Bye Blog?

I am thinking I might give up Blogging.

I feel I’m talking to myself, which I do a lot, anyway, but then I HOPE there’s no one listening! But, with the Blog, I never know IF anyone is ‘listening’ or, most times, even who they are!

few months ago I became a participant on Facebook.  On Facebook’s intro page, there is a question, ”What’s on your mind?” Space is provided for only a sentence or two, so there is no chance to drivel on.

Unlike a blog, if there is a response from a ‘friend,’ it can be immediate and a ‘conversation’ can take place.

I’ve never restricted who can read my blog, but, on Facebook, only those who are on my chosen ‘friends’ list have access to what I choose to share.

Of course, I also have access to what my friends have on their minds.

Most people on my list are people I already know, but there are some people I ‘talk to’ because we share a Scottish background or have other friends in common.

The other day, a lady from the same part of the world suggested, on Facebook, that I access a particular magazine online, because it featured an article about the Buckie Fishing Heritage Museum.  The article wasn’t accessible. Of course, the publisher wants you to buy the magazine!

As a result, my friend, whom I’ve never met, is going to send me her copy of the magazine!

As I’ve been ‘talking to myself’ for the last few minutes, it’s on my mind that I’ll maybe keep the blog after all!

Poppy Day 2009

For the pipers in the Great War.

New Faces at the Block Party and New Ideas

This past Sunday, we went to the ‘annual’ block party to meet our neighbours, old and new.

After 21 years of living on the Avenue, we’ve now become the ‘old ones…’

I remember our early block parties when elderly neighbours would tell us how much they paid for the houses 40 years before. One neighbour said she’d been worried she couldn’t afford the $10,000 her house cost in the 1950s.

Nobody was discussing house prices now…

It was a very cold afternoon, but I seemed to be the only one complaining and muttering that we should have had it earlier in the year. I didn’t expect that there would be many people there and I didn’t prepare ‘proper’ potluck food.

I brought (store bought) Scottish shortbread and we even ate some before we got there. Our new neighbours had made much more of an effort and provided interesting and delicious dishes to share.

However, it’s only at the block party that we ever see most of the neighbours.  Our block is long and even if I walk by the houses, I rarely see the people.

Now, there are plans to turn our small town into a ‘community.’ Some ideas suggested are: taking down fences between properties so that neighbours could communally grow vegetables, car sharing, meal sharing, communal caring of children, elders and pets.

Noble goals, but I don’t see any of it working effectively.

I say this from my own experience growing up in a community that was not planned, but was a community born of necessity and shared lives. The families were all fisher folk. The men were at sea all week and the women were the home support group.

Life was shared fully, in this community. Babies were delivered by the neighbours, who would continue to look after the mother and newborn for as long as necessary. The sick were cared for and nobody was left to die alone.

I remember there was a drawer in our house in which a shroud and white socks were kept for ‘laying out the body,’ when the time came.

That community worked well because all had a common purpose.

I suppose the downside was a complete lack of privacy and as I grew up and prepared to leave home, I became more aware of that.

But in my block, I have all the privacy I want. I rarely see anyone and lace curtains do not twitch as I pass.

I think I’ll keep my fences up, but if a neighbour needs my help, I’ll gladly give it.

Back at the Gym – Again!

I hope I am! I’ve had too many false starts this year and my ambition to ‘get back to the level of exercise ‘I was at before accident and illness seems overly ambitious right now.

My only ambition right now is to actually GO to the Gym, three times a week, if I can, and do what I when I get there.

I like to start on the treadmill and I particularly like the treadmills by the window so I can see people passing. Last year I raised the treadmill to its maximum incline and started at a decent speed. I raised my heart rate to the workout level for my age group and perspired sufficiently to shower when I got home.

Now, my treadmill work out starts very slowly, on a fairly flat’ surface, but I do increase the incline and speed during the 20 minutes.    My heart rate goes up a little, but not enough yet to burn significant calories.

