The Mouth Says It All

I went to the dentist for a check-up today. For many years I had a phobia about going to see the dentist. I don't know why that began, but by the time you've not been for a check-up for 16 years, you have good reason to fear going for one! I conquered my fear of dentists 6 years ago and I am rather proud of that - because it was a very deep-rooted fear. I still become nervous before a visit - doesn't everyone? But it is totally manageable now.

I was driven to seeing a dentist in the end because of the extreme pain that I was suffering as my wisdom teeth came through. These were rather painlessly removed and on top of that I needed just two (very large) fillings. So I was lucky. Today I escaped scot-free but for the bill.

Prior to visiting a dentist 6 years ago I searched the internet for ideas to help me conquer my fear. I found sites containing details of why other people were afraid to go to the dentist. So I was not alone. This helped. I also found details of many practices that specialised in treating nervous patients - using everything from hypnotherapy to soft-music, aromatherapy, counselling, pre-consulation visits, mild sedation... I realised that at the end of the day, regardless of whatever music was playing in the background or whatever scents filled the air, I was going to have to lie flat and allow a dentist to look in my mouth (I hate the lying flat bit -it makes me feel so vulnerable). So I skipped all that and just went.

I am now considering a little cosmetic work. It has been suggested by my dentist that "teeth straightening and whitening would make all the difference". My mouth, when relaxed, looks like a squashed tomato that someone has thrown at my face and my chin manages to be strangely none-existent and yet, at the same time, double. My husband feels that I need no longer concern myself too much with my appearance as I am married now, and I can see his point in a way. (So nothing at all to do with the cost of these ventures then, dear husband!) But I rather fancy entering my 40s with something of the Cameron Diaz about my looks...

But, who cares! I'm alive!! I've conquered a fear!!! If you never have, you MUST. You must develop a fear right away just so that you can conquer it. It's WELL WORTH IT! (If you have difficulty thinking of a fear, please feel free to contact me. I have a few more that I could lend you).

(I'm sorry, Kathryn, if you are reading this. I know you told me to stop saying horrible things about the way I look and I will. From now on I will. I promise. OK. The truth is: I think that I, like many, many people, can look everything from $1m to 1 euro, depending upon an awful lots of things (make-up, mood, month-time - I wonder if I can make them all begin with "m"? I also think that a kind, smiley face is worth its weight in botox).

Anne and Louise have this and it's only right and proper that I should too.

The idea is that you copy and paste this into the comments section and then answer the questions. I'll put my body armour on! (Re question 4, I would love it if a man were to answer this. I used to wish that I could invent a computer into which you could type a name, press "return" and it would reveal whether said person "fancied you or not"!! I had so many crushes as a young person. I kept very quiet about most of them. Mine was very much a tale of unrequited love ... at least I think it was. I have been tempted to list all my crushes on my friends reunited entry so that those listed could tell me now what they thought of me then!! - go on, dare me!!)

01. Who are you?
02. Are we friends?
03. When and how did we meet?
04. Do/Did you have a crush on me?
05. Would you kiss me?
06. Describe me in one word.
07. What was your first impression?
08. Do you still think that way about me now?
09. What reminds you of me?
10. If you could give me anything what would it be?
11. How well do you know me?
12. When’s the last time you saw me?
13. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
14. Are you going to put this on your blog/journal and see what I say about you?

And off he went into the tunnel, leaving me with just his cap....

My dear son, Michael, will start "big school" in September. Yesterday, all new parents and pupils paid his new school a visit. The parents were to sit through an info session in the hall, and the new pupils were to go into their classroom for an afternoon of play, stories and whatever else.... to sample what was to come, I suppose.

The headteacher introduced herself and then asked our offspring to follow Mrs Davis out of the hall and into the corridor that would lead to their "Reception" classroom. My friend was sitting next to me with her daughter. Her daughter wasn't totally sure that she wanted to follow Mrs Davis out of the hall. "Go on," said her mummy, "perhaps you can hold Michael's hand. Michael. Will you hold hands?" So off he went, one hand holding onto his friend, and most of the other stuck inside his mouth.

