happy news

I have not been writing much lately. Well that's not really true - I've been writing a lot, it's just that most of it is for school. Reflections on readings, research proposals, assignments, etc. I think I have also become one of amazon.ca's favorite customers.
But schooling aside, there have been some rather momentous events in my life.








We knocked down a wall in our house.









And I said yes.

talking to the woman who broke me

Most people who have heard the story of how a physiotherapist separated my shoulder have told me to sue. Certainly, during the 3 months of almost constant pain, I entertained the thought more than once.

But there's something about doing a master's in conflict studies - makes me evaluate any conflict in my life from a more theoretical point of view. Personal conflicts take on more significance as I found myself analyzing them and how they should be handled.

If I really believe that people in conflict should first try to talk honestly about the situation and hear the other person's perspective... well I guess that's what I should do.

But for all my lofty theories, I am still a chicken. It took my physio's secretary calling to check an address for sending my last bill for me to ask for an appointment to talk with her. I then had a week of restless dreams before the appointment - this morning at 11:30.

I went in prepared for the worst - armed with receipts of almost $350.00 in physio bills and a copy of the doctor's diagnosis of an A/C sprain (a separated shoulder).

She greeted me with a warm smile, wished me a happy new year and asked how my Christmas was. I was too nervous to make small talk, but I did make an effort to demonstrate friendliness and good intentions.

I started by saying that I wanted to talk about the 'whole shoulder thing', to give my perspective. I went over the events quickly and she agreed with me. She seemed glad to hear that I had got a diagnosis and treatment that has helped. She said it is very unusual for a shoulder to separate like mine did, but did not in any way deny that she had done that to me. I told her that since she knows my situation (full-time student, working part-time for an NGO), she could appreciate that this has been not only painful and disabling, but also very expensive. I asked if she would consider refunding the money I had paid for her treatments. She agreed immediately and asked if I would also like her to refund the physio I did at Carleton University. I handed over all my receipts and she said she would mail me a cheque for everything.

It was all over so quickly! Not five minutes had passed and everything was resolved. How long have I been mulling over this, frustrated and complaining? I'd like to think I've learned something today.

For the Snowmen of St. John

Spent some of the Christmas holidays in St. John this year. They have rather strange traditions there.

For example, on Boxing Day (during which, incidentally, all stores are closed) they build miniature snowmen and carry them down to the river.

They sing 'Frosty the Snowman' and hop on one leg.

Then pitch the poor snowmen into the river, which immediately melt.

It's a grisly, but strangely hilarious, spectacle.

Saturday Bingo

I am late getting to Ann's room, so she is getting ready for Bingo on her own. Slumped forward in her wheelchair, she is trying to attach the footrests.
"I didn't think you were coming," she says.

"I'm sorry I'm late." I attach the footrests and then ask if she needs anything else before going downstairs to the common room where Bingo is held each Saturday at 2:00.

"I think I should use the washroom," she whispers. Ann, who is in her 90s, has Parkinson's and in addition to robbing her of most of her mobility and sight, this disease is taking away her voice. I have to lean in very close to hear her words. Her hearing is also failing, so conversation is limited.

I wheel her into the washroom and pull down her pants and underwear so she can use the toilet. As she has grown increasingly weak in the last year she has become almost indifferent to the assistance she needs in performing what most of us take for granted as a very private task. I have become accustomed to, but never unaware of, the pale flesh hanging in loose, wrinkled folds on bone-thin legs, the monstrous plastic underpants, the way her legs dangle when she sits on the seat...

After this task is finished, I fix her sparse but silky-soft grey hair into a thin clip at the back of her head, fetch her small purse and we are ready to go down for Bingo.

It is busy today; over a dozen residents, many accompanied by family. I take Ann to her regular place and greet the others at the table - the sharp-witted German lady who plays four cards and watches everyone else's to make sure they don't miss a number, and Mr. D, the other senior I visit on Sundays.

