Fast-tracking an escape

Yes, I know! Instead of a two word title, I have gone completely overboard and today’s offering is  three, or four words if you count the hyphenated ‘fast-tracking’ as two separate words. And before you get picky, I counted my last blog’s title, ‘Babysitting’, as two words because it is a compound word and I am not beyond a bit of manipulation if it suits.  So shoot me!

Anyway, this blog is going to be short. I am writing it because I have been stressed! Deeply stressed! Sometimes in life, I think, we all find ourselves in a situation which impacts so adversely on our happiness that we start to have a meltdown.

Now I am not going to go into what happened, rather the reason for this blog is to point out that my first reaction to the situation was to be reactive.* I won’t spell out exactly how I reacted, but, suffice to say, being reactive is totally exhausting. With a capital E!

Now this may be a very human reaction, but it is not helpful. No, no, no! The best thing I can do is be proactive and this is what I intend to be.

So yesterday with that thought in mind, I went on a road trip. Strange, I can hear you say, how is that going to solve things? Well, I went on the road trip just to change things up and remind myself that life is pretty good! The man and I chose to head to a small NZ seaside town that neither of us had been to since we were each about 4, and, believe me, that was a long time ago!

And do you know what?  This small, quirky, beautiful gem of a town (sorry about the hyperbole, but it was) inspired the man and me. It gave us some  concrete ideas and options on how to fast-track semi-retirement.

Now it won’t happen overnight and I will still need to sort out the things that aren’t working for me, but I can now see that there is light at the end of the tunnel. And, hey, the tunnel is considerably shorter than it was yesterday! Brilliant.

*There was no physical violence involved.

 

 

 

Another chapter

I have completed the work to make my dream a reality. For the last week, I have been reviewing it, changing it in places and, hopefully, making it better. Today I finished. I can’t do anymore.  I now need an expert to read it and give me their honest feedback. And this is where it potentially gets hard.

I now have to expose myself to possible criticism or, even worse, outright rejection. I may be told I have no talent or future in this area at all. You are kidding yourself, Heather, may be their verdict! No doubt it will be couched in polite terms, but I’ll get the drift. This will be heart-breaking; it’s akin to being told your baby is ugly! However, I won’t be destroyed by this. No, I have vowed to myself that no matter what, I will not give up  and will keep on trying.

In the meantime, I am immensely pleased with myself for getting this far. I have slayed the procrastination and excuses I made in the past and I couldn’t be more chuffed.

I have also enjoyed every step of the journey. How good is that?

Another chapter begins ….

 

 

 

Chasing dreams

You may have noticed I am blogging less: this is not because I have lost interest in ear bashing all and sundry in a figurative way via the medium of a post, rather it is because I am putting my energies into turning my dream occupation into a reality. Sorry, exactly what this is remains embargoed information – this girl doesn’t want to end up with egg all over her face.

It is my hope that this new direction may eventually give me a modest income. I also harbour much grander dreams: I dream that my new occupation is so successful that not only does it provide me with a very respectable income, it provides me with an express ticket out of the 9-5, 5 day per week grind that I seem to spend more than my fair share of time railing against.* Move over, Adele!

I am, however, a realist. I know that being a success in anything is far from a given. It is also not something that is likely to happen overnight, rather it will take years of dedicated commitment and hard graft. To make dreams come true requires more than wishing; it requires one to take the first tentative step. In the last week or two I have done just that. I couldn’t be more pleased!

*The goal of reducing the man and my working week to three days by July 2017 still stands!

Letting Go

Last night the man and I went on a wee adventure – we stayed on our boat moored in the marina. Odd, I can hear you saying, that is hardly sailing.  And you would be right. However, there was a valid reason behind it; we needed to charge the yacht’s batteries and this was going to take oodles of time, as they were spectacularly flat. Staying overnight was, therefore, the sensible thing to do.

It was nice to be aboard again – it has been a number of months since I have visited, and in the interim, the man has made a bit more progress getting her ready for the market. The middle cabin which was converted to the double berth last year is well on the way to being finished and, if I do say so myself, is looking very, very classy.