(as an aside: how do I stop him with this terrible habit? If it's not his hand in his mouth, it's his sleeve and if it's not his sleeve then it's a cussion/ sofa / chair arm.... anything??).

I was left in the hall with the other parents, holding onto his little cap. My friend next to me was left holding onto her daughter's comforting teddy bear. "Off they go into the tunnel", said my friend. "It's really sad," she added, looking at teddy. "Mmm," I agreed. "Off they go into the tunnel, to emerge age 21, clueless as to what to do next".

But it's a lovely little school. It is very friendly, cosy and calm. The children there are happy, as are the teachers and the parents. It is a C of E school and I am glad that each of his days there will begin with an assembly with some religious content.

Mikey is really ready for this now - he was upset at having to leave the school yesterday and couldn't sleep last night because he is so excited about: his school tie (we had to buy his uniform yesterday); plimsoles and shoe bags; and school dinners. He was also very excited about all of the technical equipment that was in the hall (sound centres and lights and stuff).

All I could think of during the info session though was how similar it was to the ante-natal classes I had attended only the other day - or was it 5 years ago? - mums and dads sitting in a semi-circle and listening. Except now it's school...

Conversations with my husband

He was sitting on his sofa and I was sitting on mine, and we'd just caught the last 4 minutes of the England Vs ??? match (I like to hear the match analysis following a game, as coaching and people-management interest me - kicking balls doesn't though - so we switch on for extra time and the natter. Pretentious? Moi?)

Me: Who decides where the world cup takes place?

Husband: [answered question. don't remember answer. I think it contained lots of "Fs" but I don't know how many because I'm no genius (see previous post)]

Me: So which sporting competition is it where the winner hosts the next event?

Husband: That's the Eurovision Song Contest

Me: Oh yeah.

Husband: (eyes fixed on TV) shheeesh

Me: (eyes also fixed back on TV) hng

My scarf and other animals

It's growing. Slowly I'll grant you, but it's growing!



By law, every one who has a child in Britain must purchase a toy car like this. You will not enter a British law-abiding household with children and no such vehicle.



I look as if I am saying my prayers - but actually I dislike having my photo taken and my hands are clenched through mild anxiety. A quick poem about this photo:
I can only do a grin, never a seductive pout,
If I try a seductive pout, I look a bit a like a trout.




Boy I love this scarf.



Michael's patch of the garden. He waters it every so often ... in fact whenever he's playing outside and needs a pee.

Karate and Personality

I am going to be brief here - could write a book on this. (for knitting and a question about the bible, please see below - lots of posts from me today and I'd hate my question on the OT to go unanswered!!)

This post follows on from a recent discussion on Supergroup7's excellent martial arts blog.

It is a brief summary of the findings of a single, small scale study of women shotokan karateka. I do not know which psychomtetric assessments or other methods were used. Significant findings were:
1) the shotokan karate women (SKM) were significantly more extravert than females who did not do karate, and more extravert than male karateka
2) SKW were more impulsive than the average male, and than the average male karate-ka
3) SKW were as "tough minded" as male karateka, and more so than non-karate women (where tough-minded means aggressive, hostile, generally troublesome, cruel, insensitive, have difficulty making friends) - but they were still low scoring in this trait
4) SKW scored much lower in "mental well-being" than non-karate women (where mental wellbeing is measured using indicators such as insomnia, fatigue, depression, loss of confidence, suicidal thoughts and so on) :-(
I have to say I'm confused about point 4 - I'm not sure how we are meant to interpret "scored much lower in"? I may have to speak to the original author about that, which may be possible....

Source: Layton, C and Randall, M (1998) "A Shotokan Book of Facts, Vol 3"

More is written in Vol 1 about research into the effects of karate upon the personality. I am interested in finding out more about the personailty traits of those who become interested in the martial arts... The above research was carried out using a small sample of women. It appears that there may be scope for more research here.

This is for Anne, but....

