#120: Christian Passover Celebration
I found out today that some Jews object to Christians stealing their tradition and celebrating a much-modified “Passover” in the belief that the Messiah has already come.
I was always brought up to think of Jews as the closest thing to a physical Jesus here on earth, and it was a huge shock to me when, as a teenager, I found out that some Christians dislike Jews. (FYI, if you are one of them, you are deeply stupid.)
I’ll keep celebrating Passover, since I’ve always thought of it as honouring to Jewish people, not stealing their tradition. If you are offended, I am sorry. Ultimately, it’s a Christian ritual for me, not anyone else’s.
Here’s one possible script for Christians to use: http://www.wf-f.org/Seder.html. My family uses horseradish as the bitter herbs, and uses a blender to mix the harosis ingredients. We buy flat bread, and use parsley as the green herbs. I’ll post our own script below this post, so you can take it for yourself if you wish.
I love the ritual nature of passover, and the distinctive tastes that are so familiar to me although I only have them once a year: the taste of boiled eggs dipped in salt water, the mushy deliciousness of harosis, and the solid mass that is unleavened bread. I love the meanings, too – especially when the bread is broken and hidden, then brought out and unwrapped to be eaten. According to our ritual, this is the point at which Jesus said, “This is my body, broken for you.” The wine cup at that moment is the cup of redemption, and the bread beautifully represents Jesus’ own death and resurrection on Easter weekend.
The “youngest child” is a crucial part of the ritual, and my nephew (age four) was unexpectedly entertaining. We primed him heavily for his big line: “What is the meaning of the eggs?” and when his moment came he took a deep breath, shuffled the script in front of his face newsreader-style, and said loudly, “What is inside the toilet?” He then answered, “Dirty water, which goes down and down to the sea.”
Not so long earlier, he’d been raptly listening. So much for that!
The first part of the passover is the welcome, and the lighting of the candles. I have childhood memories of waiting HOURS AND HOURS until the main meal, with only ritualistic snippets of food to keep me going. That’s ritual for you – it must be difficult, and a little foolish, or it doesn’t feel like a ritual.
Play along at home: In Western culture, we have rituals for death and marriage, but very little for birth or coming of age (a party, which is a good start). Make an annual ritual for yourself, perhaps eating hot cross buns on Good Friday or painting pictures on boiled eggs – or a special birthday meal. Rituals bind people together, so choose family to do your ritual with you – or someone who you feel closer to than family.
Tomorrow: Go Fish!
Playing “House”
What disease do I have? It’s terribly mysterious.
Generally, I get sick when I visit Indonesia. That’s food poisoning. But food poisoning goes away. This thing hasn’t.
Diagnosis fail.
Must be giardia! But, after an allergic reaction to the medication (and the whole “not getting better” thing) it turns out two tests have come up negative for giardia.
Diagnosis fail.
I feel like rubbish, I wake up nauseous, I’m getting hormone headaches, and my belly is expanding like I’ve stuffed a pillow under my shirt. But no, I’m not pregnant. This is pretty clear since I’m menstrually regular, I’ve taken FOUR pregnancy tests, and CJ is nauseous too – last I heard, pregnancy is non-infectious. (Plus I’ve just switched contraceptive methods, so naturally my hormones are mad at me.)
Diagnosis fail.
Stomach cancer? Nah – stomach cancer doesn’t hit suddenly and viciously, then get much milder. Also it’s unlikely to have jumped from me to CJ. And I’ve no family history of cancer. Plus it’s not something you “pick up” in Indonesia.
Diagnosis fail (much as I half-wish my giant belly was cancer rather than chocolate).
My fun theory of the day is sulphur poisoning from the massive stinky cloud around Mount Bromo. CJ and I visited it the day we both got sick (also altitude sick, but that’s something that I’ve had and recovered from before), and spent about three hours in the rain nearby (ie the rain carried the sulphur onto our skin, plus breathing it in).
Sulphur poisoning can cause intestinal upsets, and hormonal stuff too.
Sad to say, fun though the concept is, sulphur is something the body has naturally, and would probably have self-regulated by now. Still, a fun theory, don’t you think? That the national park made me sick.
