Shopping list: no groceries

This week over at The Queen Creative we are told:

A shopping list (noun) is a list of items needed to be purchased by a shopper, a grocery list is a the most popular type of shopping list– including items that need to be procured on the next visit to the grocery store. 

I am a list person, except for when it comes to grocery shopping. I hate supermarkets. I know what I need so I run in (if my husband isn't with me; he loves going down every single aisle) and zoom around spending as little time as possible dithering. I can't waste time choosing: tomatoes on the vine or cherry tomatoes or both? Chilli or cheese nachos? Shall I take advantage of the buy-one-pay-for-three offer on furniture polish? Hmmm. No, I make a decision and get on with my life. 

In other areas of my life, I do write a list. It lives in this fabulous little book:

This book does not travel with me. I do not want to be followed by my list. It simply hangs out around my desk, you know, near the pens. It is there for things like: 

• Fix boot heels
• Mother's Day something
• Transfer for holiday
• Write Prompts for Promptless - shopping list
• Plan Celine's class
• Email uni birds
• Post baby pressie Arg

Life things. There's every day things mixed with work things, and what I call some 'life admin' thrown in. As a teacher, I don't need to make lists at work like I used to have to as an editor, working in an office. Offices seem to run on endless lists. Maybe this was one reason I vowed never to work in one again. So, I add classes that I need to plan, with the names of my students to make it more human. There are people behind my jobs and I like that.

Another area that gets added to this seeming free-for-all is stuff I need to write. Places I need to go and read, blogs I want to comment on, pieces and prompts I want to write. I don't think I would forget to write for my favourite prompts or challenges, but once I've put something up and I cross it off my list, it's like a double happiness. There is the writing happiness and the one-less-thing-on-the-list-happiness. 

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One shopping list that I will take some time over, but not necessarily write down, is for presents. I love buying birthday/Christmas/any-occasion-that-needs-a-present presents. You'd think I was made of money reading that, but I'm not. I just love it when I've pondered on a present for someone and a genius idea whacks me over the head (then whacks me in the wallet) and they open it and their face lights up with surprise/joy/incredulousness at what I've given them. 

My parents' birthdays are really close together, so their presents will go on the same list in my head. The process will always start with the same conversation:

"So, Mum, what do you want for your birthday?" (I have zero intention of buying her what she wants. I am cleverer than that.)

"I don't need anything. You don't have to get me anything."

"I know you don't need anything, but what do you want?"

"What I want is for your father to get off the toilet so we can have breakfast. That's what I want."

My parents' birthday present shopping list might therefore look like this after a few of these conversations:

• Timer so when my dad has been on the toilet for more than 20 minutes it scares him into getting off (for my mum)
• An automatic thingy so that when my mum is transferring money to her children's accounts it blocks it at a certain number of zeros (for my dad)
• A teaching job where all you have to do is teach and not deal with the bullshit (for my mum)
• A mother who isn't so annoying deaf and insanely proud (for my dad)
• A course in how to get the most of out your smart TV (for them both)

*

Life is full of lists if we think about it: things we want to accomplish, places we want to see, books we want to read, people we want to really connect with, things we want to learn. That's the beauty of lists. They can be never-ending. But life isn't. So it's a good thing if you never get to the end of your wish-list, or to-do list or to-read list. You had enough on there to keep you going, and while you were, that's called life. 

"We like lists because we don't want to die." Umberto Eco.

Click and watch more at Prompts for the Promptless here:

Flash fiction - Circles

This weekend's Trifextra challenge has taken a huge swing up The Happy, Hopeful Hill. Hoorah! 

The photo below is our inspiration and you can read my 33-word effort underneath. Click on the photo to read more entries and be sure to comment and vote - there's some wicked (as in brilliant) imaginations and writing over there. There's also a great 2-minute video showing the passing year. The photo is a compilation by Eirik Solheim of different days throughout the year, taken at the same location in Oslo, Norway. Enjoy!