I search through the stack of Bingo cards for Ann's lucky numbers - 8 and 13 and in the upper left hand corner. (I'm not too fussy about the cards I take for myself, but I must have picked right today since I win the first game.)

The man who calls Bingo is a volunteer who has been spending his Saturdays here for years. He has a thick German accent, but enunciates clearly and speaks slowly into the microphone, so everyone hears him. Each game is played in the same order each week, but he never fails to remind us which game we are playing - one line any direction, full card, four corners, little fence around the house...

To play a card for an hour costs only 25 cents, so this is not expensive entertainment. Neither is it fast paced. I keep an eye on Ann's card and point out numbers she misses - but she usually doesn't need my help. As I wait for our numbers to be called, I look around the room.

...A man with and baseball cap on long, greying hair, thick sideburns and a burly chest holds his mother's hand and helps her cover the numbers on her card.

...A woman is sitting beside her elderly mother on the other side of the room. Several times during the hour mother leans toward her and says loudly, "I love you".

"I love you too," her daughter always replies and I always smile to hear them and watch the elderly woman lean toward her daughter with a full, childlike smile and the daughter place her arm around her mother's shoulders.

After the last game has been called, Ann agrees to stay for tea and crackers, so I fetch two cups and a plate of soda crackers and processed cheese from behind the bar. She forgot to put in her lower dentures, but still manages to eat a couple of crackers. She doesn't eat much these days and I don't know how she can afford to lose any more weight, so I am glad to see her eat even this much.

When she is done I take her back upstairs to her room and make sure she is comfortably in her reclining chair before leaving. So many times I have said good-bye to Ann at the end of a visit and wondered if I would ever see her again. She tells me often that she wants to die, and yet her disfigured body refuses to give up. All I can do, today as any other day, is to say good-bye, tell her I will be back next week. She thanks me for taking her to Bingo; I tell her it was my pleasure. It really was.

getting ready for spring

"So we should start our garden soon," she says.

"What? Winter is just beginning," says he.

"Winter? There is no winter. Look outside, the grass is green. Squirrels are still running around our backyard. I'm sure the trees will be budding soon."

"Stupid climate change."

"That's okay. I bought you a composter." She says this as if composting is the most exciting thing you can do next to hang-gliding off the Peace Tower. "You can put in in the backyard. I'll fill it with my coffee grinds and grapefruit rinds. And then what fun we will have this spring with our lush compost dirt."

And so here he is, on December 20, putting a composter in the backyard. Just in time for the first day of spring.

give a pig or polar bear this year

There are few things that make me so grumpy or tire me so quickly as shopping. Especially in a mall. Especially in December. If I was to decide to live off the land in some remote cabin, it wouldn't be as much about preserving nature as it would be fleeing big box stores and giant parking lots.

But what is tolerable for 11 months of the year now becomes unbearable. The endless christmas pop bopping distractedly in every store, interrupted for customer announcements or price checks... the crowds of impatient shoppers... the line-ups... the sticky hot feeling of sweat forming on your back when you have three layers of winter clothes on because it is -20 outside but tropically warm in the store...

In case there are any of you out there who share even partially my aversion to all things mall-like in December, but have some people in their lives they would like to give presents to, I have found some solutions you make like.

What's great about these is not only do you avoid the malls (your purchases are mailed right to you or to the recipient), but these are extra warm and fuzzy gifts since they do good things besides just making someone happy.

For example, check out Gifts that Matter, of Plan's Gifts of Hope , both of which suggest things you can buy on behalf some someone to benefit communities around the world - things like seeds for Vietnam or Zimbabwe, a goat for a family in Zambia, or a bee-keeping kit for people in Egypt. These gifts usually come with a certificate and card that you can give to someone - perfect for the person who has everything.

But if you still want a little something to give besides the feel-good of a good cause, World Wildlife Federation has the cutest stuffed toys that you get when you adopt an animal. My mum gave us a panda last year who sits on the bookshelf in the bedroom. The year before I had given her a surprisingly docile and floppy Bengal tiger.

