A little bit quackers!

Just a warning before you read this blog post.  The content may not be comfortable for some people.

                                                                     

                                             
                                                       I was drifting, crying
                                                       I was looking for an island
                                                       I was slipping under
                                                       I'll pull the devil down with me one way or another
                                                       I'm out of my mind,  think you can wait?


               

These lyrics, by the fantastic group The National, basically sum up my life over the last wee while.  You may wonder why I would share this kind of thing.  I want to support the promotion of mental health awareness.  Where to start?

Looking back over my life I realise I have always experienced and endured an element of mental health issues.   From minor anxiety to mild depression.  Sporadically throughout my life I would find myself standing at the precipice of a black hole.  Most of my life I have been able to claw myself away from the hole and wobble back to 'normality' largely unnoticed.  I would dust down my feathers, practice my quack until the shake in tone subsided and waddle back to my life as an ordinary thing.  I was so scared of slipping into that hole, down into the pit of 'not-quite-right'.  If I could haul myself away from the hole I'd be alright, nothing wrong with me, I'm just like everyone else!  Phew, what a relief,  I am not the black duck of the pond.

Until recently, I came undone! I came royally and magnificently undone.  My feathers were falling out leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.  My eyes glazed over and I started to shake ever so slightly.  The incident that triggered this meltdown was a car accident.  A very minor car accident.  No one was hurt.  I was the only car involved.  I was on my way to work at the pond when it happened.  A bystander helped me change my spare tyre and Bob was my Uncle.  Off I quacked to work, bruised, in shock and stunned.  Then I did what I have done all my life.  I got on with my day, said I had experienced a flat tyre that's all.  In fact I laughed, joked and whooped it up a storm.  No one knew what had happened and I was determined to get through the day.  I did get through the day by the skin of my beak.

Later when I arrived home alone (Big Duck and Duckling were away) the shock hit me and I was promptly sick.  Still I had told no one.  I went away with a friend the next day and proceeded to try and drink the pain away.  I attempted to smoke the pain away.  I even tried to take a swim in glacial waters to numb the pain.  And guess what?  It was still there, sitting like an unwelcome guest at my front door step.  Laying in wait for me to return.  My attempt at anesthetising myself was so alarming to my friend that my cover was blown!  I was found out, duck on a rotisserie, revealed by my behaviour.  What happened next?

.
I decided it was time to get off this roller-coaster and seek help.  To put an end to trying to numb myself with things that take away the pain.  Because they only work temporarily and then the pain returns with a vengeance.  I went to the Doctor, told her everything and got myself some help.  It wasn't easy.  In fact it was (and still remains to be) one of the hardest things I have done.  It was like standing in a room featherless with nowhere to shelter and nothing to shield you.   Raw, uncovered  duck in a dilemma.  I got some medication and an appointment with mental health services.  My whole family and a large amount of my friends have witnessed my downfall.  It's extremely confronting.  It is a journey and I'm mostly relieved that my 'secret' is out.  It's been a hell of a expedition though and continues to be.  But I am a million times better now than I was at the start.  It is not a journey I wish to repeat for a long time.

I am the same duck I was before, working and going about my life.  I haven't changed but I have sought help that's the only difference.  These issues strike many people, including a lot of people that work in mental health themselves.  Your doctor, teacher, CEO, housewife/husband, musician, your next door neighbour could all be struggling with issues like this.  There is no demographic for mental health problems, they reach across the spectrum of society.  Let's start a dialogue about it, 'normalise' it for people.  So those suffering in silence can feel confident to get help.  It is not a weakness to seek help but rather the oppposite.  It is a brave and bold move and we need to encourage people to take small steps toward it.
I will leave you with the song 'Think you can wait' quoted above by the National.

                                                    Think you can wait

Kia Kaha!

#anxiety #depression #quackers #duck

Guilty Pleasures

  'A guilty pleasure is something, such as a movie, television program, or piece of music,  that one enjoys despite feeling that it is not generally held in high regard.'

               'Something that you love to do, but you just cannot admit that you do it'

                                                                 

Yep, you guessed it. The concept that is getting on my bill lately and making me sigh 'fuck a duck' repeatedly is this notion of guilty pleasures. The whole idea insinuates that something we enjoy should be a thing of embarrassment. Something to be ashamed of, apologetic about and generally kept hidden under the algae-laden recesses of the pond.

Duck that for a joke! The Duck will never, ever be on trial for the stuff she likes. Get stuffed ye who would think otherwise. I love what I love sans guilt and without answering to anyone. Well that is at least the way I feel about it anyway and try to actively practice. Why should we feel guilty? By subscribing to this sentiment we need to consider what are we saying about  those who vigorously enjoy it guilt free? We are judging them, reading them the duck bill of rights and condemning their pleasure as shameful. The shame should be on us if we indulge in this concept. We are little more than castigating and belittling people for things they enjoy whilst satiating our same pleasure in secret. For example the Duck doesn't like the music of James CBlunt, nothing against the guy (in fact I quite like what I have seen of him as a person) but his music doesn't really lull my lily pad or ruffle my feathers. My webbed feet don't start tapping to the sounds 'O' Blunt. In fact, on hearing it, I want to take a very BLUNT instrument to the source...you get the picture. However, if I did like his music I would stand strongly and firmly by my conviction and source of joy.

I want to cast aside labels and and stamp wholeheartedly on boxes that bid to enclose us!  Unlike a box of birds (to be cheerful and happy) a boxed Duck, well... it sends a mortal shiver down my spine!
Surely what makes us special and unique are our differences not our ability to fit a mould?  This quacks very much of social norms whereby our behaviour, dress, music taste etc is dictated by pledging our allegiance to a particular group. People then behave like sheep, veiling their true feeling to fit into some preconceived perception of what they should or should not like.    I love it when stereotypes are mashed up and turned on their beak.  When we cannot contain someone in the parameters of a box.  The truck driver with penchant for opera, the Granny with a weed habit, the heavy metal Duck!  I love the uniqueness of others and particularly people that shock and jolt you out of any judgy attempt to box and stamp!

