Don't Mention the WriMo in the Room

Yeah ... NaNoWriMo. Do we really have to talk about it today?

Yes, we do, because this blog is how I am keeping myself accountable. More or less.

I cheerfully sailed past the 2k mark yesterday, but really wasn't feeling it today.

On the upside, we did go to a market and I purchased some badly-needed new-to-me shoes, we caught up with the wonderful Coen and the gorgeous Soph, and I bought Dad an overdue birthday present (sorry, Dad).

So: what to do when you drop the NaNoWriMo ball? Pick yourself up, dust off, and get back to writing! ... tomorrow, in my case. The plan for tomorrow is simple: another lovely long swim in the morning, then do 15 minute blocks of the four major tasks which are at the top of my current "To Do" list.

The plan for tonight is even simpler: sit back with a peppermint tea and enjoy some TV before an early night. Now there's a goal I'm sure I'll achieve!

Reviewing Day One of NaNoWriMo

November 1: It's 'go' time.

I started my day with a good dose of exercise. It was the first time I'd been lap swimming in, what? Two years? It was an absolutely beautiful experience. Because we've moved house since my last lap-swim, I was in a new pool, which was outside - good - but only 25m long. I prefer 50m pools because then it's only 20 laps to make up one kilometre. Forty is such a big number! Wow, I've just made a connection in my mind: I made it through those forty laps by mentally chunking them down into four groups of ten; I'll make it through NaNoWriMo by mentally chunking down those 50k into 1k blocks.

As for the writing ... I fell short of the 1,667 ideal which is necessary to make the 50k by doing an even amount of writing in one day. However, life is not linear, and I suspect this writing large chunks is a habit like any other. Yesterday I logged 1,154 which I am happy with, as a first effort.

I have moved all my writing gear out of the livingroom and into the spare room. This is an interesting experiment as the lounge has basically been my 'nest' - office, reading space, relaxation zone - for a couple of months now. However, if I am to spend a few hours a day typing, it really isn't ergonomic. Which reminds me: I need to check this chair/desk is OK ergonomically. [pretend you're listening to 'on hold' music] Well, surprisingly, it is! It doesn't feel quite normal yet, but perhaps that's because, well, my lounge has been my office for so long...

Sayonara for now. Am going foraging with the dearly beloved for food, library books, prescriptions (for me) and a haircut (for him). Wish us happy hunting.

The Day Before NaNoWriMo

Well, this is it - the day before my month-long writing marathon begins. Unless, of course, I get bored or fatigued and drop out after a couple of weeks!

I've been trying to clear my life of as many other distractions as I can, but this has proved difficult. Perhaps this isn't a bad thing: it might be good to have other worthwhile things to do, so I can take a guilt-free break from the writing process.

Am I looking forward to it? Yes! With some trepidation. But "she'll be right" :-)

A Big Decision

After much deliberation I've decided to sign up for NaNoWriMo this year.

For those who wonder what I'm talking about: National Novel Writing Month is an online tool which encourages budding writers to compose 50,000 words during the month of November. There's also a community aspect to the project which I find quite appealing.

I don't know whether I'll make the 50,000 words - I will be quite surprised if I do! - but I need a project for the next little while, and as writing is so good for me, I thought it might be a good time to step up and really have a go at one of the many projects I've had brewing away at the back of my brain.

So, the countdown is on: NaNoWriMo starts in six days, and I have still have some planning to do.

I thought I'd resurrect this blog to keep a record of my "NaNoWriMo journey", because I'm sure it's going to be a very interesting one - definitely more akin to a back route over mountaintops than a smooth ride along a highway.

Wish me luck!

Not-so-Small Mercies

Today I am reminding myself of the not-so-small mercies with which I am endowed:

• I have continuous access to potable water, simply by turning on a tap.
• I will fall asleep tonight having eaten three nutritious meals today (and, I must admit, some not-so-nutritious snacks in between!)
• I can read, carry out arithmetic, and have - so far as I am aware - uncensored access to the internet; in other words, I can access most useful information I need to survive in this world, and have the capacity to work with it.
• I am a white Australian woman living in the 21st century: this makes me one of the luckiest women who has ever lived.
• I am an Australian citizen and can benefit from our wonderful Medicare system.
• I live with an amazingly compassionate, tolerant, loving partner, and I have some wonderful friends and family who care for me deeply.
• I have met more than my fair share of inspirational, caring, creative, out-of-left-field types who have opened my eyes to 'see the unseen'.

