Mother’s Got A Dot Com

A necessary commodity - they kinda follow you around…

I’ve had painful feet all my life. Bilateral club feet, that were corrected 40 years ago, gave me feet that weren’t crippled, but that became truly painful around my 2nd pregnancy.

What I’ve been told by doctors is that all they can do is to “stiffen them” - i.e. reduce mobility even more, which gives a 50% chance of reducing the pain, and 50% chance of increasing it. Not good odds.

I’ve come to think that my club feet aren’t the only problem, or that this condition has brought about another one. I’ve read up on Plantar Fasciitis, and the symptoms seem to fit parts of my condition quite well. Excrutiating pain after rest (in the morning, or after sitting down for a while) in the heel and arch area - that’s me. On top of the chronic pain that’s always there, especially if I walk a lot, and during rest as well…

This gives the following status: I can’t walk, sit or lie down without my feet being painful. If I do sit down, they get worse for a while after getting back up, and if I go for a walk, or Heaven forbid, if I grant my poor Hubby a slow dance on an evening out, it haunts me for days afterwards. If i have to get up during the night, I feel like crawling instead of walking…

The worst of it is that this hobbling about is probably what does my back in, too. Painkillers are wonderful things, but I’m only 45, and I don’t want to be popping x-rated drugs just to be able to exist.

I think a very serious talk with my doctor is in order - again. I put it off, because I hate being told that nothing can be done. I’ve got a new doctor, though, and maybe this one has some constructive suggestions. Maybe…

The old name of the area where we live was “Iron Valley”. It’s earned its name. The ground is full of iron ore, and our water contains quite a lot of iron - to the point where we have to dismantle our bathroom and kitchen faucets on a regular basis to get rid of the iron particles that are stuck there.
Also, our house is at the end of the power line, which means that the power tension is… fluctuating. We go through electrical appliances like mad. We’ve lived here for 5 years, and we’re on our second stove, dishwasher and washing machine, and we’ve had to repair them all as well. The TV decoder has died (Tvs are still living, touch wood). As for light bulbs - energy saving bulbs are a joke, and the halogen ones pop on a regular basis.
I know. We should get on to our electrical company. I fear it’ll be a waste of time and energy though - it’s a big company, and we’re just a drop in the ocean to them. I will do it. At the very least we should get a rebate for poor quality service…

There are, however, so many upsides about living the way we do. The closeness to nature, the fact that we can have all the animals we want, that we can cut the grass whenever we like (or not), since no one bothers us about much of anything. People say - how can you bear living so far away from everything? Well, it’s not far, for one. And not a weekend goes by without the impromptu visit of at least one set of friends or family. Which means that they know how to find us, and they like it here too… The good life for us? This is as close as we’ll get!

So far - in a little over a year, Akismet has caught over 10 000 spam comments for me. 10 245 to be exact.
This morning, there was 114 in line. I had a quick look - all porn, diet pills and various medication. Why are meds such a big thing on the ‘net, I wonder? I don’t do meds if I can help it, but if I had to, I’d make sure it was prescribed by a doctor, and I wouldn’t risk buying bootleg stuff…
Anyway. I usually try to scan the spam, to see if any genuine comments get stuck in there by mistake (it happens from time to time), but today I deleted everything. 114 comments, each a mile long - no way.
So - I apologize if anyone’s genuine comment has been deleted. I doubt it though - spam seems to be very much in season.

I saw a rerun of “The Da Vinci Code” the other night. Now, I wasn’t all that impressed with the movie - the book, as always, was so much better, and the movie just simplified things too much.

I know this is fiction. I also know that a lot of what transpires in the book is a rehash of various theories with regard to the origins of Christianity, mixed with facts about the Priory of Sion, the Templars and various other sources. That Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene is a theory that’s supported and written about by very serious scholars around the world. That this (if it’s true) is something that the Roman Church may have gone to great lengths to suppress over the years (in view of their adopted attitude towards women, carnal “sin” and celibacy in particular) is hardly unlikely.

