This ‘try new things’ mission is evolving. I’m attempting to step outside my comfort zone to try things that don’t fit with the concept of self that I have built up over the past 30 years. It’s quite revealing; although I think of myself as quite a confident person, subconsciously I must have decided a long time ago that certain things are just not for me – I am not good at them and do not like them. This mission is proving to be a chance to revisit these things with fresh eyes, and it’s a wonderful opportunity to open doors that have been closed for many years. It reminds me of this beautiful quote from Frederico Fellini, Italian film-maker:
“Put yourself into life and never lose your openness, your childish enthusiasm, throughout the journey that is life, and things will come your way.”
So it was with all this in mind that I picked up the latest copy of my husband’s New Scientist magazine. After 10 years of living with this publication littering my coffee table and the arms of my couch, it was time to take a closer look. Having long ago decided that ‘science’ is really boring and hard, I had accepted that my children will be getting their science tuition and interest from their dad, and I would take care of the languagey, arty type stuff. But what if it’s actually interesting? What if I find that these science guys have something to offer me? I decided to try reading the magazine cover to cover.
I began, as you do, with the editorial, which stated tantalisingly that ‘particle physics has been gripped by an excitement not seen for 16 years’. Apparently the Higgs boson hasn’t yet been found (bummer), but another new theory is gathering steam – a fifth fundamental force called technicolour. Excellent! Or is it? Don’t ask me.
The next few pages were a bit easier on the beginner scientist. Aloe vera has been proved to cause tumours in rats (maybe you should lay off that aloe juice). A Swiss pharmaceutical company is selling a drug based on cannabis. The photographs of amateur astronomers have been used to create a montage of a comet, which helps scientists to map the path of the comet around the sun. And omega-3 eaten in the last months of pregnancy may help to ward off post-natal depression.
I’m only up to page 39 of 56, even though I’ve been reading the mag at every spare moment I have. This is a magazine so chock-a-block with ideas and information that even the ads are intelligent. I think I can actually feel my brain growing as I read it. Reading New Scientist while breastfeeding proves difficult, especially when I’m interrupted every 20 seconds by a toddler shouting demands to watch ‘Windy Pooh’ or gleefully yelling ‘Wees!’ with the smug knowledge that that’s the one thing that will force me up out of the chair.
But I’m surprised to announce that I am determined – and perfectly willing – to read right till the end. I’m especially looking forward to the section about the science of happiness. This month will see the UK become the first country in the world to officially record the happiness of its citizens. The survey to determine this consists of only four questions: How satisfied are you with your life nowadays? How happy did you feel yesterday? How anxious did you feel yesterday? To what extent do you feel the things you do in your life are worthwhile? The point of this research is to ‘enable citizens to make better life decisions and help win support for wiser social policies’. The article goes on to analyse happiness from a psychological and neurological point of view. It should make for interesting reading, and I’m looking forward to finding out more about the survey, and its results later on. And I’ll be picking up the next edition of the New Scientist too – but perhaps next time I’ll give particle physics and anything that mentions the Higgs boson a wide berth.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Yiamas!
I am somewhat of a stay-at-home-at-all-costs bod at the moment, so I have to ask my social life to come to me. What better way than to have a pot-luck dinner with a group of girls? I decided on a Greek theme after Googling the date and discovering that it was the calculated date of Odysseus’ return from the Trojan War. Time to celebrate, pot-luck style!
Turns out having a theme is a rather good idea, if I do say so myself. It meant everyone stepped outside their comfort zone to try something new, with most excellent results. It also created quite a cohesive dinner, as opposed to the hotch potch of a true pot-luck dinner. My guests embraced the theme and by 8pm the table was groaning with the flavours of Greece: feta, tomatoes, lamb, eggplant, yoghurt, olives…
Some standout dishes included lamb-stuffed peppers, cumin meatballs, and a mouth-wateringly delicious starter consisting of grilled haloumi on slices of bread with cherry tomatoes.
When I was in Greece in 2001 I lived on a diet of bread, feta and tomatoes (and, oddly, Nutella). Rather than stick to those old favourites I tried something new – walnut-topped baklava wafers with yoghurt and lemon honey syrup. Although a bit fiddly, they were very easy once I got the hang of it, and looked and tasted great. I recommend Puhoi Greek Yoghurt, which is silky smooth with a hint of sweetness in the aftertaste. Delicious.