You know what? Typing this list has made me appreciate these things all over again.

Do you have any small mercies - or even not-so-small mercies - to celebrate today?

Getting out of bed on the wrong side

Strange how some days you just feel grumpy, and though you check the calendar, be sure to have the usual breakfast, remember to check your top's not inside out before leaving the house - despite these things all being clear, there's no apparent reason for the dysphoria.

So you have to dig deeper for its roots. *sigh* Bloody subconscious mind - can't it ever go on holidays?

I've figured it out (I think). No, I'm not going to share my very personal bad mood triggers with you - let's just say they touch on primary relationships in my life and some pressure points which were tweaked yesterday :) - but I will share my joy at being able to introspect. It is nice to be able to pinpoint some of the "why" and hence be able to figure out "what next?".

It annoys and amazes me in equal measure, that vast, inaccessible part of our mind we cannot access yet which affects us so deeply. It's like having our own personal ocean which we can dip into, dabble in, but never, ever fully comprehend. It's a treasure trove - the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow - the scary story which scintillates and excites. It's awesome, in that word's fullness of meaning.

I am so thankful that I'm human.

It's over! (Phew)

Well, Australia finally wrapped up the third Test against Sri Lanka in Sydney today - and I heaved a sigh of relief.

I love test cricket; it's the only spectator sport I really follow. However, there's always a sense of relief at the end of a series of tests: those long days of listening to the radio, visualizing the play (and running to the TV when something exciting happens!), getting a feel for the ebb and flow of a game ... all that exhausting mental activity is past. I love my game, but it does deplete me.

Actually, I have an admission to make. This final test defeated me. I was having a little siesta when Mitchell Johnson edged the last single to take Australia to victory. My husband gave me a ball-by-ball description of the final two overs, though, so I feel all "caught up"; and, naturally, Michael Hussey was feted on the evening news: Mr Cricket has left the pitch for the last time.

So that's it for a little while; Australia are playing a series against the West Indies starting later this month, then in June there will be the always-anticipated Ashes series - but for now, I'll have to try and make do with the "white bread" diet of limited over games.

Who knows? I may even attend my first T20 game. Stranger things have happened.

Mindful Walking

About ten minutes ago, I was "all in a flap" - suddenly worried about everything on my To Do list, flustering around, moving with little success from one task to another without really achieving anything. 

Then I remembered Mindful Walking.

I did a retreat some years ago with a nun who introduced me to this practice. The slow, steady pacing as a form of meditation was novel to me back then, but seemed the perfect solution to bring my mind into focus. 

So off came the shoes, and on came the careful placing of one foot before the next, feeling the sensation of each part of the foot making contact with the floor, moving slowly forward, breathing mindfully in and then out with each footfall. 

My mind cleared, my priorities became clear, and I returned to my desk ready - and able! - to get some serious work done. 

I'll never forget one thing that nun taught me. She said: "A saint is a person who irons while she is ironing. A saint is a person who talks while she is talking. A saint is a person who eats while she is eating." I'm sure she had borrowed these phrases from the Buddhist tradition, where mindful breathing and walking come from, but they have stayed with me ever since. 

And now, I must leave you, to be a woman who works while she is working. 

Hiking

Perhaps I should have titled this "walking" but, despite the suburban setting, "hiking" seems the most apt choice.

My husband and I have been on some long walks in the last few days. The quirks of physiology never cease to amuse me, and I love the fact that I seem to get an endorphin high sooner and more intensely than he does! Hmmm ... endorphin rush. Definitely one of my favourite things.

Our first walk was a modest 80 minutes, the first time trekking from my studio on Warrigal Road to home in Mount Waverley. We headed south then turned east along Scotchman's Creek Trail. Apart from some accidental detours (into a golf course, around a lake) it was a very pleasant walk.

This morning's effort was something quite different. Starting from near the top of Wheeler's Hill and heading home, we had hopes that "downhill" would be the key word of the day. We had, to our newly sardonic perspective, a naive belief that we had tackled some steep hills on our previous walk.