To illustrate my example I recently took my car in to get a new tyre.  The Tyre Man phoned to say the duckmobile was ready to collect.  He asked me over the phone 'what is track 9 on the CD playing?' The CD was a homemade compilation and I tried to think but couldn't give him an answer.  Upon returning to the land of rubber ducks  I hopped into the car eagerly anticipating this track 9 business. Well bowl me over with a tyre.  The Duck was pleasantly surprised.   What I am trying to say was that here was this burly kiwi mechanic Tyre Man liking this unusual indie band. Tyre Man then took note of the band on his notepad. Love it!  The track is 'Baby' by Warpaint, linked below:

                                       
                                                             Baby-Warpaint


There may be a myriad of reasons behind why we like a certain thing. A happy memory, a time in your life. Maybe you feel alive or your object of joy transports you somewhere else.  We should never have to justify it or call it guilty!  No skulking around in the shadows of the reeds surreptitiously surrendering to our sinful pleasure.  Put it out there, I dare you!  Get all your guilty ducks in a row and give the Toby tall to those who may scoff! Choke on that you goosey goober, you big bloody chicken!


Guilt can serve as a useful tool to bring us back to our own moral compass. But guilt about pleasures is just a wasting of ducking time if you ask me!

#guiltypleasures #notguilty

Duck hunting with a capital C!

                                                                           

                                                                             

Recently I was attacked by a dog. Yes indeed you heard it right here, a dog took to the Duck.  I was trying to protect my son, who has long had a fear of dogs, by Duck-plucking him out of a tricky corner.  The dog leapt up, pawed baby Duck out of my motherly grip then threw me to the ground with its fangs firmly clenched in my duck-like arm.  Long story made medium....baby Duck was freaking out.  Mutha Ducka had to remain calm so as to not fucking further incite fear into one already up to his ears in panic. There is a history and reason for his fear which involves being rumbled (in a most amorous way) by a very tall dog when he was just a two year old duckling.  In one fell swoop I realise that any past attempts to banish a fear of dogs in baby Duck are now redundant!  Gone burger, into the ether, vanished, wasted.  All those hours spent coaxing and cajoling him toward the dog have now gone up in canine-infused smoke!  Doggone.  Prior to this monumental pawing incident I used to get annoyed with dog owners who, when their dog was unleashed, would proclaim 'he won't hurt you'  'she's really a gentle dog' and suchlike upon seeing baby duck wide berthing.   The brazen way they would 'assume' our story would get my goat big time!  Now, however, I anticipate my goat will be of mountainous proportions.  An Everest goat, wild and untamed.  Gargantuan goatarama.

I get so fucked off with dog owners being so defensive.  I am sure your dog is harmless, I haven't even opened my beak and quacked.  Yes your dog is off its lead, yes baby Duck is scared.  But stop!  Don't try to presume you know our story.  It fucked me off in the past and it's going to piss me right off in the future to encounter this kind of response.  There may be a myriad of reasons why someone is wary of a dog.  I would much rather you said something along the lines of  'I am so sorry I have my dog off its lead, I know fucking damn well it's supposed to be restrained  I can see the duckling is distressed by this.  I hope we didn't further consolidate a fear in the young feathered one'.  SAID NO dog owner EVER!!!!!  I am currently working on a response for subsequent encounters.

 Don't get me wrong, I do like dogs, possibly in the past would even have ventured to say that I love dogs.  I grew up with the most gorgeous golden Labrador called Sandy who I loved unconditionally and never, ever feared.  My brother had a very lively black Labrador later down the track who was almost one of the family.  Even baby Duck, when less than 1 years old, would reach out to Nero and stroke him.  This was pre-rumble days.

I was in Auckland recently visiting a friend with the very topically applicable nickname 'Scooby Doo'.  The Dog and the Duck.  We walked along the waterfront discussing dog fears.  I was mindful of my reaction to the many dogs we passed, both the four legged and two legged variety :-).  What illuminated itself to me in the brief brush with these dogs was that, around half of them, elicited a strong visual of teeth.  Someone unscathed would see a dog but I saw teeth!  Gnashing big fangs with drool dripping down and the upper lip (is that what it's called on a dog?) resting on the top of the gums so there's no mistaking the incisors!

Yep, just what I need is another fear to add to my already exhaustive list!  I'm hoping I will return to the former Duck someday, friend of the dog.  Bygone duck doggone.

I also became aware of a subtle change this dog-on-duck drama brought about.  For a significant time after the canine invasion I was aware of a kind of flatness of feeling.  The Duck was not motivated in the slightest toward anything.  A form of flat lining really.  Post traumatic duck disorder.  Almost as if all your energy has been expended on just getting through the ordeal that suddenly you find you have nothing left to feel.  Neither up nor down just flat.  The emotional equivalent of sitting on the fence!  Neither pond half full nor empty.  You get the picture.  Fuck a duck!
Almost as if to make up for my (short-lived) flatness came dreams so vivid and lucid at night that I struggled to separate them from the reality of the day.  It was as if the bite of the dog unleashed some historical toxins and in doing so freed unresolved issues to play out in my dreams.  So by day I was Duck without a bone and by night a Duck with the most monumental bone of contention for some misdemeanor of days gone by.
So in some ways I am grateful for the episode with the dog.  In its wake it released a lot of negative things from the past and made me a little less fearless (of other things).  When the plane I was travelling to Auckland on experienced some turbulence I didn't have my dog bog standard response of minor panic and clutching/tightening of seat belt.  Nor sirree, the Duck felt free from fear and unease surrendering to the notion that some things are out of our control.  We don't know what's coming next and from where it cometh.  I certainly didn't wake up on that doggone day with any notion or suggestion of what was to happen.  Such is life.  We don't know what may lie around that corner. By my way of thinking it is just as well.

Just as every dog has its day...so shall every Duck!

