Fighting Mind, Helen and her Pearls, Child Abuse In NZ.

Varo, Birds.

Such a fight of thoughts these days. I wake up and they’re all there, gloves off, ready to take me down before I can even get up. I have to find ways to deal with the brutes gently. Fighting on their terms doesn’t work. Instead, I think of Helen Rutledge. I met Helen by mistake on Monday morning as I sipped an overpriced coffee in Henderson. Yes, Henderson has a Columbus coffee and I’m afraid it’s pretty damn good. The large flat white was almost soup bowl in proportion, and as I sipped it, an old lady of eccentric design walked past my table.

“Hello” I smiled.

“Hello!” she smiled back, her face immediately alight, and she lurched over to continue the conversation. Oh, I thought, I don’t think I’ll be drinking this alone. For about one second I wondered if I should guard against my solitude, but it was a very fast second. She was a wonderful blend of naiveté and high intelligence and was delighted when I complimented her long string of creamy pearls.

“Oh yes!,” she said “aren’t they BEE OOT IFUL? They cost $3000!”

I laughed “you might not want to go around telling everyone that”

“Oh no,” she said “they’re all rich around here anyway, they don’t care. And I didn’t pay it all at once. Paid them off on time payment plan! But I love jewellery. I LOVE it. Do you want to see my ring? It’s brand new! I just got it.”

Yes, of course I wanted to see her ring. She told me she was so excited about it that she woke up at 4.30am that morning and couldn’t sleep. She had to get up and look at it. Her whole face was glowing with the pleasure of it.

Because the top half of each digit was very swollen, the ring could only be pushed a short way up one of her fingers. We admired it together, and she pointed out the tiny diamonds surrounding the amethyst. I said “so when you look at the ring, do you feel like that beauty is inside you?”

“Oh yes!” she said “that is just how I feel”.

She complimented my eye shadow, wanted to know how I’d applied it and what sort it was. She said something about ancestry regarding the Scottish and the French, making claims to something vaguely royal. I said “oh yes, I’ve got a good whack of Scottish in me”, and then, upon observing the way I drank my coffee, said I was obviously of this Scottish French persuasion.

 I should have told her that according to my family tree, the Italian line goes back to the Garibaldi’s. I didn’t think of it at that moment, but I’m sure she would have loved it. She was already convinced that I was special due to the way I held my coffee cup, and that was enough for me. We spoke briefly of love (of course she was sitting down with me by this time) and she told me how she loved one man and always would ‘but we’ve never even kissed’. I heard about her cats, and she asked me things like “can you knit? Can you sew?” (she can!) and I would have to confess I could not.

 “I do like to draw and paint though”

 “Oh! You’re an ARTIST”.  

She was just the most adorable lady ever. She looked 70 and said she was 61. She was big but claimed she’d lost 7 stone. The skin under her neck was loose and yet fat at the same time, and her eyes were bright and pretty. She asked what I thought of her handbag. I loved it. She really did have great taste. She was wearing a cloche hat, and around her shoulders a sand coloured knitted number that looked more like a mini cloak than a shawl. I complimented this too, part of the design involved intermittent strands of wool coming out of the main fabric. I said it made me think of a Maori cloak and she replied “Oh yes, the Maoris love it and so do the Indians”.

She told me how much she loved bags as well as jewellery, reminding me of the cost of the pearls. A fruit fly buzzed around for a moment and I shooed it away. She smiled and said she liked them, and so I didn’t kill it. In the end her brother came in to get her. He looked like a man in his 60’s who is either on his way to or from the RSA for the day. He mumbled so much when he spoke that I had to sort of nod and smile because I didn’t want to keep saying ‘pardon?’.

I hugged Helen good bye, and when I think about her I feel really peaceful. I think of her eyes, and of her pearls. I can hear her saying in our broad, flat Kiwi accent ‘they cost $3000!’ and for some reason this really soothes me and relaxes any tension in my heart. I liked the look on her face when she observed the fruit fly, or the way she described the big black cat that sat on her chest and “put his arms around my neck and his face on my chin”.

The gangs of fighting thoughts want me to pay attention to everything, but something that has haunted me this week is the topic of child welfare. What should you do if you know of a child being neglected or possibly abused?