I'm a physicist, so I cannot explain how you can begin a walk near what seems to be the highest point between you and the horizon and yet spend so much bloody time walking uphill! (Oh, actually, now I type that sentence, I do see how it can be done ... but that's a topological story for another time.) The path we chose lead us mainly along residential streets, so for someone who's not into real estate, it wasn't all that interesting - though I did see some lovely hedges and excellent species selection in some gardens. This was just as well, because you can solve all the world's problems, map out the future of your friends and family, and still run out of conversation in 100 minutes.

A few missed signs, 1.5 litres of water and 8.61 kilometres later, we were home. We must have been walking a far more efficient line than I'd thought at the time, because when we drove back to pick up my husband's car, the odometer said 7.2 kilometres - and that was along a single-turn, right-angled route.

Well, right now I'm still riding that endorphin rush, but need to be solicitous of my poor suffering partner. Perhaps I'll helpfully suggest some stretches. Yeah, that'll go down well ...

2013: Thank God You're Here!

It's New Year's Day, and we've left 2012 behind us, many shaking the dust off our feet as we do so. Today we flip the pages of our calenders, feel the cool breeze of the morning on our feet as we sip our tea ... and hope with a shameful streak of vindictiveness that the neighbour's dog, who didn't enjoy the fireworks last night and remained traumatized for many hours afterwards, has sore vocal chords today.

New Year's Resolution? So far as I'm concerned, they're back in. I went through a phase when I didn't make them, preferring to try and effect lifestyle change over what can so easily become tokenistic short-lived goals; however: they're back, baby! I've been reading Duhigg on habits, Gardiner on changing beliefs, and have a fresh appreciation of the suitability of 1/1 as a launching date for new ventures.

No, I'm not going to air my resolutions in this public space: they're too personal, would reveal too much of what Carey might call my "soft pink underbelly" to indiscriminate scrutiny; but I will say that I've worked hard to prepare for them. I've set goals: one modest, one audacious. My thinking is in the right space. I've set benchmarks to check my progress along the way. I'll also say that I've honed the usual, sometimes lengthy, wishlist down to just two. (Well, two and a little project on the side, another blog, but that's another story.) I even started working towards one of these goals two days early, so I could end it exactly 36 weeks later on my birthday, 1 September.

2012 was not an easy year. No, I don't expect life to be easy, but - as my husband and I reflected over dinner last night - it would be nice if 2013 contained mere bumps along the road, as opposed to the veritable landmines which have disrupted our lives over the last four years. We understand that life will always contain a mix of pleasantness and unpleasantness, and I share the Buddha's teaching that the root of much of our suffering lies within us; however, it would be nice to have the opportunity to practice that teaching amidst less ghastliness than has been our lot recently.

This blog is called "My Favourite Things" but all I've done in this post is ramble on about the turning of the year. What are my favourite things today? The opportunity for a fresh start; the fact that I'm a middle class educated white Australian, making me one of the most fortunate people ever to have lived; and the knowledge that, each year, I know myself more fully.

For these things, I am grateful.

Mining and Morality

The mining industry has been a significant part of the Australian economy since soon after white settlement. From the early gold rushes to today's multifaceted operations, people have profited from the valuable materials which lie beneath our nation's soil.

In recent years, the mining industry has occupied an increasing amount of the media's attention, as we learn more about the people who own the huge mining companies, consider the industrial relations issues surrounding the safety, supply and demand of the workforce, and worry about the impact mining has on our fragile ecosystems. (For more information, see Get Up's recent video on mining in and around the Great Barrier Reef.)

I believe the mining industry carries a higher moral culpability than other industries. Of course, all industries, from manufacturing to health care, have ethical responsibilities; none are exempt. However, the mining industry takes resources from the very so-called "golden soil" that is Australia and profits from their sale. Unlike crops, minerals and ores cannot be regrown: once sold, they are lost to the rest of Australians forever (unless it is sold within Australia, though it is my understanding that the majority of mined resources end up overseas).

The fact that the mining industry profits from selling something which rightfully belongs to all Australians places a higher moral burden on those companies. As I type this, I guess I realise that when it comes to mining, I am something of a socialist: I would prefer that mines are owned and operated by the government, with profits directly benefiting all Australians ... hmm, there's an interesting thought!

Idealism aside, the mining giants are becoming fat off a resource which is non-renewable and, uniquely, belongs to all Australians. The should therefore be held very accountable for their impact on the environment, their industrial relations policies, and their financial responsibilities to the other citizens of Australia.