The double berth

Now this is all well and good, except it raises a few issues. You see the more the boat is upgraded, the more we consider keeping it!  Part of us thinks: why shouldn’t we enjoy the benefit of the more luxurious beast rather than someone else?

This is not a new feeling; we do seem to be people who do the things we always had intended to do, when we decide to sell whatever it is. And yes, this always makes it a struggle to let go.

In the particular case of selling the boat, the man and I have also had an orchestrated delegation to contend with: the children love going away on the yacht, and the grandchild too and they have made it crystal clear that they are not happy for us to sell it.

Now we are the first to admit that taking the family out for the day or longer is a great thing to do. The man and I derive so much pleasure from having the kids on the boat and watching them thrive in this environment. It is the stuff of rich memories for all of us and simply cannot be measured by mere dollar value.  In a perfect world, we would therefore like to continue our yachting with them.  Monopoly, anyone?

The son, daughter in law and grandson off exploring in Te Kaitoa’s inflatable

However, there are questions that need answering here. The first one is: would keeping the boat mean saying goodbye to semi -retiring in the foreseeable future? We aren’t sure: perhaps if we employ some  lateral thinking, we would be able to sort out a way to keep the boat and semi-retire?  Indeed, there are options: we could move onto the boat, give up work entirely, rent the house and sail off. *  Maybe? Maybe not?

The second question is: does the boat actually meet the family’s needs? It is a big, serious boat that is capable of going offshore. Yes, it fits everyone on, but maybe something smaller would be a better match for us, and more doable?

Lastly, if we do keep it, we need to make the best use of it. No point in it sitting in the marina getting a weedy bottom!

Yes, some serious thinking is in order. In the fullness of time, our wants and needs will align  of course,  and  we will choose the best way forward for us.

*This option always becomes very attractive after a slightly off day at work!

Sensibly restrained

‘Bungalow: From heritage to contemporary.’ The tour we went on was led by Nicole Stock, editor of this book.

Last weekend the daughter and I went poking around four houses belonging to people we didn’t know. No, we weren’t visiting open homes looking for tragically overpriced Auckland real estate; it was, dare I say it, a more ‘cultured’ affair than that. Our slightly voyeuristic snooping was, in fact, a legitimate part of the Auckland Heritage Festival.

A delightful way to spend an afternoon, the houses we toured were 1920s or 30s bungalows which sported recent additions. These renovations managed to achieve the fine balance of incorporating the best of present day design, while preserving the integrity of the original dwelling.

Now I know this architectural style intimately: my maternal grandparents’ home was a bungalow built about 1923 for them at 40 Greenlane Road*. As a child, I have fond memories of visiting their residence most weekends and staying over during the school holidays. This was the 60s and the house still boasted the features unique to its pedigree: asymmetrical composition, shallow pitched gable roof with wide eaves, leadlights, central hallway with wooden panelling, bay windows complete with shingles, and deep porches.

It also had the original 40 year old or so kitchen complete with terrazzo bench, wooden cabinetry, and safe. The only things in this room which weren’t original were the gas stove which sat in an alcove where the coal range would have been when the dwelling was first built, and a 1948 MacDonald refrigerator**, complete with a small ice box. Everything was in superb condition.

In this kitchen, which today would be considered basic, my grandmother whipped up a storm producing meals for the multitudes, laying down preserves, and baking. All was of the highest quality. To this day, she remains one of the best cooks I have come across.

The houses the daughter and I visited last weekend all had replaced the original kitchen with a modern one positioned in the new addition. Interestingly, without exception, the new iteration was neither big or conspicuously flash; rather they were practical, almost understated affairs. This was the situation even in the home of the chef, albeit his knives were definitely of the serious, professional kind.

I am sure the food produced in these homes has not suffered for this restraint. After all, as my grandmother proved, a skilled cook can turn out wonderful fare in the most basic of kitchens.

This premise holds true, I think, for so much in life.

Note to self: Replace knackered stove with one that meets my needs. Do not be seduced by the four oven range that comes in an amazing array of colours that the consumer in me covets. It is simply not necessary!

* The house is still there. It looks the same from the front, but has been added to at the rear.
** The fridge became the beer fridge at the Auckland Harbour Board where my Dad worked. It was still going strong when he retired in 1989.

