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Yes, I’m still here.

Somehow the fact that I can now say “I’m very busy” in three languages doesn’t make the fact any easier to deal with! And I clearly haven’t got the hang of regular blogging yet, but I will get better at it, honest…

Too much has happened in the past three weeks to give the full story, so I’ll stick to the time-honoured “dot point” method: 

• Mum’s house has sold! I went into the auction 11 days ago expecting there to be no bidders, so was surprised when I discovered that two people had registered on the day. One of them started bidding, and they got to within a few thousand of what I really wanted quite quickly. The beauty of the auction process is that there is no cooling off period, so I agreed to sell and the contracts were signed. It’s gone to a lovely young family, and it has to be completely empty by Sunday week. Gulp.
• Chinese lessons: Mandarin, at least in its spoken form, is relatively simple and easy to learn. But of course it requires hours of practice to commit stuff to memory, and that’s been the hardest thing to find time for. James recommends doing something every day, even if just for five minutes, and I’m trying to stick to that. Four lessons down with two more to go…
• The office move will be happening next week. It’s all going rather smoothly overall. While I’ve not done much direct work on it, I’ve had to fill the gaps caused by Gabriele being out of the office so much as she sets the new place up. 
• My house move: I’ve put about half my stuff into storage, and the rest is packed up ready to go. This has been far less stressful than I expected, fortunately.
• Running has resumed again, getting my body back into a routine of exercise and running nearly every day. I feel sooo fat and unfit after several months of doing bugger all. Three weeks to go of “pre-season” before I start proper training for the Six Foot Track Marathon in March next year.

This weekend promises more work: another early morning run south to the storage place tomorrow, then up to Gosford to prepare for a garage sale on Sunday. Furniture, books, games, nick-nacks… everything must go! If you want a bed, computer desk, lounge and dining suite, sofas, filing cabinets, games, books, fishing rods, barbeque, etc then come along. Whatever doesn’t get sold will have to be moved, so prices will be REALLY cheap!

And there are now only 14 days to go until I head to China 😀

Normally with a heading like that you’d expect this to be a light-hearted, hopefully humorous piece about my car. I wish that were the case, but sadly this post is deadly serious and a warning to others: I’ve just discovered that my car has been seeping carbon monoxide into the cabin. I’ve been slowly getting poisoned over the last four months, and if I hadn’t heard a similar story from a friend I might never have realised it…

The alarms bells started ringing after hearing some great news from a friend in Jamberoo. For the past four years Steph has been driving to Canberra nearly every weekend to sell her paintings at the Kingston markets. And for the past four years she has been feeling tired and unwell on Mondays. She, me, her doctor and everyone else put the tiredness down to stress – as a struggling artist who has difficulties making ends meet every week, she simply can’t afford to take time off. However she has been forced to rest on Mondays (and increasingly Tuesdays too), because she simply was unable to work on those days after the long trip to and from Canberra. She felt too dazed, too ill, to do anything productive.

In fact it was getting so bad that she recently changed to doing the markets every second weekend, because the fallout from the trip to Canberra was getting worse and worse. However two weeks ago she changed cars, went to Canberra, and came back feeling fresh as daisy on the Monday. This was an amazing and pleasant surprise, as it had become a running (and grim) joke that she would always be wrecked for a couple of days after the trip.

Steph found the difference so stark that she joined some dots, did some internet research about carbon monoxide (CO) and realised that she had been suffering most of the symptoms of CO poisoning for several years. Tiredness, headache, inability to concentrate, dizziness, excessive thirst, sore throat… these were all the effects she had been feeling, all of which magically disappeared after she changed her car. They’re also the same sort of symptoms one gets with too much stress or suffering from a virus. Carbon monoxide is odourless, colourless and tasteless, and who ever thinks their car might be poisoning them?

Certainly not me, even though I’ve been suffering the same effects for months myself. For the past four months I have complained intermittently of all of the symptoms above. As Mum went into hospital four months ago, and died three months ago, it was entirely reasonable to blame it all on stress. But in hindsight I realise it was also four months ago that I started driving Mum’s car. 

Hindsight’s a wonderful thing, and it all seems so obvious now. I only drive the car on weekends between Sydney and Gosford – during the week it sits on the street. I have usually been tired on the weekends, and often extremely tired on Mondays and Tuesdays. I’ve limited my running to the second half of each week, because I simply haven’t felt up to it until Wednesdays or Thursdays. I’ve stopped driving at night because I found the white lines on the freeway dangerously hypnotic. More than once between Sydney and Gosford, I’ve pulled over at Brooklyn for a rest because I’ve felt too tired or dizzy to keep driving safely. 

It never once entered my head that the car could be responsible for all this. But as soon as I heard Steph’s story all the dots joined up, and I got scared. After several calls I finally found a mechanic who is able to test for CO leaks, and today he confirmed my car is indeed dangerous. It’s quite a relief to know there’s an external reason for my unwellness over the past few months – and also very concerning to know it would have continued much longer if I hadn’t heard Steph’s news. 

This whole story raises several terrifying questions. How many other cars are driving around with undiagnosed CO leaks? How many people are feeling ill because of it, but blaming other factors such as stress? Worst of all: how many accidents are caused by lack of concentration and dizziness due to CO poisoning?