Stationery, and the meaning of life

In the ebb and flow of stationery which punctuates my life, today I have an excess of blue pens but no pencils.

Which is a shame, because I need to write some appointments in my diary, and I always use pencil in my diary.

Isn't our existence gloriously ephemeral? The objects which surround me come and go; the people I plan to meet, the things I plan to do, are subject to change.

There was a time, during my teenage years and early twenties, when I think this frightened me. If life couldn't be pinned down and made concrete, if we can't write our future in ink, then what do we have to cling to? As humans, we need some sort of certainty, some answer to the problem of "what's it all about?" The solutions I used earlier in my life are different to the ones find now. I guess I'd describe myself as an existentialist, interested and even grounded in the very nature of what it is to be human, finding meaning in the uniqueness of the human condition and my own experience.

But that doesn't help me pencil in my appointments ...

A Summer Morning's Run

What could be more pleasant, more gratifying than to be mindful in one's body while out running early on a summer's day?

Feeling the cool air, pleasant despite the promise of heat to come, moving across your skin ...

Sensing the breeze lifting the tiny hairs on your forearms ...

Pulsing in time to the running-rhythms of foot to pavement, breath in/breath out, heartbeats ...

Inhaling the fresh scent of grass, and earth, and blossoms ...

... and anticipating a day of test cricket and sewing.

This is all good.

Summer Joys

These are the things I'm enjoying this summer:

1. Test Cricket! And not just our trip to the MCG on Boxing Day:



but also the drama of the Sydney Test, enjoyed via radio and TV, and enhanced through interactions with friends near and far on facebook

2. Finally getting around to re-upholstering our diningroom chairs. This is indicative of how they looked this time last week:

Part-way through the process, the original ugly 1970s brown fabric can be seen:

The contrast between old and new is marked:





and I'm very happy with the final result:

3. Reading! I'm so excited that Dead Men's Boots was returned to my local library today, so I can pounce on it - I'm looking forward to seeing what Felix Castor gets up to next. I've also enjoyed re-reading the Narnia books and browsing through some positive psychology stuff, as well as catching up on issues of New Scientist I didn't get through last year.

4. Eating - summer specials like bananas microwaved until they begin to caramelize, then mixing in low fat Greek yoghurt for a sweetly tart treat; melon for breakfast, and a perennial favourite - stir-fried wombok - for tea

5. Watching TV - as the cricket allows! Catching up on the third series of Breaking Bad on DVD, and taping the re-runs of Doctor Who to savour again.

Work will pick up again next week, but this week is still summertime. Joy!

C. S. Lewis: meaningful, subversive children's fiction

The Narnia books have been part of my life since early childhood, when I heard them at my father's knee - and then, again, when he re-read them for my first sister's benefit; and yet again for the second sister; though by the time my baby brother came along, I think I considered myself too old for listening to stories read aloud.

I'm re-reading the books this week, for the first time in many years. It's such fun to revisit these childhood favourites!

It's so long since I read them that I bring fresh eyes to the reading. I am charmed by ownership inversion inherent the subversive title The Horse and His Boy, and ponder again our notions of ownership, and in what other ways we are possessed by things we consider we own. I wince at the gender-gestalt of the books, in which boys and men and young girls are capable of nobility and high acts, while older girls - presumably approaching menarche - are prone to hysterics and foolishness. I can read the closing chapters of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader without crying (it took me some years, as a child, to realize it made me tearful because it allegorized death - C. S. Lewis speaks to our hearts) and also explore the richness of the book's other symbolism about the trials a person may face during life's course. I note how many fantasy prototypes have their roots in Lewis' tales, and my hypothesis that the special effects capacity of the film industry influences the imagery used in speculative fiction is debunked by his witches morphing into serpents, trees taking their human-like forms, and so forth.

Lewis' writing is so vivid and deep it warrants re-reading - even these, his 'tales for children' - and I predict I'll be dipping into The Screwtape Letters before the end of the week.

At the cricket, Boxing Day 2011

A highlight of Christmasses spent in Victoria is a trip to the Boxing Day test at the MCG. Pete and I love our test cricket, and this is our biennial experience par excellence.