- a better one will follow when I get myself sorted, and
- the scarf is now a lot longer than this (nearly onto ball 3), and
- for absolutely wonderful pictures of knitting, go to Anne's blog

The Old Testament

I have a question (Anne, give John a nudge!)

Maybe everyone in the whole world knows this, except me. If so, apologies for being stoopid.

Here goes:
What is it about the writers of the Old Testament that means we should either believe what they wrote or follow any of the advice contained therein?

I hope that question makes sense - and I do not mean to imply any criticism of the OT or its writers. I would just like to know the answer to the question (in the same way as I like to know the qualifications and credentials of my doctor or health visitor before I take their advice etc.)

And whilst we're on the subject of the bible: what is one to make of:
a) the bits in the NT where people follow advice that comes to them in dreams (e.g. where the angel appeared to Joseph in a dream).

And
b) the bits that begin: "and the Lord spoke to him and said...."?

Photos

I know that I promised more photos today but I am unable to deliver on this owing to a broken shutter at Asdas. I apologise for the delay in showing my photos and can assure you that they will be appearing as soon as the problem with the shutter at Asda's is recitified.

Ideas Please

You may wonder how I've managed to bring this upon myself but, unless anyone more capable volunteers, I am probably going to be opening Michael's nursery school fete, dressed up as a character from a fairy tale (or as something else that will delight the children). Any ideas as to who, what and how???

(I need to be unrecognisable to the children, including my own, if that is at all possible.....)!!!!!!!!

Clip Clop Clip Clop Clip Clop

... that's the sound as I lead this particular horse from her stable. Foot in stirrup; grab hold of saddle (Louise'll correct me if I'm wrong in my mounting procedure); one, two, three UP - she must be 17 hands, this horse. But I've made it up. Yet again. Yeap. I'm on my high horse. (Was that paragraph beginning to sound a little odd and unsavoury...?)

This time, it's the news. It really tees me off when news reporters try to go all poetic like this (from Channel 4 News yesterday, but they all do it far too frequently - BBC's the worst offender):

There is to be a by-election in Bromley (London) following the death of their MP. It's a Tory safe seat. Cameron hopes that one of his "A-listers" ("modern Conservatives") will win the seat. But Bromley is likely to elect more of a right wing traditionalist. News Reporter: "So, are the traditional Tory's here in Bromley safe as houses" (camera shows the handle and lock of a front door and pans out to show a house), "or is it not all wrapped up yet?" (camera shows a large box being wrapped up with ribbon)

Here's another recent example: a news report on problems associated with rural living ended with:
"... or is it all too woolly?" (camera panned from close up to long shot of a sheep).

I hate it when they do that. It's really contrived and it's just so patronising to the viewer. They always pause for a micro second before they lavish the visual punn. It REALLY ... gets my goat (camera shows goat chewing grass).

Now then let's see if I can get this to work....

Here are some photographs.



This is the bed that Mario and I recently planted. In time it will hide his (beloved) shed. He sees no reason to hide the shed. But I do. We dug and planted this bed one evening whilst the children were asleep in bed (can not garden properly when they are awake). We were still digging and planting at 11.00pm, but we enjoyed a good bottle of bubbly in the process. We couldn't see our finished product until the following morning as it was really dark by the time we'd planted the last shrub!



And these are the knitting needles that my friend Anne sent me in the post today, as a reward for persistence in her caption competition (made in USA and painted in Russia and then returned to USA for assembly). I have fallen in love with these knitting needles - in fact it was a case of love at first sight. My next knitting venture will definitely make use of them. You can just see a tiny bit of the scarf that I am knitting to the left of this photo. It's there to tease you... I have a proper photo of it but I can't get it to appear upright. I'll have to fathom that out and get back to you...

You blog, I copy...