Of course, there are always the on-line stores I have resorted to when looking for that hard-to-find book or cd, and there I can avoid the malls and line-ups too, but this year, since so many of the special people in my life are also scaling back from the consumerism of the season, I'm giving education and livestock. And buying these has made me neither grumpy or tired, in fact I feel pretty good. Rather unusual for a post-shopping trip.

did it work?

The question has been asked - has pushing the bones back together actually worked?

I'd say the answer is mixed. If we are actually dealing with a Grade 3 (see images showing the gradations of AC separation) - a sign of which is the raised bump on the shoulder - then I am not so sure that simply pushing on my bones is going to fix this. As perhaps is understandable, I have lost some faith in my physio. I would really like to get a second opinion.

Admittedly, after she pushed on my shoulder, it did seem to fall a bit lower (it had been noticeably higher). Also, while with my left hand I can reach behind my back up to my shoulder blades, with my right I could not get past my waist. Now I can force my hand halfway up my back. It's not pretty, it's not painless, but supposedly is a sign that things are on the mend.

I don't know how long it will be before I am back to normal however. But at least I can study, write papers and exams and read... that's about all I have time for these days anyway.

Thanks for the concern!

I'm paying for this?

Did you know that you can shift the position of your bones by pushing on them? Apparently you can - it's been done to me.

That migraine I wrote about in September was actually a misdiagnosed pinched nerve - which explains the jerking of my arm and the tingling in my fingers. I went to a physiotherapist who diagnosed me with thoracic outlet syndrome, which is basically a pinching of nerves from compression of bones or ligaments around the spine. The physio's solution for this was to manipulate my shoulder by pressing, tugging, turning, taping... to open it up so it would stop pinching the nerve that weaves through these bones. In three painful sessions she tried to shove my shoulder into "the right place".

Physiotherapy is not only painful, but expensive, so after a few of these sessions I told her that I would work on the exercises she gave me and perhaps come back to see her in a few months. On our last session she used super-tape to pull my shoulder down.

Foolishly I went to a yoga class that night, with my taped up shoulder freshly raw from the physio's pummeling. Half-way through the class I was unable to lift my arm above my head or support any weight with it.

That was almost 2 months ago. Since then I have been in almost constant pain - often it seems like hot knife blades are stabbing my shoulder. The weight of my small purse is too much for that shoulder. Reaching back to put my arms in the sleeves of my jacket is torturous.

But I went to 2 doctors, one of which told me (and I kid you not, I am quoting here) "Sit down and shut up... I don't care about your pain." Another one said it was a rotator cuff injury and to come back in 6 months if I still had pain. Sigh.

And I sit around getting fat since even going for a walk is too jarring. Yoga is out of the question, as are any of the other fitness classes I was doing. Dropped out of curling. No to volleyball invitations...

I was reluctant to go back to the physio who did this to me in the first place, but yesterday I finally went to see her, figuring that at least she knows my history and may listen to me...

So it turns out that she had been successful in pulling down my shoulder. Problem is - the collarbone didn't go with. She now thinks I have a separated shoulder - yup, that's the kind of injury that sidelines pro football players.

See where the clavicle is supposed to touch your shoulder? Well, mine doesn't. It's sticking up like there is marble tucked under the skin of my shoulder. Technically, I have an acromioclavicular joint separation, or AC separation.

The brilliant solution? Push them back together! I'm not kidding, I lay on my left side while she pushed on that painful tip of clavicle that's poking up. She alternated this with ultrasound to try and keep the swelling down.

Yes, first she pulls my bones apart, now she is pushing them back together.

And I'm paying for this??

handy knits

I began knitting about two years ago and have always seen it as a little nerdy. I defend it adamantly and call it my yoga, but admit that it may not be the hippest thing around.

So it was nice to discover that other people seem to enjoy something I knit.

