What is learning?

A recent read has been "The White Goddess" by Robert Graves.  Unusually, it took me a long time to read it.

I read quickly, devouring books, greedy and delighting in them.  But there are some that I have to really work on and not because they are badly written.  Far from it.  But because the books are dense with meaning and background and demand intellectual attention and stretching.  The White Goddess was one such.  Anything by Roberto Calasso has the same quality.  Two intelligent and thoughtful men, and I have to work hard to follow their thoughts as they work them out across the pages.  Deeply satisfying.

Neil Gaiman, Spider Robinson, Tanith Lee - equally referential, much lighter reading, equally satisfying, just not as demanding, possibly because it's fiction.  But then, all writing is ultimately about the human condition.

How much what is implicit as common knowledge changes over the years.
This got me thinking about how knowledge and learning are considered these days.  A Renaissance man (and they were generally men) might be rich with a library of a few hundred books, knowing each of them intimately.  These days, knowledge seems to be valued more when it is specialised, and there are fewer generalists, less recognition that an overview, a broad knowledge, has merit in itself.

And this totally ignores manual skills, which can be every bit as demanding as intellectual.

Not sure if there is a point to this post.... except I am constantly intrigued

Depression

When the Black Dog bites....

I am no longer aware when my reactions are extreme or way unbalanced.  "Normal" changes, and my normal becomes really very strange, very isolated, very bleak.  Self-feeding problem - I think I and my problems are worth nothing, so do not feel it right to trouble others, to seek help.  Because I am not worth it.  There is short term, emergency support if I am at risk of hurting myself or others.  Nothing for medium to long term.  There is no shame in having depression, but there is a lot of difficulty asking for help, getting help, particularly as I am a high functioning depressive and the mental health system is frighteningly stretched.

.....


I've started, re-started, deleted, started this post anew.  I'm posting it this time.  The words may never be right, there may be no coherent structure, but here goes.

I am 45.
I have a Bachelor's degree with Honours.
I am a good cook.
I have a dodgy back.
I have supported myself from the age of 21.
I have depression.
I have a comfortable house filled with things that have meaning for me.
I have three dogs, all different breeds, all quite wonderful.
I garden, teaching myself as I go.
I have a loving husband whom I adore.

I do not want to be defined by my illness - that is only one part of me.  But it does flavour my life.  It could be said to be under control, I am on Effexor XR, low dosage.  Coming off it is not an option.  I tried, did without for some months, but a difficult boss at work triggered another episode and when I realised that I was thinking about crashing a car a bit too frequently, when I caught myself scratching hard enough to draw blood, to make the internal pain external, well, that made going back on a no-brainer.

There is a predisposition to depression on both sides of my family.  My first conscious awareness of being depressed was when I was 17.  I tried to kill myself and failed (oh great, you are such a loser, you can't even do that..).  That lasted several years - through most of my time at university in fact.  I saw a psychiatrist for a year, that got me functional, and some very good friends kept me alive and gave me hope.  They looked after me - specifically Dylan, Margaret and Sammi - you were the main ones and I cannot thank you enough.

A couple of breakdowns from overwork (IT is fascinating, IT is demanding).  Several long-term boyfriends.  Then a series of poor bosses, culminating in a truly atrocious one (now inflicting damage elsewhere).  And I started going into deep depression and I couldn't stop.

I slept.  I couldn't laugh, could barely smile.  With a few exceptions, I couldn't talk to people face to face, over the phone.  I could barely manage email.  Things like driving became too hard if there was any one else on the road.  I got panic attacks amongst people, hyperventilating, crying, ready to scream, batter them out of my way as I ran out, trembling.  No, I can't go to the Farmers' Markets anymore.

It took far too long for me to get help. None came from the workplace until I sought it, but the therapist they referred me to and the rehab worker were brilliant.  They supported me and helped me work through the mess in my head, gave me tools to use, information to read.  They listened and kept talking until something made sense to me.  I worked from home for some months, slowly going full-time again.  My doctor was truly supportive, gave me the time needed in appointments, the time off from work needed so I could sleep, worked me through medications until that was settled.  A couple of close friends who also have depression - we checked up on each other most mornings, long phone calls that reassured us that we were still in our heads and that someone else truly understood.  Black humour, shared strategies, shared stories.

Wanting to die - I'm still not sure if it was about wanting to be dead, or wanting the pain and bleakness to be over.

The Bleaks.  When it was much as I coudl do to get up, shower, dress, feed the animals, feed myself, get through the motions of living.  I remain amazed that I was generally able to function at a high level (okay, not my social skills, they were spectactularly absent), able to keep going in public and fall apart mostly at home.  Grey, unending.

For a long time, I didn't articulate at work where my head was, but I also never hid it.  I might be managing. I might be sitting at my desk, working through a problem, tears streaming down my face.  I might have run out of the building and hid for a while in the trees until I could face things again.