In other news, I strained muscles in my leg falling down the stairs yesterday.
Also yesterday, I had a fun car accident (the kind where no-one is hurt and the car has no important damage). Aqua-planing is a little bit like flying, and strangely calming.
“Huh. I’m gonna crash now. May as well relax and hope for the best.”
I feel like there’s some kind of metaphor for life in there.
PS The metaphor for life is probably, “GET OFF THE FRIGGIN ROAD YOU INSANELY BAD DRIVER.”
S#64: Lego (aka Secret Number 1)
Why was lego kept secret? Because my partner loves it. In the last month, he’s probably mentioned the lego of our future children once a week on average (not that we’re either pregnant or trying to be pregnant). I also know he particularly approves of the stuff that ISN’T a kit – the stuff where you need to invent your own style.
So today, I went and bought some.
Here it is (a $30 box of Duplo):
Here’s what I made with it (the people are from a different set):
I SMSed to let CJ know there was something on the table for him, and not to wait for me.
Here’s how he found it, when he came home (the heart wall fits inside the box):
Here’s what he did with it (for the record, that’s not a bird and a dog, it’s a dinosaur and a crocodile):
In other news, my cat likes the new quilt so much that she poked her head underneath and posed herself like so:
Play along at home: Got a lego set in a dusty corner? Play with it. Or find something else recommended for ages 1 to 5, like this is.
Tomorrow: Passover Celebration.
#108: Guerilla Gardening
I woke up sore from yesterday’s sewing. Pretty sure that makes me an ATHLETE OF AWESOMENESS.
This idea came from another awesomeness enthusiast, http://www.yesandyes.org/
Here’s how to guerilla garden, Louise Style.
1. Grab an enthusiastic bunch of friends.
2. Select a public garden that needs love (the half-dead plant in the pot is my oh-so-generous donation).
3. Weed the patch, pausing only to realise that gardening tools exist for a reason. Drive home, scour the house for tools, and come back with a kitty litter scoop and a pair of scissors. Weed more.
4. Admire what you’ve done.
5. Pause and be picturesque.
6. Drive home while brushing ants, centipedes and spiders from your clothes, hair and skin.
7. Strip naked, burn your clothes, and shower until you stop twitching. Bonus points if you remember to close the bathroom window first (the one overlooking an innocent neighbour’s kitchen).
8. Feel strangely good about having made a tiny piece of the world better.
Play along at home: Is there a plant blocking your pavement or driveway? Prune it. Are there weeds in your elderly neighbour’s front yard? Sneak in and steal them away. Do you live in a completely unmaintained rental property? Pick one corner to make your own tiny garden (remembering that it’s illegal to plant new things there – which makes it way more fun). Proclaim your criminal acts right here.
Coming soon:
Secret Number One (it’s from http://steffmetal.com/101-ways-to-cheer-yourself-up/).
#121: Celebrate passover (you can find scripts and recipes online – my family is Christian and uses one that notes all the Messianic symbolism along the way). I believe Thursday is the best day, but I’ll be doing it on Wednesday.
#109: Create and eat a whole meal of one colour.
S#78: Adopt a pet.
#122: Spend a whole day in a mega-size bookshop, including having coffee there (my partner, CJ, is RATHER excited about this one).
S#13: Take a bubble bath.
#110: Secret Number Two. . . you’re gonna love it.
Being my own therapist
Yesterday I had an especially fun lesson with a student, just going through the five main schools of psychology – Behaviourist, Psychoanalytic, Biological, Humanist and Cognitive. Today I’ll be thinking about applying each of these to myself, and perhaps finding something useful.
Behaviourist: Our behaviour is a simple response to past or present stimuli eg If a dog once scared us, we react negatively to all dogs. The stimuli can also be observed – eg If we see someone else getting ice cream for being good in class, we are more likely to be good in class.
Felicity: My behaviour responds to almost anything as a negative stimulus. If I can observe other people getting positive results for being involved in the world, I am likely to be less afraid of everything (I can also re-train myself by finding positive stimuli for myself).
2. Psychodynamic: Our rational self (the ego) tries to find a balance between our id (unrestrained desires) and our superego (social and moral rules without joy or life). Too much id power makes a person psychotic, and too much superego power makes a neurotic.