I first made myself a pair of funky fingerless mitts about a year ago and found them so useful and cozy. They were great for fall and spring weather, and even in the winter I put them over another pair of mitts to keep my hands extra warm.

In September a friend of mine complained of cold hands after curling for a few hours, I lent her these mitts and she didn't take them off for the rest of the night. The next day she was wearing them again and I insisted she keep them - it was nice to see something I made being enjoyed by someone else.

I made myself another pair, but gave those to a friend on her birthday in November - they warmed her hands and showed off her lovely manicure.

The mitt shown in the photo above is of my latest pair, a thick, warm set of blended wools. Now that is quite chilly out, I've been wearing them everywhere - and have been picking up compliments... so I've decided to see if I can go into business. I'm going to make up little business cards and next time someone asks where I got my mitts, I can pass them a card and tell them I take orders. $25 a pair, of $15 if they want to provide the wool. I've already set up an email account at gmail.com where I can take order - handy.knit.

So if you know of anyone who has cold hands and likes some funky handmade handy knits... pass this on.

(above photo is of a winning scrabble game and the first of these mitts I made)

meow!

No time to blog these days.

There are balls to chase, socks to fetch, kibbles to eat... a nap to be had by the fireplace.




And there are those darn feathers to catch.

back to school

I am aware that my blogs all over the place - birds to headaches to pirates... this reflects my life. I swing between topics, between passions, between jobs and crises. I'm constantly coming up with new projects - many of which fall by the wayside as new ones take their place.

It was partly because of this swinging, this tendency to have too many irons in my weak fire, that I decided to narrow my focus for the next couple of years.

Each September, as leaves turn gold and red, the breeze chilly, I would turn envious of the students going back to school. Even in my university years, I never got over the thrill of starting a fresh notebook - knowing it would fill with ideas and knowledge. I loved that sense of a new beginning.

I thought I had had my fill of school when I finished in 2000. But every fall I would be looking at university programs, considering schools to apply for. I did LSAT trial tests, I studied course outlines...

And so I'm back. Last week I started the masters program in Conflict Studies at Saint Paul University here in Ottawa. It's exciting to be back in school, even though I am at times overwhelmed by the amount of reading I have to wade though. Conflict studies is not, as I sometimes joke, about learning how to box or fight. It's a bit of a misnomer really - what I'm doing is studying conflict resolution. This is a new field and there still aren't many texts, so a lot of our reading is cobbled together from various sources. But it's exciting to be in a field that is still developing - and developing with a sense of urgency as international conflicts affect everyone in the global village.

It looks like it's going to be a really interesting fall - not just for the class work, but also for the classmates I'm studying with. There is a soldier from Tanzania who was highly trained in the military but had a change of heart while stationed at a refugee camp - he realized that war is what had made these people homeless and displaced. There is a girl from Burundi who wants to understand how two groups of people (Tutsi and Hutu) who have so much in common could grow to hate each other so much. There is also a beautiful girl from Somalia and a young man from Ukraine - both of whom want to apply their studies to conflicts in their own countries. The Canadians come from a wide variety of backgrounds - sociology, psychology, political science and humanities.

At St. Paul's I am surrounded by professors and students who are all interested in resolving conflict and bringing solutions for peace to their sphere of influence, however small. As much as I might moan about my readings and assignments in the coming months, I really don't think I could ask for a better place to be.

Avast maties!

Arrrgghh.

International Talk Like a Pirate Day it be. Ye wenches and landlubbers, all hands on deck.

Be ye lustin' to spout stories of yer bucanneerin' fame? Boast o' yer booty? Well me hearties, today is the day.

Raise yer mug o' grog and drink to the wealth o' the seas, the beauty of wenches and the victuals in yer galleys.

But avast, perhaps ye be in need of some instructioning. Refer to this here site for hearty tips from hearty men.

Or ye jezebels, ye might tire o' knot-tyin. Then tis time to knit. Make straight fer knitlikeapirate.com.


And me handsom' laddies out there... how'd you like to scrape the barnacles off of me rudder?

