Living Life to the 'Fore'!

I have a sneaking suspicion that I've developed a very strong habit. I'm stopping short of calling it an addiction, from a point of comparison with my history and with others, but it is regular and much enjoyed habit.

Previously, I played competitive hockey. It was at quite a high level, and with and against some significantly better players than me. For the most part I held my own on the field, and I knew that I was addicted to THAT game. I played, coached, managed teams, administered clubs and associations, and even participated in the orchestration of an administrative coup! I took holidays to manage teams, I even took holidays to watch or organise tournaments. I loved the sport, and thought that what I loved most was the fierce competition ... I certainly played in a manner that suggested that I loved the competition!

Wisely however, I stopped 'cold turkey', and moved on to devote my available time to study and to watch my beloved Blues. What I discovered was a pleasant surprise and what I missed the most about hockey was not the competition, but the cameraderie. We devoted a lot of time to our games and our teammates, and combined that with family and developing careers.

While a few former teammates continued to play competitively (and one still does - much to her credit), we found an shared outlet post hockey that meets our needs for physical effort (to varying degrees), displays of skill (to varying degrees) and socialising (to a large degree). Sometimes the post round hot chocolate or latte is the best part of the round, and sometimes it is the 'team birdie' count. More often than not (quite possibly due to Melbourne's drought) we enjoy the best part of the day on the golf course - laughing with the kookaburras, smiling at the joggers and cyclists as they move past at a fair pace, or admiring the flora and fauna.

There is certainly enough time during nine holes of golf to catch up on all the activities of 4 women's busy weeks, as well as go a good way towards solving the problems with society. Despite the dawn start on a Saturday morning, I've grown to look forward to my weekly golf hit (sic) and always leave the club with a smile on my face, more often than not, regardless of the score.

Yep, this certainly is a healthy passtime - for mind and body!

Yoo hoo, anyone there?

I've been quiet on the blogfront in the past few weeks; not quite sure why, but expect it has something to do with:

• working long hours (often sitting at a computer) and not wanting to do the same when I arrive home and change from my 'binding' work clothes to my soft and comfy flannelette 'Winnie the Pooh' pjs


• having full days away from home each weekend (football, socialising, appointments etc). leaving very few spare hours to do housework (yes, people who know me can laugh at that - but having clean clothes is very important, even if a clean bedroom is not)


• avoiding delving any more deeply into my 'feelings'

I currently have a manager who is trained as a psychologist. Now while I did study psychology at university (as part of my business degree), I preferred the statistics and reality/perception side of psychology. Empathy, id, ego, superego (ooh, eminds me of a few around here) etc were all just a bit too esoteric. Give me concrete and logic every time, please!

Like all of us, we have had 'good' managers and 'bad' managers. My definition of a 'good' manager encompasses someone who treats you as an intellectual equal; who asks for your opinions on work matters and actually listens to your reply; provides support in terms of actions (not just words); and who recognises whether the work you do is effective or not. From my experience, 'bad' managers can be summarised as psychologists who pander to the egos of those in higher roles to get where they want to go.

This is the second time that I've had a manager who is a psychologist, and having just survived a 'psycho' manager as an impressionable 24 year old, I am having chilling flashbacks. My self defence mechanisms back then against the taking credit for my work and words that were not backed up by consistent actions, included internalising my anger & frustration and eventually becoming a virtual solo worker. This time around as a more seasoned and slightly more mature professional, I'm fighting those urges to revert to that behaviour.

My dear colleague 'super V', has given me a book entitled snakes in suits. It is splendidly realistic and I can identify many familiar charateristics. It also provides great insight into effective ways of managing said snakes. My manager may try to get inside my head, but thanks to friends and experience, the person who opens the door (just a crack) won't be letting her in.

If ... (by Rudyard Kipling, as adapted by me)

If ... I had followed my intuition and phoned my 9am meeting on Monday morning to postpone, I may have found out that she too wanted to postpone. However, I did what I thought was responsible and turned up, only to receive a phone call asking me to postpone!

If ... I had braved the crowds at Forest Hill when I was already there on Saturday morning, I would have found my favourite face cleanser on special at the new Myer, rather than when I arrived home and saw the junk mail and thought about when I would next brave the parking

If ... only I could concentrate on predicting salary movement in the Australian employment market (with skills shortages, uncertainty about employment law etc)

If ... my work laptop computer would connect through my home broadband connection, I could be productive at home

If ... I had washed the dishes in the sink, they wouldn't still be there, taunting me for my lack of domestic discipline

If ... I 'chilled out' like I was told to do on Friday, maybe I wouldn't keep asking myself 'if...'

'Blue Moon', or 'Anyone for more trivia?'

Anyone who knows me, is well aware that I have an obsession with the minutiae and small details of everyday life.

'The Age' Oddspot, TV quiz shows (except those hosted by Eddie Everywhere) and school trivia nights warm the deepest parts of my soul. I do have a reputation (occasionally deserved, often not) for being a good 'ring in' when anyone is short of numbers for a trivia night. Not such a good name as my friend Darcy's mate John, but somewhat of a reputation among my friends.

My family have accepted that I love detail, so my bookshelf is scattered with titles such as The Cricket Quiz Book and The Australian Miscellany. When I shared a house with some friends, I was allowed to have the spare TV in my room on a Monday night to watch University Challenge. To them I think that giving up the TV was preferable to me either sulking about missing it, or yelling out answers at the TV in front of friends.

