Feng Shui and Home Office Layout

Never one to really believe in unicorn ideas, I need science to explain to me the unexplained and proof that there is a tangible reason behind it. So Feng Shui at first glance for me falls into the positive thinking will get you everywhere, praying, The Secret, Lucky Bamboo category. Until we bought a house many years ago and when Mr K and I were viewing it, we both felt the same thing and commented how good it made us feel. A year or so living in this house, I received a book on Feng Shui and for giggles, I overlaid the principles on this house.

And you guessed it - this house followed all the basic rules of good Feng Shui. So whether it was just luck, or designed this way, or coincidence, the house certainly felt nice to live in and made for a happy house. It never made us wealthy however! We sold this house as we needed to look after my MIL, but when we designed the house we were to build (the one we still live in) we subconsciously applied some Feng Shui rules. Within reason anyway, the block is a battleaxe and the house is huge with a granny flat so we had space constraints.

So what about my home office? As you may remember, last July we renovated the house, including turning the old guest room into my office. It was the last room done and as I had to be up and working very quickly, it was all put together in a rush and that'll do for now. Over the months, it has been feeling all wrong, but I just ignored this as I am so busy and need to work, not re-arrange furniture. The worse thing was having my back to the door, don't know why but it felt all wrong. (Probably because I am a born sticky beak and I like to know who is walking past my door.)

On Thursday, I had a major assignment due, some work deadlines and yet I had this loud and determined voice shouting at me "You have to move your desk, its bad energy to have your back to the door". I tried to just get on with my work, but I kept drifting off and thinking of a better configuration. Friday I knew how it would be. I would move my desk to the commanding position, so I had a view of the opposite wall (and all my books) a view of the door and a view out the two windows outside to my front porch and garden beyond. I would have a solid wall behind me, for strength. 

With the aid of Son#1 and Mr K, I moved it all around and it does feel better. I feel more creative. Lets see if my grades at Uni reflect this!

Now, according to the experts, I have to get an indoor plant (please not bamboo), an inspirational poster to look at, and pack away all my books, except for ones with uplifting titles......

.... WHAT???  Hang on.  Lost me right there. Pack away my BOOKS? Apparently the edges are poison arrows and harmful. I can keep them only if there are a few, there is some softening of them like an ivy draped over, or some crystals scattered in the book shelves. This is not going to happen, so I guess I have just lost any hope of this being my wealth centre and becoming a millionaire.

Oh well.

A confession - I need ANOTHER bookcase

Sorting just some of my books on the dining table

A small sample of bookshelves in my reading room

My books (mostly) in Mr K's study

I already have eight.  But I need another one.  Does this constitute an addiction?  

I have been trying hard to buy books electronically (last count was 56 books on my kindle) but there are just some books that have to be real. And I really did try and cull the books, I took about 10 boxes to the book exchange.

Since we renovated last July, I have collected another 4 shelves of books, and as they have no home at the moment, they are stacked beside my bed, beside my reading chair, in a basket beside my reading chair, on the coffee table in the lounge-room, on my desk, on the floor beside my desk.

I am not sure where this new book case will go.

Maybe challenging myself to read 100 books in 2013 was not helping this addiction?  I see a trip to IKEA in my immediate future.

Billy Bookcase - I want one with doors this time. I will have to rearrange my office.

Good Reads

Found this fabulous website yesterday, which has probably been around ages and I am the very last to cotton on, but I just love it.

Good Reads

You can link it to your Facebook and track all the books you read, want to read, what your friends are reading and you can set yourself a challenge to read a number of books in a year.

I set the bar high at 100 books to read this year.

Which will mean less blogging and more reading.  Ciao :-)

New Online Writing Course starts today

Writeriffic: Creativity Training for Writers

Is the new course.  Six weeks, 12 lessons and a portfolio to submit at the end.  I loved the last course I did, so enrolled for this one too.  

