Wednesday, 26 March 2014

Missed Calling

Another early morning blog attributed to my mind racing through a cocktail of issues.

The usual obsessions flow through me. Little Miss' tantrums. Am I too soft or too hard? Am I applying appropriate discipline techniques?

It's The Baby's first birthday next week - where has the year gone? How has my precious cherub grown so quickly and right under my nose? Why can't I buy a version of WD 40 that will oil and mute my noisy joints? After running my nightly 'are they hot or cold' checks, those silly creaks wake the girls each time I creep out of their bedroom. 

I have accepted these issues and many more (mundane to others but critical to me).  A range of new issues however have invaded my thoughts.

Where is that Malaysian plane? What are the real implications of the Ukraine crisis? Will I ever stop obsessing about what is going on in the world?

What will I watch when my nightly fix of a Turkish TV drama (with Greek subtitles) ends?  This drama has helped me escape all of the above thoughts for a little while. The drama is bad, but addictive.

Continuing on my path of inward reflection - I have started to wonder whether I have missed a calling to be a private investigator (P.I).

This thought gives me flashbacks.

A flashback to my teenage years when my sisters took me on a stake out.  I don't remember the details why we were spying on a man and lady that had driven to a parking lot with ocean views (well that says it all doesn't it?) but it was exhilarating.
The law abiding speed limit car chase to the parking lot, the getting out of the car and hiding behind trees trying to peer into the car was the highlight of my stunted social outing year. 

Nothing came of our investigation other than a quick prayer of thanks to God that nobody noticed us and called the police. The very idea of explaining to my parents why we skipped an aerobics class (yes this was the '80's) to hide behind trees near a car park terrified me more than a night in the slammer.

When I was old enough to coordinate my own stake out, a friend and I decided to drive past a particular  house about 1000 times ducking down low in our seats, to check out an older man as he mowed the lawn. He was in our minds was the local Richard Gere (good looking older gentleman type).

We wanted to investigate just what it was that made us giggle like school girls when we saw him. He must have noticed us (who wouldn't, it was a dead end street). He never told his friends (our parents) but he would always give us a special smile.

We never solved that case but the excitement during each drive by still makes me catch my breath.

In my more mature years, I helped a friend track her straying partner. This time our surveillance moved online.  After a fair amount of snooping - we worked out the friend's online behavior, payments to a discrete business that men patronised, accessed telephone and text messages.

This was the real deal. We snooped and got dirt. The relationship ended once we, ok, I was too scared to -  but once my friend presented the evidence and demanded an explanation.

This case bought genuine satisfaction.

I ignore the fact that being a P.I can be dangerous, it requires wit, secrecy, you can never really talk about work can you? A good investigator would need to work out - admit it, a fat, unfit P.I would never get a good gig, and it's not a 9 to 5 , Monday to Friday type of job.

Not at all practical if you have two cubs and a Mr. Lucky to care for so, in retrospect am glad I didn't pursue this career path.

I wonder if I should turn my thoughts to my next career move. Personal trainer? Wine maker? Personal shopper? Property mogul?

What calling have you missed (career wise) and are you planning on making a career change now?

Tuesday, 18 March 2014

Regarding Henry

I have always considered myself a one man woman. But like a heroine in a romance novel, my world has been turned upside down.  I don't think it's love. I don't think it's lust. It's  an obsession that just wont pass.

I know it's not right.  There is not much I can do about it.  Like a smitten boy-crazed school girl, I just cant stop thinking or talking about him.

His name is Henry. A nice strong traditional English (I think)  name. A name I wouldnt normally be attracted to - but these things often suprise even the best of heroines.
I first noticed him on  a construction site. I couldnt help but be drawn to him. He looked so in control, he knew he had a lot of work to do, he was going to get dirty and didnt care.  He had a focussed determination - a force to be reckoned with.

No job was too small or big for this strong but friendly brute. What really won me over was his warm smile.

Just when I thought I had my obsession (or fantasy) under control, as luck would have it - Henry charged through my office one day.  A construction and office type!  My fantasy / obsession couldnt get any better, could it? He met every girls dream including those that prefer that their Henry stay at home with the kids. That's right ladies,  I later saw him at a friend's house, getting stuck into the housework, again with that lovely smile.

I was beside myself. I couldnt sleep, I couldnt eat (well that's not entirely true).

I had to talk to somebody about Henry. I had little choice, I had to fess up to Mr Lucky. He knew something was up anyhow. He is the only person in the world that truly understands me. He is my best friend, my partner in crime, my everything. So I took a risk and told him.
He wasnt happy. He yelled, he stomped, he slamed a door or two - but later he calmed down and suggested something I would never ever have thought possible.

'Let's bring Henry home, and see what happens' he said warily.

I was nervous, but didnt waste a second.  I wasnt going to risk Mr  Lucky changing his mind.  Henry came over the next day - and hasnt left.  Well, truth be known,  we left him temporarily and oh how I miss him!!!  While we're holidaying in Greece, he stayed on in London. It would be too weird and costly for him to come with us.

The time we spent together was special.  While I promised Mr Lucky that I would  dance with Henry  once or twice a week  - I couldnt help it,  we tangoed every day. I was happy. He was happy - that lovely smile never left him. And strangely, Mr Lucky was unusually happy. Perhaps because he realised i was finally satisfied.

Now in Greece I pine for him, I cant wait to be reunited.  I think Mr Lucky can't wait too - it will certainly  put me at ease.

To help me cope, I carry a photo of him with me around. Here he is ladies.... my darling Henry. My Henry who meets my sad, hidden obsession with....... vacuming. And yes, we have tried Dyson, he just wont do for me.