We discussed ideas for another themed dinner – Mexican, Thai, Indian? Or maybe we could think outside the box a bit and do something like ‘breakfast for dinner’ or ‘only 3 ingredients’. We thought maybe next time we should organise it so that half the guests bring food and the other half bring wine, as we didn’t even touch the sides of some of the dishes. Not that I minded the next day – leftovers from that kind of meal are welcome any day. And I somehow scored two bowls out of the affair, too. Sweet.
Turns out having a theme is a rather good idea, if I do say so myself. It meant everyone stepped outside their comfort zone to try something new, with most excellent results. It also created quite a cohesive dinner, as opposed to the hotch potch of a true pot-luck dinner. My guests embraced the theme and by 8pm the table was groaning with the flavours of Greece: feta, tomatoes, lamb, eggplant, yoghurt, olives…
Some standout dishes included lamb-stuffed peppers, cumin meatballs, and a mouth-wateringly delicious starter consisting of grilled haloumi on slices of bread with cherry tomatoes.
When I was in Greece in 2001 I lived on a diet of bread, feta and tomatoes (and, oddly, Nutella). Rather than stick to those old favourites I tried something new – walnut-topped baklava wafers with yoghurt and lemon honey syrup. Although a bit fiddly, they were very easy once I got the hang of it, and looked and tasted great. I recommend Puhoi Greek Yoghurt, which is silky smooth with a hint of sweetness in the aftertaste. Delicious.
We discussed ideas for another themed dinner – Mexican, Thai, Indian? Or maybe we could think outside the box a bit and do something like ‘breakfast for dinner’ or ‘only 3 ingredients’. We thought maybe next time we should organise it so that half the guests bring food and the other half bring wine, as we didn’t even touch the sides of some of the dishes. Not that I minded the next day – leftovers from that kind of meal are welcome any day. And I somehow scored two bowls out of the affair, too. Sweet.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Waddly Archer
This week I tried, in vain, to continue the water sports theme by booking in a kitesurfing lesson. Foiled by the wind (or lack thereof) at the eleventh hour, I was at a loss for what ‘new thing’ I could try. While contemplating this conundrum I was invited out to afternoon tea with some very dear friends of my parents in the beautiful Bethell’s Beach valley. As luck would have it, over the summer their Norwegian son-in-law had helped them to set up an archery range in their backyard. Bingo.
We wandered down to the archery range after a delicious piece of feijoa and ginger cake. While my daughter picked apples with my mum, and tui sang encouragingly from above, we laid out the bows and sorted the arrows. Feeling very Maid Marian, I confidently strung up the bow, only to find that I had inadvertently put it on backwards. Unfortunately, this was a sign of things to come; it turns out that I was not born to be an archer.
Not one of my arrows hit the rather large target board. Our friend kindly suggested that perhaps I should try the other bow, which supposedly gives the arrow a bit more flight. From this bow my arrows either went zinging way above the target into the bank behind, or fell rather pathetically to the ground a few metres short of the target. My husband and I swapped bows again, but I could blame my incompetence on my tools no more. I had a lot of fun and I’d like to try it again, but let’s hope I’m not called upon to hunt for live game to feed my family. They would get very hungry.
Top tips for the beginner archer: wear long sleeves (the arrows can rip past your forearm and leave quite a scrape) and find a very patient tutor.
The other new thing I’ve started is jogging. Those of you who know me well will probably need to read that sentence again to make sure you’ve read right, as I have traditionally been the girl who gets her mum to write notes on cross country day, and wouldn’t run for the bus if it was the last one on earth. But I picked up Kerre Woodham’s book Short Fat Chick in Paris for a bit of light reading, which is a follow-up to her first novel, Short Fat Chick to Marathon Runner. In the back of the book there are letters from people who were inspired by Kerre’s first book, and one of them was a mother of three young children. She wrote the following:
‘Fellow mothers of young children will agree that as a mum you are alone, but never alone! Running gives me an outlet where I can be with myself, by myself. No one can interrupt me and I can mentally file away my thoughts and worries, organise and plan the rest of the day and return home always feeling positive.’
