Thursday, 30 July 2020

Love handles stories with ease

Let’s do love simply

I have ambition, much of it that I want to achieve, yet, even as the Fairy Tales lyrics of Anita Baker become part of my meditation as I walked the treadmill, it was another song playing on my mobile phone and so I was saddened with reality stepping into view. The lady who sang Lead Me Into Love and danced to the Rhythm of Love expecting marital bliss of a future she dreamt of the Men In My Life was sadly with the Wrong Man. [The links are YouTube videos of Anita Baker]
Still, dreams must not die in the story of another, for earlier I read on Twitter of a lavish wedding that presaged a rotten marriage within a year, then the turnaround with another that brought a beautiful marriage beyond an ordinary wedding, from which I got the inspiration for a tweet that spoke my heart and mind.
You know what @Brian07j, we are getting married, we don't need a lavish ceremony, though, if it happens, I am not against it.
Easy as I go
Even so, my mind was beginning to play games with me, being alone in the gym, my hairs were beginning to stand on end for no reason at all. My racing heart knocking on the expected heart rate, I began to rationalise before overdrive made it unbearable and soon even with the incline, my heart rate was coming down.
Back to ambition, the mirror ahead was reflecting the majesty of my love handles looking for a stage to perform a slovenly catwalk, I know eventually it would be Sayonara to them, traipse on the treadmill for as long as you want we are on to goodbye eventually.
Rebecca-Louise was back on form today, I did much more than yesterday, and let’s not go into any more detail. Soon, my 50 minutes were up, a good workout, I am not training for the Olympics, I am just doing fine.
[]

Wednesday, 29 July 2020

I paused the video so she could take a rest

Too mule to train

My Brian would love the role of a personal trainer, bless him, but not if I could help it. For one, I respond better to gentle persuasion than instruction. 4 years of secondary boarding school was enough of being ordered around that I was unpersuadable about going to sixth-form school and my mother who was a principal then could have obtained entry to any school of choice, but she could not get between my ears.
Obviously, he has taken interest in my return to the gym, discipline and persistence are rivals to my continuing to the point of seeing benefits. The topic of music for my workout came up again and his suggestion just was far from impressive. Yes, I could say to rowers in Cape Town, “Put your back in it, just a little more.”, God forfend in my sweating exhaustion I play that back to my own hearing to urge myself on. [YouTube:Masters at Work – Work at your leisure.]
My drumsticks hurt
As for calling me chicken as if to dare me, what I decide to do is what I do, names are just that, names. Don’t forget chickens are probably the hardiest and most maltreated animals in the whole, yet they thrive in whatever condition they are in. To be chicken is to have tenacity, the will to live and hold life sacred without unnecessarily courting danger.
I picked up a little more speed in my brisk walk on the treadmill, going at 6 km/h for starters and then up to 6.6 km/h for the last 15 of 25 minutes. I worked up a good sweat. Then moved to the floor exercises, going back to an old favourite Rebecca-Louise Smith on YouTube and she left me in the dust. It would take time. Maybe I should take the advice of a comment. “I paused the video so she could take a rest.”
[]
Meanwhile, for my workout music, it was Anita Baker which strangely was not on my phone, I had it in the cloud on OneDrive and thankfully, the gym offers free Wi-Fi. To stream directly from the cloud, I use the CloudPlayer Premium app.
[]
Suffice it to say, by the time my timeslot was up, I was ready to up and leave. Tomorrow is another day.

Thought Picnic: When to bin the traditional hand-me-down rags of parental control

