End of Summer Serenade

The start of Autumn has heralded some cloudy skies and rather cool evenings, a far cry from a week ago when the State sweltered in the 30s. As it turned out it was a perfect Saturday, with myself and a few friends joining around 8500 others who took advantage of the balmy evening to flock to Launceston’s City Park equipped with all the picnic paraphernalia necessary to sit or lie back and be treated to the TSO’s annual Symphony Under the Stars.

Bad back or no bad back there was no way I was going to miss this, one of my few cultural events of the year, so spent most of the evening flat on my back being soothed by the music, staring at the sky as it gradually darkened and the stars were teased out by the strains of the great composers of past centuries as well as those of the present day.

New Zealand conductor and composer Kenneth Young brought out the best in Tasmania’s wonderful orchestra before new Chief Conductor and Artistic Director Marko Letonja takes over the reins this month. Violin soloist Ji Won Kim was captivating, with Vaughn Williams’ Lark Ascending absolutely exquisite, though one of the most popular moments of the evening came with the appearance of rookie guest conductor Vince Taskunas.

General Manager of RACT’s public policy and communications, Vince placed the winning bid at the TSO’s 2011 Gala Ball to conduct the orchestra at this year’s event, and despite having absolutely no qualifications to lead an orchestra, wowed the audience as he seized the moment and waved that baton like a pro as he played to the crowd through Rossini’s fast paced William Tell overture.

Confirmed that classical music is not simply for the highbrow, with everyone singing Happy Birthday to one of the orchestra members, and thousands yelling for more encores as the evening concluded, with no intention of leaving until the traditional can-can finale struck up so they could get to their feet and go crazy for a while.

Perfect end to summer.

A Close Call

Think I’m going to write February off this year’s calendar. After a horror of a month with a major flare up of a long standing back injury, some weird virus which made me feel like crap for weeks and sent my liver into a state of panic making my doctor send me for blood test after blood test, my body then decided to top it all off with a 3 day migraine.

Ah, but there’s more, a little episode this morning which could have seen me off with the angels. Innocently eating my vegemite toast while on the computer, turned to pick up my mug of tea on the desk by the window, when what should be trekking around the rim of the mug but a jack jumper ant.

“You’ve gotta be kidding.” I even said it out loud. Being not only allergic to the nasty little beasties but hypersensitive to spotting them at 50 paces in any direction of my vicinity, figured the lemon herbal tea smell must’ve wafted out the open window and enticed him in.

At the very least I would’ve been stung on the hand, but if I hadn’t looked and just drank it I could‘ve been stung either on or inside my mouth, the prospect of which I don’t really want to contemplate. Anaphylaxis can hit pretty fast, and seeing as I’m only four months into the five year desensitisation process, I gratefully offered up a prayer of thanks for avoiding what might have been a definitely dramatic end to the month.

Roll on March, looking forward to starting a new month with a clean slate.

A Glimmer of Hope

Yay, progress at last, albeit very minor. Managed to graduate to getting out of bed by deftly lowering the legs over the side and powering up the abdominals to get me in an upright position, rather than slithering out backwards on my stomach and walking on my knees to the nearest vantage point to pull myself up. No mean feat as I don’t actually have much upper body strength to even lift myself into a sitting position, will have to consider weight lifting or something.

Now that I’m able to dress myself once more, have the whole showering and dressing process down from an hour and a half to an hour, quite an achievement I thought even if I still can’t dry the bottom half of me. Who knows, maybe by the end of another week or so I’ll actually be able to shave my hairy legs and cut my toenails.

So, equipped with this new measure of hope, the very first attempts at physio were gingerly conducted on the lounge room floor. Not exactly easy, but baby steps are better than no steps at all.

Woeful Week

Day 13, back still not much improved, and to add insult to injury a great chunk of tooth or filling leaving a huge crater decided to get dislodged while cleaning my teeth yesterday. Obviously not categorised as an emergency, have an appointment in 2 weeks time.

And quite apart from my woes, daughter in law Mel had to call Glen urgently at work on Thursday as their downstairs toilet was overflowing all over their brand new carpet. Appears the septic tank decided to back up so on his way home to help with the drama someone ran into the back of him when he stopped at a red light. More hold up, more yuck on the carpet. After calling in the insurance company, digging round in the yard for hours to find the septic lid to get access to have it pumped out, cleaning the carpet themselves to get rid of most of the offending smell, you’d think that was enough for the week.

Septic tank pumped out Friday, and while Glen was heading back to work was held up for ages because of a house fire on the edge of town, making him very late for work.

Not to be outdone, their son Zandar who’s just over two and a half, launched himself off the furniture last night and gashed his head. After spending several hours with me at the hospital last Monday and ferrying me home, Glen was off to the hospital yet again for a few more hours with the little bloke who ended up with three stitches and fortunately doesn’t seem to be too much worse for wear. I think everyone else was more upset than he was. When Mum and Dad talked to him about it today and suggested jumping around on the furniture wasn’t such a good idea his only response was “No, it was fun.” Too much testosterone for one little boy. Think they’re in for a future of footy, skateboard and other assorted injuries.

And if that wasn’t enough, today was Mel’s turn. After a nasty chest infection and coughing up indescribable gunge for two weeks, and antibiotics having no effect, she then headed to the hospital for a chest x-ray as the doc thought she could be on the verge of pneumonia. Fortunately she wasn’t, but with a well entrenched infection and torn muscles in her chest from coughing so much she was loaded up with a concoction of drugs, steroids and puffer to open up her airways, so we’re trusting there’ll now be a quick improvement.