So far, I have completed lesson 1 - terrible assignment however - I am meant to read a book!!  How simply awful   So to punish myself further, I chose two books - I am nothing but an over-achiever.

Book #1 - Writers on Writing.  Have read this before, so know how it ends, but I will do my homework like a good girl.  This is the Australian edition, and as I am the only Aussie in the (online) class, I guess I will have to talk to myself about the book.  Wonder if I will agree with myself?

Book # 2 - The Writers Guide - spot the theme here?  The subtitle is -
a companion to writing for pleasure or publication - I guess if you are going to pursue the solitary occupation of writing, then you are going to need a companion - hope he's good looking - I can't fake pleasure if he's not!

The other part of the first assignment is to go out and buy a writers journal!  Boy, talk about throwing us into the deep end.  Reading and buying journals - what next - I expect it will be making us write.

Whilst all this is going on, I also have my finger hovering over the submit button for the first unit at Curtin Uni in a Bachelor of Arts (Professional Writing and Editing).  I have been researching all the Uni's for their writing courses and Curtin seems to come up trumps.  Plus I am able to start it, and do a lot of it, online.  

I have to commit to at least 10 hours per week per unit.   24 Units, at four units per year, will take me six years!  I am pretty sure I can do this, just have to stop doing extra things, like washing, cooking, cleaning - you know the little things.  Think I can manage that.  Enrollments end on 10th February, until then I am going to mull it over for a week or so - I don't want to start something I am not going to finish.

It's very exciting however.

So, that was it? 2012

Hello my blog.  I have missed you.  I have stayed away, not because I don't like you (I like you, I do, I really do) but because of a whole swag of excuses very valid reasons.  They don't really matter now, what matters is that I am back.  Here, with you, my sanity saver, my escape from the world, my outlet to express - in fact, I would put you up there with one of my best friends (shh don't tell Strawb)

I spent New Years Eve for 2012 in a melted state, 42.2 degrees - the 8th straight day of temperatures above 37.  If ever there was a time to move to Tasmania, this was it.  I did mange to get a few things done and a few challenges met, these I will tell you about later. 

I don't know if I am disappointed or feel content with the fact that I spent the night with the Two Grumpy Old Men.  I certainly didn't want to go out partying - have never liked that, and like it even less these days.  I was quite content to just have a relaxing evening, even in my own company, as Mr K was complaining that we had spent the last four years not going out on NYE - so I told him to go, go out and do what he wanted.  I really was more than happy with a book on my own.  But he pouted and said he wanted to go out with me.  Silly boy, he knows what an introvert I am.

So Uncle James came over, we got G&T's and got in the pool.  Now isn't that WAY better than making small talk and being with people who bore the tits of you?  The music would be loud, so you can't talk anything meaningful - 'What?  Oh yeah, we had a great Christmas thanks.  You?'  'Oh, you had a Christmas lunch.  Great'.  'Um, made any resolutions?' 'Oh, great, a weight loss program, good luck with that'  and on and on this silly talk goes. 

Nope, not for me.  The three of us had a great conversation - as we normally do. Last night, we were all cheeriness and light and talked about the latest craze of 'Prepping'.  We talked about how we would prepare for the end of civilised order in a world quickly going mad.  How we could feed ourselves when all the shops closed or ran out of food, how we would protect ourselves from looters, where we would escape to when the violence started, how we could set up a new life away from the chaos that would ensue after our society collapses.  Think Mad Max, the one with Tina Turner in it.  (If you have Foxtel, go to the National Geographic channel and watch Doomsday Preppers if you really want
a) a good laugh,
b) some sobering thoughts,
c) entertain the idea that maybe they are onto something
or d) remember your sanity and have a good laugh.

We now have a plan.  Mr K is to get the trailer camper ready with fuel and water and make sure we have a full tool kit.  Uncle James is in charge of weapons and planning the escape route.  I am in charge of feeding them (hey, what's new)  collecting and storing seeds and a way to start a vegetable garden in the desert.