Living Gracefully

East Coast Bays Library

Sadly, it’s the last day of my three week holiday. Although it was a low key affair, I have enjoyed every minute of it.

Today we had arranged to meet friends for coffee in Browns Bay. As it was threatening rain, I suggested that the car might be the way to go. The man very firmly told me that the weather would hold and we couldn’t pike out on our commitment to slow living at the first hint of inclement weather. Suitably chastised, I agreed to walk it. I even left the rain jacket behind to demonstrate my wild side.

On the way, we spotted a seemingly abandoned mobility scooter. I commented to the man that the owner of this machine was probably Fran* who would be delivering pamphlets, and I was right. The last time I had seen her was about eight months before when she and her partner had come to the library for books on cats as theirs was sick.

Remembering this, I asked how the cat was. The answer was that she had passed away, but they had a new kitten to love who had been a stray. We commiserated with Fran over the death and congratulated her on the new cat. As we parted company, I mentioned I would be back doing the book club at the home where she lives in the next month or two and would pop in to see her new moggy.

For Fran and her partner, home is a residential care facility for adults who have a disability such as spina bifida, Parkinson’s or head injuries. For some, this will be their home for a short time, whereas others will live here for most of their adult life.

Every month the library ladies, as we are called, run a book club for the residents**. It is one of the highlights of my calendar and, hopefully, theirs too. Over the time we have been visiting, the relationship has changed from librarians and customers to one of friends.

Our more able bodied friends will now pop into the library for books and/or just to say hi to us as they are passing by. On occasion, the library ladies have been known to morph into the taxi ladies who drive them home – it is after all an easy walk down to the bay, but the return journey is hard when tired.

Living life with a disability is without doubt a challenge. In spite of this, our friends at the home live their lives with good humour, dignity and grace. ***

On the way home from our coffee with friends, it was raining slightly. I didn’t whinge.

*Nom de plume used

**It is totally irrelevant if any books are taken or not

** *Hats off to the staff who work there. They are an amazing bunch of people who work hard to ensure the residents  have the best quality of life possible. Sadly, the workers in this industry are undervalued and poorly paid.

Making connections

Waiake – the local beach

We are fortunate to live a five minutes stroll from a pretty beach. From this bay, clifftop paths run in either direction taking the walker to other beaches nestled along the coastline. Sometimes on a Sunday morning, we will take advantage of what is on our doorstep and follow breakfast with a coastal walk.

Clifftop walkway looking south towards Browns Bay

Last weekend we did just that, turning south at the beach onto the track that would take us over to the next bay. The journey takes about twenty minutes and as you wend your way down the path, you are treated to spectacular views along the coastline and out to sea. In summer, the pohutukawas clinging to the cliff are ablaze with their crimson flowers, making the walk even more special.

Our little bit of France in Browns Bay (taken in winter)

In the bay, the man and I visited the supermarket before heading to the library to get our week’s reading. Our last stop before beginning the stroll back home was a café.

One of three we frequent, our choice that day was La Tropezienne. Owned by French baker, Louis Bouquet, it is a little slice of France in Browns Bay with its tarts, strong coffee and music. I love it.

A few years ago, I went to France with my sister in law and daughter. Here, we visited cafés with the same tartes, un café and musique that are found at Monsieur Bouquet’s.  The only difference was the language conversed in: French. Spoken fast.

The daughter’s school girl French did us proud;  she would start by explaining that we were from New Zealand, before launching into the conversation. This would inevitably result in a smile. Kiwis are well thought of in this part of the world and a Kiwi speaking a little French even more so.

It was in a café  that a Frenchman struck up a conversation with us. It transpired that he had been part of the French rugby tour to New Zealand in 1979.  The only test the man and I have been to was the Auckland one of that tour. Through my translator, I told the Frenchman I had been on the terraces at the Eden Park game. He was delighted. A stilted conversation followed. Conducted in both French and English, supplemented by a wee bit of gesticulating and some laughter when words failed us, we ‘discussed’ the game.

