Blog-a-Day May: Day Seven - Exscrecences

ex·cres·cence

  [ik-skres-uhns]

1.

an abnormal outgrowth, usually harmless, on an animal or vegetable body.

2.

a normal outgrowth, as hair or horns.

3.

any disfiguring addition.

4.

abnormal growth or increase.  (Thanks www.dictionary.com)

This is my word of the week. It rolls out of your mouth like a wad of phlegm. It feels like a pent up sneeze when you finally get it out.

Today I had to tackle an excrescence of my own.

Today, I bit the bullet and went to the podiatrist.

What would possess a person to become a podiatrist? As a reflexologist, I've tackled all sorts of feet. I rub feet, after they have been washed of course. But that's it.

Podiatrists do all sorts of things. They cut, trim, prod, poke build up, scrape down and files all sort of things on feet. Like eww. People think I'm mad for rubbing feet. I think this you have to be even more mad to be a podiatrist.

Eww.

My reason for the visit to this strange person who does even stranger things with feet - a lump on my toe that I presumed to be a corn. It's been there for ages - ages being over two years. It doesn't hurt. I've been filing it down for years. I checked it on the internet, that wondrous suppostitory, whoops, repository of knowledge. For two years I've battled this thing that sometimes took on a life of its own. For two years, it's won.

Time to let the podiatrist deal with it.

So I turned up at a local doctor's surgery, was greeted by this very chirpy young woman who took me to her rooms. I told her what was going on, took my shoes of and she had a look.

"Ah, that's not a corn." she told me.
"Really?"
"No wonder you've had trouble with it. That's a wart. Warts have their own blood supply. This one's a nasty one."

Argh. Warts. Eww.

"I had them as a kid. They're awful."
"Yep."
"And how did you get rid of them when you were a kid?" she asked as she took to my toenails with what looked like a bolt cutter.
"Milkweed." I told her.
"Milkweed?"
"Yeah, my uncle was a doctor. He liked more traditional remedies for household ailments. We had milkweed growing in the back yard. Did the trick."

I didn't tell her about the other things we tried, including rubbing them with a piece of meat then burying it in the garden. As I don't have a garden now, no milkweed and no ground in which to bury meat.

"Wow. Well, we use other stuff that freezes them off. Takes time, but it does work."

She took to the obnoxious excrescence with what looked like a box cutter, whittling away the dead skin. "See, it's bleeding - that's a good thing."

Oh.

On the good side of things, this didn't hurt. Stung a bit, but it didn't hurt.

After making a few ouch noises, she finally put her knife down.

"You think that hurts, wait til what I do next."

I freaked and grabbed my foot back. Coming down with a cold, wasn't in the mood for any pain. ANY PAIN.

"It doesn't hurt that much." she tried to calm me.
"I don't like my feet being touched at the best of times.Years of physio and operations as a kid."
"Well it won't hurt at much as that."
"Hmph."
"I can't have any anesthetic?" I asked, knowing how much of a wuss I must have looked like.
"Only if you see a doctor."
"Right, I'm going to trick my brain into this being okay." Jumping off the bed, I went to my bag, found the packet of disprin that lives in there and swallowed two down.

"There. Disprin fixes everything." My Mum used to tell me that as a kid.

Did the trick. The freezing only took a couple of minutes and other than stinging a bit, all was fine. No real pain. The only thing that was stinging after she finished was my pride after being such a wuss.

The toe was bandaged up and I was told to come back in two weeks. I've also got to keep chipping away at it with the same stuff she was using (obtained from a good chemist) as well as keep it covered at all times.

Fun times are ahead. Keep my toe bandaged up, treat it with the freezing stuff every two days.

Still thing all this stuff is gross. Then again, most things that grow off of our bodies. Carbunkles, warts, corns, scars, skin tags... you name it, they all make us unique. We all have them. We all find them, to a point, gross.

Right, I'm taking my bandaged toe and my fledgling cold to bed now. It's been a trying day and I start a new job in the morning.

Blog-a-Day May: Day Six: We need more Freemasons

Why the world could use more Freemasons.

For as much as I moan about my Masonic practices, there are many and varied reasons why I turn up every month. I do know that we’re a society with secrets, not a secret society (like the IPA – that wonderful fascist think tank that appears to be guiding current government policy at the moment.) It’s not like it’s for everybody. There is, however, something intrinsically good about what the Freemason’s are about.

Think about it – how many hospitals are named after them?