Outcome - there are side-effects from the meds, but I can live with them more easily than not being medicated.  I get tired easily and need to sleep.  I prefer small groups of people and very little socialising.  My concentration is shot and my memory is more erratic than it used to be.  My tolerance of noise is very low.  This makes being amongst people tiring.  But I can smile, I can laugh, I can enjoy my life.  Those are not small things.

Indulge me...

...and forgive the blurring, this is my happy snaps camera (I still prefer film when I'm really playing with the camera).

.

Winston and Fearghus, wrestling.

Truly.  This is them at play.

I didn't get the next section, which involves them thundering across the deck, up the yard and back again.  In about 10 seconds flat.

All you can do is flatten up against a wall and enjoy!

Life in binary

...or maybe not.  Hello all you zeros and ones.  I have been somewhat bored and lacking in motivation - quite why, I'm not sure.  Actually, I suspect it is simply a reaction to being constantly "on" and trying to get things done in specific time frames.  I caught myself calculating when I can retire (9 years and 9 months, or thereabouts).  I am so tired of doing, I escape into reading about doing, which is just another way of procrastinating.

I could list all the things I've done, all the things I plan to do over the next few weeks (oh yes, another data centre shutdown, weeeeeeeeeee!) but that's just lists.  Busyness.  I will make an exception though, I've been doing an evening course called "Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life".  Guided group discussion that reflects on where we've been and where we're going.  Deceptively simple questions like "who are you", "what matters to you", "what are your spiritual beliefs, if you have any".

There is no right answer, there is no wrong answer, there is only what is and a chance to reflect on it, to discuss it, to challenge it - all heading towards a better understanding of what makes each one of us tick in our own ways and what we really want.  I have nothing Big on my bucket list.  No travel, no exciting experience.  If I had one year of life left, I would quit work and spend time with the people I love, my animals, my books and garden.  I would make sure that particular items went where I wanted them to (family heirlooms and all that).  This assumes I have reasonable health for that time.

Modest wants, and thoroughly selfish in a very good way.

By asking myself how I would live those 12 months, I have the chance to really focus on what is truly important to me.  Then I can start thinking about how I make those things more central in my life.

So there will be a discussion with Best Beloved on how we split the household chores, I've asked for formal permission to work one day a fortnight from home.  That's a start.

where did the time go?

Hmm - maybe the blog should have been called "where the heck do I find the time?" - 6 weeks have just vanished.  There is always work.  We had a data centre shutdown, which happily screws a weekend or two over for us as we have to catch up on everything that doesn't get done.

There was a dog club journal, which tends to involve an entire weekend sitting in front of the laptop, trying to stay focussed.  When everyone gets their reports in to me on time, it's achievable.  Oh, and because there's been an AGM, some office-bearers changed, which meant I also had to update the contacts on the club website.

Pet sitting for friends - not arduous, but does take some time.

Puppy Preschool with Molly.  Which was an absolute hoot - she was the biggest pup there, lumbering around and quite happy to play with the other pups or lap up attention from the humans.  She did graduate, although the bar was rather low (sit then down).

Bruce has been working on the Valiant.  He's aiming for a car show at the end of August, so has been at it, hammer and tongs, most weekends.  He's also had a couple of trips to Queensland to help his younger brother.  Which means I've been picking up a lot of his chores (don't worry, this isn't one-sided, he will be carrying the load in return when I have other commitments).

And, how could I have overlooked it - we've had MAJOR problems with internet access from home for the last 4 weeks.  Continuing dropouts, poor speed and general angst and frustration as we realise just how much we rely on it (yes, very much a first world problem.  Truly, I am grateful that this, our mortgage, Bruce's insomnia and house-training Molly are the only real problems we have to deal with).  Many techs and later, there has been quite a lot of rewiring done and changes at the Exchange.  So lots of small, cumulative problems have been resolved and the outstanding part of the problem appears to be the inverter on our PV panels.  Thankfully the system is still under warranty, so it's back to the company for remediation.

I've caught up on my paper mail, shopping/posting for family birthdays, mending (including a roughly put together cover for the outside sofa).  I need to get back into the habit of planning meals and exercising.  I am so aware of the family histories of heart problems and osteoporosis, and my own back and depression.  Exercise isn't an option, it's a necessity.

And I can feel Spring rising.  The Manchurian pear is starting to bud and my fingers are getting that itch in them.  I totally forgot to prune the fruit trees, but in a few more weeks it will be safe to plant the potatoes and prune the roses (I have to try and strike Honorine de Brabant for an acquaintance).  It is also time to start properly training Little Miss Molly Monster.  I should start thinking about what needs to be planted in the vegie patch and start the seeds in the greenhouse.

The days are getting longer and I want to spring clean!  Silver and brass to polish, timber to clean and wax, paintings to change over.  Yes, it's time.