#dogattack #motherlove #dogowners
                                                                               
                                                                         

Dislocated Duck

Lately I have been all at sea!  As you can imagine, the sea is no place for a duck.  A duck belongs in a pond not in the tremendous ocean with severe swells.  I cannot explain the cause of this dislocation but I can attempt to describe the effects
It is akin to the sensation of having freshly arrived in a foreign country a little green around the gills. A foreign country where you don’t quack the language and you don’t know a single feathered soul.  You have no firm plans or any accommodation, pond or otherwise, arranged and to top it all off no one knows you are there! There is a kind of an adrenaline laced edginess to this scenario, a buzzing tinge of excitement and a large measure of adventure. Maybe you experience a physiological manifestation too in the form of a rapid heart rate and just a bead of sweat forming on the forehead and palms. Feathers aglow with the perspiration of trepidation.  Perhaps this is a protective measure to keep you on your webbed feet, to alert you that you are out of your comfort zone and therefore must be more vigilant.  But if you are travelling then you know the edgy vibe will soon give way to a form of heightened excitement and anticipation.  An eagerness to explore, absorb and immerse yourself in this new country and its culture.

 What happens when you experience this without being in a foreign country?  When you are in a small town or city in the country you live in, the country you were born and grew up in?  When you are with people you have known for many years, some of whom you call family?  What happens then? What do you do when this, otherwise, foreign feeling hits you like a freight train in the midst of faces you know like the back of your webbed hand and a setting you are well and truly accustomed to? In the case of the duck you feel a soaring sense of unease, a kind of sickening notion of doom and a vice like grip to your very core! It has seemingly come out of nowhere, blindsided you leaving you barely able to quack. The dislocated Duck is in the height of discomfort and panic.  Not being able to understand the origin of this fucking awful feeling yet wanting it banished forthwith!  Urgently, promptly, abruptly to evaporate leaving no trace.  Yet there is a trace, a formation of saliva gathering in your duck bill, a brisking heart rate and that ever mounting sense of panic.

                                                                 

This sense of dislocation suggests to me that we are ultimately alone in this life.  We have episodes of connection with others and lifetime lasting relationships with a few people.  It  reminds me of a line from the, ever so slightly, cheesy song ' I know him so well'  'No-one in your life is with you constantly, No-one is completely on your side'  Accepting that this is true, that at times in your life you will feel completely alone means you don't need to feel so scared.  Recognising this sensation, going with it rather than resisting it and riding the wave out can be a useful strategy.  Of course I will be the first to admit this is easier said than done.  When you can't see the wood for the trees, the pond for the lily pads just putting one webbed foot in front of the other and moving forward is enough. Sometimes you find yourself out to sea feeling utterly forsaken, the depth of feeling threatening to engulf you with every surge.  You’re in foreign waters where you crave familiar waters.  At times surrounded by people you are beyond accustomed to yet you still feel incredibly alone.  In fact being with people you know and still feeling like this only serves to intensify the perception.  Maybe this is the way of life at times to be all at sea.  Don’t fight it just go with it, tuck your wings in, keep your beak down and wait for the moment to pass.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing and all that....

But for the Duck remains the realisation that alas as we are born alone so we must die!

Is there a silver lining in all this?  Yes,I think there is although it’s hard to see anything but black murky waters while you’re in it.  You know you’re alive that is for sure.  You may also appreciate a return to calm, safe and welcoming waters.  The relief may be palpable.  In my experience there is a kind of residue and lingering feeling after something like this.  An of archive of experience that is neatly tucked in 'the back of my mind for now'.  It resides there among all those other unpleasant episodes, tingeing the here and now ever so slightly.  It can inspire you to cast aside fear and throw yourself beak long into life.  Make your quack heard!

When I was writing this a little boat that was given to me years ago came to mind.  The boat pictured below.  It rings as true to me now as it did when I was given it.  'There is no set path, just follow your heart'.  Be liberated by these experiences, dust off your wings and fly free.


                                                                           

'Neither resent the doldrums, or savour too long the elation'

#dislocation #alone #crazymind

Nepal

I am reflecting on the horrific disaster that has occurred in Nepal.  The horror is unimaginable yet I can visualise it as best as someone who is not there can.  I can picture my old place of work reduced to rubble, one of two archaic desktop computers smashed to pieces.   I can see in my mind’s eye my favourite momo khaaja (dumpling snack) place flattened, the lovely owners struggling to make sense of what’s happened to their livelihood, their home.  I know Durbar Square well, I can see it now on the news and in the film going through my head on loop.  I can see the busy Kantipath road overflowing with panicked people, the sound of horns (of the few vehicles still running) beeping desperately. Dogs barking and circling getting nowhere.    The chaos, the disorder, the turmoil. The fear and the grief etched upon the faces of thousands of people.  The sheer shock of it all.

                                                       

This is because I have lived there.  I have lived there, worked there, made friends there, got sick there, laughed and cried and got told I had black teeth there! I loved and was loved there, got angry and frustrated there, clowned around and raised my voice there.  I love Nepal.  I love the people, the food and the simplicity of many things in a country where the conditions can be very challenging. The way most people just get on with the minutiae of their lives with such a positive attitude.   Most Nepali folk don’t engage in navel gazing.  That is a western ‘indulgence’.  I recall being told by a Nepali colleague that I think too much, two minutes a day is all you need.  This was a woman who got up at 5am to prepare daal bhatt for a family of 21, came to work and then did the same in the evening.  Day in day out, no weekends off, no public holidays.  Always smiling, laughing and telling me to stop thinking.  Right now I am worrying about things that may never happen.  Such a waste of head space. I can hear her voice telling me to stop thinking and her cheeky face laughing as she knows she's caught me out-again!

My thoughts too go to my friend Jina and her family.  I worked with Jina in the District Education Office in Bahktapur.  Jina was my regulator, guide and friend.  When I would plan meetings and no one would turn up she would sense my rising frustration and rally the troops.  In her bossy little way she was able to illustrate to me that A) Time works differently in Nepal, not better, not worse but differently. B) On the whole anger is a waste of energy.  I was grateful to her that she could read my mood.  I wasn't grateful, after returning from a 10 day trek, to be told by Jina that I had gotten fat! Moto!  Moto Duck.  The Duck went trekking and came back fat were almost her exact words, give or take the duck part.  Yeah thanks mate!  But this searing honesty is such a refreshing characteristic that many Nepalese possess.  No need to ask 'does my bum look big in this?' rest assured you will soon be told.  