Circles

Every moment before birth; trees smile, the sun winks, leaves cavort. They may rest, but they always return. Daily, monthly, yearly… Life is a rainbow. Open your eyes; you will be reborn, too. 

Learning curve #3 - The long and winding road

Kotor Bay, Montenegro, is quite simply stunning: a winding mass of water surrounded by dark green mountains majestically peering down at you. The old town of Kotor, rich in maritime history, nestles at the bottom; its cobbled streets and squares full of the silent footsteps of old sailors. At night, the old walls of the city light up, a jewelled crown protecting its king's head.

Curving up to the top of the mountain is a road, which affords spectacular and sweeping views of Kotor, the bay and beyond. Maria and I had heard about this drive and wanted to do it. After renting Beso (see HERE) we thought we'd be safe doubling our wheels from 2 to 4. No matter that the Brit drives on the wrong side and the road is a series of never-ending switchbacks that don't all feature on the local map. Let's do it.

View from the church tower, Perast.

We picked up our car in the morning, I was designated driver for this adventure) and drove round the bay to check out Perast. This small, old village languishes on the coast of the bay, pining for its days at the front line of seafaring adventures, fishing frenzies and pirate battles. Nowadays it takes care of holiday makers wishing to escape, wandering visitors like us, and its many (still standing) churches. We climbed to the top of its main church and hung out with its big, green bells and the wonderful view. We watched a diver swim out with a spear to fish. We waited, but he didn't come back with a huge catch wanting to share it with us, so instead we went for a dip ourselves (without spears) That's the thing with water, we realised. We just had to get in.

With me driving, I was prepared for some Alonso Formula 1 jokes. Turned out that while speeding along, it was my stupidity that was funnier than the whole surname thing. There are two things you need to know about driving in Montenegro. One is that your lights have to be on all the time, even in the brightest sunshine. The second is that the speed limit rarely goes above 40mph because no one can be trusted and bends are apparently for overtaking on.

So there I am, concentrating on remembering that the gears on the right of me and trying not to drive in the middle of the road when Maria gently reminds me we've been told not go over 50kpm. I glance down briefly. "We're only doing 20," I reply. Um, that would be the RPM you're reading there. Well, if that didn't make my passenger more comfortable I don't know what will. Talk about instilling a bit of faith! I slowed down.

We wound back through Kotor town and started the climb up the mountain. The road was about wide

View point on our way up the
mountain above Kotor.

enough for two normal-sized cars. Anything bigger and there were nervous looks from all drivers. On one side: cliff face. On the other: drop-off into the abyss. Of course, the views were distracting. I gripped the wheel and kept my eyes on the road.

Then, there was a bus. I'd just turned left up another switchback and coming straight towards us without any intention of stopping or room to pass was a coach. I'm not going to argue, I thought. I'll reverse back to the corner where it was wider and he'd have enough room. Between the rock face and the road were weeds and grass and I tried to keep close to the edge as I went back. The coach kept coming.

"Wait, you're really close to the rock." And Ker-BRUUUUM. The coach passed. He had enough room because I was now in a mini ditch. Turns out the grass part between the cliff and the road isn't level. First lesson learnt. I didn't have too much panic about this because I hadn't hit anything, so any damage would be unseen when we gave the car back. We were just stuck. I tried to get us out, but the power of a 1.0-litre VW Polo is about as helpful as, well, me driving it at that moment. So, we got nowhere.

Luckily, a car that passed us behind the coach had seen what happened. He stopped at the corner, as I went running towards him. The German Saviour (and he wasn't the only one on this trip) got to it, ripping out branches from under the rear tyre and getting behind the wheel to do what men do best: get girls in cars out of mini-ditch-up-a-mountain-pickles.

Once again, we were saved! Except we were still only half way up the mountain. The adventure continued. Cue very cautious approach to every oncoming car. But we made it. At the top of the mountain, a valley opened up, at the centre of which lies the village of Njegusi. We drove through, marvelling at the funny chicken-hut cabins and the cured hams hanging by the road. Deep green forests stretched out before us, rising up to the other side of the valley. We decided to see what was on the other side.

