Location,2,3,and 4!!!!!

They say that buying a house is the most stressful thing that you can do. It is. Even though it is not even me thats paying for it. I am required to move out of the Manse, but being a woman of little means, well actually no means, the “Powers that be” will buy a property and rent it to me so that I am not completely homeless. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? It’s not.

Find a nice house within budget, this charitable organisation has limited funds and I don’t want to abuse their generosity. “No” says Powers, “Too many repairs to do, and the boiler belonged to Noah”. Try next door, “Yes ” says Powers. Perfect I think, and mentally move in. First offer in , “No” says Mrs Owner, second offer in “No” says Mrs Owner, beginning to sound like Moses and Pharaoh now, third and final offer in, “NO!!!” says Mrs Owner. “We give up.” says Powers. “Silly Mrs Owner ” I think, or words to that effect!

Find another house but not where I want to live by the sea. “No” says Powers ,too expensive, find another, “Yes” says Powers, but thinking on it, nearly 60 can’t find an employer who wants a woman who can talk a lot and preach the Gospel, so realise can’t afford the heating plus the extra rent this one would be, so ” NO” I say. Children say “Yukk” didn’t want to live there anyway. Look at all the houses in the area, know how many beds, baths ,receps, taps, blades of grass in the garden, dream of houses, can’t bear to see the Telly and want to kill Phil Spencer and Jasmine and Homes under the Hammer man …….

Feel like head is exploding. Well knowing God as I do , he will turn up at the last minute with the perfect place…but could it be soon….

(Other post of sheldon exploding his head, should have been with this post but the text flew away and I had to write it again)

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Colours of the spectrum.

I recently read a fictional book called “The Rosie Project” by Graeme Simision. I enjoyed the book immensely, thinking at first that my daughter had sent me romantic fiction which I tend to avoid. The blurb on the back says ” Love isn’t an exact science- but no one told Don Tillman. A handsome 39 year old geneticist. Don’s never had a second date. So he devises The Wife Project, a scientific test to find the perfect partner.” It has far more  content than just Don’s relationship

On further reading, it becomes apparent that Don , who lectures on Autism is himself on the spectrum. The book is cleverly written and extremely funny in places., and has a happy ending. I won’t say too much more incase you want to read it. For someone like me who has experience of living with someone on “the spectrum”, and people commonly ,quite glibly say we all are. This may not mean much  unless you actually try to live with someone ,whom you may adore ,but who has little understanding of social norms, you might not say it so lightly.

If you look up the word “spectrum” you may read ” a condition that is not limited to a specific set of values but can vary within the continuum. A rainbow of colours”.

A rainbow in deed.In the book, Don has to keep to his rules for life to be able to function, a woman sharing that life must be able to fit in with his rigid criteria. He finds the opposite, an angel that bends all the rules to live with him in a happy relationship. Only in fiction; unless you are  completely self-sacrificing,unconcerned with needing a life of your own or caring about your own emotions. As I said it didn’t stop me enjoying the book but it was ,I felt, very unlikely, however much you adore your partner.

Being on the spectrum includes high functioning, intelligent people, but who might seem to us boring neuro-typical types a bit “odd” and this oddness can be endearing, up to a point. At times creating great hilarity.

But folk who “analyse  their observations of social interaction in rigid guidelines and apply these rules in awkward ways ” are not so easy to live with 24 hours a day.An inflexible routine, narrow areas of interest but filled with volumes of detailed information coupled with a rigid demeanor causes friction within a relationship. Add mood swings, rages,nocturnal awakenings, anxiety and sometimes depression and the rainbows colours start to darken.

Do read the novel if you can, it is highly entertaining but from where I’m standing very improbable.

A Workshop

workshop may be a room or building which provides both the area and tools (or machinery) that may be required for the manufacture or repair of manufactured goods. Workshops were the only places of production until the advent of industrialisation and the development of larger factories.

I went to a “workshop” yesterday, but nothing to do with the definition above. This was a training course provided by a national company for those wishing to start up a business of some kind. I knew it was going to be a different experience when I sat down opposite a young lady who had shaved both sides of her head and combed the long bit on top back, in a fashion that my eldest son M. and his friend S. had in the 1990’s. She then introduced me to her wife , an attractive  girl who couldn’t get a word in edge ways and who was patronised every time she expressed an opinion. This young lady, then dominated the whole morning by telling us how she worked in a bar in and what she liked to drink,and how she and her wife wanted to open a business relating to child care.During the break she deftly “rolled her own” which was really impressive , even better than the little tin produced , that my Dad had when I was a child and he let us have a go, after we had run to the shops for a packet of Old Holborn. I think that she found me rather annoying and “posh” from the comments she made, such as “swallowed a dictionary” and although she didn’t voice them, strong views on immigration, as that was where my interests lay.It all made for a rather  interesting time.
 
 
There were various others who had  planned their business venture quite well and knew where they were going. I went because I wanted to teach English to the Polish, Russians etc who are having trouble settling in Scotland because of language difficulties.I have met a few and understood their difficulties. To live in a any Country other than your own, even if you have a profession and employment, you need to be able to speak fluently enough to sort out everyday things we take for granted. It was soon apparent that I was in the wrong place because all the tutor was interested in was how much money I was going to make out of it and I was soon out of my depth. I don’t seem to be ruthless enough to run a business.My reasons for wanting to do it were right but but I do not seem to be competitive in any way.
 
By lunch time I had had enough, I struggled to fill out the workbook that I had been given with my free pencil, wobbly biro and thin piece of covered foam which turned out to be a drinks mat;so, I handed in my badge and legged it into town. I just missed the bus home, so I went to the Parish Church “drop in ” cafe for lunch because I hadn’t eaten for 5 hours. They do lovely food, a toastie and salad with a cup of tea for £2.75! As I finished my meal, I looked up and realised that I couldn’t see! I had the worst migraine I’ve had in months. Either the stress of recent weeks or lack of food must have caused it. I decided to go and sit on the front green by the Loch until it wore off a bit as  it affects my balance and speech as well, I remember passing some folk I knew but my brain wouldn’t function enough to talk to them. They must have thought I was a bit rude. I tried to call the Rev. but had no credit on the phone, so I staggered back up to a cash machine and stood there for ages until I could  remember my pin number to top it up.
 
Then I remembered he had gone to a Mission Committee meeting, so I phoned my youngest son who was a sleep and didn’t know who I was when he answered. I got some funny looks as I stood there shouting “It’s yer Mother you daft wassock!”  into my mobile.
 
I wandered back to the co op, as it’s the only supermarket for miles, and when I do my weekly shop it takes yonks because I meet so many people I know;  but today not a soul! Son phoned back eventually, by now it was 3 in the afternoon, but it was good news, he said that the Rev. was home would come and get me. So I eventually got back and  thought I’d doze in the chair.The Rev. decided that it would be a good time to do some skipping and exercises and every thump on the floor went right through my head. 
 
So what to do with my last 6/7 working years? Back to the drawing board I think. No news on my move yet, still waiting for accommodation to be finalised, in the meantime, generously donated furniture is filling the dining room here .
Time to trawl the job sites or I may have to “sign on” ,an experience I hoped I wouldn’t have to repeat!