Sometimes I’m home alone. It happens. It happens to all of us.

There are two types of home alone. Short period of time and longer period of time. They are completely different (apart from the alone at home part).

What I’ve come to realise is this; if I am home alone for a short period of time, I use it as a motivational tool. I fire into action, cleaning, cooking, happily prancing about. It’s an incentive, like a deadline to achieve noticable things so when I am no longer home alone the people who have returned can go “Oh wow you did all this stuff!” and I’ll be like hells yeah I did…

I intend for today to be one of those types of days.

The second type of home alone is a longer period, now this is not a set time limit. It’s entirely dependant on circumstances. I tend to call a day a long time, like a working day. Though, it could also include an entire evening, say if I get home from work and can’t expect to encounter anyone else until the next day. That’s a long time.

It has the complete opposite effect. It’s a downer, bit depressing, causes moping and demotivational tendencies. Without the fuel of a close deadline (and with no actual required tasks to fit into that time) everything kind of droops. I tend to end up playing cheap PC games like most recently, Dream Woods 2.

I do wonder if I’m a bit unusual in my reactions to lonesomeness…but what I’m trying to say is, today, this afternoon atleast, it going to be a motivational alone time. I’m going to whack on some sounds, bust out some sugar and butter, and cook and clean and do all the things and people will get home and say “oh wow”. I just hope we don’t end up with a repeat of this.

At first I just thought he was off, having his own little adventure and seeing the world. He was obviously jealous after I showed him my holiday photos. I knew he wouldn’t stray far.

But after a day or two had passed and there was no sign of the furry fella, worry started to sink in its claws.

By the weekend the housemates and I were searching the park behind our house. Which turned out to be a lot bigger and bushier than I expected. A little muddied and scratched from our bushwhacking we returned home again Gees-less.

The fliers went out, at least 100 of them, doing the entire street and all the side streets too.

I jumped the fence into a construction site, in the rain, just to see if he was hiding there, lost. I found no Geese. I found a large mud collection with my work boots and jean-ends. My boots still bare the evidence of this trek.

I was running out of options, with the trademe and petsonthenet ads yeilding no hope and the local vet too, things were looking grim.

A full eight days had passed.

I was wondering how much longer one little kitty could take on the big bad world for.

I was wondering this when at close to 10pm on Wednesday night a woman knocked on our door. A woman I recognised from across the road was there, rambling about cat fur in her car. Talking about how horrible it would be to have a dead cat in her garage. Rant rant rant, all inducing confusion, is he alive or is he dead in your garage?!

Finally she came out with it, he’s alive. He ran down your driveway when I opened the door.

WELL GOSH YOU COULD HAVE SAID THAT! I bolted out the door, down the stairs, almost knocking this neighbour right back over to her side of the street, down the drive and scooped up my little kitty. Now littler than even.

After a starving week of captivity he was panicked, hungry, thirsty and scared. He wanted cuddles and food and comfort and water and frienship and all of the things, all of the time. And by george, that’s what he got.

Since then, he’s settled back down. He’s back home and sure won’t be venturing into garages again anytime soon.

I woke up sounding like a horror movie villan, hoarse and croaky. My throat hurt and I was sad.

I stayed in bed, for quite some time, in fact, I’m still here. I normally enjoy this kind of comfort. It’s just a bit different today, the weather is weilding wickedness. The wind seems to come in waves, crashing into the house when I least expect it, creaking all the walls around me. I keep panicking, fearfull that it’s not just the wind. That perhaps someone else is here, sneaking through the hallway, stepping on the creaky floorboards.

I keep reminding myself that I’m silly and it’s a silly thought. But it’s still a thought, and unfortunately one that’s stuck in my head.

So come with me, on a tangent, to take my thoughts elsewhere – far from the silliness.

What do you use to take your mind someplace else? I tend to use food. Joy the Baker, Foodgawker,  the pantry, baking. maybe I’ll put music on and bake a cake. Is that a good idea? Should I do this? Will we be distracted.

Geez I hope so. I’m doing it. Honey cake.

I literally went there everyday.

Another excerpt from the diary of a travelling girl:

And so I walked, with the greatest intentions of seeing one of the most grand and famed cathedrals in the world, Notre Dame. But I walked the wrong way. I walked until the road turned to water. Every surface was defaced, cars, shopfronts. The market stalls of art became beggars selling ashtrays fashioned from old beer cans. And the grand monument to the republic itself was assaulted with the words “We are not equal but we are all together”. The pollution in the air above became more opressing, there are no friendly faces here. So I turned back.

Back past the angry words to a place where the street art is just that. Past the street cleaners working around the family asleep on the concrete. A mother, father and child huddled together with all their belongings. Back along the edge of the street gardens full of play grounds not safe for any child. This city is not one friendly to the young and vunerable. Each park is full of rough mean street swellers, keeping their own best interests in mind.