Felicity: I am clearly neurotic. To solve this, I need to let my id out of the box a little, and enjoy life. One obvious way is to spend more money on fun and less on savings. I’m already committed to that process because of the Daily Awesomeness at http://twittertales.wordpress.com. The fact that I “have” to write my blog soothes my superego.
Biological: Our psychological problems stem from chemical imbalances in the brain, as well as genetic and evolutionary predilictions.
Felicity: My own chemical imbalances respond well to chemical medication. After some medical tests on 8 April, I’ll be going back on meds for a bit.
Humanist: A person needs love and a sense of belonging to develop into a self-actualised human being. Before that, basic needs such as food and shelter must be met.
Felicity: My basic needs have only just been reliably met by CJ’s income (and life insurance) but my needs for love and belonging have something blocking my ability to believe any love for me is real. If I hang around friends who love me for who I am, perhaps I can become more actualised over time. It’d probably also help if my self-identity was less negatively skewed. I think self-identity is helped by work (of almost any kind) and I think the Daily Awesomeness will make me feel like I matter.
5. Cognitive: Our interpretation of stimuli dictates our responses. If we change our thought patterns, we change ourselves.
Felicity: I feel way more insane if I start telling myself things I don’t believe (eg Repeating, “I am a worthwhile person” over and over. . . bleaugh!) but I can attempt to minimise the repetition of negative thoughts.
Conclusion: The easiest useful thing for me to do is have more fun (thanks, Sigmund).
I also need more self-esteem and better thought patterns, but that will be more difficult to achieve (I know from experience that taking meds makes negativity suddenly seem as foolish as I know it is). But I’ll try and improve a little bit.
#96: Sew Something
I’ve had a basketful of semi-sewn scraps for about ten years. That’s over a third of my life.
Today was the day to attempt to make something of them. Specifically, a pretend quilt. Some of the pieces have stories – my Year 10 formal dress (first in a dynasty of similar dresses, two others of which are also represented), a sarong, part of a woven bag from Indonesia, some curtains, some of the wrap my mum made me for my Year 12 formal, part of a cushion cover, etc.
This is how they looked when I started (after cutting many squares and sewing them in rows a decade ago):
This is how they looked partway through (sorting out the rows so they made a doona-cover shape; getting attacked by cat):
(The foot isn’t mine, incidentally. I’m not THAT hairy.)
And this is how the completed doona cover looked when I finished – and added a possessed cat I’d prepared earlier (I had sewn the combined pieces to the doona cover, cunningly remembering to leave a doona opening):
I have now spent five hours on what was an “almost finished” doona cover thingy. I ran through half a dozen bobbins (that’s a lot of thread), but accomplished the whole project without ever using a pin. Yay for “near enough is good enough”!
I also read another person’s manifesto today, which is here: http://chrisguillebeau.com/3×5/a-brief-guide-to-world-domination/comment-page-8/#comment-19751
The most important part is to ask yourself two questions:
1. What do I want out of life?
2. What can I give the world that no-one else can?
My answers were:
What do I want?
To matter.
Specifically, I want to inspire others to live heroic lives by writing excellent books, and by living a heroic life. I’ve recently altered my blog to more overtly live a life of Daily Awesomeness (as you may have noticed).
What can I give to the world that no-one else can?
My writing.
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I think the one thing the author should also have said is that courage is like muscles – it needs a gradual increase in exercise to get strong. So if you’re scared to go to a party – go to a party, but take a friend. Then build up to further heroic acts. If you’re scared of sewing, FLEE! FLEE LIKE THE WIND!!!!
Play along at home: What is a small fear you have (sewing definitely counts)? Do something a teensy bit brave this week, and/or fix one thing from that stupid mending basket.
S#98: Embrace Another Culture
PS Part of this article was moved here, where I get paid for it if you click through.
I’ll be embracing Japan for twenty-four hours. This is everything I know about Japan so far:
1. Sashimi is yuck and makes me feel sick (which should make S#2: “Sushi” rather interesting) but most anime is very good.