More on www.talklikeapirate.com

Ahoy!

at least it's better than the alternatives

So I have apparently experienced my first migraine. As I explained to the TeleHealth nurse over the phone, then to the triage nurse in the ER, then to the first nurse to see me after waiting over an hour, then to the two doctors who subsequently saw me - what started as a headache in the early evening turned into excruciating pain which woke me around 1 a.m.

In the next half hour, I think I took 800mg of Advil - 400 of which was liquid gels. But steel claws were gripping my temples and the pain went all the way to my toes. Dizziness, nausea, difficulty breathing, tingling sensation... I had the works.

I woke V around 1:30 and that's when he phoned TeleHealth. I felt like I was dying, but the nurse still made me give my address, postal code, telephone number, date of birth, etc before asking about my symptoms. She recommended I go to an emergency. "Do you understand my recommendation?" she asked.

"Yes," I breathed.

"Will you go to the emergency?"

"Yes."

I thought I would throw up or pass out on the drive there, but the cool breeze from a window open onto a rainy night helped a little. There was still a vice grip on my head and now my right arm and leg had started twitching and shaking. By the time we got to emergency, my right hand felt like it was asleep (and it hasn't completely woken up since).

Emergency wards are such dreary places. Not at all the drama of tv's ER. A nonplussed triage nurse took my blood pressure and temperature, asked me a few questions and told me I was "textbook". Whatever that means.

The room was large and harshly lit. Most of the rows of chairs had curved bars between each seat which prevented lying down. But after an elderly couple left, V and I were able to get the only 4 seats without where I could lie my shuddering body down with my head on his lap. Fear Factor was playing loudly from the tv suspended from the ceiling. Doors opened and closed, people walked or shuffled by. We waited.

It was about 4:00 a.m. by the time they called me into a small examination room. So close to another room, I heard every detail of the complaint from the woman in the room next to mine. She had come in because she was concerned by a blood pressure reading of 175 and likely waited as long as I did only to get told that in the emergency ward they really aren't going to do anything for you if it's still under 210.

The 800 mg of Advil were finally taking some effect and my headache came in waves instead of the unbearable pressure. I was expecting to be similarly dismissed. As usually happens when I start to recover after complaining a great deal, I feel sheepish and almost guilty that the pain is no longer so severe, my symptoms no longer intense.

But the first nurse to see, a young man with a non-hurried, gentle manner, listened carefully and then fetched me a hot blanket to try and stop my shaking. Another 20 minutes or so later - which I spent lying on a too-short exam table in a narrow room with cold bare walls around and neon lights above - a young female doctor came in. Immediately she asked if I would like the lights dimmed. Thank you!

I was starting to feel like a warped record, but she listened carefully, asked quite a few questions, checked my reflexes, my neck, my head, sensation in my hands, my grip, etc... She seemed uncertain so she fetched the attending. He was a short man with a huge grey beard and closely cropped grey hair (by this time I was finally opening my eyes). He checked my balance, my eyes, my hands, etc. I was impressed with the concern both he and the young woman still hovering nearby showed.

They consulted with each other and after awhile the young doctor came back to tell me I was free to go. It is not uncommon for women in their 30s to start developing migraines. Now I just need to figure out the triggers. What sucks is that besides trying to guess the triggers, there is little I can do. But still, I was relieved with this diagnosis since it was better than the other possibilities they had been checking for - like a stroke or meningitis.

We got home around 5:30 in the morning. If it was summer, the sun would have been coming up. The headache was fading and pure fatigue was taking its place. V deserves a medal for sitting up all night with me - and still getting up for work in the morning.

As for me, I'm just laying low today. My mind is dulled with sleepiness and the lingering ache between my temples. Outside it's a grey, cold rainy day. If I can stay awake I will try to make a dent in the masses of reading I now have as a grad student...

for the birds

Check out that bird!

This is the coolest thing - a couple of creative people have created the site www.bulbsforbirds.com - and they will make you a bird of your own if you replace at least one of the lightbulbs in your house with a compact flourescent (CFL).