Thanks Sarah for this. It's very interesting.

www.sarahcontrary.blogspot.com

You fit in with: Spiritualism Your ideals are mostly spiritual, but in an individualistic way. While spirituality is very important in your life, organized religion itself may not be for you. It is best for you to seek these things on your own terms. 60% spiritual. 60% reason-oriented.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Try this

ALZHEIMERS' EYE TEST


Count every " F" in the following text:

FINISHED FILES ARE THE RE
SULT OF YEARS OF SCIENTI
FIC STUDY COMBINED WITH
THE EXPERIENCE OF YEARS...

(SEE BELOW)




HOW MANY ?









WRONG, THERE ARE 6.
READ IT AGAIN !
Really, go Back and Try to find the 6 F's before you scroll down.


The reasoning behind is further down.








The brain cannot process "OF".




Go back and look again!!



Anyone who counts all 6 "F's" on the first go is a genius.


Three is normal, four is quite rare.







More Brain Stuff . . . From Cambridge University.

Olny srmat poelpe can raed tihs.


cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The
phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy,

it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm.

Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! if
you can raed tihs psas it on !!

Tales of the Unexpected

Some of life's biggest, longest journeys can start without you ever realising that they're about to. You are totally unprepared for them. At 6.45 am on 23 April 2003, I was preparing myself for a journey. I thought that I might take my 18 month son to visit my mother and father in Wales. I wanted to leave London for a while and spend a few days up there surrounded by hills - it's so beautiful. I arose and started to pour a bath for myself, hoping to have a wash before Michael awoke.

The phone rang. "That'll be mum and dad now". I thought. Then, "It's a bit early. I hope everything's alright." Mario answered the phone and I could hear him talking downstairs. I could tell by the tone of his voice that something was not right. I walked downstairs. "Ruth's here now", he said. "No, you should tell her". And he asked me to sit down.

Mum then told me that my dad had died during the night. And I felt my self shatter into a million pieces...

Over time the pieces reassemble, but in a different way to how they were before. I miss dad hugely but I carry this sadness like a rucksack - it's on my back so that no-one can see it from the front, but I can feel its weight. And I am comfortable with its weight too. The wonder of a rucksack is that after a while, you barely notice that it is there.

So I did begin a journey on 23 April 2003. A journey that I have to take without the wit, wisdom, friendship and comfort of my wonderful dad. Except that I still feel his wit, wisdom, friendship and comfort every day. Thank goodness for that.

I want this for my blog

I'm not sure how naughty this is, but I've just lifted a post, lock, stock and barrel, from someone else's blog and I'm going to place it right here (I mean, fortunately, of course, the post also remains on the original blog so it's not that bad, but...)

yearning for the sea

‘If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up the men to gather wood, divide the work, and give orders. Teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea’

-Antoine de Saint Exupery
www.thedeepend.squarespace.com/journal

You can see why I just had to have it, can't you.

To Wee or Not to Wee. That is the Question

My first relationship lasted four years. It ended dramatically and disastrously when I was 24 years old. I figured that one of the numerous things that had contributed to the downfall of this partnership was that we had become so familiar with one another as to saturate all romance. There was no air of mystery or excitement in our relationship. This manifested itself in many ways. One manifestation of this was that we had no qualms about going to the toilet in each other's presence. I thought nothing of taking a wee whilst he cleaned his teeth in the same room. I decided that all future relationships would be conducted wholly outside of the bathroom door.

So, I always ensured that I'd been to the toilet before meeting up with boyfriend number 2 and it was months before I could bring myself to go to the toilet in the same building as him, never mind the same room. It had become a bit of a thing for me. This relationship fizzled out, neither helped nor hindered by my lavatorial policy. It made way for liaison number 3. Again, no weeing together. It ended and I met the man to whom I am now married (although not necessarily in that order).

Mario and I will celebrate our 6th anniversary this year. He has seen me wee, poo, vomit, give birth, laugh my head off, cry my eyes out, drunk as a Lord, sober as a judge (I used to work for a chap who was both a Lord and a judge - don't know anything of his drinking habits though), be totally reasonable, be totally unreasonable, overweight, underweight, angry, calm, depressed, contented... there is not a side to Ruth that he has not seen. He is the only person on this planet and beyond who could put up with me, but he does far more than that. He encourages me to be me. "You do it", he says. Quite often. And I say the same to him.