Margaret Shanahan writes ‘According to the Ministry of Social Development’s 2005 Social Report there are at least twenty confirmed cases of child abuse and/or neglect in New Zealand every day, resulting in an average of seven deaths due to child abuse every year.’
Read more: http://www.3news.co.nz/Child-abuse-stats-make-sobering-reading/tabid/423/articleID/223052/Default.aspx#ixzz24JQVtLfH

What frightens me is that a lot of Kiwi ‘she’ll be right mate’ attitude also embraces ‘aw, what can ya do?’. I’ve also heard ‘well it’s not your child’, and ‘well if it’s not severe abuse’. I do think it is up to all of us to keep an eye out for children, even if they don’t issue forth from our own bodies. I don’t think abuse needs to reach a severe level before its intercepted. That’s insane. To think we’d be in agreement – it’s okay to verbally abuse a child as long as you’re not raping her or stomping on his head? Come on New Zealand. We can do better than that. Let’s get a Gold in something that matters more than a physical race. A ‘Gold’ in child care. Oh sure, you can’t hang it on the mantelpiece – but it might save some lives.

How can you reach out to someone and get help without blowing their whole family apart? If you involve the NZ agency CPS (Child Protections Services) they often create problems in the process of trying to solve them. Children can be shuffled around from home to home and still feel unloved or unwanted. Taking a look at their website helps me feel at ease – they seem to have other options that could be useful to a family:

People who can help (New Zealand)

Barnados

for family counselling             0800 4 PARENT

 ( 0800 472 7368)

Plunketline

For 24 hour help with anything to do with parenting and children under five
 0800 933 922

Relationships Aotearoa (Formerly Relationship Services)

For help with family or relationship problems
0800 RELATE ( 0800 735 283)

Go to the Barnados website

Go to the Plunket website

Go to the Relationships Aotearoa website (formerly Relationship Services)

I liked reading about young people (in care) who won William Wallace awards that support their tertiary, vocational or leadership training. It makes me seriously consider fostering a child when I’m in the position to do so. That’s also on the CYPS website.

And so the fighting in my mind ceases for now. Peachy Toscat Poscat Pie is purring and trying to get as close to me as she can. She resents my laptop.

“Are you a baby?” I ask her in a the saccharine voice reserved for babies and animals.

“Are you a bay-bee or a cake?”

She purrs. She’s a baby cake.

x

More Landy bullshit.The Washing Machine Debacle.

Supercilious? I shall try to live up to it.

Having a nagging, nit picking land lady who lives directly above you is possibly like having a spouse you wish you didn’t have to speak to at all, one you married for the wrong reasons.

She was doing quite well for awhile. She’s said things that indicate she no longer completely blames me for the plumbing issues, and of late she has taken to calling me darling.  I did wonder how long this darling state could last. It turns out it lasts exactly as long as I keep my mouth completely shut and nod up and down like one of those toys on a car dashboard. To make comment, question anything or indicate that you understood something after hearing it repeated shrilly for the tenth time just won’t do. I love this place, but boy, her vibe really feels like a dark cloud of urine at times.

To her credit, she has let me use her washing machine sometimes (or it’s off to the Laundromat) but I should have known this would be fraught with issues. She came downstairs to check my power meter (and no doubt judge me for the mess in my place) and then the Washing Machine Debacle unfolded. About two weeks ago she accused me of spilling some washing powder on the floor of her wash house. Actually, it might not have been me, it could have been her boarder, but I took it like a man, right up the arse. I pretended to be intensely interested in how terrible it was that I’d spilled it. I apologised, agreed, nodded (repeat process about six to ten more times as she blathers on).  Don’t say anything I whisper inside my own head, just keep nodding.

At 10am I was in bed reading about ADHD when she knocked.  I was really tired after cleaning the yoga studio last night. I can’t seem to do it in less than two hours, or I probably could if I didn’t polish every stainless steel surface with mirror cleaner. God it looks good.

So this morning she launches into some problem regarding the filter in the washing machine, and I offer to come and have a look. I imagine this will take a minute as she’s already told me it’s a filter that needs to be emptied. Sure enough, she pulls it up and it’s chocka full of grit and the tummy fluff of monsters.

“When I use machine, I only empty this one once a year, but I go away, I come back after you use, and it like this.”

“Okay, so if I use the machine I’ll make sure I empty that each time.”

But no, this isn’t the point of it. I’m not allowed to make this logical conclusion and leave, I must LISTEN. Her voice gets increasingly shrill with every word, her eyes fix me like a dying fish.

