Etymology

I made an unusual error yesterday - I set homework for the Year 8s when I didn't know the answers. At this level, it's almost embarrassing - surely I should know more than thirteen year olds! But it's a new unit exploring the origins of language, specifically looking at Old English definitions. So I have spent this evening at www.etymonline.com doing some research. Some of the more interesting things I have learnt include:

* Thrill originally meant to pierce
* Spider originally meant to spin
* Silly originally meant blessed

I have also discovered that rare was a term originally used to describe undercooked eggs and was not used to describe meat for another century or two. And a tadpole was so named because it was considered to look like a toad head.

It's quite fascinating to see how language evolves and changes over the years. At least, I'm finding it interesting - the Year 8s are not so impressed! However, I did make them invent some words of their own last week and I was amused to hear them still giggling about them this week. Perhaps that's why language continues to develop - it's so much fun to play with sounds and meaning!

Booked!

It's been almost ten years since we sold our house, packed up all our possessions and waved goodbye to Brisbane. In the first few years we had a flood of visitors from up north but it has gradually reduced to a mere trickle. We had always assumed we would be back up there multiple times but we have never made it. Now, however, we are heading back!

I've booked almost everything this morning - accommodation and most of the entertainment. No flights, unfortunately, as we're going to road-trip it. Ah, foolish, foolish people! When we left Brisbane we travelled with a 10 month old baby - I suspect that will be much easier than travelling with 8 and 10 year old boys. Oh well, I'm sure we will survive.

Hope you're ready, Brisbane - can't wait to see you again!

xxx

Less Painful

Week 2 of this running program and it is all so much better. My legs don't ache nearly so much and it is actually getting easier. Yes, easier! This has come as a complete shock to me which means, I suppose, that all my previous attempts at fitness have never lasted more than, say, three days. Not when it comes to running anyway. So it was quite astonishing to discover that my fifth run was the magic one, the one where I managed to do all my repetitions without too much trouble at all. I didn't even swear during the walking bits!

This week of the program involves 90 seconds of running followed by 120 seconds of walking, and repeat for 20 minutes. So far, it's proving to be a little more challenging, but not nearly as difficult as the effort required last week to simply get started. I may be able to train up this old, aching body after all. I'm certainly motivated to keep going and see how much I can do.

My lungs are on board, my legs are on board, now I just need my knees to play along!

Trying to run

My legs hurt. Every part of them, from top to toe. Mostly, it's my calves, but if  I move the wrong way, pain flares in my shins and thighs, and all the other parts I have no name for because I have done my best to ignore them over my whole life.

Legs are for getting from A to B to C at a nice brisk pace. They are not for running. Only lunatics run. Except that secretly I have always wanted to be a runner, jogging along looking fit and fluid as I get in 'the zone' and discover those things called endorphins.

But the only way to become a runner is to run. And running is painful. It's agony. It makes my lungs shriek and my legs scream. It is torture and I have avoided it whenever and wherever possible. In the last couple of years I have questioned my body's ability to be able to do it at all after 15 years of running retirement. Except when I watch The Biggest Loser I see people running who are far older than me - and obese as well! Surely I could still do it. I bought new runners at the end of last year and have been thinking about it ever since.

This week I stopped thinking and started running. For the last 4 days I have been out running. It is still agony and it still torture but I am determined to persevere. Right now I'm doing the Couch to 5km program which is supposed to get me fit in 8 weeks. Week 1 involves running for 60 seconds then walking for 90 seconds - repeat 8 times each session, three times a week. It sounds so simple yet I'm finding it really hard. However, I am determined to stick this out. It has to get easier, doesn't it? If I keep going then surely it will hurt less. Surely I can run further each time.

It is still torture. It is still agony. I'm hoping I can make myself go out again tomorrow. This feels like the hardest and stupidest thing in the world - making yourself do something that hurts so much!

Boots of gold

Last week I spent $80 on soccer boots for my little boy.

I hadn't planned to mention that to anyone but my husband spilled the beans. The other soccer mums were horrified, pointing out - quite rightly - that I could have bought boots for $40. What happens if they don't fit next year? they asked. What happens if he doesn't play soccer next year? 

Fair comments but they missed the point entirely.

For my little boy's entire life we have bought him only the cheapest of everything. Or we've made him go without. Or wear shoes with holes in them just a few more weeks. Or struggle into pyjamas two sizes too small. And, of course, 95% of his clothes have first belonged to his brother.

So there we are shopping for soccer boots and, finally, things are better financially, not wonderful, but better.

And soccer boots are amazing. Sure, there are some plain ones, but many of them are bright, multi-coloured explosions. My seven year old's eyes got bigger and bigger. 'I love those,' he said. 'No, those ones!' Finally, he settled on lairy gold boots with black pumas leaping across the tops. He tried them on, clomping delightedly across the floor. Done. I paid for them and he carried them out of the shop with a huge grin on his face.

If they don't fit next year, it doesn't matter.

If he decides not to play soccer next year, it doesn't matter.

For once, he got exactly what he wanted. At the next soccer training he pulled them on joyfully and ran across the pitch. He was still grinning. And so was I.

The love of Stalker Cat

We were anxious tonight because Mishka was late. She hadn't dropped by this morning and she wasn't waiting impatiently in the driveway when we got home in the afternoon. As night settled she was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn't until after dinner that we saw her familiar shadow in the darkness. We opened the door for her and in she strolled, taking her pick of the four laps waiting for her. Our beautiful Mishka.

Except she's not ours. She's the stalker cat, the one who peered through the window and miaowed so insistently that we let her in. Time and time again, she came until we realised tonight that she hasn't missed a day in the last seven months.

Once she's here, she curls up on our laps and sleeps for hours. Or she sits on a chair in the kitchen and pounces on us as we pass. We don't feed her. We provide nothing for her. She comes here just for the love.

Mishka has a home and owners who love her very much. But for some reason, that's not enough and she feels the void with us. And in the meantime, she has filled the void in our lives. It's been a very difficult year and she turned up at just the right time. Beautiful girl!

Love is to be cherished in all its forms. Thank you, Mishka.

My Stars

My Stars
On the day I was born,
The unalterable stars altered.
If I decided to sell lamps,
It wouldn't get dark till the day I died.

Some stars. Whatever I do,
I'm a failure before I begin.
If I suddenly decided to sell shrouds,
People would stop dying.

Abraham ibn Ezra (1029 - 1067)


With the Christchurch earthquake this week, many questions arise about fate. Does it come down to what is written in the stars or is it blind luck?

A few months ago, at a conference, a presenter told us to be careful about 'your story.' She suggested that the same things happen to you over and over again because it's 'your story' and you have to be careful about the tale you choose to tell. So if you're story is that you can never get anywhere on time, then the world will conspire against you so that you will never be anywhere on time, no matter how much you try.

Seems like a defeatist attitude to me.

Surely,I can ignore the stars and write my own destiny.