I remember once being in the work jeep.  We were on our way from Bhaktapur to Kathmandu.  In the back was Beer Singh Dhami, another colleague and the Duck.  I was luxuriating in the comfort of travelling like this as opposed to being on the Bhaktatpur Express bus (my usual mode of transport).  Then we stopped and picked up someone else, getting a tad tight in the back.  Then we stopped again and again and again.  Pilling the people in like reverse jenga.  At one stage I was blamed for the squashiness in the back but by now I had learned to teflon coat and let it fly off in an instant and if the need arose deflect it right back.  Deflection would include replies such as 'have you got a mirror in your house?'

                                                           Jina and her family 2006

The Nepali people I encountered were warm, generous, funny and, with that trademark honesty, very unique and special.  I am at a loss as to what I can do.   I am strikingly aware that as I sit  now I do so with the luxury of a roof over my head, clean running water and plenty of food, even plenty of choices.  I can sit at my laptop writing this and contemplate whether I will have a glass of syrah or cab sav tonight!  I am a million miles away from these people, this pandemonium that has been thrust upon them.  I guess in some way I always was.  It was my choice to be there, to live on $5 a day.  It was always my choice. I experienced the extravagance that having choices provides.  Another privilege of the West.  Below is a replica peacock window I was given from the District Education office when I left Nepal. The peacock window is a Newar window unique to Bhaktapur and sometimes known as the 'Mona Lisa' of Nepal.

Peacock Window replica

Inscription on the back of the window

I am also made acutely aware of the fact that this tragedy strikes so deeply in me because I have been there,  lived there and made it my home for over a year.  I am not entirely comfortable with this though.  Why do I need some personal connection to a place to be able to have this reaction?  Are we, as human beings, that selfish?  Just because I know the place a little and have lived and worked and been told I had black teeth there does it validate it any more for me? 

I spoke to a friend just now about this concept and I am hoping it is self preservation.  If you had a 'personal' response to all the bad news in the world you would never want to get out of bed again.  It would be almost impossible to live if you had a deep level of empathy for all the terrible stuff that happens in the world.  I am also keenly aware that I have, in some small way contradicted my last blog post talking about bias in the news etc.  There is an element of internal incongruity for me.  I will have to deal with that.  I am lucky, I still have choice.  My worries are trivial, petty and most of all frivolous in comparison.                                                        

                                                       

I feel so incredibly sad for  Nepal and the Nepalese people.  So much of their livelihood depends on the tourist trade.  They have been knocked back to square one and they were only at square three.  The recovery alone is unfathomable!  This is a set back of gargantuan proportions.  I hope that on this long, arduous  road to recovery, that the people maintain their true spirit.  The warmth and kindness will remain.  I long for this recovery to be as speedy and as efficient as possible.  I long to wrap Nepal in a blanket of love and hold her hand in support and comfort.  

Namaste

#nepalearthquake #vso #livinginnepal #lovenepal

A duck returns to the pond of its ducklinghood after being lost (presumed Crispy Ducked) for 10 years. What you're about to see next will blow you away!

                                                     



You can probably guess from the title that I am quacking about 'news-catch-lines' for want of a better phrase.  The fact that they are EVERYWHERE at the moment is just incredibly annoying and highly unoriginal.  Like the creation and birth of the bloody selfie.  Enough already!
Just another attempt to lure an innocent reader in hook, bad line and sinker of a catch phrase.  Are we immune to the sameyness of this style of reporting?  Can we not see it is just a device that has become popular as a means of creating drama and cliff-hanger like anticipation as we fumble toward the play/hit button?  Like heroin, offering a taste of nirvana, something extraordinary for a seemingly small price.  Hit after fucking hit til we're hooked and we no longer doubt the version of events being presented to us.

I have a bit of an issue with news FULL STOP.  I believe it is highly manipulative and constructed to within an inch of the original truth.  Playing to the anticipated audience like a fiddle.  Giving them everything they want to confirm their narrow minded highly moral view of the world and their bloody smug part in that world.  I will duck and delve into this in more depth soon.

For a local example, just yesterday I was reading the news online and trying to find out who New Zealand was playing in the semi-final of the cricket.  I KNOW, I know that I should bloody well know who we were playing so shoot me!  How dare I, a Kiwi living in New Zealand, not KNOW!? Well I didn't know so fuck off!!!  Do you think I could find a single line, in a single bloody news article stating who the opposition were?  No siree, not a fucking word anywhere to indicate to a cricket ignoramus like me who the other team were.  Is New Zealand that insular that they imagine everyone is a cricket aficionado and this goes without saying???  Bloody hell, I do despair.  I have nothing, absolutely nothing, against cricket or any sport.  But why does the media (at least the NZ media in this case) assume that we are all sports fans and passionate followers?  I feel like I could be put to trial for not being more sporting savvy. It would probably be, in the eyes of New Zealand, a more heinous crime than that of the accused Lundy killings.   To add to my crimes against team sports I have only just 'found out' that Richie McCaw is in fact captain of the All Blacks not a cricketer like I thought.  At least I recognised his name ffs.
When I was at work on the auspicious day of cricket a client informed me that the score was 29 for 2.  I asked if that was good and the very kind person explained it to me.  He didn't judge or harangue me or attempt to present some condescending diatribe.  To him  I am grateful. I have learned a little bit more about cricket.

But really the issue here is with how news is constructed and what is deemed 'worthy' if you like.  It would seem that the following factors increase the chances of an event being newsworthy:  Being middle class, white and living in a developed country. These considerations all enhance the newsworthiness quite significantly.  I remember, back in 2010, when I was 'friends' with Helen Clark (former NZ Prime Minister, now working for UNDP) on Facebook there was a thread about the first earthquake in Christchurch.  This earthquake was in September 2010 in the middle of the night.  Fortunately no lives were lost.  Prior and post this event there were two other major natural disasters in the world.  One was the earthquake in Haiti where over 100,000 lives were lost.  The other was the floods in Pakistan where 2000 or so lives were lost.  I made a comment on the thread about how the first earthquake in Christchurch (the second devastating one had not occurred at this stage) was eclipsing Haiti and Pakistan in the news and I found this to be bloody shocking.  Clark (herself or her social media mogul I couldn't guarantee?) swooped in on my like a flock of seagulls to a road kill accusing me of being smug.  Au contraire!!! Duck feathers were now well and truly ruffled.   I then explained that I found it sad that news from a developed country where there was no loss of life would overshadow and obscure the horrendous disasters in Haiti and Pakistan where the loss of life and devastation were epic.  Then most of the contributors to the thread understood where I was coming from and agreed.  Phew, thank quack for that!