If you scroll around the bird page, you will see my bird there with the others - mouse over it and you'll see my name.

What I love about this - not just that I get my own bird - but that there are people out there putting themselves out to try and encourage others to make small changes for our environment. As their site says about Rosemary, the artist, she "would reduce atmospheric CO2 with her bare hands, if only she had magic hands."

I know that desire to have magic hands. Sometimes it seems as if my own hands are so powerless. But it encourages me when I see others with small hands doing big things.

If you would like a bird, check out their site and then post a comment so others can see your bird too. Each little bit helps to reduce pollution - and make the air cleaner for us and for the birds.

Saint John, NB, Act II, Scene 3

"Psst, can I tell you someting?

"There is this guy I really like... He brought me out here to Saint John... pretty city, really - despite the drifting stink from the pulp mill. And you guys have the biggest seagulls I've ever seen...

"Anyway, this guy, he's really cute.

"Have you ever been in love? Why do you sit here all day staring out at the harbour? Did your love run off with a sailor? Are you in love with a lobster fisher?

"Oh, shhh! Here he comes!"

Grand Manan, NB

"This whale watching is for the birds. Nothing to see but sea.

"Wait... What's that? A whale?

"Where?"







"Damn."

Saint John, New Brunswick

"Excuse me, sir. When is the next ferry?

"We are stuck in Saint John. I need to get out of here. Soon.

"My girlfriend, she don't like the smell of the sea.

"Please don't stare at her. She is very shy.

"Sir, please. Don't stare.

"You're scaring me sir.

Sir?"

crafts & knitting

This collection of bold-coloured knits is my long overdue donation to the Red Cross.

Last March I responded to a post for volunteer knitters. The Red Cross provided the wool, which I was to turn into things that could be used in shelters and hospitals.

With such colours as I was given, it was hard to be inspired. But it was fun trying different patterns of mittens and toques, even though some were utter failures - like a toque the size of tea cozy!

I still have some wool left - and a few thumb-less mittens lying around. (Attaching the thumb is my least favourite part). But as we are cleaning house and getting ready to move, I have finally bundled this all up and will drop it off at the Red Cross today. Will they remember who I am? Will they be disappointed with my sad offering?

I have admittedly become a bit of a knitting junkie. One of the reasons I decided to volunteer knit was that I could get all this free wool and have someone to knit for. My own scarf basket is already overflowing.

But in our recent heat wave, it has been hard to pick up the heavy mohair poncho I am currently working on. Still, on Sunday evening I convinced a friend of mine to go with me to a craft and bingo night. It wasn't an easy sell... "Um, we'll do crafts and play bingo. And there will be d.j.... and it's in a gallery".

She is sweet and said she'd give it a try. She brought a craft she has had lying around for a few years - a picture frame and seashells she collected in Peru. I brought my mohair poncho. We didn't know what to expect and were prepared to leave early.

The event was a blast! Held in a funky downtown gallery - whose current exhibit is titled 'The Museum of Bad Art' - it was cool and hip and all the things you wouldn't expect crafting to be. It was bad art indeed that hung on the wall - reminiscent of pictures found in elementary school hallways or amateur art schools. But this was freeing and humourous. Art felt accessible and fun.

The crafts we had brought were quickly abandoned as we were invited to make our own bad art. Canvases were provided, as were heaps of craft supplies. It was like being at summer camp. We rummaged through buttons, crayons, paint, play-dough, glitter! and sequins. There was fabric, lots of glue, old photos, magazines... And with our only objective being to create bad art, we let our imaginations wild.

While we made bad art - and mine truly is bad - (The lady beside me said it reminded her of scrambled eggs and hash browns) a man named the Chinadoll, wearing denim drag and a hat like a pineapple perched on his head, called out bingo numbers and a d.j. put out funky disco beats. Chinadoll would interrupt his calls every so often to do some impromptu karaoke.