As a mason, I’m bound by some obligations which dictate what I can and can’t say, but here are my reasons why I think the world could to with a resurgence of Masonic values.

1)      People who care about equality, freedom and brotherhood are generally good people

Equality, freedom and brotherhood are the basis of most Masonic work. Freedom is a big theme. So is being equal. So is taking care of one another and the world around us. People who focus on these sort of things often focus on the big picture. How can this be bad? Oh, if you’re wondering, you can find this information on the internet, but if you’re thinking of joining, these qualities they’re they’re looking for.

2)       Being around people who are free from dogma is a good thing

The only people, other than those of dubious character, that the freemason’s won’t take are rabid atheists. One of the very few conditions of being a mason is that you need to have a belief in some sort of higher being – whether that be God, Jahweh, Allah, Jehovah, Spirit, the Universe, the Hindi tribe... just a belief that there is a greater plan to hand. There is no dogma in a lodge, which is cool. It’s a big reason why I go. As an agnostic/spiritual I’m spiritually homeless. Freemasonry gives me a home per se, free from any judgement.

Strangely, or looking at the current political climate, not so strangely, the only other group that has traditionally taken some issue with the Freemasons is the Catholic Church. Something to do with power. Funny that.

3)      It puts you in with people you wouldn't meet in your day to day life

This is the thing I get out of it most of all – meeting people from all walks of life, people you’d never meet in your daily routine. You’re side by side with all sorts. It’s not about status, even if there is a heirachy within the walls of the lodge, all people are equal. Doesn’t matter if you’re a multi-millionaire, and uneducated cleaner, a student, a professional worker. You’re all in it together.

4)      It makes you think about stuff you wouldn't normally think about

Masons is a mix of ritual and fellowship. Both can be very powerful  in people’s lives. By exposing yourself to these elements of the work you get exposed to ideas that you may not have thought under your own volition. This is something that I most like about being a part of this. The themes and thoughts that come up can come into play at any time. I’ve heard of a lot of former masons who say they still think about the ritual and what goes on, years after they were members.

5)      It gives you a sense of community

Finding like minded people in this world is hard. With freemasonry, even if you have absolutely nothing in common with these people, you’re all there for the same reason. You do get a sense that you’re not alone in your thoughts and belief systems. It also gives you insights into the lives of others, something that we don’t get enough of in this world.

6)      It teaches you humility, patience and acceptance

Again, old fashioned virtues, but ones that come highly recommended. Nothing happens fast in freemasonry, and these three virtues you learn in buckets. It’s great to apply what you learn to your day to day life.

7)      It gives you something that make you a little bit unique

Everybody who comes to freemasonry will find something different to everybody else, Doesn't matter what it is, you get something different it to the person sitting next to you.

8) Egg sandwiches and asparagus rolls (and whatever else is your favourite CWA food)

It might just be my lodge but we regularly have egg, and curried egg sandwiches for supper, which are just divine. There is also one member who makes asparagus rolls. I love her. 

As the average age of most of our tribe is around the late sixties, we have people who make such things as asparagus rolls, egg sandwiches, home made snot blocks and sausage rolls - all that wonderful party food you used to get at your grandmother's place when there was a party. It's really lovely.

9) The look you get when people find out you're a mason

Not that it comes up that regularly, but you are greeted with a funny look when people find out you'r a mason. Typical reaction is "Really? What's that?","My Grandpa used to be one," or more often than not,"I didn't think women could be Freemasons." My reply to the last one is,"French Rites, we've been in Melbourne for over a hundred years.

Despite my occasional moaning, I do get a heap out of this quirky and very rewarding pastime.

If you want a bit more information, go to www.freemasonryformenandwomen.org.au

Blog-a-Day May: Day Five: Forty minutes to Spare

Today:

Walked to and from work
Survived a day of "Death by PowerPoint"
Chaired three phone conferences
Survived a Freemasons meeting.
Pondered why it is I find this one bloke at Freemasons rather attractive in a nerdy way
Pondered what it would be like not to have a mason's meeting tonight
Thought about going to the gym tomorrow morning before work
Told myself to stop kidding myself about going to the gym before work
Thought about what the people in the new role I start on Thursday might be like
Made a call to try and find a podiatrist.
Baulked at the though of doing more PowerPoint tomorrow.
Read a bit more of the most excellent "Burial Rites" by Hannah Kent.
Thought about inquiring about Masters programs in Creative Writing or Law
Thought about making an appointment to see the doctor for my 45-year-old check up, then thought the better of it.
Talked to two recruitment consultants
Instructed two recruitment consultants to call me back in early June
Marvelled at the autumnal colours in Fitzroy Gardens on the walk to and from work
Got very envious about cute Freemason bloke going on the Camino de Compostella de Santiago
Admonished myself for thinking that cute Freemason bloke was cute.
Learned that my new office is on the 33rd Floor.
Praying I have a window seat or at least a desk with a view.
Made my lovely Sikh colleague laugh by describing Bhangra dancing as "Screwing in the lightbulb and patting the dog."
Repaid a coffee debt to a work colleague
Thought about why is it most of the guys I've ever gone out with have been a bit like Cleaver Greene from "Rake".
Talked to Jonella about this and that.
Blasted a telemarketer who called my landline
Wore my new Mary Janes to work for the first time - and they are really comfortable.
Glared at my ironing pile
Took out the rubbish - ensuring that the recycling was separated from the rubbish.l
Took a shower while the coffee was on the stove.
Got out of the shower with a head full of conditioner to go and turn off the coffee that was ready on the stove (joys of an Italian stovetop pot)
Mopped up puddles on the kitchen floor made after racing from the shower to turn off the coffee.
Did my Lumosity.com training.
Wondered how it is that I'm in the 90th percentile for Attention for my age in my Lumosity.com stats.
Checked that Tony Abbott wasn't passing in the opposite direction when I passed Treasury Place.
Said hello to three dogs that I passed.
Thought about walking the Camino
Thought about going to Japan
Thought about what I'm going to wear tomorrow.
Thought about what I'm going to wear on Thursday when I change roles.
Accepted two LinkedIn invites - one solicited, one unsolicited, but the unsolicited one was from a fellow I will be working with from Thursday.
Thought about plotting out my novel
Pondered what I would put on this blog post.

Didn't think it would look like this.

And that was my day.

Blog a Day May Day Four: Fighting with Shirley

The conversation always runs in the same way.

"Turn right at the roundabout."
"Who do you think I am, you dumb bint. No."

Thirty seconds later.

"Take the next left and do a U-turn where possible."
"Piss off. No."

The demands get more urgent the more I defy the voice.

"Take the next right."
"Absolutely not you daft cow."

The voice then resigns itself to my not following orders after a while.

The disembodied voice I'm talking about is that of my car GPS. Her name is Shirley and we have a bit of a love-hate relationship.

Shirley was named after my friend Lachlan's mother. Shirley from the North of England near Lancaster. She's normally found with a cigarette in one hand a pint of bitter in the other and a scowl on her face. I've deliberately set the voice on the GPS unit to that of a woman from the North of England so that I can deliberately pick a fight with her.

Like Lachlan's mother, who was a primary school teacher in the North of England for many years, Shirley the GPS has an authoritarian demeanor with a hint of know it all about it.

Basically Shirley is a lippy cow with a passive aggressive streak. All she needs it the supercilious laugh that she can emit when you finally follow her directions.

Shirley is often wrong however.

She has a couple of favourite phrases.

"When you have the opportunity, please go back on the roadway." is one of these.

My response to this is,"I'm on the road you daft cow, you just don't know it."

I haven't updated the  maps for a few years you see, so there are a few roads that just don't appear in the eyes of Shirley.

The other one that always gets me.

"At the next left, turn right. Punt Road."

"I AM NOT TAKING PUNT ROAD!" is my normal reply to this stupid instruction.

In the words of Eliot Perlman, "Darling, what ever you do, what ever time of day it is. Avoid Punt Road."

If you're in England reading this Punt Road is a bit like a car park for 18 hours a day. It's not unlike the car park that is the North Circular. Punt Road is as daunting as the Hangar Lane Gyratory and the Swindon Roundabout in one.

Shirley appears to think that taking Punt Road is a good thing.

I don't.

Of all of Shirley's faults, sometimes she does know best. Like today, when I had to get out to Healesville to go see my parents who are staying out there in the Yarra Valley for a few days. Here's me getting it into my head that the best way out there was via Ferntree Gully. Shirley was screaming at me to go via the Eastern Freeway, her protestations were of near Biblical proportions.

 I took the Monash.

My decision to go out on the Monash way put ten kilometres and half an hour travel time in my journey. Thankfully I wasn't in a rush.

There is a big part of me that wants to smack the smug grin off Shirley's face. Not that she has one. She's just the disembodied voice that comes out of my GPS. There is nothing to smack.

The only thing she's not computerised to do is say,"I told you so."