Sustainability - small steps

Canberra is a spread out place.  If you live in the original suburbs (areas now known as Inner North and Inner South), it's less obvious.  They were designed in the days before the motor car ruled, and everything was to a human scale.  Every street has footpaths, there are numerous little pockets of green space, sometimes even with seating. Bus stops are frequent and it's normally only one bus ride to work.  Each suburb has a shopping centre, with newsagent, post office, grocery store, butcher and so on.  Most suburbs had schools within walking distance.  Blocks were not built out, there was a real sense of scale and openness.  Enough land was in the backyards for you to keep chooks, a modest vegetable garden, some fruit trees as well as the necessities of clothes line, compost heap and garden shed, where things were mended or created.  Space also for the firewood that was so necessary in the winter, when the wind slices down from the mountains and through your bones.  We rarely get snow in the city, but it normally sits on the Brindabella and Tinderry ranges that surround this valley.  Back to the point - pretty much everything you need is in walking distance, and the prevalence of footpaths makes walking everywhere easy and safe.

But then Canberra started to grow, the car took centre stage and there was little, if any, thought given to what would happen when resources started to run out.  That's pretty much the way it was, the world seemed limitless in it's resources and there were only a few voices in the wilderness.

So now we have a sprawling city.  Inner North and Inner South are now too expensive for most people to buy into.  The newer areas - Woden, Belconnen, Tuggeranong, Gungahlin - they are dominated by the car.  Only the major streets have foot paths.  There is less green space - and will be even less as the public schools fence off their ovals.  Two or more bus rides are needed to get to work - and when you start adding up the time spent on the bus versus the cost of parking, parking normally wins. (3 bus runs with multiple stops, a bus stop that's 15 minutes away and almost 4 hours travelling (both ways), for $8 (so $16 for the pair of us) or 40 minutes plus $5.50 parkings and the car will carry whatever groceries need to be picked up and route diversions for specific needs are possible)  Shopping centres have been closed and converted to townhouses and flats.  Shopping is generally based around the town centres - malls dominated by Westfield and full of chain stores.  And there is no sense of community.

I had to take the car in for some work at the dealership in Belconnen.  Because I'm on holidays, I chose to walk home.  I figured it was easier and would probably take as long as waiting for a bus and then doing a cook's tour of Belconnen.  It took about an hour.  I smiled at the three people I passed.  I saw animals going about their daily business. I heard parrots bell-like calls. And there was bugger all in the way of footpaths, so I was extremely glad I was wearing sneakers.  Now - this was up Southern Cross Drive, a main arterial road.  There are footpaths and cyclepaths that meander through the suburbs, but NOTHING for a fast, direct walk.

And I thought about this and got quite cranky at the inherent short-sightedness.

We have suburbs where it's not easy to get by if you work and don't have a car.  It's not easy to add incidental walking to your day because the infrastructure just isn't there.  I've got damaged ankle ligaments from too many trips and rolled ankles.  So I need a flat surface to walk on safely.  Grass verges are not a safe option.  Between bad parking, incautious drivers, narrow roads and poor visibility, the streets aren't a safe option either.  Unless dedicated cyclepaths are built (at significant costs), cyclists are also at risk.  If you're sick, or old, or a parent with young children, or a child - the odds are good that there is no local shop in walking distance.  Which lessens the ability to build a local community.  Because so many of us spend long hours at work, home time is used for the never-ending chores that keep a household turning. Very little of it is available for hobbies, catching up with friends, meeting neighbours or (heaven forbid) going to one of the many wonderful museums or galleries in the area.

I'm fairly sure this isn't progress.

Good Golly Miss Molly!

Winston was wandering around like a little lost soul, wondering why he wasn't being told off.  He then decided that he should challenge Fearghus for dominance.  And, as I wrote, the house was empty.

So the hunt was on for a successor.  It was always going to happen, it just got escalated.

Meet Miss Molly. She's a Bullmastiff, in the traditional brindle that hid them from poachers.  At almost 11 weeks, she joined our household and Winston is finding out that payback really is a bitch...

He might be muscling in on her bed BUT she just walks off with his toys, tells him off when he plays a bit too rough for her (she initiates the games), and boldly takes over his bed.  She chews on him the exact way he used to chew on Fearghus.  The flip side is that she believes everything he tells her - like it's fine to chew on rugs, furniture, the wolfhound's tail, to urinate inside if it's cold outside (it's winter, of course it's cold!), to chew on clothes, books, the fig tree.  To bring sticks inside and chew on them.  To bring dead globe artichoke heads inside and scatter leaves and choke all over the place.  I've told Molly that Winston tells porkies, but she doesn't believe me.

Molly has been taking apples that Fearghus has dropped and eats them.  Great, I now have two apple fiends in the household.

 Bonnie is back home, in her green pottery urn.  It is comforting to have her home again, and to have the wheel turn and Molly here.

The Queen is dead, long live the Queen.