I immediately put the book down and said hesitantly to my husband, ‘I feel like going for a jog.’ Expertly disguising the shock, he encouraged me to go RIGHT NOW – ‘You’ll probably never feel like going again!’ So I did. I just ran out the door and down the street, without getting changed or any of that palaver. I honestly thought I would only get a few metres down the road and have to stop, but – miraculously – I kept going. Admittedly it was only for about four or five minutes, until I returned home after running to the end of my street, around another cul-de-sac and back, but during that five minutes no one asked me for juice or vomited on me. I was hooked.
The next day I ran a little bit further, and a couple of days after that I ran/walked all the way to the dairy and back. I’m on a roll. I’m not aiming to run a marathon or even put any expectations on myself of a regular, structured routine; all I’m trying to do is keep going and keep enjoying it. I think it’s because of this that I actually want to do it. It’s not a chore; it’s time out, with healthy benefits to boot. I even tried running to the park with both kids in the pram, but my toddler kept yelling, ‘Too fast! Too fast, Mummy!’ which was slightly offputting (and a bit of an over-reaction – my jog is only very slightly faster than a walk).
I mentioned this new jogging thing to a good friend of mine, who immediately jumped on board and said she’d come with me once a week. Now we have a regular catch-up every Sunday at 5pm, and whether we walk or jog, we’re exercising our bodies and buoying up our souls. Magic.
And it’s FREE! 'All you have to do is doodly do it...'
We wandered down to the archery range after a delicious piece of feijoa and ginger cake. While my daughter picked apples with my mum, and tui sang encouragingly from above, we laid out the bows and sorted the arrows. Feeling very Maid Marian, I confidently strung up the bow, only to find that I had inadvertently put it on backwards. Unfortunately, this was a sign of things to come; it turns out that I was not born to be an archer.
Not one of my arrows hit the rather large target board. Our friend kindly suggested that perhaps I should try the other bow, which supposedly gives the arrow a bit more flight. From this bow my arrows either went zinging way above the target into the bank behind, or fell rather pathetically to the ground a few metres short of the target. My husband and I swapped bows again, but I could blame my incompetence on my tools no more. I had a lot of fun and I’d like to try it again, but let’s hope I’m not called upon to hunt for live game to feed my family. They would get very hungry.
Top tips for the beginner archer: wear long sleeves (the arrows can rip past your forearm and leave quite a scrape) and find a very patient tutor.
The other new thing I’ve started is jogging. Those of you who know me well will probably need to read that sentence again to make sure you’ve read right, as I have traditionally been the girl who gets her mum to write notes on cross country day, and wouldn’t run for the bus if it was the last one on earth. But I picked up Kerre Woodham’s book Short Fat Chick in Paris for a bit of light reading, which is a follow-up to her first novel, Short Fat Chick to Marathon Runner. In the back of the book there are letters from people who were inspired by Kerre’s first book, and one of them was a mother of three young children. She wrote the following:
‘Fellow mothers of young children will agree that as a mum you are alone, but never alone! Running gives me an outlet where I can be with myself, by myself. No one can interrupt me and I can mentally file away my thoughts and worries, organise and plan the rest of the day and return home always feeling positive.’
I immediately put the book down and said hesitantly to my husband, ‘I feel like going for a jog.’ Expertly disguising the shock, he encouraged me to go RIGHT NOW – ‘You’ll probably never feel like going again!’ So I did. I just ran out the door and down the street, without getting changed or any of that palaver. I honestly thought I would only get a few metres down the road and have to stop, but – miraculously – I kept going. Admittedly it was only for about four or five minutes, until I returned home after running to the end of my street, around another cul-de-sac and back, but during that five minutes no one asked me for juice or vomited on me. I was hooked.
The next day I ran a little bit further, and a couple of days after that I ran/walked all the way to the dairy and back. I’m on a roll. I’m not aiming to run a marathon or even put any expectations on myself of a regular, structured routine; all I’m trying to do is keep going and keep enjoying it. I think it’s because of this that I actually want to do it. It’s not a chore; it’s time out, with healthy benefits to boot. I even tried running to the park with both kids in the pram, but my toddler kept yelling, ‘Too fast! Too fast, Mummy!’ which was slightly offputting (and a bit of an over-reaction – my jog is only very slightly faster than a walk).
I mentioned this new jogging thing to a good friend of mine, who immediately jumped on board and said she’d come with me once a week. Now we have a regular catch-up every Sunday at 5pm, and whether we walk or jog, we’re exercising our bodies and buoying up our souls. Magic.