The valley and Njegusi.

As we left Njegusi, we spotted a hitch-hiker at the side of the road, heading our way. One good deed deserves another, and we had been saved by many who had stopped for our thumbs at the sides of roads. We picked him up. Imagine. You need to get somewhere. Two girls are in a rented car, the passenger with a map sprawled out on her lap. They have no idea what they are doing or where they are going. They are driving at a third of the speed that locals drive at. Have they been in a crash already today? But you get in anyway. Poor bloke. It was probably the longest and slowest hitch of his life. He sat back to admire the view as we laughed at what he must think of us.

Cars are girls, and like all our other modes of transport, this one deserved a name. She got Flo. I'm not going to offend anyone with that name by explaining our reasoning behind it, but she joined our little gang of bikes and boats and scooters and things with wheels and motors that became part of our adventure. And Flo's little adventure didn't stop there.

After a mate and cake overlooking the water and mountains, it was time for the trip down. This was

Important pit stop to refuel. 

less nerve-wracking: the brakes worked, I knew what to expect and I was quite happy to let faster drivers pass us by. Am I going near that edge or rock? No siree! We have survived this far and there are now less German Saviour's on the road to come to our rescue.

Fast forward about 3 hours. We'd parked up back in Kotor near the supermarket so we could climb around the city walls up to the fort, do a quick shop for dinner and then head back to our apartment for a run and feast. The climb was brilliant and sweaty; the views special. The sun dropped behind the mountain on the longest day of the year. The sky turned a hazy red and the water a deep emerald. We imagined ourselves guardsmen of the fort. We followed a rocky path to a tiny stone church, its roof moss-covered. We counted the churches in the town below.

You could tell where Flo was parked after we left the butcher and the supermarket. Of course you could. It was dark and there she was, guiding the way with her lights on. Oh bollocks.

"In terms of situation, I don't mind this one," I said after Flo didn't start. Maria agreed. We had wine and food and we could safely leave her there the night. The man from the car park came to help. I searched the boot. Excellent! These must be jump leads... Hang on... No, quick, put them away before he sees we're trying to give him tow ropes to start Flo with. Two girls. One car. Another pickle. Another saviour.

We got home and I managed to park Flo without dropping us off into the water. It was then time for a run around the bay. Finally, our long and winding road led us to wine and dinner on our balcony, under the twinkling stars of the shortest night of the year.

The old walls of Kotor lit up, Kotor Bay, Montenegro.

Learning: You always get your chance to give back. Take it.
Surprise: Maps don't feature every bend in the road.

Learning curve #2 - Birds on wheels

It's storming and grey in Luxembourg today. So it's the perfect morning to be drinking tea and writing, with the windows open (finally - a breeze!) and the sound of the rain drops cooling down the city.

As I have mentioned in a previous post (see: http://birdoftheforest.blogspot.com/2013/07/learning-curve-1-birds-of-floating-world.html) I spent the month of June travelling with a friend. And there are some stories I wanted to share here from our adventures. Here is the second learning curve from the trip.

Birds on wheels

When you don't have your own wheels you only have the options of someone else's or your own legs if you want to explore. Maria and I were always happy to use our legs. That's what they are there for: taking us places, up hills, through water, along mountain tracks, through cities. The only trouble, of course, is when you have far to go and not a lot of time. 

In this case, it was the island of Rab in Croatia. We were staying at a campsite in San Marino near Lopez at the north end of the island. The day after we arrived, their summer bus schedule was due to begin. What joy! There would be buses every 90 minutes to get us out and about. Except they didn't come. In fact, the only bus we ever saw during our time on Rab was in a bus park. Maybe Rab is more of a retirement place for buses, because they sure don't like actually bussing about. 

We decided to start walking, try and hitch to the main town of Rab and hire bikes from there. So off we went in the direction of the main road to Rab. Somewhere in my mind it was a mere five kilometres away. We walked. Thumbs out and no one was biting. Strange. No buses and no friendly drivers? What was going on on Rab?! Still walking, Maria behind me suddenly piped up.