I have a confession –  I had no recollection of the play at all.  I did however remember the bonhomie and good humour of the crowd that day; the atmosphere was simply magic. The French beat the All Blacks 24/19, the first time they had done so on New Zealand soil (thank you, Google). It was a fitting win for our visitors: it was Bastille Day.

Twenty eight years after that game, a French rugby player and a Kiwi spectator shared a bottle of wine in a small café on a back street in Paris.

Last Sunday, the man and I came across our neighbours sitting in the sun at our bit of France in the bay. We joined them for coffee and then slowly walked home together chatting.

Simply present

A friend of mine, L, lives by herself. Every evening she sets the table for dinner and pours herself a small drink to accompany the meal. She completes the sense of occasion by lighting the candle on the table. Needless to say, regardless of whether it is a ‘proper’ dinner or simply a last minute effort of cheese on toast, the food and drink is consumed slowly.

Why go to all this effort, you may well be asking yourself?  My friend would reply that she gets enjoyment from it. Maybe she would offer more in explanation and say doing this ensures a time for her to just be.

While at work the other day, the book ‘Overwhelmed: work, love and play when no one has the time’* caught my eye. The title piqued my interest and as the cover was cool – believe me, this matters – I took it home to look at. Written by Brigid Schulte, a Washington Post journalist, this tome is a serious read which covers the topics of work life balance, especially the rise in the number of hours taken up by work and the impact this has had on leisure time over the years.  Although its focus is mainly on parents with dependent children, an area which no longer applies to me, I read it from start to finish.

While researching the book, Brigid went to Denmark; a country where mothers and fathers enjoy one of the largest amount of leisure time in the industrialized world. The Danes are also the happiest people on the planet according to a number of international surveys.** I will let you form your own thoughts about whether this is purely coincidental or if there is, in fact,  a correlation between the two.

It was during the author’s time in Denmark that she came across the Danish concept ‘hygge’ (pronounced hue-gah)

Although there is not a direct translation of the word ‘hygge’ in English, it loosely means coziness and is in simple terms, a feeling or mood that comes from taking pleasure in making ordinary everyday things simply extraordinary: it is flowers on the table or using the best china for an ordinary dinner.   It is the art of being present and enjoying the moment.***

Reading about hygge brought my friend, L, to mind. Through very little effort, she has made what is often a mundane meal into an occasion every night.

The ordinary can with ease become extraordinary. It is a way of living, I think, worth adopting.

*www.brigidschulte,com

** ‘Overwhelmed: work, love and play when no one has the time’ by Brigid Schulte

*** Happy Danes blog – Sharmi Albrechtsen

Work out

Over the last three or four weeks, the man and I have been discussing the work life balance side of our lives. We know we want to work less to do more, but the big question is how? There is a tension here; we have to have an income to be able to afford the more. Not necessarily a huge income, but an income nonetheless.

There is a rider too: the work has to be enjoyable.

Coincidentally, the man is between contracts. That, folks, is the fickle nature of boat building: employment one day, none the next.* The man is realistic: it is time to shut the door on the industry and find another income stream.

We have therefore put our thinking caps on and after crunching some numbers to make sure it would indeed be feasible have come up with the following:

Working three days per week each will meet our needs of income and work life balance.

The man will be able to do this by being self employed. With design and construction skills at his fingertips, he is capable of building or renovating anything from boats to furniture to houses.* To begin with he will take on all types of work to get the income, providing of course it meets the rider: enjoyable. His ultimate goal is to build bespoke pieces, the majority to his own design. The plan is to segue into this. This will feed his soul.

For me, the reduced working week will mean a new position. With a few years in my present career under my belt, I know there are parts of the job that have appeal and parts that don’t so much. To this end, I have sat down and composed two lists; the ‘I love doing it’ one and its counterpart, the ‘When pigs fly’ version.  With these lists to guide me, I am adopting an open minded, dare I say it, empowered approach to searching for the three day a week job. This is a beginning. It is not my passion. I know what that is and I also know with certainty that by working in paid employment less, I will have time for it. This will feed my soul.

We are optimistic. It will work out.

* There are a few jobs around for composite boat builders, but little long term employment for the guys who specialise in wood.

** http://www.opuslibero.co.nz/ (the man has made some of the pieces for this company)