I think it pays to be mindful of the ways in which the news can be engineered to suit a demographic and manufactured to confirm our preconceived ideas about the world.  Look beyond the catch line to the motivation and angle of the article.  Keep one webbed foot in reality (as best we can know it), let your beak do the hunting and quack it up when it doesn't fit right!  Don't accept mediocrity!


#newsdistortion#newsworthy#biasinnews

Ducket List

Inspired by the relatively recent trend of bucket lists I have taken to (pond)-ering about what would be on my list. So I have decided to indulge in a few of my own.  When I say indulge I mean at least write them down.  Doing them, well that would be fine and dandy now!


                                               

                                         The-in-near-future Ducket List
        

• To be able to take a a leisurely bath ALONE!  No one squished up at the tap end, no sitting on or leaning back into sharp plastic now in the rubbish toys.  What bliss it would be to have this experience.  Put on some noice tunes, glass of vino at the ready, posh scented candles lit and ....relax.  In fact, fuck the music and candles, the only important element is that I am the only one in that body of water!  No ducklings waddling toward the pond eyes alight with the promise of submersion.  Nuh huh!  Lone Duck, long pond.

                                           

• To get in a car and just drive!  No set destination.  No one knowing where you are.   No time frame!  Just me and the car. Me and the road.  Me and freedom. Oh, and of course some good road music is essential. Woohoo, duckstress of my own fate.  Wind blowing through my feathers, ducking and diving through shit holes on the map, quacking along to the power ballads with the mallards, "more than a ducking good feeling', "here I go again on my own"  "Who's gonna drive Duck home" 'Total eclipse of the Duck"  I suspect the reason this scenario is so tempting is because it is not really possible without some minor consequence.  Who would pick up the duckling, take him to school the next day, go to my job etc et bloody ceteraaaaaaaa?  I can't really just throw ducaution to the wind and just drive.  I'm too freaking sensible. I lack the spontaneity and recklessness.  That's why it is such a sweet, illicit fantasy.  I wouldn't even care if I found myself in Levin or even Danniverke for that matter.  Dreams are free!  Click if you dare:

                            http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oohFGOmcxuo

                                   There is a theme occurring here methinks!

• To have my bed made by someone other than me.  To add to this rather delicious bucket dream I would love nothing more than to slide into fresh sheets that are crisply cold so I can starfish across them in the grips of a hot flush. Ahh sweet bliss.

• To give less of a shit about what people think of me or my actions.  I have already started on this journey (and it is a ride) so it's a kind of work in progress.  It involves retraining negative thinking patterns and unleashing the inner duck!  To those who judge I would like to give them the webbed finger, turn my beak in the other direction and not give a flying duck.  To cultivate an ability to say 'what me?  Ach it's water off a ducks back!' and truly mean it with every feather of my being.  To fly unbridled through life and skim over the negative parts and loiter with intention in the aspects that are uplifting, inspiring and energising.  To have the composure to change the feathers I need to change, embrace the ones I cannot change and have the discernment to know the ducking difference.

I would love to hear your bucket lists. Both your near and further into the future arse-pirations.  

http://www.metacafe.com/watch/7762427/giant_sand_wayfaring_stranger_fly_me_to_the_moon/

                                'Don't quack like a duck, soar like an eagle'.

#bucketlist

A duck in the hand is worth none on the fence!

A fence is a freestanding structure designed to restrict or prevent movement across a boundary. Fences are generally distinguished from walls by the lightness of their construction and their purpose.

They are not designed to sit on.  So why do so many people sit on the fucking fence? I'm not talking about people who are genuinely neutral about a certain topic.  To those I would say 'sit away as much as you like you neutral, beige folk'. I am sure we are all ambivalent about one thing or another.  For example I don't have a strong opinion on breastfeeding vs bottle.  I have chosen this as an example as it tends to be very topical among parenting groups. I really don't care whether you breast or bottle your baby.  I have never heard of a child in crisis or even a young adult on the psychiatrist's sofa where the report comes back something like this:  'we believe the cause of little Cuntface's banal character is down to being biach fed as an infant'  I do, to be contrary, have a strong opinion over whether it is anyone other than the parents business.  Who cares?  It's bloody boring. But that is another whole minefield right there.  So there you go, I don't care what you do regarding b or b for little b, but I do mind those that judge others for what they do.  On the fence, off again. on, off, on, off!

What  I am really talking about people who have opinions (and often very strong opinions) but they just want to perch on that fucking fence and not commit.  This can be clearly illustrated when they jump down off said fence, spouting opinion, opinion, opinion and then try to sneak back up onto the fence as if they've been there all along! Pale lemon jelly bastards.  Bet your mother b-fed you when you were young.  Hee hee!
I hope the fence you choose to sit on is riddled with barbed wire so that there is a physical manifestation of your fickle, weak antics. I would wish for the experience to elicit a kind of Pavlov's dog response - if you have something to say and you choose to sit on that fence may it be so caustic and hostile that it will prompt your evasive, ambiguous and circumspect arse right back off!  I hope the fence is electric and that you are zapped whilst trying to take the easy road.  As you may well see, I don't think you can be on the fence and off simultaneously.  It is physically impossible.