Blog a Day May: Day Three : Things Missed and Forgotten

Alice came over for dinner last night. For me, this was a little big deal as I really rarely cook for other people. I reckon I'd have people over only a handful of times a year, which is a bit stupid as I love cooking. Not having the infrastructure at home in the form of a dining room table doesn't help, nor does the fact that my friends are mostly coupled up with kids. I tend to go to my friend's places to catch up - not the other way around.

Anyway, we had a lovely dinner of Cajun salmon, mashed sweet potato and salad. Just lovely. This was followed by strawberries and yogurt. Again, simple and easy.

But what made my night was what Alice brought along as a treat. See, Alice and I bonded over the fact that we lived a mile away from each other in London - at the same time. Alice, who originally hails from Essex, is not like any Essex girl you will see in the telly - she's smart, alternative and not orange. She's also been in Australia for ten years. She made a job at a software house bearable.

Alice knows I'm an anglophile - so she stopped at the British shop on he way to my place and bought this.

Purdeys.



I haven't haven't had Purdeys in over ten years. It was something that I used to have as a treat when I lived in England nearly 15 years ago. For those who've never had it, it's a fruit juice, carbonated water and herbal concoction that is not too sweet and very refreshing. The silver label over brown glass makes it feel like a posh drink.

Bliss.

It got me thinking about a few of the things I miss about England - not that I've let myself miss things in England for a while.

In no order, here are some of those things that creep up on you when you find them unexpectedly in the supermarket, or a friend brings them back as a treat.

Tunnocks Caramel Wafers



Just like a better, bigger, chewier Kit Kat. Fabulously addictive. Sold in bags of four or five at the supermarket - though no here in Australia (unless you go to Treats from Home in Collins Street or speciality English Shops.

Nic Nacs



Nice and Spice Nic Nacs were my crisp of choice when I lived in London. One of the great things about English Crisps (not chips - chips are hot and greasy and come wrapped in newspaper) is that they come in small bags of 30 grams, not the big mother bags that come out here in Australia. You savour the taste of your crisps. Nice and Spicy Nic Nacs are fabulous. The Scampi and Lemon ones aren't bad either.

Nic Nacs are better tasting Twisties - though nothing beats a good bag of Twisties.

Flavoured White Stilton

Not that I can eat cheese any more, but the English do Stilton cheese better than anywhere in the world.

White Stilton and Ginger is my absolute favourite. Rich and creamy with a bit of a bite. None of this sweet fruit cheese you get here. With a glass of red by a fire. Magic.



The Eponymous Fry-Up

Australia's gone a bit wanky when it comes to breakfast -says she who had a Reuben Sandwich after meditation this morning. The Sunday Morning Fry Up, best had at the local greasy spoon cafe is a delicacy that is best served on a cold winter morning. Two fried eggs, bacon, sausage, fried slice and beans with a bit of brown sauce (HP Sauce). If it's a bit posh, you might have hash browns or black pudding. I always turn down the tomato - don't really like tomato for breakfast. Nothing beats it.

Though you could be working your way to an early heart attack if you did them too often.

One of the best hangover cures to be found.



Persil Laundry Liquid

Unlike Australia where there are all sorts of washing powders, Persil is the laundry detergent of choice in the UK.

Persil is pretty nondescript in the nostrils, but it works very well in the front loaders that everybody has stored under the kitchen bench. This was a source of wonder to me when I arrived in London - space being tight, a laundry room was never an option.

The smell of Persil takes me back to my West Hampstead flat with the Aussie-Kiwi share house downstairs.

The thing I missed most about Australia when I was in London was a clothes line. Clothes that are slung over the radiators or run through the clothes dryer don't feel anywhere near as fresh as air dried clothes.



There are a lot more things that I miss about England. Friends, pubs, history, great museums, Shakespeare, eccentrics, good trains, roast dinners on Pimms and Lemonade on a perfect summer's day by the river...

It was just lovely to be taken back, even just for the little while as we sipped on a Purdey's last night.

Blog a Day May: Day Two : Camino Dreaming

Putting things out there can bring wonderful things.

Case in point: My 41^st birthday.

I was sitting at a table with a group of friends and I’d been talking about going to Spain. “I want to go to Spain. I want to wander the ancient streets, visit the old cathedrals, eat tapas and butcher a foreign language.” One of those friends gave me a Lonely Planet Guide to Spain. We were eating Spanish food.

