to reach for the switch? Like so many gadgets, we are discouraged from thinking about our actions, planning our schedule, cleaning up after ourselves.

And besides, we’ve eaten the broccoli now. How will we drag ourselves from the darkness tomorrow?

Min6