Another Quiet Saturday
Today was an almost complete re-enactment of last Saturday. After all the chat of the week, I needed some peace and quiet today. Only a few work calls. A bit of chat here and there. But mostly, I was pretty anti-social.
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Via Napoli
Though there are often waiting crowds outside Via Napoli, located on Crown Street, Surry Hills, there was no need to book for Sunday lunch, I was told. As a resident of Surry Hills, the crowds you often see on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday night drive me a little crazy. Whether people are queuing for a table, or standing outside having a chat or a cigarette, there are just so many people in the way, that I often find myself getting a little grumpy, as I struggle through with my shopping bags.
But a week or so before I went overseas, I got over my “mental block” about the crowds associated with Via Napoli and went there for a pizza. As a friend who had been there spoke enthusiastically about the food, I popped down for a Monday night meal. I chose the four cheese pizza. It was wonderful. A great base, perfectly cooked, wonderful cheeses. And when I suggested to my friend we should go there for lunch today for a post-holiday catchup, she didn’t miss a beat.
The Wagga Connection
“So when was the last time you were here? Three or fours years?”, I asked the bloke next to me at lunch today. He was a friend of a friend visiting from the United States. I’ve met both his children and his nephew through our mutual friend, and we met a couple of years ago. Or so I thought. I turns out the last time we had a meal together was ten years ago. Ten bloody years ago. Can you believe it? How could time have gone so quickly?
We were a large and mixed group with two common connections: our friend Colin and the town of Wagga Wagga. As we chatted about these connections, there was a mutual agreement we all enjoyed our time in Wagga Wagga very much. “We were in our thirties. The kids were still young. And you had to make your own fun”, one of the guests commented, adding, “we lived in Port Macquarie and hated it. It was God’s waiting room.”
The other interesting connection for our American visitor was the connection with his home state of Kansas. Wagga has a sister sister, Levenworth. In practice that means a number of streets in Wagga Wagga are named Topeka and other such names, and there’s a chair I think in the Botanic Gardens, which recognises a visit by Miss Levenworth many years ago.
But when you have visitors from the US, one of the great places to take them, of course, is Opera Bar which is what we did for lunch today. Although the music was a little loud to have a good conversation – we moved – it was a very enjoyable afternoon. The linguini with crab meat was excellent, by the way.
Lovely Friday
Although at yum-cha, I’ve eaten quite a few of those sweet/savoury buns commonly found in parts of Asian for, I hadn’t realised how common they were until I was in Hong Kong in 2008.
I think it was my first day in Hong Kong, and as I wandered around the city – well, in and out of the linked air-conditioned shopping malls – I noticed quite a few shops selling them.
The first thought I had, the moment I first bit into one was, “food doesn’t taste like this”.
They’re sickly sweet. They taste as though they’ve been processed to within an inch of their life. And you just know they can’t be good for you.
Going past my favourite little cake shop in China town for lunch, I decided to give them another try.
I settled on one with peas, corn, and heaven knows what else inside.
Slightly tastier than the ones I remember from Hong Kong. Even slightly less processed. But I’m still sure it can’t have been good for me.
Another memory of that big trip was revisited when I went out for dinner tonight with Edward, the bloke from Sydney who I met in Stockholm.
We shared a room for three or four days, and have gotten together a few times since then.
We enjoyed a drink or six, a terrific meal at The Balkan, and an otherwise lovely Friday night.
When Will I Ever Learn?
So every night, when I come home from work (or an evening out), I walk up the stairs to my front door, pull out my keys, and switch on the light. This is what happens next.
Do I learn from this? Finally, yes. The first day of the rest of my life starts tomorrow.
Thoughts over coffee
“When was the last time you had a blood-pressure check?”, the optometrist asked me after he looked into my eyes with the torch.
“Why, is there something to worry about?”, I asked him. I then told him I had an operation a few months ago, had my blood pressure taken, and was told there was nothing to worry about “for a man of my age”.
“A lot of people naturally have higher blood pressure, but it’s something I noticed which might be worth checking”, the optometrist told me.
A day later, I’m still thinking about what he said. It was possibly the best visit to the optometrist I’ve ever had. Most visits have involved a quick case of “identify the blurry letters”, and then being sent out to select new frames. But the guy yesterday morning was really thorough.
He even added a few tips along the way about using multifocals. “If you’re using a screen, you might find reading glasses are better than multifocals”, he told me. Today, I tried it, and he was right due to the focal range. It was clearer!
And yes, I have selected some new frames!! :) I recently got a pay-rise so I’ve gone a little “upmarket” this time. I’ve gone blue, not black this time, too.