Again, I must clarify...having an opinion and choosing not to share it is different.  These are people whose opinion you will never know in this instance as they have decided to remain silent.  Subtle, yet not so subtly different from the aforementioned shitters.  I acknowledge that there is a time and a place for opinions.  There are whole raft of reasons people choose to share or not.  I am starting to confuse myself.  I guess I am targeting a very specific and small group of people who let their opinion be known to you and then try to back up the truck to a neutral fence friendly position when the debate starts.  It cannot be comfortable to live in their skin, wanting to take all sides yet have their opinion whilst remaining neutral.  Phew, exfuckinghausting! Yes I realise I am being petty but I guess that is where the term pet hates/peeves comes from?

I will leave you with a reducked song.  It is based on the Leonard Cohen's 'Bird on a Wire'

Duck on a wire

Like a duck on the fence wire
Like a cunt in quagmire
I have tried in my way to flap free
Like a dog with a bone
Like a dictator with some old fashioned moan
I have saved all my opinions for thee
If I, if I have been on the fence
I hope I can recompense
If I have been untrue
I hope you don't end up duck stew...

For those that don't know the original tune (at which I would be truly shocked!) Here is the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwnAg2tZKFk

#sittingonthefence #opinionated #fencesitting

Intro to the version to the quackity quack!

You may have guessed from the title that this is a post about my take on introversion or being an introvert.  I have only just discovered, in the last few years, that I am in fact an introvert!  My main reaction to 'diagnosing' myself was sheer fucking relief if I am honest.  All my life I have had random arseholes say I am an extrovert.  Yes, I can be a lively, chatty and generally amenable character.  I am NOT SHY.  I will NOT be recoiling in the corner of a social event quivering with fear.  But these are not characteristics of the introvert.  They have commonly been mistaken as and aligned to the nature of the introvert.

I have an aversion to phones!  All kinds of effing phones, landlines, mobiles.  An aversion to the paraphernalia associated with the fascist phone- answer machines, textpectations and just the way the fucking phone wants to know where you are at all times, who you are with and what the fuck you are doing!  Funnily enough my dear friend Swannie also has this aversion.  However, we were often found spending hours on the phone to each other (even after we had seen each other all day sometimes).  If The Swan and The Duck were on the phone nada gonna be happening for a good hour or two. Being introverts and internal thinkers though, we had a lot to discuss and dissect from the day! We were on the same page, swimming in the same pond, birds of a freaking feather.   But the point I would want to show those trying to understand the introvert is it is not about being social.  Anyone that has worked with me knows I am no wilting wallflower in the workplace.  In fact, leave me alone with my musings and mulling for too long and the consequences can be catastrophic!

For me, the defining point of what characterises an introvert is where you get your energy from.  It has taken me till now to understand why I hate the PARTY or the BIG gathering (this being more than 8 people).  They fill me with a kind of mortal dread.  So what does a Duck do in these situations!  You guessed it, overcompensates and flits and flaps around exuding a social persona to the innocent bystander.  This then prompts innocent bystander to ask for your number to 'catch up' one day.  I don't want to catch up with you boring fuckers, I was just being polite.  I don't need any more randoms in my life.  I didn't want to be at this mahoosive gathering/party/wanker fest in the first place.  Having said that, I have met some lovely people that I would like to see in real life at big gatherings. It's not the big gathering as such but my reactive behaviour I am meaning to depict here.

 Which leads me nicely on to my next point:  I love my good friends dearly.  I treasure their very bones.  I cannot predict who I will like but I have a very strong sense when I like someone. I feel less alone around my good friends.  But don't you want to be alone you ask?   Give me a one on one with any of them and I am fulfilled, cupeth running over with pure unbridled joy.  Confused?  I get my energy from down time.  This could mean going to the gym,swimming, reading a book, general pottering around.  Not being answerable to anyone, not being expected anywhere at anytime.  Freedom and space to recharge.  I love swimming and for this reason being underwater is one of my happiest places to be!  The mini-hibernation like feeling I just love.
So I gain energy and balance from down time.  I never mean to offend anyone when I do this.  When I don't have this time I spiral down hill faster than an Olympic skier.  Physically and mentally down the rabbit hole!  My mind goes fucking mental, crazy thoughts and a conveyor belt of confusion.  It is horrific inside my head at the best of times so after a bout of social gatherings you will find me floored, longing for hibernation.
Most of my friends understand.  My dear friend Scooby Doo will 'arrange' a time for a phone call and catch up. Probably due to her busy schedule but maybe a part of her understands I don't do spontaneity.  Yes I am bloody boring but it's who I am.  That's not to say I never do spontaneity. Sounds complicated I know.
Here's a test to take to see where you fall in the spectrum:

http://www.thepowerofintroverts.com/about-the-book/quiet-quiz-are-you-an-introvert/

I guess I feel the need to 'explain' myself a bit now that I have a deeper understanding of who I am.  As a result I say no more often to events that I think will bring out my downward Duck.  Whilst not always avoidable, I do try to manage my calendar so I am not out more than, say, twice a month!

Give me a good book, a few good friends, a fine wine, a river and I will be satiated beyond belief and re-charged in no time to face the innocent bystanders and randoms of this world.

I'd like to dedicate this to Swannie and Gizelle, two of the loveliest introverts I know.  Thanks also Swan face for the pics and thanks to the department of corrections xxx

#introvert #downtime #introversion

End of an era, error!

Tomorrow I am going to Palmy for the funeral of a friend’s mother.  It is incredibly heart breaking on many levels.  The lovely lady was a mere 74 years old.  But more than that it signifies another death that marks the end of an era for me.  I know this makes it my very selfish perspective.   The loss of people from my parents’ generation threatens to shake the foundations upon which I have been standing for many years.  They were always ‘there’ bearing witness to all our significant events – High school, university, relationship angst, going on the ‘Big OE’, marriage, children etc.  Yep, while we gallivanted around in our leisurely and indulgent transition from ‘innocence’ to ‘experience’ they were there lurking in the background ready to rejoice with us, commiserate with us and provide financial and emotional support.  At times we were a source of boasting.  A kind of boasting one-upmanship.   I remember at one stage my Father would hate being collared by a colleague in a ‘what’s your daughter up to now’ face off.  I would provide him with any necessary ammunition and dirt so that he could have that as a reserve should he need to bring the Arsehole down to size.  I was at that time working in a backpackers in Amsterdam!  Poor old Dad didn't have a fucking onderstel to stand on!  But mostly I was in a position and place worthy of a good old bloody boast.