I was quite distressed

A few days ago, a video clip of a boy negotiating with his mother went viral. To many, it was pure entertainment, I, however, was very distressed by it that I do not intend to share it to propagate the scenario.
We have no backstory to the episode, but from what I could glean, the boy had done something wrong, probably seriously wrong for which there was to be some severe retribution. The boy crying with terror showing on his face, and in his terror was pleading with his mother to calm down, take a rest, or have a break before she unleashed her anger on him.
Some commentary suggested the boy was smart and trying to run rings around his mother. That is possible, especially when you know the kind of parents you have, you adopt strategies to escape their ire. The conversation mostly controlled by the boy was instructive and reflective, his mother is no doubt prone to irrational anger venting her frustration with severe punishments, else she would not have been advised to calm down.
Awareness lost to expediency
Towards the end, he asked to be given the last chance, the last chance in the world. That scared me like the boy could consider doing himself harm than face the wrath of his mother. None of this got through to his mother, she was insistent on beating him because somehow the boy had probably handled and broken something he was not supposed to touch. At the same time, he asked if his mother was videoing him.
This boy is aware, very much aware of himself and his failings, I am not sure his mother who decided to make a global show of his distress is half as much. In my view, a boy so mentally alert even at the imminent threat of harsh retribution needs to be dealt with in another way. The times when corporal punishment was the only tool parents, guardians or teachers had to command and demand the unflinching ultimate respect and fear of their wards is fast becoming useless.
Find better discipline tools
Corporal punishment is for mules and whatever your religious leanings, I would suggest it be the last resort having exhausted everything else and there is much to do, much more to learn to do to adapt to looking for more useful means of instruction than inflicting pain and nursing bleeding welts on the buttocks. The deprivation of freedoms or privileges with the prerogative of mercy is novel and yet effective.
I have watched some parents brutalise their wards in the quest for discipline and correction, sadly, the children now approaching middle-age are estranged, they do not have a wholesome relationship with their parents and that is sad. No, children do not outlive the cruelty meted out to them by their presumed protectors. Those who appear to do so are simply being pragmatic and able to compartmentalise usually for their own peace of mind in spite of and despite what they have suffered.
The future is a harsh judge
If you want a useful voice in the lives of your children, not so much to command or instruct them, but to have the honour of being approached from guidance when they are at crucial junctures of their walk of life, you need to review the hand-me-down rags of bad parenting and break that vicious generational cycle of visiting trauma instead of counsel.
Watch the child grow and begin to use reason and conversation, offer autonomy with good guidance on how to use the responsibility they have been offered, make mercy and forgiveness with consideration visible in times of disappointment or conflict. Find the expression of love beyond the provision of shelter, protection, sustenance and education, by being a bit emotional, because it shows you’re human and approachable. You can even give a hug and said the occasional “I love you, child.”, from deep in your heart.
You cannot tell how much that would mean to a child and how that would redound to their development in adulthood. These are the kinds of circumstances that make for good parent-child friendship and takes away the need for the child to scheme with cunning when they know they can trust you with anything going on in their lives.
Consider new possibilities
I am a man in my fifties, I have looked at many things about my relationship with my parents and other guardians. One uncle stands out as the one who gave me both the time and nurturing, we have one of the tightest relationships that even my parents would envy.
I would not be ambitious as to suggest how anyone should raise their children, but if you are going to make a public spectacle of them, ensure you are not making a worse spectacle of yourself in the process. Whilst many might agree with what she was about to do, I have no praise, commendation or encouragement, my disappointment cannot be more palpable for those who cannot learn from history, especially their own personal history are destined to repeat the failings of the past more worse than the precedent.
We can agree to disagree, but do not completely dismiss this perspective, I think it matters along with everything else in the toolbox of child-rearing. Thank you.
Some reference blogs

Tuesday, 28 July 2020

Right back on the treadmill

Getting up to speed

It is still baby steps at the gym, a process of gradually helping my body adapt to exertion and exercise whilst slowly discovering the muscles and regions of imminent pain I never thought I had.
Brian is somewhat interested in what I am up to as I have now booked 14 50-minute dates at the gym. Most of what I have done is brisk walking for 25 minutes going up to 6.5 km/h and then some floor exercises.
I don’t know if my time slot is quiet or my village community is not that keen on this kind of trouble. The only other visitors have gone to the swimming pool instead. Now, earlier we talked about music to workout to, he just needs some pace and rhythm to work out to whether or not he likes the music. I would playback my music collection of Anita Baker or the Emancipation album of Prince.
The workout was energetic with me breaking a sweat as I reached and maintained the target heart rate, the track that stuck in my memory after the exhausting session, says everything. That’s my only mission, get trim and get him.
[]

Monday, 27 July 2020

I do my hair toss in the gym

Terms of wordy abuse

With the progressive easing of the lockdown restrictions, gyms are not open subject to regulatory requirements of social distancing and strict cleaning protocols. My village leisure centre that serves occupants of 5 apartment blocks became a venue of interest.
The lockdown has focused minds towards a kind of fitness regimen to lose the weight acquired over 18 weeks of sequestration with the dearth of engaging physical activity. The management company of our village fired off an email seeking interest from the village and on responding we received a 55-point Terms of Use & Disclaimer document that we had to sign before having our gym entry cards activated and getting a link to the booking system.
Definitely maybe
That in itself was a mental and agitated workout because what could have easily been digitally signed with evidence of the duration of viewing the document was sent as PDF file, in 2020. I could not let that pass without intimating them of a better way of doing things.
The leisure centre consists of a gym, a swimming pool, a games room, a steam room and a sauna. The last two are not currently open and the games room will not provide snooker or darts. The equipment in the gym is marked out for spacing, some taped off rather than being moved out. There are no weights, lots of sanitising stations and cleaning materials for post-usage cleaning.
We are allotted 50 minutes per session for one of the leisure centre facilities per day and I spent my 50 minutes in the gym, doing a brisk walk on the treadmill before attempting some floor exercises. I think it is a good thing, it might get my mind off my weight too. We’ll see. Whilst Lizzo helps me look good as hell.
[]