My eldest niece (who has just celebrated a significant birthday ending in '0') made me and the whole family proud earlier this year when she appeared on Eddie's 1 v 100 show (the only time I've ever watched it) and resisted Eddie's pressure to play on and won herself a tidy packet - welcome to the family, embrace your love of information!

Well, tonight is my second favourite piece of trivia - it is a blue moon (you can all begin singing now). What is a blue moon you may ask? Well, if I've spoken with you at any time in the last month or so, you'll already know that a blue moon is a second full moon within a single calendar month. The picture is of the most recent blue moon, on 31 July, 2004. A blue moon is obviously a recent invention (well, recent in relation to the invention of the gregorian or roman calendars). I even found this groovy site that animates the phases of the moon - gotta love that waxing gibbous!

My favourite piece of trivia? I'll save that for another blog!

Facing North

I confess to not being a great traveller, with plane and car sickness having been companions in my youth.

beware - details of childhood malaise follow -

Enduring memories remain a road trip in a Toyota Corona (or was it still the Hillman Hunter?)with my parents and grandparents from Hobart to Queenstown. This was in the 1970's before sealed (read smooth) roads. Once we hit the real hills, poor Dad had to stop the car every mile to allow me to ... well, you get the picture. Poor Mum, I think I was sitting on her knee! Short trips (like from home to Grandparents) were fine, but the longer, hillier, windier trip - not good, for any of the family.

When we made the first long plane trip from Melbourne to London, I lasted as far as Hong Kong before I then fell into a steady stream (sorry, wrong word) of illness ALL the way to Heathrow. FYI, on the return flight I was dosed up so much that I'm sure the cabin staff thought me an underage druggie!

you can rejoin reading from here - no more talk of sickness!

However, once I'm at a new destination, I'm in my element! Somehow, I seem to look like a local, with other visitors asking for directions from Marble Arch to Green Park in London, or to Little India in Singapore, or a good cafe in Auckland. All of these requests, and more have been asked of me as I explore a new place.

Drop me off in London, I'll turn around a few times, face north and know where I am.

My method of tourism is to study the map beforehand, then just go with my memory! I particularly love the London underground maps, with their colour coding, crossover points etc.

In fact, on those short family trips I would beg may parents to let me read the street directory and follow our journey. It may have something to do with a short attention span, or boredom, and despite their misgivings about potential queasiness, my parents let me navigate.

Maps of any sort are my friends. I have an enduring love of the Melways, and even know places not on map 58.

Anyone want a tour guide? I promise I'm OK travelling ... now!

What's the time, Mr Wolf?

I have a new watch and it's pretty.

This is a big deal for me, who has inherited my parents frugality and never thrown anything out unless it has already fallen apart and walked to the rubbish bin of its own accord. I have grown up very clearly knowing my needs from my wants, and seldom giving in to the latter.

To date, my 4 previous watches have been functional, reliable timepieces. My parents gave me a lovely gold one, with a round face and stretchy gold band for my 12th birthday. It was a rite of passage in our family to receive a watch at 12. This reliable Seiko lasted until I was working, at which time the glass cover fell off, and the hands, exposed to the elements, bent and didn't quite travel around the dial as they should.

At this point I bought myself a practical Lorus watch, with actual numbers (not marks) for the hours, and a sweeping second hand. It did also have a cute inset, where a crescent moon showed at night, and a smiling sun during the day. This one had a leather strap, and while I had to replace that strap a number of times, the watch kept on ticking.

After an internal struggle, I bought another watch while my trusty Lorus was still going strong. This was another functional purchase - a sturdy black digital watch, with stopwatch, countdown timer ... and a few other features that took me a while to master. This was my 'weekend' watch, that I used when playing cricket, or umpiring hockey matches.

Sadly, after a good 10 years of service, my Lorus succumbed to my rugged use, so I purchased a similar looking Seiko. This one had a slightly smaller face, as I tried to heed my mother's words about being a lady. I still kept to the leather strap, and have replaced that quite a few times, but the watch is as reliable as ever.

Well, I've now done it. After a few years of admiring those very pretty watches in glossy magazines, I saw and fell in love with a beautiful Raymond Weil timepiece. This is my new watch, complete with diamond/crystal sapphire thingy embellishment around the face.

It will occasionally catch the light, and I'll find myself admiring my indulgence. By the way, it's 6pm at the moment, on the winter soltice, just in case you want to know.

Whenever I close my eyes, I think of you

I have a secret love.

For those who know me, it may not be much of a secret, but it's all mine, and I revel in my devotion.

It started as a long distance admiration when I was still in school. In fact, it began from afar when I was living in Hobart and my love was in Melbourne. We finally met in the late 1970's and I was smitten from the start. There was quite a crowd when we met, but my secret love proved true to me, living up to all expectations. As with many such relationships, I was in awe of my secret love's power and reputation and other people also coveted what I knew was mine.

My secret love has a long history, with many fascinating stories that are shared selflessly. The colourful history just adds to my adoration. Others, who are younger, richer and more 'with it' have tried to draw me away from my secret love, but I remain true.

Our relationship has endured bitterly cold winters, when only hot coffee, coats and scarfs will do. It has also endured steamy summers where women have paraded in front of my secret love in bikinis, but my love remains true to me, giving me everything that I want.

After a 20 year courtship, my secret love and I made a lifetime commitment a short 7 years ago. We had an incredibly intense 2 week period during September 2000, when we were virtually never out of each others sights. While we already had in excess of 20 years behind us, it was at this time that I felt that I finally got to know my love inside & out.

While not together at all times, we have very regular trysts. My heart always skips a beat as I approach, sometimes it's even from high on the hill, looking over the bridge.

Yes, my secret love is the MCG.