Anyway, I digress.  The point is that my Dad and these other people were all still there.  Still alive, still in Palmerston North, still waking and facing each day, still interested in our lives and now some of them have gone.  Forever!  For fucking ever!  Gone. Incomprehensible.  I want to get stroppy and stamp my foot!  These people cannot leave us to be the next generation.  The top of the pile. The responsible ones.   Fuck, I am not ready to be the grown up one, the middle aged one, the upper echelon of the family.  The hoofd person, dank u cunting well!  But I must grow up and I think I have a lot since my father left us. I notice here that even the language I use is slanted…’left us’ ffs he would never have ‘left us’, he didn't have a fucking choice.

So I am going to mourn the loss of a wonderful woman who was loving, kind, gentle and possessed just a nip of naughtiness.  She will be sorely missed. I am also going to mourn the loss of someone who was significant in the shaping of my formative years.  I will also be mourning the end of an era.  That niggling inching, shifting and shuffling into the unwanted territory- a new era!  It feels like an error, it can’t be happening yet I am powerless against its force.  I cannot stop it.  I am a mere drop of water to its oceanic like force.  The only constant is change and all that bullshit.

Now is the time to transition into the new era.  To place two feet firmly in Era Nouvelle.  To find a way to move forward retaining the important things from the past and people passed.  A part of these people live on in our lives and in the lives of any further generations.  My son, who met my Dad as a baby, exhibits a lot of ‘Thomson’ characteristics.  They have come from my Dad, to me and in turn to my son.  It is a living legacy and brings so much comfort and delight to see elements of your father in your son.

So I am going to celebrate a life that was well lived and one that enriched the lives of all those she met.  But I plan to have my hoof and my sights planted in and set on the future.  I will grow up just a wee bit more with this.  Who knows, I may even get down to the Celtic for a wee precious pint of the past and a nostalgic nod to the future.  Kia kaha.

#death #parentsdying #endofanera

Sol part 2

My first post wasn't actually a blog post, like I said, it was for a school project asking the parents to write to the child at age 21.
What I really wanted to write about was a post 'inspired' by some nauseating posts I have seen on Facebook that go something like this......

Happy Birthday to my beautiful Cuntface.  You brought so much love and joy into the world and continue to light our cunting days with glittering fucking light.  You are our pride and joy and God (Lord help us all) gifted you to us to care for and fucking well nurture!

I think you get the picture :-)  We've all seen updates like this and of course the intention is lovely BUT to me (as a mother) there is a whole other, dark, scary, unspoken and honest side to this business of parenting.  I will paint it now.  I will include the good bits too.

Happy birthday to my dear (A) Sol.  You bring so much fun, quirky humour and armpit farts into our lives.  I love you dearly of course but this parenting malarkey can be incredibly challenging.  You are fiercely loyal to your family, an admirable

quality in someone so young.  (Some of the arseholes you defend don't always deserve it mind you)  You are kind, funny and quirky.  You are also stubborn and competitive.  Playing games with you fills me with dread as you can't cope when you lose and seem to get high when you win.  Just this morning playing snakes and ladders was like walking on a tightrope for me.  'Deal with the bloody snakes!'  There will be more snakes in life than cunting ladders so handle it.  You were amused by the tough pooh response you got.

As a mother sometimes the worry I feel for your safety threatens to drown me as it comes at me like a wave.  This fear comes and goes but one thing I am convinced of is that it will remain with me for the rest of my life.  No one warns you of the overwhelming sense of responsibility that comes with this role.  Fuck the sleepless nights, they are a walk in the park compared to this.
When you asked about death as a boy in your class had lost his father my heart almost broke.  You asked about Granda and told me he is in your heart and you can feel him cos he kicks it.  When you said you didn't want to die I wanted to wrap you up in cotton wool and not leave the house for a week. I realise this is my character and not all people would feel to the depth that I do, we are all different after all.  You do show that you are an old soul/Sol at times like this.

You really know how to keep pushing to the point sometimes where I will yell, thump the table and shake with anger.  You need to start picking up on the non verbal cues to avoid this.  You drive me to drink at times (I'll hang this one on you for now) and it's hard work having to drink every bloody day some weeks :-)
You sometimes put me in awkward positions like when you refused to eat Granny's carrots stating that they were melted.  I knew I would be in the dog box if I laughed but you had a point.  The cooking of the veges to a point beyond recognition is familiar from my upbringing.
You have also put me in a position that I never dreamed of being in....that of a 'Soccer Mum'.  I loved watching you play touch rugby, was passionately responsive on the sideline and hated to miss a single game.  Wow!

Your relationship with your cousin James is a delight to witness.  It's such a primal interaction that makes me think of two bear cubs, pawing each other and cuddling and jostling each other.  Now in turn William is like that with you.  He loves to touch your skin and blow raspberries on your tummy. Then he cracks up, just like his Dad.  He reaches for you and bites and kisses you all the time.  Amazing to see this instinct.

You are a joy but man you can be a pain in the bum too!  Endless wittering, arguing back to counter the other stuff.  Your curious mind is a wonder to behold.  I love that you think I know everything..hee hee! Trust me I know fuck all really.  But I do know I wouldn't be without you in my life.  you are a blessing and you are blessed to be part of such a diverse family.  Pakistani, Scottish, English, Kiwi, Chinese, gay, straight, married, divorced.  Be warned though that there are a lot of strong women on both sides.  What a privilege to have fantastic role models with all the people in your family!

I will leave you with the photo of your student led teacher interviews.  I was presented with this book to comment on and the first page said 'I can cunt'  I know it was meant to say count but I would like to think it was in response to 'can you count in fives to 100?'

Love you Chickpea, Chicky, hearts, Sol, K-hole xxx

Chickpea

I am starting my first ever blog with a 'time capsule letter' that I wrote for a school project.  Sol is to open when it when he turns 21! (YEAH RIGHT)



Dear Sol,

Congratulations on turning 21!  I am sure by now the giving of a mirror in the shape of a key and the yard glass are traditions of the past.
So instead I will give you a reflection on the past and some advice for the future.  It is free and up to what you do with it.