The visit to the optometrist was a timely reminder that I’m getting older.
I’m also currently taking part in a series of meetings at work about superannuation and retirement. I think I’m okay, financially speaking, though still open to the idea of “marrying up”. All reasonable offers will be considered. :)
Though many family members have had retirement “forced” upon them (due to illness), I’m not feeling that way right now. I turn 57 at the end of the year, and my plan has been, and continues to be, to retire from full-time work at 60. I’m in a defined benefit superannuation scheme, and that’s when my benefit “matures”. If I was made redundant in the next couple of years I could access the superannuation pension, but right now 60 seems like a good age.
I don’t have children, and it’s highly unlikely I ever will, and so the desire to leave a massive inheritance behind isn’t a motivation. It’s all about having a good next part of my life.
Earlier today on Twitter, a colleague commented “So have you heard about “quiet quitting”? it’s where you don’t outright quit your job, but you quit the idea you should go over and above what your job actually is.. “ My reply was “When you reach that stage, it might be time to make room for someone else”
I’m already stepping back from a few things at work and mentoring a few people for the sake of their own careers, and to make sure I don’t leave the ABC and take all of my years of knowledge with me.
I’m pretty clear in my mind that, for me, retirement from full-time work involves volunteer work around some of the things that really interest me, including historical research, and likely helping develop the next generation of people with an interest in radio. And likely helping with family and friends. I don’t think I want to be a “paid consultant”, I just want to make a contribution.
The last few years have reminded me I don’t have so much of an ego that I feel like I’m irreplaceable. There’s an amazing generation of people coming through. Though there will be some people who will miss me when I retire, I think it’s also likely I’ll soon be forgotten for my work. “Oh year, whatever happened to him? Isn’t he living on some hippie commune at Nimbin?” they might likely say.
And besides, you never know what tomorrow might bring.
PS – the new glasses
Little Things
You know how it is: you go to the doctor, and they ask you what you eat, drink, smoke, and take, and you’re not entirely honest. The experience of the last few months has made me far more open and honest about everything, and not in the slightest embarrassed.
For example, this morning I said to the occupational therapist, “This is my bed, and this is my urine bottle.” “And how often do you use it?”, Anna replied. “Usually only once,” I told her, noting that it was mostly about 3:30 in the morning.
From there, we went into the bathroom where I demonstrated how I would take a shower (with a supportive stool), have a bowel movement (including the actions involved in wiping my bum), and then get up and down.
Before this all happened, I could never imagine the honesty and intimacy I would need to share with strangers. But it’s been a week of that with a number of visits and appointments.
“Do you have much fatigue? How many hours can you have in the community at a time?”, Anna further asked. The answer is about two or three hours at a time, I told her honestly. After one of the outings this week, I came home and needed a nap. But that’s probably not so different from before? :)
“You sound like you’re very well organized,” Anna noted, when I talked about my routines. A few people I’ve encountered over the last few months have said the same, and they’ve all smiled in reply when I’ve told them my job is as a Planning Manager.
I’m already thinking ahead to referendum voting day, and sent an email to my local voting booth, at the Bourke Street Primary School, with a view to understanding if they will have a “sausage sizzle”, one of my favourite parts of elections.
To my relief, the reply came back, with “The P&C will be running a BBQ on referendum day. As we have our big school fete on 29 October, it will only be a BBQ as they’re saving up their energy for the fete. Maybe that’s an excuse for two outings?”
In the next week, I have a few more appointments for which I’ll also be assisted by my support workers who come in twice a week for three hours at a time.
Applying for a disability parking permit
On Monday, we’ll attempt (for the second time) to visit Service NSW at Haymarket to apply for a disability parking permit. Even though amputations are a legitimate reason to apply for a permit, I’ve been told things have “tightened up” in the last eighteen months. “The assumption is that if you have a prosthetic limb you should be okay to get around by yourself”, one doctor told me. We both agreed that didn’t take into account the days when I’ll be in a wheelchair, unable to wear my prosthetic, or after hours of fatigue. Fingers crossed it will be okay.
Meetings with friends
Next week, even with my prosthetic limb, I’ll still be in a wheelchair for a couple of lunch/dinner meetings I have with friends. The key issues remain both fatigue, and uneven footpaths.
I’m still planning the logistics around lunchtime. It’s an annual catchup with some current and former colleagues, which is usually a fairly boozy affair. I might have a glass or two myself, though nowhere near as much as I would previously. I don’t really want to impose on my friends, so I’m trying to work out the best way to get to and from the venue.