I move to the weight machines, set at a much lower weight than I used to be capable of, but I absolutely do not want to hurt myself or have any more injuries, caused by impatience.

People who suggest I do yoga, palates, or Nia discourage me. Don’t they know my arthritis prevents me from such activities?

A long-time fellow gym member who told me, that in spite of all my difficulties and setbacks, “I keep on truckin”, encouraged me!

I’m not sure what that means, but I have to keep on doing whatever it is that works.

Another Urban Myth and Why I don’t Believe It

I’m on the emailing list of an acquaintance, who, every Sunday, sends a report of her week.

This week, apart from her usual blether, she had included a report of a ‘scary incident’ that she’d heard about.

Now, she did admit, it was a rumour, she didn’t know the people involved, but she told it as she believed it 100%.

While they were on holiday in France, a couple had taken their young daughter to Euro Disney for the day. The daughter went on a ride, but when the ride stopped, she wasn’t on it!

According to the story, the park security can throw an emergency switch, which closes all exits.

Ten minutes later, the lassie was found, but in that time, her hair had been cut, her clothes had been changed and she was wearing a baseball cap.

“Apparently, she had been snatched from the ride and these organized gangs had had everything ready to change this wee lass’s identity forever…” wrote my acquaintance.

I did not believe a word of this story. Why Not?

I think that, in broad daylight, someone would have seen the snatching, especially on a moving ride.

Where did the hair cutting and clothes change take place?

The lass was found within 10 minutes. Seems she was found alone. Where was the organized gang?

I’d neither heard nor read anything in the news about this alleged incident, so I goggled ‘Euro Disney kidnapping,’ and found this article in the Times of London.

I’m not making light of real kidnappings and the terrible suffering of abducted children.

Just saying why I didn’t believe this particular story.

A Usual Saturday Night in Albany

Albany is a quiet town.  Someone recently described it “The place where white folks with kids, live.” I suppose that is mostly true and families are attracted by the local schools, which have a good reputation.

Albany is a ‘walk able’ town. Shops, restaurants, parks and farmers’ markets can be accessed without a car.  For the most part, Albany is considered to be a safe place to live, although it is situated near a freeway ‘corridor’ between well-known high crime and drug dealing areas.

But, we, the residents, only read about the crime and the bad guys in the police report that is published in the local paper.

But, that changed on Saturday night and we witnessed, a police car chase that ended in a neighbour’s drive!

I heard brakes squealing as a car approached the STOP sign at the awkward corner by our house. The road bends to the right, but not in a straight line and the street lighting is insufficient.

I just KNEW a crash would follow and I was already dialing 911 before I heard it.

The driver lost control of the car and skidded into a drive where 2 cars were parked, one behind the other. The force of the impact demolished the first car, pushed it into the car in front, which rammed the locked garden gates and pushed them open.

Police cars blocked the street; their flashing lights making it look like a fun fair.

I wanted to go outside and join my neighbours, in their dressing gowns, but I stayed indoors, peering uselessly through the windows. Trees and bushes obscured my view.

I got up early the next morning to be nosy and learned from neighbours that the chase involved a Berkeley police car. The crash was a long way from Berkeley.

It was obvious that the chase was heading either towards San Pablo Ave or the Freeway.

It was completely daft to conduct a chase in a residential area. Police car chases are daft anyway.

So many times, an innocent person is killed or injured. In fact, when I heard the crash, I thought it was a head –on collision. That would have been a tragedy, but to demolish two innocent cars belonging to innocent people, asleep in Albany, was just plain stupid.

I have no idea if the driver suffered an injury. I heard no ambulance, but only the ‘beep beep beep’ of the tow truck that hauled his car away.

There was no report in the local news or paper.

Why would there have been? No one was injured and nothing happens in Albany, anyway!

Now That My Appetite Has Returned, What Do I Eat?

I’m still not hungry, but I can finally eat and know I must.  Yesterday, I resumed eating and had a banana. Later, I ate some fruit yogurt. Invalid food, indeed!