Let’s start at the beginning.  As you know, you were born on December 4 2007 at 4.50pm, making your appearance just before the end of a typical working day.  Very civilized.  You were due on December the 20th but decided to grace us with your appearance earlier. Having gotten to know you over the past 7 years this is very much in line with your character.  You are a very keen, sometimes impatient little boy.  You are very enthusiastic about life and like to get stuck into things.  Your tenacity is unlike anything I have ever seen in another living person.  I hope this unique quality serves you well one day! Who knows, maybe it already is.  You were a very much wanted and longed for baby.  The mixture of delight and worry of the news of a Christmas baby is still very fresh. We followed your progress and by about week 9 or so the book said you were the size of a chickpea.  Your father latched onto that and a nickname was born.  Are we still calling you that?  I very much doubt. Having said that, it is a very Thomson behaviour to nickname people.

 Due to the result of some screening tests I had an amniocentesis.  We were offered the opportunity of finding out your gender.  We were very surprised that you were a boy and over the moon.  We made a short list of names:  Otto, Barnaby, Milo and Solomon.  You will probably be laughing at them (as I am now in hindsight).  When we saw your sweet face we knew you were definitely not an Otto or Barnaby.  We took the risk of giving you both Grandfathers names as middle names.  Your Dada protested but he was just feeling very humbled that we used his name.  It also turns out that your name has a Muslim equivalent Suleman, which your Dada calls you with pride.  Even your Granda Thomson would call you Suleman.  He also delighted in saying your full name over and over emphasising the Naseem.
 
You were only 2 months old when we got a call saying that Granda wasn't well.  He asked me and your two Aunties to come back from the UK.  You were amazing on the long haul flight and lots of random people commented on how good you were.  We arrived in Palmerston North airport and Granny and Uncle Campbell took us straight up to the hospital.  Granda held you on his lap and kept saying ‘Chickpea, chickpea’.  It was lovely to see the joy in his face.  I, in the meantime almost passed out from shock and jet lag on the chair next to the bed.  We stayed for over 6 weeks that first visit.  Granda would come in and pick you up from the travel cot and take you to his bed.  He put on his wee radio and lay you on the bed and chatted to you.  We have video footage.  You will have seen the curry madras episode!

You were a great sleeper, we never had any problems with you as a baby.  But the worm turned around about 2 years old.  Your character was really developing.  You liked to entertain us with your recounts of various audio books.  My favourite was ‘Pooh is that you Bertie’ complete with the Yorkshire Granny accent.
Your tenacity got stronger and I often likened you to a dog with a bone.  You never gave up and had such a sharp memory so we couldn't count on that to distract you from your mission.  At the time of writing this you want the following things:
Earrings, a motorbike, a dog.  You also want to be ‘an earring gunner’ (your words) when you grow up.  I ask myself how I created such a bogan .
You are kind and caring, extremely passionate and doggedly loyal to your family.  You won’t hear a bad word said about anyone in your family.  Even one time I jokingly said William was a pain you were on me like a tonne of bricks.  What an amazing quality for one so young.  I am sure you are still like it now.
You promised me you would always want to cuddle me.  I reassured you that there would be a time when you wouldn't be cool with that.  You are already starting to show signs of ‘don’t be embarrassing Mum’ and you are only 6.  You turn 7 this week and you’re a box of birds with excitement.

I know it’s a cliche but I really don’t mind what you do as long as you’re happy.  Having said that an earring gunner may be a bit of a non-starter.  What a huge burden of a wish to put on your child…to want them to be happy!  I realise this is massive and there will be dark and light times in your life. Just remember that the contrast is necessary.  It can be summed up nicely by a quote I like ‘the art of life is using the shadows to emphasise the highlights’   Try and live by this when the dark creeps in and remember it is not there to stay.

Seize the day!  Enjoy being young.  Be brave (I wanna see you be brave by Sara Bareilles btw is currently your favourite song) and follow your passions.  Be confident in yourself and don’t let fear hold you back.  Open yourself up to new experiences.  This is the way you learn and grow.  Don’t beat yourself up for your mistakes (refer to last sentence).  I do worry you will as you already get very cross if you make a mistake.  I hope you've gotten over this at age 21.  Maintain your loyalty to family, your ties to your cousins James, William and Sarah’s baby (due next month) will be very important to you in years to come.
Have fun but please be safe.  If you become a parent one day you will understand that you never stop worrying about your children.
Fall in love, experience heartbreak and feel these things with all your being.  Choose wisely who you give your heart to in the end.  Don’t bring any girls (or boys) home that have crap, chavy names please.
I don’t expect to live vicariously through you so don’t worry.  I’ll be proud of you no matter what.  I love watching you play touch rugby and I have never, ever been a rugby fan of any description.  I’m behind you all the way.

Most of all remember you are loved.  Your dear Granda loved you so much.  Treasure all the gifts he gave you when you were a baby.  You take Granny’s breath away all the time.  She thinks you are an ‘old soul’ or more likely now an old Sol .  Embrace your Pakistani heritage and learn all you can about your origins.  Your Dada loves his Petru.  You are Nana's little treasure and even though you’re not little now you will always be that in her eyes.  No doubt you will be towering over Aunty Sarah by now.  Appreciate and learn from her how to be strong and driven and please try not to swear, fart or burp around her.  She really is not amused (but I am ).  You have such a close bond with your cousin James.  Appreciate his gentle nature.  Learn too from Aunty Moggy that hard work and determination to reach your goals are worth it.  Enjoy her skiing.
Your Aunty Nance loves you to bits.  Enjoy her uniqueness an me heartiness.
Appreciate Uncle Campbell being one of the few males in your life.  Go fishing, drink beer and do farts! All good with him.  Aunty Saijia has taught you a lot and has been so loving and tolerant.  Your bond with William is lovely to see.  Please don't teach him any bad habits, his Father will do that without your help
Dad and I love you so much and you have been the source of much joy (and worry).  We will enjoy celebrating your milestones and will always be in your heart.

Love Mum xxx