We have two sofas in our living room. He sits on one in the evening and I sit on the other. We watch old comedies together and laugh hysterically in totally different places. He says potato and I say tomato and there is no one I'd rather be with.

My conclusion: I think on balance it's better to save weeing together until after marriage.

Communication Problems

How does it affect us to receive the depth and breadth of news that is now broadcast?

This morning, I continued to spread my toast when I heard the news on the radio that 8 people were killed in Iraq yesterday by a car bomb. News of 8 innocent deaths? Shouldn't that bring me to my knees in horror? I am immune to tragedies that do not personally affect me or those I love. Maybe people always have been immune to the tragedies of others, but it is only recently that we have started to receive news of them on a daily basis.

A hundred years ago I may have heard of a death in my village or town. I would have heard very little of occurrences beyond that. My sphere of influence, if you like, would have been, say 5 miles in radius and, say 2,000 people. Now, we each have a sphere of influence that is global. We hear of tsunamis in the Pacific, hurricanes in the States, genocide, terrorism, shootings... We also hear of a 13 month old baby who lives in a far away town who dies in hospital because he is mis-treated by the staff there. We hear of the death in a car crash of a celebrity. And via the telephone we hear that someone we worked with 10 years ago and did not know very well has died suddenly of a stroke at the age of 39. And via the internet, we know of the life's work of all those we were at school with. Are our minds designed to cope with all of this information?

But are we subject to more tragic news today than were our ancestors 100 or so years ago, when infant mortality was up to 50% and when we ourselves could expect to lose babies to stomach bugs, whooping cough, measles? Is it the case that our own lives are, on average, less tragic than those of our ancestors, but to make up for this we hear a whole lot more about the tragedies of others around the world.

What concerns me is that a century or so ago I may have heard, first thing in the morning that Mrs Miggins from the pie shop down the road had died in the night (were I Black Adder). I would then have ceased to spread my toast and run to the rescue of Mr Miggins and their children, with offers of comfort and practical help. Now, we hear news of terrible things and do absolutely nothing about it. The Morning News washes over us like the soap we used moments earlier in the shower.

When I did hear by telephone, fairly recently, that someone I had worked with 10 years ago had died suddenly of a stroke at the age of 39 I was dumb-founded. I could not stop thinking about it for 48 hours. I had to counsel myself about this and the only way that I could let it go was to tell myself that I ought not to know about it. This was information that had reached me via modern-age technology. It was information that I could do nothing with - I did not know her family; I could neither attend the funeral nor offer help. I had to put it out of my mind (impossible, of course, and I think of her family who I do not know at very regular intervals).

What a jumbled post this is. I'm not sure what point I'm trying to make other than to say that I am fascinated by impact of the "global village" on our psyche. I am intrigued that I know more about Tom Cruise and his wife's birth, Jade Goody and Paris Hilton than I do about my next door neighbours.

I'd do well to save this post as a draft and come back to it when I'm less tired, but I'm terrible for not doing that. I'm gonna stick it up the flag pole and see who salutes. And then I might come back to it and clean it up another time.

London: A Large Village Surrounded by Beautiful Countryside

That's what the estate agents would have us believe if they could. Have a read of Louise's life-style up there in Scotland www.gemini-scotblog.blogspot.com In her most recent post she describes how she drops the children off from school and then goes bird-watching for half a hour or so before getting on with her day. This sounds idyllic to me.

I could not believe it when I first came to London (having spent my teenage years in the middle of nowhere, 12 miles from the nearest town) that people would pay a hefty, and I mean HEFTY, premium down here to live in a house that did its best to pretend to be in the middle of nowhere - e.g. on the edge of Wimbledon Common. And people called part of Wimbledon (where I lived at first) Wimbledon Village. Village???? It's in the middle of one of the largest conurbations in the world.