Now this is more like it. Not too far a walk to this stretch of marina along the Siene. With a truly fragrant and beautiful garden behind me and beautiful boats ahead. This is where that guy must have been sitting when he called it the city of love.

I just met the friendliest frenchie yet! A little doggie, I wish I could think faster with French so I could have struck up a conversation with the owner and delayed the pups departure. The puppy cuddles were my most positive interaction in days.

On the other hand, the nicest French language interaction? The lovely old fruit store salesman who was so kind and patient while I tried to order a bunch of grapes. That and the cute french guy who yelled out “Ca va bella!” to me at the street market.

Anyway following on from the last blog post (about the goal of expertism being 10,000 hours too far away) some people have rightly pointed out I have already started the journey to expert-status. So, I took it upon myself to work out just how far along I should be and reassess my goals to see if they’re more achievable in one lifetime (rather than three). So here’s what I figure…

Counting up on average how much time I have spent dancing since age 13 (I’m taking this age because I think it’s the first time I “tried” to dance, rather than just childishly prancing about) I figure I’ve got a grand total of 2,651 hours under my belt already.

That means I’m (2651/10000) 26% of the way there already!!

I did the same with both drawing and baking and have worked out I am respectively 10% and 8% along the way.

Now I figure from this point forward I’m going to spend approximately 10 hours per week dancing, 15 hours per week drawing and 5 hours per week baking. Using this plan, I have worked out how long until I get to be a proper expert.

Dancing = ((10,000-2651) / 10) / 52 = 14 years

Drawing = ((10,000-1000) / 15) / 52 = 11.5 years

Baking = ((10,000-800) / 5) / 52 = 35 years

Much more achievable when you break it down like that right?!

So my plan henceforth: Monday is drawing, tuesday drawing, wednesday drawing, thursday dancing, saturday dancing, sunday baking. Friday is my night off (except I couldn’t resist baking on Friday, better add that to my expert tally!)

Actually, maybe I’ll do that. I’ll start a tally and keep track of my progress. Anything to motivate working towards the goals is a good thing right?! TALLYS IT IS!

I dreamt of buying a house last night actually. Wishful thinking. It’s better than my dreams on Saturday of working and working and working in the office. It’s terrifying when work starts infiltrating dream land..especially on the weekend. I felt really threatened. Work is meant to be something that is part of my life only when I am actively partaking in it. At all other times it is a thing to be ignored.

Anyway, the thing is, I’m torn. I’ve heard and read a lot of things about becoming an expert at something. How it takes approximately 10,000 hours of work at that something, on average. That doesn’t really lend itself to being an expert at all the things which is what I’m wanting. I’ll settle for just drawing, dancing and cooking. But that’s 30,000 hours right there. That works out to be 3.42 years if I was doing that stuff 24 hours a day. Im certainly not. I would say in a week I get to put in maybe 20 hours across all those tasks. Using that figure it’ll take me (30000/20) 15000 weeks. So 15000/52 = 288 years. Im not sure I have that time.. Even if we knock off a year or two for holidays I’m still way off expertness at all the things. So really should I specialise is the next question, and no is the answer. No. Why? Because I don’t want to. So there >.<

I’ll be happier with the variety of doing all the things averagely. Did I mention I’m thinking of taking up furniture making?

Also: this. It was posted on facebook a few days ago, but if you don’t Like W!R on facebook then you would have missed out. Better go Like W!R on facebook so you don’t miss out on ALL THE THINGS.

So this song was 100% my theme song for the paragliding day. I was sitting on the coach, terrified of what I’d signed up for, listening to my iPod in an attempt to calm down. What started playing? None other than “Let’s go fly a kite” from the one and only Mary Poppins. With that musical interlude down I was washed clean of fear and rearing to go.

Now I know I know, I wasn’t flying a kite as such. But it’s all the same deal (apart from keeping your feet on the ground).

Luckily, this paragliding endeavour didn’t leave me hanging out there by myself, no. I got teamed up with an instructor for a tandem jump. Only thing is, I got the oldest, most frail looking instructor of the lot, Tom. Now I wasn’t feeling to confident about this again (and I hummed myself the aforementioned tune) but none the less it had to be done.

We had to take a cable car up to the jump spot, which honestly, sparked my fear of heights enough. When asked if he was nervous, Tom responded “I’m always nervous doing jumps with beautiful girls” Then I was given a form to sign my life away, which after the fact, he insisted was a marraige certificate and I had just agreed to live there in Austria with him forever and fly everyday with him. Well. THAT wasn’t what I intended.

Up at the jump spot he took our first ever ‘honeymoon snaps’ before running me off a cliff, into the sky. And to be honest, after the screaming and swearing subsided, it wasn’t all that bad and the view was really worth it. He even got me back on the ground safely and sold me our ‘wedding album’ for a good price.

Would I do it again? I’m not so sure. But am I happy I did it? Absolutely.