"Look. Scooters. We could always rent a scooter."

We stopped. The previous day Maria told me a story which finished with the line, "And that's why I should never drive a scooter again." Now, before us stood a shining purple scooter. It would certainly mean we could get around the island quicker. 

"I could drive it, couldn't I?" I said out loud, convincing anyone who was within earshot. "How hard can it be?"

We asked a bemused man standing nearby the price. No sir, we want it for the whole day. Hmm. Would you take this amount instead? The cash was handed over. The deal done. Helmets found. Holy crap, this was happening. I was to be pilot of this purple scooter. Our lives, and those of innocent bystanders, were in my hands. He didn't take our names, nor any ID; there was no way of contacting each other and I had no idea what I was doing. This was how we rolled.

The first few moments on Beso (our name for the scooter) were quite scary. We were on the pavement and I was wobbling all over the place. I was trying to find a low curb to get on the road. Cars were coming. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

OK, breathe. The tension in my arms, rigid on the handle bars, was great. Stay on the right side of the road. Use your (cracked) mirrors. Does Beso have brakes? Don't let Maria fall off. Try not to wobble. You need speed to get up the hill. Oh, this is how fast Beso goes. Avoid the lorries. Or at least give them a chance to avoid you. Beso needs help. Lean into those bends. Is Maria still on the back? 

It was 14 kilometres to Rab town, so it would have been a longer walk that I'd thought. Plus, those hills. Croatia doesn't like flat islands. That day we zoomed (slowly) around Rab and visited villages and beaches on all sides of the island. Having wheels meant we could find secret spots for picnics, skinny-dipping and general island fun. It was a freedom we hadn't had so far on the trip. Our own wheels. How special. Beso served us well and, because we are birds and birds are like that, she became part of our pioneering tribe. Like Sally the boat on Dugi Otok. 

One thing we did have to do was make sure we returned Beso with fuel in the tank. Having no idea how much fuel half a tank (or anything) meant, or how far we'd be going (considering our initial estimates were way off) in between adventures, we decided to top her up en route to another beach after lunch. Like pros, we stopped at the petrol station. I indicated, swung in and parked in front of the pump. We remembered which fuel. I got the money to pay, Maria shoved in the pump. I stood there, watching the Kunas (Croatian currency) rise. Except they didn't.

"It keeps stopping. I can't fill her up." 

Well, there was obviously something wrong. Maria persevered while I went to get a man who could sort it out. It's not like we were doing anything wrong. We know how to use petrol pumps. We're not stupid.

Out came the attendant and took the pump off Maria. We watched him with looks that said, See. It's broken or something.

"It's full," he said. 

Cue rip-roaring laughter, falling about the forecourt of the station giggling. Two birds in summer dresses, flip flops and helmets chuckling their heads off, with the all-knowing man and his friend (who had come out to see what all the girly hooting was about) watching in smirking silence.

After 10 hours with Beso, we were sated and full of happy memories, especially with our own

Overlooking Rab town

achievement of not killing ourselves or anyone else. We had explored the beaches and bays of Rab, its beautiful town, drank mate, swam and sunbathed and learnt a little more about who we are, what we can do and where we were. 

You can't ask any more than that: one day, one island, one scooter. 

Learning: Everything about being on a scooter - from driving it to realising that two birds don't often ride on scooters in Croatia.
Surprise (apart from no injuries/death): You can get really far on 18 Kuna's worth of petrol (about £2/$3). 

Bathing at our little private beach we
discovered thanks to Beso

Beso. Kiss. Rab town marina.

Learning curve #1: Birds of the Floating World

I love being surprised. I recently returned from a trip which took me and a friend from Vienna, Austria to Tirana, Albania, via Croatia and Montenegro. It surprised me every day. Bliss.

When you are on the road, the worst thing you can do is not learn. The second worst thing you can do is not laugh at yourself and your situation. If you travel like I do, you find yourself in situations you haven’t thought through; those which are unexpected, often difficult and hilarious and… a complete surprise.

