Doing a little stocktaking

This morning, Facebook gave me an 'On this day...' snapshot as it always does, of things that I have posted on this date in previous years. Today, it reminded me of a blog post I wrote on 25 November 2016.

The opening paragraph read as follows (you can read the whole post here, if you're so inclined):

The last couple of days have been very difficult for me. The brief version is that I have lost my beloved workshop space. You know the cliche 'it never rains, but it pours'? This wouldn't happen while everything else was hunky dory. Oh no! It has to happen while we're trying to sell our house, and while Mr Namasi is trying to find work (in a less than ideal job market) before his notice period comes to an end, following the demise of the business he has been working for. And while I am waiting to find out whether 'the big C' has taken up residence in my body.

It seemed like an appropriate time to do a little 'then and now', without burying myself (or you) in the 'what went between' bit.

I have lost my beloved workshop space. We have since moved house, and I now have a workshop space at home. It is much smaller, and not terribly weatherproof, but it's adorable and I love it to bits!

We're trying to sell our house. As you can deduce from the previous paragraph, we sold our house. Not without a few glitches along the way, but it happened. And the proceeds from that sale are what keep the wolf from the door. I especially love our current house, the village and the countryside in which it... yes, I think nestles is exactly the right word.

Mr Namasi is trying to find work. Mr Namasi's search continues. The job market is fierce, and I/we have lost faith in the recruitment industry. At the time of writing, he is in the process of setting up an IT consultancy business... but still open to the idea of a role within an existing company.

I am waiting to find out whether 'the big C' has taken up residence in my body. The 'big C' had not taken up residence in my body, and a minor - albeit extremely painful - procedure was all that was needed. Poor Mr Namasi was subjected to the sounds of his wife squealing in agony as he waited helplessly in the waiting room.

Karyn's Kreations has been rebranded as Karyn's [re]Kreations. A new logo has been designed. A van called Barney has been acquired, and I'm making a real effort to find avenues to take my pieces to market.


So please spread the word: I have stock to hand, including great Christmas gift ideas. I also accept commissions and offer 1:1 sessions and group workshops. And I'm raring to go.

So this is why they're called turbulent times

Those who know me even a little, know that I am not great at the whole flying thing. This is something of a bummer, since - other than Mr Namasi and our two sons - my entire family lives a plane journey away. Mother, sister, nieces, nephew, sisters in law, aunts, uncles... you get the picture.

I'm actually fine, if the plane moves as if on a sheet of glass. I can even handle it if the plane moves something like a car on a tarred road. But any sign of turbulence, and I can't even pretend to be holding it together.

I have even managed to embarrass the otherwise imperturbable Mr Namasi during one particularly rough flight from Oregon, when we caught the edge of a storm that had disrupted air travel all over the US. I can't say I blame him: I was praying in tongues... at the top of my voice. And begging the crew to stop and let me off.

It's the powerlessness, you see. I mean even the pilot can't do a damned thing about the conditions. S/he just has to take us through them. Hopefully safely to the other side. We are all totally at the mercy of forces more powerful than anything we can control. If an air pocket decides to open up and suck the plane a few hundred feet earthwards...so be it. Down we go. If an updraught chooses to slam into the underside of the plane and send us upwards... up we go.

I've used the words 'decides' and 'chooses' as if the forces of nature are sentient. As if they have a will. But I think the fact that they don't makes it worse: they are implacable. They can't be reasoned with. It's not personal: they're not vindictive. They will simply do what they do - what they have always done - without a thought for our convenience, comfort or safety. No matter how much I might beg and plead for them to stop, they are without remorse.

Mr Namasi and I were comparing notes about the place we find ourselves at the moment. And it's so very much like this. I've used the word 'turbulent' to describe life and circumstance before. But today it really hit home how very much like flying through turbulence our current situation really is. We are utterly at the mercy of the circumstances in which we find ourselves.

The closure of John's company: beyond his control. The loss of my workshop: beyond my control. The impenetrability of the job market for the over 50s: beyond our control. The delays in the sale of our house: beyond our control. The factors that led to the closure of the shop where I have working: beyond my control (and pretty much beyond the control of the friend who owns the shop, too). We have some control over the rate at which our bank balance changes, but no control over the inexorable direction of that change.

Our circumstances are what they are. It's not personal. It's not like 'they' are or 'it' is out to get us. And we're being buffeted and blown hither and yon.

We're both desperate for it to stop. We're bruised, battered and exhausted. And yet it goes on. And we have no idea when - or even if - it's going to stop.

When you're flying from A to B, you have some idea of the maximum duration of the discomfort of turbulence. In roughly x hours and y minutes, the plane will land, and you can disembark and - if you feel so inclined - kiss the unspeakably unhygienic ground.

We don't have that assurance. We don't know how much longer this is going to go on. And it's the utter helplessness we find so difficult to deal with.

We have been repeatedly blessed by friends and family with gifts of evenings out, groceries, a couple of days away. I have managed to sell a few of my kreations. We are deeply appreciative of the ongoing trickle of small blessings during this turbulent patch. But we yearn desperately for smoother sky or - better yet - a handy airport. We cling to each other for support and pray... no, wait. Is it still called praying if you're alternating between pleading and throwing a tantrum? We're doing whatever that's called.