Cheery way to end the year wasn't it?

Hope yours was at least a Happy start to the New Year.

Tim Winton - you Rock!!

I feel like my child has just won the honour awards at school.  I am bursting with pride!

Yeah, a bit weird of an analogy, but stay with me here.

My all time, ever, favourite author, Tim Winton, took out #1 place in the ABC's First Tuesday Bookclub's 10 Aussie books to read before you die, with Cloudstreet.  Number One!!  Out of all the amazing books in this country, the public chose Cloudstreet as their favourite.

ABC First Tuesday Bookclub

I have read every book Tim has ever written, buy all his books as first edition hardbacks plus a paperback when it comes out so I can lend it to people.  Some of my hardbacks are signed by Tim himself - confess that I am a bit of a groupie and go to book readings or signings by him.

Although, the last time I went to a reading (for The Turning) I didn't line up and ask him to sign my book.  He just looked so sad, so out of place, wanting to be away from people and this book selling machine.  He looked like he wanted to be on a beach, or at his kitchen table, writing.  So I went home, and gave him a gift of personal space.

I have loved every single book he has ever written, but my favourite is his latest Breath.  My sons love his books too, something that is tough to do - get boys to read.  I still remember Son#1 hopping about, getting me to read That Eye the Sky after he had read it and wanting to talk to me about it.  Lucky it was a short book, I devoured it in half a day, then Son and I sat and talked and talked.  Now that is something!

I love Tim's style, his (seemingly) easy writing manner, as you read, you feel like you are talking to an old friend.  I get the same feeling of place every time I read his books - I am about 15, everything is exciting.  We go camping on the beach, way down South, with my family, my best friend is there too.  We escape the adults, and at night walk down to the beach where there are some boys with a campfire.  They look a little rough, older, surfies, our hearts race, but we try and be brave/cool.  We sit with them, we talk, they are smoking pot and hand us some, we shake our heads.  I look into the fire, there is a delicious electricity around us, a thrill to be had, yet we don't know why... yet.

This is where Tim's writing always takes me.  On the precipice of discovery, a teenage girl about to fall into the most exciting time of her life.  Fear, mixed with sexual tension and a sense of emerging power.  I wish I had better words to make this scene of time and place come alive.  It will be a good writing exercise I think!

If you haven't already, go discover Tim's work.

Ageing Aquarius

I have always had a yearning to be a hippie* but in my own way.  This yearning is a whole new blog post, but for now its safe to say that I identify with the hippie ethos - well most of it anyway.

This post is about what came out of the first writing workshop  -  the idea for a whole book - about Hippies.

I even had the name of the book come to me, which often does not come until the whole thing is written. Having said that, I may yet change it, but for now, its called -

Ageing Aquarius.

Have you ever wondered what happens to old hippie's?  I guess it hasn't really been an issue up until recently as the hippies of the sixties and seventies are still relatively young.  But what about a baby boomer, born in 1934, so she is 35 in 1969 when the Woodstock Festival brings the hippie sub-culture to the light of the rest of the world?  In 2012 she is 78 years old.  What happens to her then?

It came to me when we had to write a short piece describing a persons physical description to tell a story about who they were.  I think I wrote something about wooden bangles and flowing skirts, but not on a young fresh body, but an ageing, wrinkly, paperthin body.  It got me thinking - what does happen to an old Hippie? We always think of them as young and carefree, with no responsibilites and freedom. 

This is the premise of the book I want to write.  So in preparation, I am reading all things Hippie, which is very dangerous if you are married to me,  It's evoking all kinds of mid life crisis, probably a lot like the Hippie movement itself.  I want to shuck off all the contraints of affluenza, run naked in life, with no burdens. 

Maybe after I write my book, I will have come back down to earth.