These moments teach you something. They teach you about yourself and more about life and what’s out there. I’ll be sharing some stories from the trip that upped my learning of myself, my friend and life in general. Here is one of them.

Birds of the floating world

Maria and I rented a boat to explore Dugi Otok (Long Island) in Croatia and its surrounding coves and islands as well as Kornati National Park nearby. The boat’s owner was a big personality by the name of Branco who knew everything about everything. And he didn’t trust two girls with his boat.

“You realise I am stuck here in case I have to rescues you?”

“You MUST behave!”

“No rocks! Something goes wrong, you have to pay.”

“No, I do NOT trust you.”

“We see if you survive.”

I know it sounds as if we were taking away his speed boat or prized yacht, but it was simply this:

Sally rests in her bunker after a heavy day out on the seas around Dugi Otok, Croatia

For lunch on the first day, we anchored Sally (above) near an island. After our picnic and beer on board, we swam in the clear, warm waters, marvelling at how far down we could see and enjoying following the fish with the goggles. At one point we both looked up. "Does Sally seem to be moving away?" I put my head down and swam after her. Sure enough, the anchor was being dragged along the sandy bottom far down and Sally was swishing away with the current. I got hold of her and we pulled her into shallower waters. We needed to get better at anchoring. 

Once we had clambered back into the boat (not for ladies, it’s truly ungraceful) we decided to go round the island and dry off en route, then anchor again and grease up with sunscreen. This we did. Except when I went to pull up the anchor, I couldn’t. Captain Maria (I was deck hand) came to help. It wouldn’t budge. We had suddenly become anchor experts. 

The island of spectacular swims and
an anchor situation

At this point, there was still no need to panic. At least we were safely stuck and not drifting out in the open ocean without fuel. We tried revving Sally to the max in all directions to budge the anchor, but power wasn’t one of her strong points and we got nowhere. So, I donned goggles and jumped in to have a look.

It was choppier on this side of the island and I couldn’t see all the way down, so I decided to have a go at following the rope and diving. One deep breath and down I went. The goggles filled up. And it wasn’t such a deep breath. I got so far before coming up. But I had seen just three arms of the anchor: surely if we shot Sally in that direction it would definitely budge?

It didn’t. The sun was still high in the bright blue sky. This anchor situation wasn’t a problem. We had options:

• ·       Keeping diving until we got the anchor free
• ·       Wave at another boat so they could do the same to free it
• ·       Cut the anchor rope (we would never hear the end of it from Branco)
• ·       Call Branco (we would never hear the end of it from Branco)

So, I decided to have another go. Long deep breaths; last one; and down. I got further this time, tugged the rope, ran out of air and went up swallowing the ocean. “There’s nothing holding it down! I can see all four arms!” We had no idea what was going on down there. 

I clambered back in the boat with seawater rushing out of my nostrils. “OK. I'll have a go,” said Maria, getting the goggles off me. A couple of years ago we did a personal training session together at a pool with a guy who made us swim in all sorts of styles and do random lung enhancing exercises. We were very hungover and rubbish at the time. But it turns out Maria was paying attention. She might not be the most elegant of swimmers, but when it comes to diving, she’s got it covered. She filled up her lungs and dove down. I watched her fade into the wobbly blueness. And then the rope was loose. She came back with our anchor! “Drop it before you sink!” I shouted, pulling the rope. It had been 5-6 metres down. Go Maria!

Back in the boat, all we could do was smile and laugh to ourselves. We were saved. The anchor didn’t sink us! And, more importantly, Branco would never know! As Sally took us back to our island past a seagull colony and other green islets we took a look at the clouds high above the mainland in the distance.

“Look at those clouds. Don't they say something?”

“They do. They say LIVE.”

And we sure know how to do that.

Learning: Sometimes the one thing you need to rescue you is right in the boat with you.

Surprise: Anchors really work. 