2. Whales are hunted, killed, and eaten.
3. Konichiwa, sayonara, arigato, mitsubishi (hello, farewell, thank you, three diamonds).
4. Japan is a rich country with wacky game shows, heated toilet seats, bizarre vending machines and odd inventions (including a functioning breast for fathers to strap on so they don’t miss out on the breastfeeding experience).
5. They have a bad history with China, although their languages are visually similar (not aurally).
6. It is on a major fault line, which means there’s lots of earthquakes, volcanoes, and dramatic scenery (including Mount Fuji).
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I’m going to go and do some research, visit a Japanese restaurant for dinner, and write the rest of this entry later!
———–LATER————–
Things I’ve learnt:
1. ヤクおよびあなたバナナの臭いである
Means, “You are a yak and you smell of bananas.”
2. It is rude to blow your nose in public.
3. Japanese pizza can have mayonnaise, corn and seafood on it.
4. The “Walk” signs at traffic lights make a chirping noise so the blind know when to cross.
5. People sleep as they ride the train home.
All but fact #1 are from this patently unreliable site: http://www.tooter4kids.com/Japan/interesting_facts.htm
For dinner I attended a birthday party at Shogun Teppanyaki restaurant in civic. To be honest, I was dreading it. I like Japanese style, though, especially in restaurants.
We all had teppanyaki banquets, which I reviewed for money here.
At a certain point when we were enjoying the show so much that we were feeling completely relaxed, the cook threw food at us, which we attempted to catch in our mouths. CJ is first, then me.
Mmm. . .It cost $85 altogether, for both of us.
I’m just about to watch a Kurosawa movie. This has been quite an epic 24 hours.
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I also watched the Japan episode of Charley Boorman’s “Sydney to Tokyo By Any Means” series today, and quickly realised I’d forgotten something I already knew about Japan. In fact, you know it too.
Japan is the country that was hit twice by atomic bombs. Hundreds of thousands of innocent people were killed in the first seconds, and burns and radiation killed many more in the decades that followed.
In the DVD, a woman talked about her experience of the bomb. She described an intense blast of light followed by utter quiet, then darkness and the smell of burnt hair. At the time of the Hiroshima bomb, she was eight years old.
Since childhood I’ve been taught about the national shame of what non-Aboriginal Australia did to the original inhabitants of my country. But no-one ever taught me to feel ashamed of what my side – the “good guys” of World War 2 – did to Japan. Millions of Japanese people are still alive today with the memory of those days. How is it possible for me to forget so easily? It’s because of the Japanese – they don’t want or need my help, my money, or my pity. In the healthiest possible way, they’re over it.
My impression of Japan is that it is a beautiful, hyper-efficient, hyper-bizarre country with unstomachable food and a toilet obsession. That hasn’t changed. I chose Japan for this task because I have absolutely no desire to go there. But when I consider what this strong, powerful, reasonably happy country has survived, I want to know how. How are they okay? How have they managed to find the perfect balance – remembering what has happened without any rancour?
I’ve never thought of the Japanese people as the most forgiving people in the world, but that is the inescapable conclusion.
Japan, you are my hero. (And I LOVE teppanyaki.)
Tomorrow’s awesomeness: Sewing.
Like the boys from “Top Gear” I myself am ambitious, but rubbish. Wish me luck.
S#53: Be a tourist in your own city
Today my partner took a flex day (a paid day off he’s earned by doing overtime – probably the world’s best invention ever) and we and a friend of ours who I’ll call Hannah went and visited the Australian National Botanic Gardens.
Instead of dressing as a tourist (as per Steff Metal’s instructions), I dressed like a princess. All the better for crossing streams beside waterfalls. This article has been moved, and I get paid if you click through here.
Every Dog has its Way
Today’s daily awesomeness (http://twittertales.wordpress.com) ended well – but it started badly.
My friend Hannah is staying with her parents, who are Dog People. My SO and I picked her up from there to have lunch.
I developed a strong aversion to Dog People when I lived with a pregnant woman who wanted to have a home birth so that her dogs could be there. That was some years ago, but I haven’t recovered. I don’t like LOOKING at dogs. To me dogs are like desperately insecure people who make you feel wretched just by looking at you. (I like cats, because when cats look at you they don’t look needy – they look like they’re thinking about whether your belly or face will taste nicer when they eat you to death. Refreshingly honest, in my opinion.)