Sunday, 26 July 2020

Church, a stranger place to mask

We are in strange times

This morning as I was choosing what to wear, it came to a choice of one of three jackets. Earlier in the shower, I thought of how things had changed, like the last time I wore a suit and tie to work was the 13th of November last year which was the last day of bookable time on my last contract before I considered doing other things.
Two weeks of courses, then tests, a month in South Africa, illness in late January that left me without strength for weeks, a time of relentless job seeking that fell into the onset of the pandemic and now coming to three months of living at work from home.
None of this has required my usual work attire formality, the obligatory shirt and no playing the mermaid with a hidden fishtail below the waist. You have to dress well enough just in case the need for you to get up during a video conference does not lead to revelatory surprises you’ll rather keep to yourself.
Mask hands sanitise repeat
When I chose a jacket, it had in the inner breast pocket the printed out church ticket booked for the 5th of July, meaning this was the fourth service I was attending after the gentle easing of the lockdown restrictions, or so I thought. We had already gotten used to social distance seating, sitting through the service, no hymn singing, the sacrament of the bread without the wine and desired prompt egress of the building after the service. We were settling into a pattern of sorts.
Leaving home, I was already in sight of the church when I realised, I had left my phone at home, it had the app with my ticket to attend the Sung Eucharist. Thankfully, the usher had a list of booked visitors and he recognised me by name. However, as I was entering the church I was asked if I had a face mask as a new directive had come from the upper church hierarchy requiring, we wear masks, not compulsorily, but necessarily.
Along with that came other instructions, for as we were wearing masks we were in danger of cross-contamination or infection if we touched our masks. We were advised to keep our masks on through the service and when coming for communion we should be in single file sanitising our hands after removing the mask, receiving the host, putting the mask back on and repeating the hand sanitisation.
All consolation in God
It all looked quite laboured to me as I debated whether I wanted to venture cane in hand, and every other thing. In the end, I decided otherwise, partly because whilst I endured an hour of being masked, I probably was not getting enough oxygen into my system that I was yawning more frequently as I was tiring out too. It was best I stayed in my seat for the whole service and once able after the service and outside, take the mask off.
Most of the attendees were good sports and also without the encumbrances that I felt I had, and the president was quite appreciative of everyone’s consideration. We are not sure of what the new normal would be, and between endurance and resistance, we would have to find a sense of convenience through these times.
For according to the reading of scripture today, of the many thoughts that occupy our minds, we know that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. This shall pass.

Saturday, 25 July 2020

Bullshit! Shit is living

Learning on the job
When I write, I have both the Microsoft Word spellchecker and grammar checker active to catch the basic errors or highlight something I might need to review or on my own good judgement ignore. Then when I paste my copy in the blog editor, Grammarly tackles some context, the punctuation, number agreement but shies away from political correctness.
I have not set the grammar checking rules to a stringent adherence to Victorian style or James I prose, nor do I aspire to Shakespearean flourish. In a way, I think I have my unique way of using words, constructing sentences, and conveying my opinions.
There is no doubt that I still have a lot to learn, it is an ongoing activity of self-development. Obviously, I deviate from formality to levity, abuse structure for artistic license, I will try to explain the jargon, whilst attempting to avoid neologisms, the occasional colloquialism or is it expletive will surface and that without apology.
The bull always shits
This is because, there is no better word for it and when in my last blog the grammar checker went after BULLSHIT, I retorted with Bullshit! Yes, whilst there are uses for the shit of bulls as manure, it is what they naturally do like we all do, we shit and it is as much proof that we are living things and much as we breathe. A characteristic we cannot do without, else we are on to constipation and without prompt relief death.
The Cambridge Dictionary defines bullshit in usage as both an exclamation and a noun and as; thus, complete nonsense or something that is not true. Pardon me, it is apparently offensive too. I guess it is one of those times when the shit hits the fan and the fan splats the shit on anyone who has not already taken refuge under a table.
“This language might be offensive to your reader.” Screams the grammar checker. It’s my blog and dear reader if you have never had to look back in anger at the water closet, your immortality is secure. Let’s stop feigning disgust, shitting is life and life is shitting.
Bullshit highlighter.