I know my reading has been biased. I’ve read few Christian books on the subject. Mainly because their premise is wrong most of the time - they go about trying to prove something that they treat as proven fact from the beginning. That the Bible contains texts chosen by humans (mainly by a pagan Emperor who converted on his death bed, no less), written by humans, centuries after the historical events is of no consequence - the topic is off limits. “Pagan” literature doesn’t do that to the same extent. If the premise is to find the truth, or land as close to the truth as possible, it makes for so much more interesting reading.

If Jesus was married and had children, what bearing does that have on Faith? None. Why? Because Faith is, or should be, an entity proper to the individual. To the established Churches, however, it would be devastating. They’d have to renew themselves, they’d have to include women much more (Mary Magdalene, apparently, was a priestess. Now, that’s a new notion in Roman Catholic spheres…), and they’d have to review the basis of all their teachings. It’s happened before. Would it be such a bad thing if it happened again?

(or: The joys of a large brood)

(illustration photo)

Friday night, and the vote is for Tacos. We usually have Tacos in front of the TV, where there are 2 big couches facing each other and 2 chairs, one on either short side of the table. The table is set for 8, and looks quite orderly - it’s not a big table, but it holds (almost) everything. The burritothingies have to be on a side table, the taco shells too, as well as the chips. And the bottles of soft drinks. And the napkin holder.

Enter: The Family. Mum and Dad - not exactly rake thin, the same goes for Brats # 2 and 3. #s 1 and 4 can be wedged in anywhere, and the same goes for #5. #6, the Miracle Boy, has his own seat at table, but he really doesn’t care about that for longer than 7 minutes. There are so many wonderful people to climb on…

Then starts the dance. Bowls go back and forth - salad, cheese, tomatoes, cucumber, sweetcorn - drinks are being poured, there’s chatting and, eventually, eating. Miracle Boy starts climbing all over the place, everyone is feeding the mice who live under the couches (of course they do, where else would all that cheese go?). The TV volume is turned to maximum, but no one hears much. The TV is wedged in the corner section of the bookshelf. Not a big one, and old-fashioned, with a great big backside. Don’t tell my family, but the loudspeakers are bust, which gives the Friday night din an extra quality of broken base…

When we’re old and grey, when we’ve got more space than we’ll ever need, and we’re left all alone in our state of the art home theater seating for two, watching TV at normal volume (as normal as our hearing aids will allow), we’ll miss it all. The hustle and bustle, the noise, the quarreling and the making up. We’ll even miss the imaginary mice under the couch.
I know. Every age has its charm. I will, however be wanting grandkids long before that.
DO YOU HEAR THAT, KIDS?????

I’m not health concious. That is, I haven’t been in the past. Now that I’ve turned 45, and probably lived more than half the time allotted to me, I’m getting there. The fact that I’ve still got little kids who need me, well that helps too.
I’ve come across a health blog. So. What else is new? Like they aren’t 13 to a dozen… OK, OK, but this guy talks about the benefits of good health, he doesn’t write with his finger raised. Although he does write about the damage caused by un-healthy behaviour, he makes a point of suggesting alternative behaviour. In a way that makes you want to give it a go.
He also gives recipes. For nice things, like prosciutto-wrapped avocado wedges or asparagus, or a bite-sized breakfast made of scrambled eggs and pancetta. Guess what? I searched the site for the word “tofu”, and it’s not there. Long may it continue…
I’ll be back to visit this healthy fellow, for more snack recipes (!) and tips. Right now I’m off to find myself a humor blog to read - apparently, laughter is good for your health. Literally.

