Adrenalin

Hi there

Everyone knows the story (myth?) about the slightly-built middle-aged mother who lifted a car up high, away from her son who was trapped under it.

Adrenalin gave that mother sudden strength.  Had she spent a few seconds thinking about the action, she would never have been able to do it.  What a feat, eh?

My little adrenalin moment hit me way back when I was a young government typist, and learning shorthand.  My TCB shorthand exam result arrived in the mail.

I had taught myself shorthand over a year of practising it at home every evening, and during tea breaks at work.    I was a nervous wreck as I opened the envelope.

"I passed - !!!!"  I whooped.  I jumped in excitement -

My mother said that my head bumped against the high kitchen ceiling.   And yet, I wasn't at all a sporty or fit  person.   I would've had a hard time even jumping rope.

...  Adrenalin sure is a weird thing.

Those Rubbish Trucks

Hi there

A friend and I went to a matinee at The Empire Theatre in Island Bay.  We came out of the theatre, got in my car, and I was about to drive off.  Then -

Oh, noooo ...  My driver's wing mirror was shattered!

There was a note under a windscreen wiper.  Ah, wow, a witness to the accident!  It appeared that a rubbish truck had side-swiped my car.

 I rang up the rubbish truck company with all the information from the note.  The guy told me that lots of people rang him claiming that they'd been hit by rubbish trucks but, normally, they were fibbing (whaaaaat!?)  He would have to check with his truck drivers.

The accident was eventually admitted by the rubbish truck company, and they have paid me through my insurance company. I now have a pristine wing miror.

I've always been one of those people who have whooped happily about a cycle-way next to the pavement on The Parade in Island Bay.  The cycle-way has caused wrath and ire amongst the anti-cycleway people.  Cars park in marked spaces alongside the cycleway which means that rubbish truck drivers get upset being so far from the pavement, and mothers pulling babies out of back car seats, complain they could get bowled over by bikes.

I'm now beginning to think that the cycle-way is a bad idea ...?

I love it that I can see myself taking the photo in the shattered wing mirror.

Swimming

Hi there

People are already appearing, in drips and drabs, for swimming at Hataitai Beach.  I've abandoned the t-shirt over my swimming togs, a sure indication that warmer Wellington weather is approaching.  However, i still bound out of the water and immediately plaster myself against the changing shed wooden wall, crucifix-like: its so sunshiney warm if the sun has been on the wall for several hours.

In the winter my two swimming friends, J and The Young One, have been with me in the water.  With summer on the horizon - officially 1 December - we will be able to spend longer lazy times relaxing on the beach's sundeck, and purring like spoilt pussy-cats over the beautiful weather ("You Can't Beat Wellington on a Good Day").

Dogs

Hi there

Up until about five or so years ago,  I was frightened of dogs.  Big dogs.  Lap dogs.  Police dogs.  Airport dogs.  A neighbour's dog ...

I would freeze if a dog came toward me, duck down another street, have an anxiety attack.  When I was five years' old, I was bitten on the nose by a German Shepherd dog.  I remember thinking (in toddler language, of course), "I am not scared of dogs.  I'm not!  I will pat this dog and prove that I'm not scared of dogs.  So there!"

So, obviously this scaredy-dog thing was in my mind even before I got bitten on my nose.

Anyway, about five years ago, a friend asked if I would take her little Shitzu for a walk.  We were in a room full of people and I didn't want to come over like a grinch.  So I walked the dog.

Then I walked it a second time.  And a third.  And fourth.  Etc. Etc. Etc...

Now, I goo over dogs.  I like them.  I still put my arms behind my back as I approach them.  But I talk to their owners, ask the animal's name, age, make a joke about how a dog might be smiling.  Sometimes, I ask if I can pat it.

It took years and years, but now I can look a dog in the face and not be too scared.

... but cats are still my first love.

Baby steps, eh?

Alright, Darling?

Hi there

Here's a typical scenario -

I turn a corner and all but bang into a well-dressed woman in her thirties. We're both in a hurry.

"Sorry," we both say.

She takes on a concerned look.  She hovers an arm near my shoulder, one movement away from pat-style mode. "Are you alright, darling...?"

Oh goodness, she's one of those people.  Darling, dear, sweetheart, love;  I've heard them all before.  Lots of times.

As we age, and for some reason, complete strangers feel compelled to call us twee names.

I don't understand it.

If I were younger, this well-dressed woman and I would exchange a friendly smile, a "sorry", and that would be it.  We'd be on our way without a whiff of a 'darling' or 'dear'.

Hardly a day goes by when I don't get an endearment tossed to me by someone I don't know.  Shop assistants, bus drivers, baristas, government officials...

They're talking down to me, jollying me along, like I'm a five year old.  They want to prove to the gods-in-charge-of-old-people that they are caring and attentive.

It so annoys me.