And it’s FREE! 'All you have to do is doodly do it...'
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Walking on water
Riding high on the buzz of last week’s musical experience, I looked for something physical to do to in order to use up some of this excited energy. Out of the blue came an email from a friend who owns some paddleboards, asking if I’d like to have a go. Yes, I sure would, replied I, so on Wednesday night my husband and I cruised on down to the Pt Chev boat club and met said friend and her husband, and my mum, who had agreed to come along to look after the kids.
Those of you who have the pleasure of frequently driving the length of the North-Western motorway between Te Atatu and Pt Chevalier will be familiar with the sight of this activity, but I may need to enlighten others. Quite simply, it involves standing on what looks like a wide surfboard and paddling your way through the water. I first encountered paddleboarding in Raglan, where we spied a lone vertical surfer in the rolling waves. He looked so steady and calm in comparison to the surfers; a graceful giraffe amongst darting lizards. I’ve always wanted to be a giraffe.
Apparently there was some kind of paddleboarding evening going on at the boat club, so when we saw a couple of people receiving what appeared to be a casual lesson, my friend encouraged me to go and listen in. I boldly rocked on up, and there followed a rather awkward exchange between myself and the man who turned out to be a professional tutor who was giving a private lesson – nothing at all to do with the boat club evening. He said I could listen in anyway, so I did, probably not as embarrassed as I perhaps should have been. I picked up a few good pointers and went merrily on my way.
I was taught to start out by kneeling on the board, and to stand up only when I felt good and ready. Standing up wasn’t too difficult, even in the face of the (very slightly) choppy water. Once I was up, I was away, paddling in short strokes on either side of the board. It’s a great full-body workout – your core and your legs are working hard at keeping balance, and your arms are pulling/pushing you through the water. I didn't even fall in.
It’s an incredibly peaceful activity. You glide along the surface of the sea with the water gently lapping over your toes, while the sun warms your back and glistens on the water. When you’re paddling into the wind you have to work a bit harder, but the reward comes when you’re on your way back – you can just stop paddling and let the water pull you along. I was walking on water, much like Jesus.
I have been itching to get back on the board ever since. Every time I see the water I think about what it would be like to get out there on the paddleboard in these conditions. I have even imagined paddleboarding at night, which I imagine would be even more peaceful (if slightly dangerous). I guess you could say that I have caught the bug.
Those of you who have the pleasure of frequently driving the length of the North-Western motorway between Te Atatu and Pt Chevalier will be familiar with the sight of this activity, but I may need to enlighten others. Quite simply, it involves standing on what looks like a wide surfboard and paddling your way through the water. I first encountered paddleboarding in Raglan, where we spied a lone vertical surfer in the rolling waves. He looked so steady and calm in comparison to the surfers; a graceful giraffe amongst darting lizards. I’ve always wanted to be a giraffe.
Apparently there was some kind of paddleboarding evening going on at the boat club, so when we saw a couple of people receiving what appeared to be a casual lesson, my friend encouraged me to go and listen in. I boldly rocked on up, and there followed a rather awkward exchange between myself and the man who turned out to be a professional tutor who was giving a private lesson – nothing at all to do with the boat club evening. He said I could listen in anyway, so I did, probably not as embarrassed as I perhaps should have been. I picked up a few good pointers and went merrily on my way.
I was taught to start out by kneeling on the board, and to stand up only when I felt good and ready. Standing up wasn’t too difficult, even in the face of the (very slightly) choppy water. Once I was up, I was away, paddling in short strokes on either side of the board. It’s a great full-body workout – your core and your legs are working hard at keeping balance, and your arms are pulling/pushing you through the water. I didn't even fall in.
It’s an incredibly peaceful activity. You glide along the surface of the sea with the water gently lapping over your toes, while the sun warms your back and glistens on the water. When you’re paddling into the wind you have to work a bit harder, but the reward comes when you’re on your way back – you can just stop paddling and let the water pull you along. I was walking on water, much like Jesus.
I have been itching to get back on the board ever since. Every time I see the water I think about what it would be like to get out there on the paddleboard in these conditions. I have even imagined paddleboarding at night, which I imagine would be even more peaceful (if slightly dangerous). I guess you could say that I have caught the bug.
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