Hannah’s parents have two dog calendars in their kitchen, two life-size stone dogs in their yard, and two rather neurotic real dogs. The dogs are looked after VERY well. Each has their own armchair, which sits facing out the front window so they can harass passers-by in comfort.
One of these dogs, Rocket, hates me.
He likes Hannah. He loves my SO. He HATES me. And I hate him.
Dogs often dislike me because I wear long skirts, and when I walk the movement freaks them out. So as soon as my SO and I walked in he growled at me, and didn’t stop growling despite my best dog etiquette (crouch down so I seem smaller, don’t meet their eye or show my teeth, hold out my hand palm-down, speak quietly). No; I lie. He did stop growling sometimes – to bark outright. I speak enough dog to understand the tone of, “Get out! I hate you! You are not welcome here!” All this while simultaneously fawning at my SO’s knee (which I admit is a nice knee, but REALLY).
Did I mention I dislike dogs?
So eventually I was able to get past the foyer and sit at the kitchen bench. Rocket stayed on the other side of the bench, growling without pause as Hannah told him off, took chocolate slice from the fridge, cut it up and generally prepared for a picnic. I attempted to dominate Rocket by deliberately staring at him in hopes that I could be the alpha dog, but that didn’t work either.
The second dog doesn’t like me much, but it had gone over to its seat to stretch out in the sun. I came up with a cunning plan: I stood up (slowly and carefully) and moved over to the other dog.
“What a GOOD dog!” I exclaimed. “Aren’t you a good dog!?! Good good girl. Aren’t you just SO GOOD!”
Within two minutes Rocket was sitting at my side, silently pleading for a pat.
Because even bullies just want to be loved.
PS Does anyone have a fish tank (or a large salad bowl. . .)? S#78: “Adopt a Pet” is my planned awesomeness for 2 April, and since I have two cats, I plan to buy some fish.
Precious Bodily Fluids
Yesterday would have been so much easier if I was a heroin addict.
Since I’m still sick (as evinced by the way I stopped taking nausea pills and immediately felt bad again) I went to the doctor – again – and he let me know my second giardia test also came up negative. I always thought it was a little odd that I’d get giardia on the one Indonesian trip in which I DIDN’T drink any water.
After a brief discussion of my bowel movements, he set me up for a variety of other tests. On 8 April I’ll have an ultrasound and X-ray (both of my belly) – confirming my notion that this is all just a giant sympathetic pregnancy (so much so that, despite being perfectly regular in my cycle, I’ve done four pregnancy tests. . . just to be sure).
The first tests were blood tests, which I could do right away.
Or could I?
I briefly remembered my disastrous attempt to donate blood, but since I’ve successfully had my blood tested before, I wasn’t especially concerned. Not rationally.
Unfortunately, my body doesn’t answer to the rational part of me – just the wacky, insane part. So my blood simply wouldn’t flow.
I have been blood-tested before by the exact woman who repeatedly stuck me this time with no success. Eventually she gave up and sent me to another medical centre. By then I was bleeding in three places (two on my hand, one on my elbow).
Since repeated failure, another person’s professional embarrasment, and my own pain and bleeding isn’t conducive to relieving my blood’s pathological shyness, I called in the big guns: food. chocolate. husband.
My husband and I ate an enormous lunch at Black Pepper cafe in Belconnen, and I drank vast amounts (which is what you do before donating blood – it makes it flow better), then we bought a ridiculous quantity of junk food, plus a Wendy’s choc mint shake for me to sip in the room.
My husband gave me a neck massage as we waited, and literally held my hand as the lady tied a cord around my upper arm (switching arms every so often), and pushed and poked and prodded various veins. She made an actual attempt at my other elbow, which also failed. Then she passed me on to her more experienced counterpart.
The experienced counterpart squished my arm for a bit and then got a “baby needle” and used that – successfully.
After 4.5 hours, three medical professionals, a husband, $50 of food, and five injections, I was able to go home and have a lie down.
I bet it’s lupus.
Felicity Banks 