Rome, Italy
A few excerpts from the diary of the Kiwi Traveller – yours truly

Today’s theme; Roman heat. It was 36 degrees at least today. How did I survive?

Sheer resilience and piles of complaining…

We did the Vatican tour so I had to add more layers to my outfit (keep those sexy knees and shoulders covered) and walk around in crowds. HOT! Worth it though for the Vatican. Some of the most amazing art and St Peter’s was incredible.

…

But dinner, oh, our Tuscan dinner. THAT was something, so much fooooood!!

We started with cold meats and bruschetta, followed with spaghetti bolognaise, penne pesto and ravioli. Next salad, meatballs and mashed potatoes AND chicken stroganoff. Finally an icecream cake thing and a shot of limoncello to finish. Did I mention the free red wine?

By this point, I was giggly and bursting at the seams. Our fat, sweaty Italian waiter had started winking at me and I’m sure I was glowing.

Me and Bec tried to visit the ladies but had a hard time working out how to turn on the sink tap. After a few minutes of whacking it like Neanderthals we were sufficiently clean to head out into the night.

….

What a brilliant Roman day. It started with basic cook duties for breakfast, which to be honest I rather enjoyed! I miss food and it’s preparation. I’m going to be a dinner making fiend when I get home.

We took the Metro into town and did a little walking tour starting with the Spanish Steps, then to the Trevi Foundation, which was really rather beautiful. There’s a little fake window there on the building because it was filled in after a suicide. I threw two coins into the fountain and made myself a wish. Guess I’ll be going back to Rome!

After that we continued to the Pantheon, which is quite a fabulous building. So strong, the walls are 6m thick and full of holes from wartime conflict. I understand why it’s considered a temple of the gods.

We went on to see the ruins in the Forum and walked through to the Colosseum. All of Rome is so epic. It’s really awe inspiring. I feel incapable of capturing it in words and pictures. The heat though. Momma mia. I need to come back here in autumn when I can comfortably walk around and take it in.

Me and two friends went off to see the Cappucin Monks at their friary. The cappucino was actually named after them because of their brown robes and white caps. Their museum was full of their works. Embroidery, book making, medicine formula. I didn’t realise monks were so productive!

At the end of the museum is the crypt. Room after room of bones arranged to form patterns and images. Whole dressed monks still wasting away. Was quite a sight. Hard to comprehend those were once actual people much like me.

Last stop was the recommended Gelato shop and oh my I’m so glad we made it there. It was incredible. Literally so many flavors. A good hundred of them. I had six, plus taste tested ones other people bought. I had:

- Chocolate and cookie (there were 20 different kinds of chocolate to choose from?!
- White chocolate
- Banana & honey yoghurt
- Vanilla, lemon and berry
- Blackberry
- Passionfruit

ALL with free cream on top, I’m sure the guy serving me enjoyed it just as much as I did. One day I will go back there, when I turn traveller again and my Trevi coin brings me back to Rome.

8 days since I had the craziest trip through Europe.

8 days since I celebrated surviving it.

8 days is all it’s taken for me to realise that all offices are the same, made up of the same components, much like burgers.

8 days is not long enough to recover or even look at all my photos or catch up with all the people who need to be caught up with. It IS however long enough to visit the newest most delicious Milk and Cookie Bar the universe has to offer. Moustache. Check it out. It’s amazing.

Soon I will be more awake and more able to tell you all the stories. Then I’ll draw you a little more, I’ve got something in mind. Something pretty special!

This applies 100% of the time I think. To 100% of lifes journeys, big and small. Think about it. The journey experienced making a cuppa tea. You have to lay the ground work, get the jug on, make sure you have a good clean mug (maybe even wash one), build your planning skills, foresight. As the jug boils and the tea brews one must have patience, comfort and trust that the tea will come. And once the tea is ready, it tastes all the sweeter for the effort and anticipation.

Sure that’s a bit of an exaggeration of the point – but you see what I mean. It’s all a process. And if it ends up with a cuppa tea in your tum – all the better.

Drawing this update was a process for me, granted I’m not certain the process is done. I did something I hardly ever do and put it down without finishing…and still managed to come back to it and ‘complete’ it. I’m not sure what it is about putting down a picture unfinished. I hardly ever pick it up again.

You know what I think it could be? I think I may lose the fire.

If there’s a picture burning a hole in my head I’ve got to get it out. If I don’t fuel that fire. If I step away and let it go out, it’s certainly hard to rekindle the ashes. So how did I do it, how did I come back to this? I kept the ashes warm. If that makes sense.

I kept this image in my head, kept it smouldering, and apparently it worked okay.

Though I think I’ve let it go now, now that it’s out here with you guys. In good hands.

Sorry – looks like I’m in a rambley type mood today. Other things of note:

A) I spent all day feeling pretty
B) I spent a good portion of the day smiling like a happycat
C) I spent my evening cooking and drawing – what indulgence!
D) I will be on a plane in 8 days