We arrived early yesterday:



and to our surprise all seats, even general admission, were allocated. Fans of Big Bang Theory may laugh with us when we say that we've found "our spot" at the MCG - at least for watching cricket! And no, I won't give you those seat numbers :)

Sometimes we take a radio to the cricket; yesterday was not one of those days. This leaves you free to form your own firmly held opinions, unfettered by experience, expertise or perhaps even external validity. For example, I thought Ponting's panache as he took possession of the pitch highlighted Cowan and Warner's lack of confidence earlier - but it should probably be noted that my husband disagrees. Having no expert to settle the dispute either way, we could bicker about it for one and a half sessions ... and enjoyed doing so.

Warner's first four and six were highlights of the first session. At first, I felt frustrated by Cowan's low run rate, but as time went on I came to admire his "stickability". We were both quite excited when Ponting came to the crease:

and watched his dismissal with sadness, knowing this may be the last time we see him play live. I feel irrationally responsible for this, having turned to my husband and said "If he can just hold on for another 13 minutes until teatime ..." seconds before he was out, caught by Laxman, bowled Yadav. Other highlights included Gambhir's fielding (which I hope the commentators paid homage to), Dhoni's wicket keeping and, of course, Yadav's bowling, which we hadn't seen before.

I love being at the game and watching the fielding team's rhythm of attention: the way the their focus gathers, and dispels, during each delivery cycle.

The day was quite cold and drizzly until after lunch. We left part way through the third session, not wanting to be two tired individuals amidst tens of thousands at the Richmond station after stumps, so we missed seeing yesterday's two controversial dismissals live. Also - with my vampire-pale skin - I was probably the only person at the MCG getting sunburnt yesterday morning, despite SPF 30+ sunscreen and full shade! So when the sun came out, that was time for us to retire:

Pete and I have a knack for attracting interesting people at the cricket. Two years ago, a drunken man - who'd already been expelled from the ground for invading the pitch - settled beside us for a while, to our discomfort. The sight of police officers sent him running again. This year, we enjoyed listening to a father introducing his two sons to the joys of test cricket. Given the age gap between father and sons, we suspect a second wife in the background! However, it must be said his patience, discipline and love were a joy to hear. The younger of these boys provided the inspiration for this little list of more productive uses which could be made of those inflatable clapper things:

1. Re-create the soundscape from Fleetwood Mac's Tusk
2. Lumbar spine support against the rigid MCG seats
3. Paper-bag style breathing techniques faced with the fear of an Australian disgraceful defeat
4. ... let's face it, anything which doesn't involve loud noises near my ears, or dislodging the clip from my hair.

Cricket's on the TV and radio now, and in two years, we'll be back at the Gee again. Bring it on!

Oops: I'm being irrational

My favourite thing today? That sudden 'clunk' in your mind, as you realize you've left the rational behind and are acting on some other sphere ...

For me, this moment came when I was on the phone to CityLink* trying to sort out a complicated story involving me, deposits made into my CitiLink account, and an alarming Final Notice which had just arrived in the mail. Having been cut off by Optus** mid-way through a conversation with a quite-nice-seeming person called Jessica, I was explaining the whole sorry business again to a not-quite-so-nice person called Ben, when I suddenly burst into tears.

So while part of me is attempting to conclude this important conversation through tears, snot and Kleenex***, another part is asking - "What's going on? Get a grip! Oh boy are you being irrational right now! Shouldn't you be embarrassed? Yep ... here it comes: embarrassment!"

Thankfully, one small part of my brain had retained its grip on reality and was able to reassert control: "OK, so you're crying. Big deal. Ben doesn't know who you are. Come on, sweetheart, just pull yourself together. That's the way!" This same small part of my brain toyed with bribing me back into good behaviour with Green and Black's chocolate****, but rejected the idea in the interests of health. (No, I lie: it was because I'd have had to go to the shop to get some, and I couldn't be bothered, what with the snot and the Kleenex and everything.)

Anyway, I stopped crying, Ben and I were able to wrestle the overdue business under control, we parted on good terms and I am left sitting here, asking: "What the ...?" and wishing I were one of those people who would quite happily dose themselves into vegetation with Valium*****.

What am I taking away from this little story? I think it's time for the Catie-equivalent of "a Bex and a good lie-down", which for me today means "a cup of tea and re-watching the last season's finale of Dr Who".******

Irrationality: part of being human.