Who knew the craft crowd could be so hip? As a knitting junkie, I have new hope.

on the bright side...

It is sweltering in Ottawa these days. Trying to work in this sticky heat is like trying to push boulders through sludge. So as the current heat wave nears record levels, our energy consumption soars. When I open the windows at night to try and get some cool air, all around I hear the whir of air conditioners. And even though I hate doing it, we've had to turn ours on a few times.

It's not on the coldest days of the year that we burn the most fuel, it's on the hottest. The government optimistically says it hopes to avoid rolling black outs, but if the heat continues, I don't think we should be surprised if we exhaust the energy grid.

Gloom and doom. I'm just finishing Jared Diamond's Collapse - and if I wasn't already depressed about the state of the environment and global warming, I certainly am now. We are not only exhausting our energy sources, we are destroying our forests, our oceans, our air, our water, etc...

But this is why, in the middle of all this pessimism, when we find something to cheer about we should make sure to cheer extra loud.

Stopped at our local Loeb grocery store on the way home Sunday night. A small sign on the door said the store was reducing its energy consumption by using only half the interiour lights. Not only is this great news from the environmental perspective, but it was also much more pleasant to shop under gentle lighting - instead of the usual harsh glare of grocery and department stores.

Wouldn't it be great if more stores adopted a similar policy? Switched to energy saving bulbs and turned off half their lights? Sometimes I feel like my small measures of turning off lights, recycling garbage or washing dishes by hand become worthless compared to the big box stores with 24-hour bright lights and overflowing garbage bins.

So I wrote to the Loeb today. Raised a little hurrah and congratulated them. I hope that they make this a permanent decision. I hope other stores follow suit. And I hope we all cheer them on when they do.

something nice each day

'Treat others as you would have them treat you.' It's an adage I was raised on.

We were taught early on to be nice to each other. We learned that rude and selfish behaviour is punished, good deeds are praised.

I can recall specific instances when I thought, 'that is how I want to treat other people' - such as a woman I met who loved to bake and always made extra. She would give the extra loaves, buns or cakes to whomever happened to be around - guests, neighbours, her friends or her children's friends. She also had a way of asking questions and listening, really listening to what you said in reply.

I have friends in town who, when I was struggling to make ends meet, would take me out for dinner or a drink and insist they pay. Their generosity was humbling, but appreciated.

I have been inspired by people who give of themselves, and their possessions, selflessly. Also by those who do those few extra little things to make you feel really welcome, really appreciated. Although I know I fail, I could say that I am always trying to live in a way that is more generous and considerate of others.

So it was a bit of a shock when I was told to stop focusing on others and try to do something nice for myself. I am seeing a psychiatrist who has a no nonsense approach and seems to see her job as shattering all my assumptions.

"If you were to write me a cheque for 1 million dollars to feed all the hungry people, that would be very nice," she said. "I'm sure it would make you feel very good.

"But if I tried to cash that cheque, it would bounce. You don't have a million dollars."

"You can't give to others what you don't have."

She said she honours my intentions to help others. But she wants me to learn to help myself. She asked me what I do for myself that is kind. What do I give to myself?

Not an easy question to answer.

She has challenged me to do one nice thing for myself each day. Treat myself as if I were my own friend, a friend who was struggling though some tough times and needed some extra kindness. Is it strange that it's only when I think of treating myself as someone else that I get ideas of what nice thing to do?

She wants to see my list next time I visit her. A list of something nice each day.

So on Tuesday I went to Bridgehead to get a coffee on the way to the office. But instead of taking it to go, I asked for it in a mug then sat in the coffee shop, looking over work notes and planning my day instead of rushing in to it. That was nice.

Yesterday I finished most of my work in time to make popcorn and watch France beat Portugal at the World Cup finals. That was very nice. (-:

Today.... well, it's early. I'm still working on it.

For anyone reading this, I invite you to join me in this challenge.

Let's treat ourselves the way we want others to treat us.