* The word Hippie comes from the word Hipster.  It was used to describe a sub-culture of people in the mid 1960's on the west coast of the USA, predominately around San Francisco. 

A Story of Seven Summers - Hilary Burden

A book review, with love. 

This book has been a kind of bittersweet affair - I have wanted to read it, but also not wanted to.  So, not one to believe in 'fate' or 'it was meant to be' - I picked this book up last Friday when Strawb and I had a girls day out that started at the match-made-in-heaven Bookcaffe.  After morning tea (which sad to say was ordinary, except for the chai latte) I could not walk out of a bookshop without at least buying one book.  There this book was, begging me to buy her.

Let me explain why this was bittersweet.  I first saw this book review in my favorite magazine Country Style.  I could just tell by the cover alone that it was my kind of book - one that would have me wishing for more in my life, wishing to be somewhere and someone else. Chooks, apples, basket of herbs, a veranda ... yep, my kind of book alright.  Reading the review and the words Tasmania and Writer popped up.  OK, this was becoming like my ultimate fantasy (well the one where I am skinny and rolling about in the hay with a long haired Brad Pitt isn't going to happen anytime soon, so I needed a back-up fantasy).

I wasn't so sure about the red shoes, they don't look they would be much use in a chicken pen, but hey, who am I to judge - it was someone else's biography.  Hilary Burden is actually a very down to earth, warm and talented writer.  She left a career in journalism in London to go back to her home state of Tasmania, buy an old run down farm house, called White Cottage, but what Hilary calls, The Nuns House, as it used to be inhabited by Nuns, to live and thrive on her own.

I love the way she writes with such candor, with a personality and light shone on everyday, ordinary things and places.  It was like I became one of her close neighbours or friends and shared everything with her.  And the bonus at the end of each chapter was a country style recipe. I am going to try each and every one starting with the lemonade as I have an abundance of lemons at the moment.

Although I loved the book, and read it in 2 days, I knew it would stir up feelings of deep longing and frustration that I want to live this lifestyle, but I am stuck where I am for the next 5 years at least.  I have always wanted to go to Tasmania, but I cant bear to go visit - knowing that I will love the place and have to make the tough decision to either come home, or give up my family, friends and life here in WA, to stay.

Mr K has made a joke of it for years, that he won't ever take me to Tassie.  He knows too, that my heart won't come back from there if I go.

So, if you have a stronger constitution than me, do read the book if you get the chance.  It's so well written, uniquely Australian and country.  Hilary has also started a fresh produce business, and this is her blog about it. 

Hilbarn

Sauce Tartare and other stories

I was reminded of how a short story I wrote many years ago came about because of an overheard conversation in a cafe.  What reminded me was this news article in news.com.au today:

Woman pleads guilty to assault for tipping cuppa over customer's head

What on earth were these men saying that would make her react so violently and publicly?  There is a story right there!

I wrote Sauce of Rebellion about 10 years ago after I was sitting in the cafe at the Alexander Library.  I used to go there to do family history research, in the good old days before you could do most of the research online.  As I sat with my coffee, this older couple walked in and I was just fascinated by the relationship between them.  The incident that happened in my story, really happened, but of course, the rest is all made up.  It's how I imagined their life to be.

This is my story - in its very rough draft form - and after my weekend workshop, I feel confident to rework it and re-create it into something better.  Just shows that people-watching can offer a wealth of writing material.

Sauce of Rebellion

Bernie walks apologetically across the floor, listlessly following his wife, her voluminous shadow dominating him, even though he is much taller, he has a slim, comic, emu-like frame.   He dresses as She told him: brown trousers, beige shirt, soft, silent, leather shoes. The effect is a drab man, all shades of brown, like a sepia photo, left in a drawer.  You almost have to look twice to see if he’s really there, or just your imagination, a shadow from his past.