This morning I took a drive to one of London's satellite towns (which the estate agent's brochure also describes as a village!!!!) to look at a brand new 4 bedroomed house. This house is tucked away amongst a load of other new-builds, each of its rooms as tiny as they can possibly be without totally preventing you from exhaling. It'll cost comeone half a million notes to live there. They'll save themselves ten-thou if they opt for the identical house opposite, as that one does not enjoy a view of the "river": green swampy canal with corrugated iron sides to it. Oh, and there's a footpath nearby, through one field. So this location is almost rural....

Apparently where we live now is "semi rural", according to the estate agents. But we're on the Piccadilly Line! Twenty minutes from here and you're into Central London!!

What price a view, eh?

Sin and Sunday School

As you will know if you've ploughed your way through previous posts in this blog, I am new to the wonderful world of Sunday School teaching. I lead the group one week in six - nothing too arduous - and, in fact, rather enjoyable. I've not been able to take on these light duties, however, without much soul-searching and to help me along with this, the vicar has started to host monthly meetings where I and other leaders can voice questions: anything to do with Sunday School (which I'd prefer to call Sunday Group, but I've not told them that yet.... some of them may in fact read that here for the first time, which will allow them time to arm themselves against that bit of "political correctness gone mad" (except please don't let's use that phrase, as it'll only make me worse).

At the most recent meeting, I voiced my concerns about the issue of confessional prayers. These are prayers that, for children, might begin with "Let us now call to mind all of the things that we have done wrong". I do not say these prayers with my children, nor do I relate any of "what they do wrong" to God, Jesus, Christian beliefs, church or morality. I have a four year old and, oh, I "tell him off", yes! I do a lot of that. But I try to stick to three rules:

1) If he is doing something to jeopardise the health and safety of himself or others, or if he is doing something that will have a tangible effect on his or someone else's property, tell him to stop and why.
2) Keep it short.
3) Move on. Do not rake over it again at a later stage. And certainly not at prayer time.

Sometimes, my four-year-old tells lies. I tackle this, despite it falling outside of rule number 1 (I mean you didn't think for one second that I actually succeeded in adhering to these rules, did you?) I am very careful to request that he tells the truth because otherwise it confuses mummy, or it wastes a lot of time. I do not tell him that "lying is wrong". Not yet. Maybe never...

"Why so woolly and liberal?" I hear some of you cry, whilst the rest of you shout "carry on like that and your son'll end up a knife-wielding axe-murderer."

Here are my fears. There are two of them. First, if a child's appreciation of what is right and what is wrong is founded primarily upon a moral code, such as the Bible, then if they let go of that code, they may well let go of their appreciation of what is right and wrong. So, let's say a child flies the nest at the age of 18 believing that promiscuity is wrong because the bible tells them so (can't say for sure whether it does or not, I'm afraid, but many Christians oppose sex outside of marriage so there must be something about it somewhere in there). They go, let's say, to university where they question the bible; their beliefs; the moral code with which they were brought up (all very healthy), they decide to reject it (maybe for a time, maybe for ever) and they no longer see any reason for not joining the rest of those in their Hall of Residence bonking the night away till kingdom come. Far better, in my opinion, for a young adult to reject promiscuity on the grounds of the emotional turmoil that it could bring about and, of course, on the grounds of the sexual diseases that can result from it if they do not use protection or if that protection fails them.

My second fear is this. I fear that too much talk of sin and confession can bring about a sense in a child, as they grow into a young adult, that they are, in fact, a "miserable sinner" and unworthy of being loved. I fear that may have repercussions on their ability to formulate healthy and loving relationships with others. I am concerned that unless it is handled very carefully, a focus on sin and confession can leave a child with a guilt complex that may take years to unravel.

I am open to opinion on this. Am I wrongly denying my poor Sunday School attendees, one week in six, of their opportunity to receive God's forgiveness for their sins, innocent as they are? We do say the Lord's Prayer (and I have not gone so loopy as to omit the "forgive our trespasses as we forgive those" bit). My concerns come into play not at the mere mention of sin and repentence, but when one dwells on it for any length of time. And I am not certain about the age at which I believe confessional prayers should be introduced.