Four months later, I won two tickets to anywhere in the world. In the October of the following year I was traipsing around a soggy Madrid, awestruck with déjà vu in Toledo, taking in the marvels of the Alhambra and the Alcazar, butchering the language in a way that only I can do.

Loved every minute of it.

I love the country, it's heart and soul, it's stark beauty, it's charm, it's harshness, it's history, it's people.

The travel bug is biting again. There are some loose plans to go to Japan later in the year with Blarney – I’ll be saving, it’s a place I’ve always wanted to see. Reindert is also saying that a trip back to the East Coast of the US would be a nice thing. Indeed it would. I’d love to go back there and spend a bit more time around the south. I want to go back the the Alcazar and Alhambra and wonder around beauty of these palaces. I want to stop at the cafes where you get a three course meal with a glass of rough red for ten Euros for lunch. I want to wander among ancient cathedrals where people have prayed for centuries.

And I want to walk the Camino.

The Camino Santiago de Compostella  - also known as the way of Saint James. A walk across the top of Spain where you walk along the path that Saint James took a couple of millennium ago. 

It's a well walked path from the foothills of the Pyrenees to the coast to the town of Santiago de Compostella near the Portugal border on the coast. The full walk takes you around 40 days.

Along the way you will make friends, like minded friends. You visit places you will never see again as you walk the forty days towards your destination. You sling a scallop shell around your neck to show others that you're walking the path. You don't need to be a christian. You just need to have faith -faith that you can walk 20 kilometres a day for forty odd days over sometimes rough terrain.

Sounds like a pretty good thing to me - something worthwhile to look forward to. Something I can see myself doing.

My friend Alice was over for dinner tonight. She wants to walk the Camino too.

I wonder how quickly I can manifest this? Something to work on.

(For those a bit curious, this is what I want to put myself through. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Way_of_St._James - sounds a bit less torturous than Kokoda with older buildings and more public toilets.)

Blog-a-day May: Day One: Mary Janes

Mary-Janes

What is the matter with Mary Jane?

She’s crying with all her might and main,

And she won’t eat her dinner—rice pudding again—

What is the matter with Mary Jane?

Rice Pudding   A.A.Milne

I've had it in my head for a while.
I want shoes.

This is not something I do very often. There are a lot of women out there who really LOVE shoes and own hundreds of pairs. I'm not one of them. I don't need shoes like a lot of women. I need thongs and trainers. I like comfortable boots in winter - but I don't need shoes.

Some women have a thing for handbags too. Some expensive underwear.

Okay, I have a bit of a thing for high end red lipstick.

For the last few weeks I've got it in my head that I want, and sort of need a new pair of shoes for work.

The navy block heels I've had for nearly twenty years - god bless Marks and Spencer.

The kitten heels I've worn for years are about to die.

The Steve Madden pumps that an old manager gave me are just a fraction too high to wear out of the office.

The other heels I possess make me walk like a bad tranny.

So I need some shoes.

You can see my reasoning.

The other thing, maybe its the Dr Blake influence or the fact that I've always wanted some - I was on the look out for a pair of mid heeled Mary Janes.

"Mary Janes?"

Women's shoes, often with a heel and always with a strap over the foot. They're a bit 50s and can be a bit sensible. The other things I was looking for in these shoes - a block, tapered heel, not too high, so that I can walk in them for more than a city block. Also, I was looking for a shoe with a leather sock. No vinyl sock for me, my feet sweat enough as it is. Leather breathes.


Have you any idea how hard it is to find Mary Janes in Melbourne at the moment?

Five shoe shoe shops later finally, something that fit the bill. I did have to compromise on the strap, which fastens with a bit of discrete velcro. (Velcro is for bogans, I told the lady) But with a 3 cm heel, rounded toe and leather inner, I fell for them. They were reasonably priced too.

They're now mine.

The perfect sensible heel for work.

I just find it strange that unless you're wearing flats, there appears to be no sensible shoes in shoe stores any more. The footwear industry appears to want women to have back, leg and muscular problems for the rest of their lives going by the heels that our out there.It's ridiculous.

Who says that functional, comfortable shoes have to be ugly?

Or more to the point, why does fashion dictate that we're supposed to wear these stupid, uncomfortable, health risks on our feet?

It's always struck me as unfair that men can have three or four pairs of shoes, comfortable, go with anything, easily repaired when needed - and women don't.

Also, why is it, you hit forty and there is nothing in the stores that are remotely sensible, comfortable and attractive when it comes to footwear? Comfortable shouldn't be ugly.

Ah well, that was today's adventure.