Yippee.



* The corporation who allow us to drive on 'their' roads in exchange for our money
** The corporation who allows us to make mobile phone calls in exchange for money - without even charging extra for the additional excitement factor of not knowing when one will be unexpectedly severed from communications
*** The corporation who provides tissue products created to deal precisely with this type of situation
**** The corporation who peddle delectable organic chocolate, which I'm quite happy to exchange money for
***** Produced by the Roche corporation, according to http://biopsychiatry.com/drugcompanies/ - you learn something new every day!
****** Yes, no doubt I could reference a few more corporations here, but it's grown a bit old - wouldn't you agree?

Lenses

Reading is one of my favourite ways to relax, and one "well-being measure" I use is to keep an eye on how much leisure reading I'm getting done. A fortnight ago, I noticed I'd spent over ten days getting through a paperback - a definite sign that life was, once again, out of balance, and some more "me time" was needed!

So over the last week or so I've re-read Patricia Brigg's Mercedes Thompson books. I love her urban fantasy, especially these novels featuring a history-graduate mechanic - who also happens to be a shape-shifting coyote, holding her own amidst werewolves, vampires and the fae. These stories resonate with my feminist beliefs and my fondness for seeing the underdog triumph. Having survived some environments charged with dominance "games" and witnessed the struggle for individuals to gain power, not lose power, and avoid subjugation, I read her close observations of dominance issues with delight.

Tonight, however, I found it difficult to take off my Patricia-Briggs-reading-lenses while my husband and I were watching TV. It seemed strange at first to be watching a contemporary Aussie drama through the "paranormal spectacles" - watching with a werewolf's keen eye for body language, eye contact and verbal tone - but thinking of that storyline in terms of dominance and submission did give me a whole new appreciation of the show.

Extrapolating out from this vignette, I'm reminded of how aspects of the interactions we have in one sphere of our life can seep into other arenas. We're all familiar with the easy trap of bringing one's work frustrations home with us, but how about the less obvious ones? A forgotten memory sparking us to anger or sadness, a sudden joy, an inexplicable change of mood ...

A similar question has been occupying my mind lately. We all know that some conversations, some interactions, have particular potency in our lives. Most of us will remember conversations which have had a very profound effect on us. If some interpersonal interactions are particularly potent, is it only these ones which have the capacity to change us ... or could it be that we altered, however lightly, by all the other lives we 'touch'? Is there a particular quality to some interactions which others lack, or do some conversations have more of that potent "something" which others also have, to a lesser degree?

I don't know. Food for thought.

Some things stay the same

In my "practice" of running (as Buddhists might say) it's comforting to find that some things remain constant:

1. I do some of my best thinking when I'm running
2. I still hate sprint intervals (though I'm far better at them than I used to be - which isn't saying much!)
3. Consistency in training = good. Inconsistency = not good
4. I love running, but even so, sometimes it's difficult to get out the door and get started
5. Stretching is wonderful, and ought not be skimped upon
6. Running continues to teach me so much about myself, and about life.

A flash of Helsinki

Last Wednesday, I was in a bus, in downtown Dandenong. I was on my way to  hospital for some surgery (but that's another story). I looked up from my book and glanced out the window. Framed by the bus, the cloud-roofed sky, the hard grey pavement and a slash of asphalt was a corner of Dandenong Town Hall/Drum Theatre.

I had a flash of dislocation: "I'm in Helsinki!"

It passed quickly; very quickly - the odour of bus, the screech as a young mother slapped her child, my anxiety at the prospect of being anaesthetised and cut ... and the certain knowledge that Dandenong is a long, long way from Helsinki. (Melbourne readers may know what I mean.)

I've only been to Helsinki once, twelve years ago. I was there for a conference, a pit-stop in the middle of a longer holiday, and had caught a cold - so was in my motel room when not at the conference, meaning I did not see as much of the city as I'd have liked. This is the first time I've ever 'felt' myself back there, and perhaps of all the cities I've visited, I would not expect Helsinki to be one to which I'd return in this manner. However, I would very much like to visit that city again - in the flesh this time! - and in flesh which was not to be invaded by a surgeon's blade!

I wonder what hidden inner desires this experience of "being" arose from? Something to ponder as I traverse Melbourne's highways and byways today, between appointments.