Put a smile on your face

I was standing in my classroom this week waiting for the next group to arrive, a mere ten-second pause in the day. I was tired and in a slightly cranky mood as one of my year 9 pupils had really annoyed me by lying to my face. A thought occurred to me. I could stay fuming or I could smile.

So I grinned the biggest, most ridiculous grin I could muster, pushing up all my facial muscles, and widening my eyes. If anyone had been looking through the window they probably would have called for some help from the school nurse; but in those few seconds the tension I had felt seeped out and I walked out to greet my next class happy and smiling (normally).

Evidence has shown that having feel-good experiences every day is beneficial for us, both mentally and physically. And they can be ones you create for yourself, even force on yourself as I did this week. That grotesque grin turned my mood around and my approach to my next class and those after gave me a week's worth of happiness points. Points in the bank to use up when things take a tumble.

I also use this approach when doing something physically tough. Telling myself "This is brilliant!" as I run into gale-like winds or smiling strangely at dog walkers as I battle a hill make the whole experience that much better, easier... and happier.

Another thing to ease rampant minds and get a lot of perspective in a little time is having some powerful thoughts. These, like moments of joy and happiness can be built up. They work for me by distracting me to greater, more wondrous or perplexing things. They take my mind away from the (often) petty now that is preoccupying me to something my mind can't quite grasp, so that it sits and ponders in awe. They are things I have read and remembered for this very reason: the how, the why, the wow, Wow, WOW.

I'll share a few of the types of thoughts I wonder about, but before I do I am reminded of a line from my favourite Shakespeare play, Othello. Even if you've lost, you still have your smile.

"The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief."

Some of my Helpfully Distracting Thoughts

• Every single one of those snowflakes falling outside is different, like a trillion fingerprints flying through the sky.
• Forty years ago there was over 70,000 elephants in the Central African Republic. Now there are just 200 individual survivors.
• The sun is "middle-aged" at 4 and half billion years old.
• Sitting at the ruins of Winaywayna along the Inca Trail was one of the most peaceful and spiritual moments in my life.
• Most of the Kyrgyz nomads of the Wakan region in Afghanistan have never and will never see a tree.

Happiness, happiness, the greatest thing that I possess

I loved Ken Dodd as a kid. It was even better when I started to understand his terribly dirty jokes about turkeys and women. But the song he would always sing, with diddy men prancing around and tickling sticks going everywhere, made you feel light, bouncy, without a care in the world and... happy. And you can be any age to understand that.

The other day I was working with a man connected to my old job, doing some filming for a friend. Afterwards, he was asking me about my plans now that I am unemployed and if I missed my old job. I explained how I missed those I had worked with closely, but that we are all friends and will continue to be. I told him that I did not miss the job; and that I was thinking of trying to teach more. I have always loved teaching, and although I continue with students and partners at LBS, I miss it as I used to to do it Buenos Aires.

His reply was, "But there's no money in that."

I was surprised by his reaction. I have always had respect for teachers, not just because I was brought up by two of them, but as a job goes, no matter the subject, the age, the place, there is no other feeling like giving someone the confidence of knowledge, and how to use it.

The other thing I was surprised about was how he was measuring my job choice in monetary value and little else. I'm not idealistic enough to think that the simple joy of teaching will pay my food and rent (and travels!) alone, but neither would I take ever take a job I know I am not going to enjoy just because it pays well. A job's pay, it's value for your work, is not the value you have (sometimes it's not even the value you 'earn') as a person. I don't care if I never earn loads, but I care being judged on it and I certainly care about being miserable.

Crap economy, crap job prospects, crap and high university fees, crap management, crap, crap, crap: this isn't how young people and those out of work should be thinking. This isn't New Year's thinking - it's life thinking: finding something you love to do and being happy most of the time doing it. If it makes you rich, tired, poor, stressed, fat, thin, smarter, wilder, it doesn't matter. It's your choice.

The measure should be if it makes you happy.

My reply to the man last week was in that vein: "Teaching makes me happy, though," I told him.

He frowned, shrugged and made a weird little noise. I don't think people consider their own happiness enough.