“I go away, I come back, and it like this. I only empty once a year. But I come back and it like this.”
“Yes, yes …”

“SO,” over riding my agreement,

“What happen when I away in China visiting my mother and you use, and it break down, you take responsibility. You say ‘ohh no it not me’. I only empty once year, but I come back this week after away last week, and it full. Look. ”

Er, yes, I can see it and I’ve already agreed, apologised and nodded. So I say “Yes, so I need to empty the filter if I use the washing machine each time. It might be like that because I had to wash all the towels I used to mop up the water that comes out of my shower when it floods during heavy rain.”

“What?! You don’t use machine for this! You clean in here (indicates the wash house sink) not use machine!”

Her voice is becoming so shrill that I actually put my hands over my ears at this point; I can’t seem to help myself. So I sort of nod and wince and hope she’ll shut up really soon.

“Okay, okay, yes, I do understand, I need to empty the filter and not wash towels in there that I’ve used to mop up water.”

“Can-deee, I go away, I come back, and it like this after you use. I only empty once a year. I come back, it like THIS, so what happen I go away China and you use, and then it break down and you say ‘ooohhh it not me’? Will you take responsibility?”

The bit where she says ‘oooh, it not me’ is quite bitchy. I have noticed she has no female friends. All her friends are men in their sixties. Men who visit with flowers or plants for her garden. Men who do things for her. I’ve joked that she might be a high class hooker, but it’s looking like I might have nudged the truth there. Ongoing faithful clients.

“Are you saying that if the washing machine breaks down while you’re away that you want me to take responsibility for it?”

“Nooo, but I only empty once year, I go away, I come back, it like this …”

I felt really overwhelmed. I just couldn’t take another second of this bullshit.

“Look, I’m quite an intelligent woman. You told me what’s wrong, I can see that I need to empty the filter, I do understand, but I feel like you’re yelling at me.”

Her face suddenly hardened, a smile sweet as Hitler’s moustache complimenting her flat black eyes.

“You also say you are grown woman and I don’t need remind you about paper, but then you forget, forget, and it messy, it look bad!”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Forgetting to put out the paper rubbish isn’t hurting anyone though, and I remembered this week, so no problem.

“It okay, you not use washing machine. You go. It FINE.”

“So are you angry with me now?”

“Nooo (looking fucking angry in that calm way) I not angry, you make ME feel bad, and you say I shouting, so you go. You not use washing machine.”

“Oh, okay then.”

The Laundromat is looking really good.

Sadly, this put a shitty spin (ha) on my day, but looking on the bright side … the whiner is soon off to China for two months and her urine cloud aura won’t be hanging over my head. Hurrah!

Also, how upset can I be? I’m having a pretty good life. If all I can moan about is my control freak Landy, then that’s not too bad at all.

Post note: The following day she was on my porch yelling instructions at one of her men friends as he fed a hose into the drain that's causing all the problems with my shower overflowing. I was on the phone to mum, having a coffee and trying to eat some left over tiramisu from dinner with Rob and Suzanne. I popped my head out the door and when I saw her face, I clicked. Oh, I thought, she's just a really anxious woman. I went up to her and her face was soft. I said "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings yesterday, I really don't mind using the laundromat." I mean, I did actually put my hands over my ears to block out her voice when she was talking. Not very nice is it? I hugged her, and honestly, she melted into the hug so easily, with great relief it seemed. She said "I just no want worry for me or for you when I gone China." She then waffled on about the cost of things, and the fact that she's had to ring the council about the sewage again this year (that one's the neighbours fault for putting tampons down the loo), but she probably just wants to be understood, and I was feeling patient. I went back inside to resume chatting with mum, and then the Landy came to my ranch slider and was talking at me with fast insistence. She could see I was on the phone, but I remembered the cultural differences. It was the same in Korea; things we consider extremely bad manners in the West seem to be fine in Asia. I said to mum I'd call her back, and then I ended up helping them with the hose pumpery; all sorts of old fat and crap came up.

Oh, I also offended some uptight actor guy in a review I did this week. It was quite a fun debate really, and his level of pompous was such as I had never before encountered. I tried to use a bit of humour when I retaliated, but he thought I was being supercilious. Oh wait a minute … he was looking in a mirror.

Supercilious:

Adjective:	Behaving or looking as though one thinks one is superior to others.
Synonyms:	haughty - arrogant - proud - lofty - uppish - snooty

Have a gorgeous weekend, chill out like a trout and make like a snake.

Also, I’m going to work on being supercilious, sounds like loads of fun.

xxx

Oh the Mystery. Adult ADD/Ritalin update.