She waits impatiently beside her selected table, for him to catch up and pull out the chair, so she can sit and rest her bulk. Despite her size, she is well dressed, middle class attire – woollen skirt just below the knee, butter yellow silk blouse ruffled along the buttons, matching jacket to the skirt.  Tasteful and perfect, never just thrown on in casual abandon, dressing with care and pride.

Bernie slides into the chair opposite her, only now brave enough to lift his gaze to the tables that surround them.  Who will be witness to his shame today?  He doesn’t bother with the menu, she will order for him.  She motions for the waitress to approach.

‘We, young lady,’ she emphasises the word ‘lady’ with a raised eyebrow, ‘will have the grilled fish and salad.  Thankyou.’

She superciliously looks over the waitress, making up her mind in an instant that this young girl will end up a single mother with a string of loser boyfriends, which her husband’s taxes will support.  As the waitress leaves, a vacuum of silence engulfs the table, Bernie lost to his own world, and She scowling, tsk tsking at everyone and everything.

The waitress smiles as she places a plate of fish and salad before Bernie, serving him first in defiance, removing the smile before she places the woman’s food before her.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ asks the girl.  Spurred on by the waitress’s smile, Bernie looks up from his bland meal and asks if he could have some tartar sauce please? His wife glares at them both, not for a minute missing the smile shared, and tells him No.

With No ringing in his ears, Bernie gets up, walks to the condiments table, selects a sachet of sauce from a cane basket, and strides back to his chair – grinning inside.  It happened in an instant, nothing noteworthy to anyone else, a common occurrence, except to two people.  The tension was electric, Bernie, beginning to realise just what he had done: he had fired the first shot, and now his pistol was jammed, the enemy glaring at him across the table, a cartoon character with steam coming out her ears.  She just glared, as Bernie fumbled with his sauce sachet.  He tried to ignore the fury opposite him by putting all his concentration into opening the sauce. It was proving to be harder than it looked, the struggle becoming more than just an attempt to render sauce to his fish, it was to save face.

As She watched, She ran a monologue of instruction ‘here let me, I told you not to have sauce, not like that, give it to me’.  The diatribe continued, Bernie obviously flustered but determined to win this battle on his own.

He tried to get the corner to start peeling off, but it seemed to be stuck down fast, he was intently looking for an obvious corner to peel from, turning the sachet in all directions, when un-expectantly it happened. The sachet bent in half and squirted white thick sauce out like a bursting pimple.  Quickly, he looked up, coming eye to eye with his wife, a look of terror and fury and white gelatinous sauce, with little bits of green caper, on her face.  A blob dripped onto her yellow blouse, the oil making a shadow as it seeped into the material.  Bernie was losing control; a crack of a smile was threatening to enlarge into a grin, then a snicker and finally a laugh that took on a mind of its own.  Oh how good it felt, years of silence came flooding out in his laugh, releasing his bonds, an overwhelming feeling of freedom.  He didn’t care who saw them, didn’t care that his wife had murder in her eyes, and didn’t care about anything but this glorious moment, this rebellion.

Words : 737

© Jodie Sinclair 2012

 

 

 

Prioritising Procrastination

So, on my desk right now are four piles of paper.  Let’s go through each one and see how I am a master of putting off til tomorrow, or any other time that is convenient, things that I could (and should) get done right now.

1.       Today’s filing.  (as opposed to the other Great Pile of many, many days’ worth of filing that sits on my credenza beyond me – out of sight … you know).  After the Great Pile toppled a week ago, I resolved to file as I went and put away in the correct files the paperwork that I had processed that day.  Little and often and all that jazz.  The intention is to file it before I leave my office, but I hear the theme of East Enders starting up and there is no way I am missing what Sharon did today!

2.       Suppliers that need paying NOW.  Well they should feel lucky that I have even pulled out their invoices and have a vague notion to pay them!  More than my Debtors do for me.  I meant to pay them today, before the 2pm (soon to be 1pm due to daylight saving that we in the West never get) cut-off for processing batch banking.  Oh well, will have to be done tomorrow now.