I’ve read many side-stories in papers over the years about single-car accidents in country areas where a car has veered off the road and crashed, often at night. In cases where speed and alcohol are ruled out, the verdict is usually that the driver just “fell asleep”. That’s what happens when you get too much CO in your system.

http://www.silentshadow.org/carbon-monoxide-in-your-car.html

Today was the first complete day off I’ve had in a long time. No work, no tidying up of Mum’s house, no running, nothing. Bliss!

I woke up somewhat late, read the paper for a while on the back deck, then set off to Avoca Beach to lay in the sun while reading a book. “Shark’s Fin and Sichuan Pepper” by Fuschia Dunlop is a foodie’s memoir of living in China in the mid-1990s and early noughties, and it’s bloody good. Appetite whetted, I had a passable lunch of grilled snapper and chat potatoes with garlic mayonnaise at one of the two beachside cafes (the other one, The Point, is much better) before heading back to the house to pack up.

Then for something completely different: I met up with James at Gosford stadium to watch the Central Coast Mariners soccer team lose 1-0 to the Wellington Phoenix. A personal derby match if you will, as both Wellington and Gosford were the home towns I grew up in. It was a very dour game, prompting James to make the memorable comment at one point that the Phoenix were “avoiding the ball more than I did in high school”. 

But it was a great chance to test out my new camera by taking some action shots, and they turned out much better than expected. Most were taken at up to 300mm zoom equivalent, without a tripod, yet they were sharp with good resolution and colour despite the high speed setting:

Then a slow drive home before we had dinner at an old favourite: Mehrey da Dhaba on Cleveland Street. Lamb curry, malai kofta (cottage cheese, potato and sultana dumplings in a mild creamy sauce), peshwari naan, raita and rice, washed down with Coopers Pale Ale.

Seven thumbs for the meal, it rounded off a great day perfectly.

I’ve lived landline-free for almost six years, and for most of that time I’ve been with Virgin Mobile. I’ve been so happy with them that half a dozen friends have switched to them too, enticed by the low rates, generally reliable connection and friendly service. 

That service doesn’t extend to their phone “help” line, however. This week I had a problem with my bill, and spent 20 minutes on hold only to discover that the person at the other end of the line didn’t understand what I was talking about. I don’t mean his English was bad – though it was pretty obvious he was based overseas – he simply didn’t get what my problem was. We were both getting pretty frustrated, and in the end I said “forget it, I’ll go into their store in Sydney and sort it out in person”. Even though this meant taking an hour out of a Thursday evening, I thought there was an error in my favour of over $200 so it couldn’t be ignored.

As it turns out I was wrong, but the store manager very professionally and patiently explained my mistake. He also apologised for the poor helpline service and the fact that I had had to take the time to visit his store. A $100 “goodwill credit” on my account was most welcome.

In other news: it’s been an intense working week, my Chinese classes were cancelled and the first advertising about Mum’s house hits the streets tomorrow. I’ve been feeling quite run down with all the house-related effort, but it’s going to look spick and span for the viewings so I think it’s all worth it. I might actually get some time off this weekend…. beach anyone?

When we die, or pass on, go to heaven, or are reincarnated – whatever your beliefs tell you about what happens when this life ends – what will be remembered?

Quickly forgotten are the material things. Where you lived, the kind of home, even the furniture inside it are the least important mementos of a life. Though a great deal of thought went into choosing them because they were very important to the person in question, rarely do those left behind remember what a cool couch someone had, or that fine view, or the magnificent garden. 

Most often our reminiscences are captured in photos, frozen snapshots of a moment in time that trigger an explosion of memories when we view them. The time, the place, the weather that day, why you were there and how you felt at the time can come back with electric intensity the instant we look at a photo of a departed loved one. Many kept photos are of landmark events: weddings, graduations, birthdays, anniversaries, and of course these are an essential part of the story. But the best photos usually come unscripted, random moments that somehow evoke the essence and character of a person. Photos that remind us why we loved them.

More enigmatic are the objects that filled their life, those possessions they deemed worthy enough to place around their day-to-day lives. It may be a grand painting, a favourite utensil or a tiny curio picked up in a market somewhere, sometime. Each has a story: when it was made, who gave it to them, where it was picked up, what it reminded them of. Sadly the full story of the bits and pieces that surrounded a life remains untold when it ends, and we are left to fill in the gaps as best we can when trying to determine which items are the things that should be kept.

But what matters most is not physical at all; it can’t be stored in a box or displayed on a shelf. It’s the accumulated actions of one’s life that defines a person and they dictate how strongly we remember – and miss – them. What they achieved, how they celebrated, how they loved, how they grieved, how good a mate they were. And most important of all: what they did for others.

Those we remember best knew instinctively that giving to others is the greatest role, and they did it more than most. Perhaps they taught, or volunteered in their spare time, or gave generously to charity. They may have been that person who knew how to give comfort in tragedy, or bring life to the party. None but saints are truly selfless, however the best of us are remembered because they thought of others as well as themselves. And not just thought about it, but through their actions made other lives better. Great people make us think how we can be better people too. That is worth remembering.