August 5th 2012

 I've now been taking Ritalin since the end of May 2012. Here’s a bit of an update on what I’m experiencing, and I’m sure it varies widely according to each person. 

Eye Spy

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." - Albert Einstein

The Mystery of Ritalin/ADD

·        A ‘flat’ feeling at times, but now this is rare. I am used to non stop thought and emotion. When this ‘flatness’ occurred, I decided to appreciate it. I think of it as ‘turnaround time’ like a computer down loading a lot of information. This flatness can be a small holiday from hyperactive/confused thinking. It doesn’t happen now unless I’m really trying to do too much or leave too big a gap between my first and second pill of the day.

·        Food: for awhile there I thought I might go a bit mental with food as it was tasting so, so good. I love food anyway, but this was intense,  as if you’d want to fill a bath with food and wriggle in it, turning to lick, chew and swallow mouthfuls as you writhe. This level of intensity has passed, and now I’m so interested in doing things that I have to remember to eat.

This is almost erotic to me: a runny egg with wasabi, butter and lots of salt and pepper

  Eating: I am craving more protein. I want to eat eggs every day, preferably with cheese or more protein. I am eating significantly less wheat and problems with digestion and bloating are clearing up.

·        Weight/Exercise: Without specifically trying, I have lost 4kg. I did want to lose weight, but instead focused on what I wanted to do, not what I wanted to lose. I aimed to go for a decent walk, or bike rides, every day. I usually go every second day, but combined with less wheat and more small protein based portions, I’m getting slimmer. I didn’t know I’d lost weight until I noticed that a pair of jeans looked a bit baggy around my waist.

·        So is Ritalin a wonder drug for weight loss?

Of course it is a listed side effect, everyone knows that Ritalin is a form of speed, it increases dopamine production, yet I don't like crediting that alone with my weight loss. I suppose I'd like to think "I" did it, that it wasn't a drug. 

I read some excellent notes by a guy called Timothy Sexton. He said people taking Ritalin often lose weight 'rapidly'. I don't think I did, it seemed gradual, as did the change in my appetite and tastes: http://voices.yahoo.com/ritalin-methylphenidate-side-effects-adult-5684320.html
Added note: I tried to find out a bit more in regards to food/weight loss and gain, and some people on Ritalin actually GAIN weight. Today I wanted something sweet and grilled a whole tin of peaches, half a can of pears, spooned brown sugar all over it, grilled it and then ate it with yoghurt, jam and cinnamon. Mmm. After that, I then felt like something savoury - soba noodles with tinned tomatoes and spinach, lots of butter, salt and pepper.( I did end up going for a two hour walk though.)

   Focus:  The increased focus is helping me to complete tasks, and I’m so interested in a variety of things and getting them done that it reminds me of what I was like in my early 20’s. I used to forget to eat back then too, but always loved food and enjoyed it when I ate. I remember I used to have my tea and toast, buy six ‘buzz bars’ from the dairy every morning before cycling to tech and eat them all before 11am. Sometimes I couldn't wait and I'd eat them all on the bike ride into town.

Sex/Creativity:  I think there are differences, but to be honest, I don’t know if they’re consistent enough to document. It’s a bit like food. I sometimes feel like all I am is a nerve ending, a writhing filament of light and heat, but I’m not constantly obsessed. The thing is, I believe my sex drive/libido was fairly healthy anyway, but now it might be an energy I can choose to expend in a variety of ways. Sex is creative and so any creative pursuit, for me, has an underlying passion or sexual energy. Then, when you break that down, almost everything in life is somehow creative, and therefore I find I am having the most wonderful love affair with life itself. The way of thinking and being is a form of foreplay. I am seducing myself most of the time.

Doing Stuff: This I am still struggling with. It’s 1.10 on a Sunday and I promised myself I would leave the house and go for a long walk before 12 today. Instead I started to play online Scrabble, then I looked at Facebook (Painter and his friend are currently in Germany, ooh, I think it’s going to be a transformative journey for him), and then I had more coffee, and then I read some articles online, and then … oh time, you fickle beast.

So there’s a bit of an update for y’all.

I was bummed the other day. I got a $200 ticket because my car rego had expired. I had no idea. I got all emotional and felt like a big loser, cried all the way home. Andrew came over that night as he knew I was feeling down. I had already worked myself back into a good state of mind, but as you know, a lovely visit from someone who cares certainly makes a big difference.

Everyone seems to be travelling or planning to do so. I wanna go to New York and visit Becky, and I’d like to do that early next year. Wish me luck ducks, all I need is money.

xxx