Is this flight ever going to even out? Is it ever going to land safely? Is it going to crash?

And of course, now that my thoughts have moved in that direction, I'm imagining a cold caller saying "We have reason to believe you have been injured in an accident that wasn't your fault..."

"Yes, as it happens. My metaphorical plane has crashed into the side of a metaphorical mountain. Do you offer any kind of compensation?"

Reflections on an austerity budget

Not that long ago, Mr Namasi and I had two good salaries coming in: he had an executive  job in the city, and I had a very respectable career in the Learning & Development field (don't worry if you don't know what that is - most people don't).

But, after a quarter of a century, I had become disenchanted with the L&D field. Luminaries in the field were standing on platforms saying things I had been saying for years without anyone taking the blindest bit of notice. I was having the same conversations with clients I had been having for a decade and more. People constantly used the word 'innovation', but seldom meant it. And my mental health wasn't great.

So, because Mr Namasi was earning a good salary and our sons were grown up, we decided that we could afford for me to embark on this next chapter: making, upcycling, crafting and doing. I was as happy as Larry, but I was making little to no money. It didn't matter, though.

Then Mr Namasi's company was closed down.

By 23 December 2016, we had gone from two good salaries to none. And the job market for the over 50s is looking bleak, to say the least.

So we instituted what we call our 'austerity budget'.

This involved some very obvious things like not eating out, not buying new clothes, cutting out luxuries, reducing our use of the car and so on.

We changed our buying patterns: shopping at cheaper supermarkets, checking out the reduced section, using cheaper brands, reducing our meat consumption, buying cheaper cuts of the meat we do eat, buying frozen instead of fresh, etc.

We changed our eating patterns, too: instead of cooking up a whole pack of bacon (for example) for a single meal, we now spread it over two or three meals. We substitute pulses for meat (lentil Bolognese, anyone?). We tweak recipes to leave out more expensive ingredients. We try to use what herbs/spices we already have.

We made a conscious effort to decrease our wastage. So we deliberately plan meals around what we've got in the fridge, so that the half bag of salad or two lonely carrots are eaten before they become irredeemable.

Best. Toothpaste. Ever.

We accept gifts without taking offence - seeing them for the acts of love they are. Our pantry is occasionally bolstered by items donated by friends, and we were recently blessed out of our socks to receive pretty much a year's supply of our preferred toothpaste (an environmentally friendly, health shop brand not available in supermarkets, and carrying a comparatively hefty price tag).

We arrive empty handed at friends' home when invited for a meal, and trust that they will forgive us the lack of a bottle of wine/bunch of flowers/box of chocolates for the host/ess.

We give home made gifts for birthdays, weddings, etc. and trust that the recipient will appreciate the thought, love and effort that went into making something instead of buying something.

Home made body lotion

We try to diy as much as possible: mending broken things we would normally just replace, and so on. I even had a go at making my own body lotion, using up dregs from various bottles in my dressing table, together with various oils and so forth I had to hand. The resultant concoction is a little weird, but it will do for now, and it didn't cost me a penny.

And then there's always Freecyle/Freegle and their ilk. 

Does this sound miserable to you?

Well, it isn't. It's something of a journey of discovery. An adventure. And we're in it together. We make no bones about the fact that it's tough, but we find that adopting a positive attitude, and being flexible about unexpected results makes it totally bearable. Even fun.

We recently attended the wedding of our younger son's best friend. The fresh-faced young couple spoke their vows, committing to the better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness and health. And we thought about how, in the 29 years we've been married, we've experienced - and survived - all those things. And right now, worse, poorer and sickness (if you count my ongoing battles with depression) are the order of the day.

Don't get me wrong: I'm ready for the austerity budget phase to be over, the sooner the better. But while it lasts, there's no point in being miserable about it.

On being unsuccessful

This a somewhat introspective post - normal service will be resumed.

Lately, I've been seeing a lot of those 'habits of successful people' type posts and articles. Things that tell you what 'they' do that you don't. Things you need to change in your life, in order to become successful. But when you look at the people being held up as successful - people whose sterling example we're urged to emulate - most of the time, I reckon they might as well just substitute the word 'rich' for 'successful'.

Are you really successful when you have several failed marriages in your wake? Or when your relationship with your children is dysfunctional? When you make your living off the misfortune of others? If your direct reports at work loathe you or fear you? Is it all about having a guest list that reads like a who's who, even if you trampled the nobodies underfoot in your journey to the top? Is it really successful to have turned your back on people who had nothing to offer you, in order not to be slowed down by them?

I have absolutely nothing against people being rich - it's all relative anyway. I have known some wonderful and downright awful people pretty much across the board. I just don't see that wealth should be held up as the only measure of success. I also don't see why people who aren't rich should be regarded as failures.

There are solid marriages founded on little more than love and mutual respect. There are well adjusted children growing up wearing their older siblings' hand me downs. There are people who are such a pleasure to work with, that their colleagues will go to great lengths to have them on their team for a project. There are people who exude such serenity and tranquillity that just spending time with them feeds your soul.

I won't be reading any more of those lists of habits/behaviours/whatever. I don't want to be like the people idolised by the authors of those articles. Most of them (and there are always exceptions) aren't very nice.