- when hubby and I have our yearly Christmas shopping day. Or should I say evening. It will have to be tuned down a bit this year, but there will be gifts for all. Not that I have any ideas. Not even for the kids.
We used to be able to give them sports gifts - or at least outdoor things, as they were all heavily into scouting when they were younger. Knives, sleeping bags, practical clothing… One year, we bought them all cross country skis. OK. At least they have proper skis if they ever fancy a trip out in the great white outdoors…
This year, they’re all so broke, and they’ve all got plans involving expenses, so I think they’d love to get money for Christmas. That hasn’t been an option in the past, but we may have to make an exception this year. Which means, of course, that hubbys and my shopping trip will be a short one, just shopping for the little kiddies. Maybe we can have a tête à tête dinner instead…

This is roughly what it looks like outside here tonight. I don’t have a proper camera (or the skill it takes to capture it), so I had to google “winter’s night” and see what came up.
Anyway - the stars are shining from a flawless, velvety blue/black sky, the half moon is casting its ghostlike light on the white snow, and trees and bushes are glistening in their white, frosty attire.
It’s quite, quite beautiful, all the more so because we have very little artificial light around here. I’ve been meaning to put up some more, for all those nights without moon and stars shining on virginal snow, but I haven’t done so yet. On nights like this one, I’m quite happy to have conveniently forgotten anything to do with Murray Feiss or any other lanterns, however pretty, because I so love our Northern skies when uncompromised by artificial light.

This is an illustration from a publication called “The great big Nisse-book”, which is the only known work that gives a complete account of the life and history of the Norwegian Nisse.

As you can see from the above, he’s quite different from your run-of-the-mill Santa Claus.

He’s quite small - measures about 15 cm (6 inches) without the hat. This specimen is 275 years old, which means he’s at the peak of his nisse-hood.

He looks grumpy, but that’s just because he’s squinting in the sharp sunlight. He’s got a leather toolbelt, as you can see, and deerskin boots (reminiscent of Australian UGG boots, but it’s almost certain that some nisses emigrated to Australia by mistake, getting stuck in “their” people’s luggage).

His toes are bent slightly inwards, to facilitate running in deep foliage and brush.

The nisses would have had their own little communities in the forests and mountains, but their man task was to make sure that beasts were well cared for, so many of them would live in stables and barns. There, they combed horses’ manes and made sure everything was all right with the animals, and to thank them for this, humans would put out a great big bowl of porridge on Christmas Eve.

If there was no porridge, anything could happen, as these little guys were quite vindictive. Many a Christmas Day has been spent chasing after cows and sheep in the bitter cold, because the nisse didn’t get his porridge.

To this day, if you put a bowl of porridge out in the barn on Christmas Eve, it will be empty in the morning.

My first ever full-time job was in a grocery store. I was mostly working at the till, and after a while, we had all the prices for all the items in the store computed into our brains. It was a nuisance, of course, whenever the prices changed, but it kept our minds working.
Then came the codes. Suddenly, we had to learn a three-digit code for each item. Fine for us, we didn’t have to worry about fluctuating prices anymore. The customers complained, of course - we stopped pricing the items individually, as the price was displayed on the shelves, and the staff didn’t have clue what things cost after a while. The customers learned to live with it eventually, and our brains were still having to do some work from time to time.
I went on to other venues well before the avent of barcode scanners. Nowadays, they don’t have to bother their minds with anything but scanning barcodes. They don’t even have to figure out money - the cash register tells them how much change to give you. I sometimes deliberately confuse them by producing excess change after the sums have been registered. For some, it’s absolutely impossible to figure out when they have to do it themselves. I know. I’m evil.

I’m no math wiz, but I can make a quick assessment of what a certain sum of Norwegian Kroner is in Euros, Pounds, Dollars or whatever, and I can actually tell you what your change for a hundred will be if you’re paying 78. Just like that. Most kids nowadays can’t. It’s not their fault. They’re born with a cell phone in one hand and a remote in the other.

They’re learning things now that we’d never heard of in my day, and I hope these things somehow compensate for what they’re lacking in what I would call general, practical knowledge.

Oh, God, I’m old.