3.       Statements for the end of month that need reconciling.  I actually like this task.  Love it when it says “reconciled” – I know, I need a hobby, or at the very least a romantic liaison with a stranger.  Wonder if he would let me reconcile his bank account?

4.       Grand ideas and plans for anything from meetings at work, a new veg patch, blog ideas, a new budget.  All the plans and hopes and dreams for another day.  Even my dreaming is procrastinated!

So, why didn’t I get them all attended to today like I planned? 

Fifty Shades of Tedious fuckery .. that's why.  I was drawn to this blog review as passionately as the vanilla housewives were drawn to its nauseating name sake Fifty Shades of Grey.

I found this Blog …. And got completely and utterly drawn in.  I will blame thank a fellow blogger for this, as it’s all Laura's fault .  I have resisted writing any type of review on this drivel, as, like the Irish author of this blog, I got so angry at how badly written this book was that I shouted at it, repeatedly.  I didn’t want all that bad energy coming through the posts of my blog.

 

The Little Book of Anxiety

Check out "The Little Book Of Anxiety"

 I finished this book by Kerri Sackville tonight.  I read the entire book on my new phone .. yes phone!  It is the new Samsung Galaxy something another .. Its white and sleek and I am totally in love with it.  But I am not writing about phones right now, that can be another post.  Now I am going to write about the great little book of anxiety.


I was a bit anxious reading this, (yes bad pun intended) as I have read so many books in the feeble search for answers as to why I have this permanent feeling of dread and anxiety.  It never leaves me, just waxes and wanes in its intensity.  I have done therapy, yoga, meditation (don't ever try meditation if you have an excessive anxious brain .. its torture), bought and read countless books, ran (and in the process wrecked my knee), walked and walked and walked.  But nothing has ever worked and I did not have any expectations that this would work either.


I tried the sample chapter and this talented and frank and open writer had me laughing and joining in with her anxiety that I almost forgot my own.  It was so GOOD (and if you ever read this Kerri, I don't mean to ever rejoice in your pain, for I know all too well how painful profound anxiety is) to read about someone who felt the way I did and did not lecture about thinking positive and telling me to stop being silly or that there is no need to worry, or Mr K's favorite "a coward dies a thousand deaths, a hero just one"  I know he is trying to help me, as are others, but what their well meaning help doesn't understand, is that with this level of anxiety, you have NO control over it.  No amount of positive thinking, or trying not to worry has the slightest impact.

Its like you have been injected with a needle full of warm dread.  I can literally feel it seeping through my body, I presume its adrenalin, but I have never found a doctor or psychologist to say that.  They give me Xanax and tell me not to worry.  Once its in my body, I get a stomach ache, back ache, feel breathless and lightheaded.  If its very bad I get my 'out of body' sensation where I feel like I am watching myself from above.  Normal, everyday anxiety has me sweating, my neck and shoulders so tense they are rock hard, queasiness, that paradoxically makes me want to eat.  Sometimes, if its triggered by an event at work or in the car when Mr K is driving, it feels like I have been hit all over with a lump of 4by2.  It can take hours, or days to subside.

Here is the anomaly that defies logic.  When I am faced with stress's and anxieties of 'normal' people I cope just fine, don't get anxious at all and breeze through it.  Moving house is a joy to me.  I love it.  When I had a hysterectomy, I never once was anxious about the operation, the pain, the hospital stay.  The thing I was stressed about was coming home to a dirty house and not being able to relax!  Go figure.  Giving a dinner party or catering for a crowd is fine, I love it.  Standing up to give a talk doesn't worry me.

I wonder if I could do what Manny from Black Books did and swallow the Little Book of Calm as an antidote!

Watch Manny and The Little Book of Calm

Here is Kerri's blog.  It's a great read, as are her two books.

lifeandothercrises.blogspot.com.au
I