Today, I made my favourite breakfast smoothie.  That’s a blend of soy protein powder, fruit yogurt, and bananas and fruit juice. I make a batch sufficient to last 2 days. Sipped through a straw, breakfast takes less than 5 minutes!

Tonight, I had a little ravioli with pesto sauce.  From surviving only on sips of water, I think I’m dining well!

I Have Not Blogged in Weeks, Because…

… I have been ill. It was not officially confirmed, but I had all the symptoms of the H1N1 Virus. When I spoke to my Doctor, he said they were no longer testing for the virus, because, by the time the results came back, most people had recovered.

I am not fully recovered.

I have fatigue and loss of appetite. Food does not interest me at all. So far, I’ve had no ill effects from not eating, but I will be getting a medical check-up soon.

I feel the fatigue lifting and it does help to make myself get up and get involved in my activities.

The flu brought gory details, which I’m not going to share!

It’s the most unpleasant, debilitating illness I’ve had in a long time and it lasted far too long!

I spent far too much time on my own, having dark, flu-like thoughts…but these have lifted and I’m coming back to good cheer and optimism.

Primary School

I started school, in the Infant Class of Buckie Primary School in August 1954. My 5th birthday was in December of that year, but I was lucky to be admitted to school early. The usual age of school entry was at 5 years old.

This was the start, not only of my life outside of the Catbow, but the start of my independent life. I now could no longer rely on Mam to do things for me, or to make cerebral palsy easier for me.

At the start of each school year, Mam came to the school and talked to my teacher about my having cerebral palsy, but she was shy, intimidated by the teachers and was not my best advocate. Some teachers didn’t understand what she was trying to tell them

At first glance, it’s certainly not obvious that I have cerebral palsy. But then, when it comes to ‘doing,’ it is. In the 1950s, being left-handed was discouraged to the point of punishment, but what could my teachers do with a pupil who had no use of her right hand and they were not trained to ‘deal with’ students who had a disability. But I still learned to write, even though the inkwell was on the wrong side of the desk and I was messy with my pen and ink.

Cerebral Palsy is messy. Some people have no facial muscle control and drool and spastic, uncontrollable spasms are a nuisance.

But, the teachers realised I was one of their brightest pupils and we had to work together for me to get the quality of education I was supposed to get. I had supportive teachers and I had stupid teachers who refused to make allowances for me. I didn’t want special treatment. I simply wanted to be treated with respect and an awareness of what I was physically unable to do.

My classmates were often unkind. That was a long time ago and I cannot and don’t care now.

I had one special friend, Mary, whom I love dearly to this day. I felt normal in her company and I never had to explain anything to her.

Early Catbow Memories

For the first four years of my life in the Catbow I knew only Mam, Dad, Granny and Granda the neighbours and relatives who lived close by. I did not know they were not my relatives and added ‘Auntie’ or ‘Uncle’ to their names.

I was aware of my surroundings, from a very early age and understood much more than I could articulate.

I knew that Dad and Granda went to sea during the week and sometimes were away for longer.  Mam and Granny each had their ‘own ends’ of the house, but Mam did most of the work in the house. They didn’t have an easy relationship and I know that Mam wanted a house of her own.

I was aware of the tension between them. Dad seemed unable or unwilling to do anything about it and just tried, ineffectually, to keep the peace.  Granda didn’t get involved at all. First World War guns had rendered him completely deaf and communication was difficult.

I spent a lot of time with adults and didn’t play with children of the neighbourhood very often. I couldn’t keep up with their active games and I fell a lot. I didn’t know I had cerebral palsy and figured that out for myself later. Dad used to say I had ‘a weakness.’

They did their best for me, but they had limited resources.

So this was how ‘OorMargit’ began, sitting on a creepie by the fireside, in the evenings, listening to the neighbours’ gossip and stories.

I absorbed everything they said and learned to speak the Doric before I learned to speak English.

On the left is me in 1953 in the Catbow before the road was made in 1963. On the right I’m posing for a professional photographer who came to the house.