Wasn’t game to ring Kris and Biz to see if there were any mishaps in their neck of the woods. Enough for one week.

Getting out of work the hard way

It was raining last Monday (Jan 30), not a particularly common occurrence around here, despite Tassie’s reputation of being wet and cold most of the time, so thought I’d get the brolly out of the car. Bad decision. By the time I got to work my back was playing up so bad had to head home by lunchtime, and that’s where I’ve been ever since.

Had all the necessary medication which usually gets me through the worst of the first few days of my long standing back injury, but on this occasion was barely touching the edges. Did the right thing and did the soft shoe shuffle round the block couple of times a day to keep as mobile as possible otherwise everything seizes up completely.

Flat on my back the rest of the time, so the only method of getting into an upright position again was to drag myself commando style as if some unknown enemy was on the lookout for me from the lounge room to the loo. Thankfully I have bars fitted which after a bit of interesting maneuvering I could grab on to and lift myself up before the bladder burst.

This usually lasts for 3 or 4 days before I can start functioning again, but by Day 8 of excruciating pain and no improvement, and having to get friends in to help me get dressed, the white flag of surrender finally came out. Called an ambulance and some lovely ambos ferried me to Lonnie hospital where I ended up in a drug induced stupor which sent me to la-la land where pain doesn’t exist. Bliss for a while.

Equipped with stronger pain killers and muscle relaxants they sent me packing, but I think now at Day 10 I’m finally starting to turn the corner. Doesn’t actually address the underlying problem which sparked off this latest episode but hopefully I can now begin some basic physio to get back on track.

Have discovered a few things in the past few days. Family and friends are wonderful when you’re at your worst. Daytime television is definitely the pits, have grazed my elbows from dragging myself along the floor so much, kitchen tongs have become my greatest ally, picking up everything from my mobile to the TV and DVD remote, blanket, heat pack, TV guide, you name it, they were indispensable. Anything I’ve dropped on the floor has stayed there, shame I don’t have a dog to come and clean up after me. Haven’t been able to read, a real downer, as I read constantly, but with so many foreign chemicals coursing through my body my brain has been addled, my speech slurred and my eyes a bit unfocussed. Then there’s the issue of constipation having so many pain killers does to you, but we won’t go there. Did suggest an enema while I was in the hospital, but for some strange reason they didn’t take me seriously.

One thing I should’ve done is post this entry in its original state, as the spellchecker was going crazy with my fingers constantly hitting the wrong keys.

So, here’s to good health and maybe a return to work by next Monday. The least I could’ve had for two weeks off work was a bit of fun, maybe that’ll have to wait until I retire!

Proved my theory yet again

Told you I was right. There I was, minding my own business watching Grand Designs, flipping back and forth to see how Djokovic and Nadal were faring in the first set of the Australian Open final, when lo and behold I had to watch just at the crucial moment to see Rafa take out the first set.

Went back to the ABC, dared to come back to see Novak had the upper hand in the second set, looked like the set was in the bag so thought I’d cheer him on, only to see Rafa fall in line with my sporting jinx theory and turn on his characteristic power to break back and level it out again. Couldn’t watch, switched over again, and was overjoyed to see on my return Novak had managed to t, looked like the set was in the bag ssnare the second set.

Kept going in and out of the room during the third set which Djokovic won with the greatest of ease so far in the match, but I knew Nadal wouldn’t go down without a helluva fight and that the contest was far from over.

Despite the high drama, decided to head for bed, and was glad I did, as the 5hr 53min longest running 5 set marathon of a match in Grand Slam history kept the spellbound spectators waiting until after 1.30am before Djokovic finally claimed the victory.

So, did my absence from watching influence the outcome? Who’s to know, but what I do take from such a significant sporting endeavour is an amazing amount of respect for players who not only display great skill, but who refuse to buckle under immense pressure, and are gracious both in defeat as well as victory.

Sports Jinx

I was very nearly the undoing of Novak Djokovic’s victory over Andy Murray in last night’s Australian Open semi final. Was I in the crowd and yelled out something at a crucial moment? No. Did I knowingly do something to undermine his attempt to work his way into yet another Grand Slam final? No. Did I spike his Gatorade? No.

So what did I do? I simply turned on the TV to watch.

Having long had a love of athletics despite my own inability to get any further than college representation, I’ve drawn much satisfaction from the exploits of others in their chosen fields. What has become glaringly apparent though over the last few years, is that the moment I sit down in the recliner and settle in to watch a good game, Ricky Ponting loses his wicket, the Western Bulldogs play like mongrels, Lleyton Hewitt has another 5 setter in the first round against some unknown player ranked at 382 in the world, Cadel Evans gets hemmed in on a sharp bend and gets knocked off his bike. You name it, whoever is supposed to be a sure thing inevitably falls apart at the all important moment.

Now, you may think I’m a little odd to believe this, but time and time again I have turned the fortunes of our sporting heroes around simply by walking out of the room. I’ve barely watched a footy match in the last three years, not that that’s helped the Doggies win a flag, but if I walk into the room as Cooney kicks the ball forward into the safe hands of Giansiracusa, an opponent will always materialise from nowhere to steal it with a goal mere seconds away. So, to help the ball on its way, I go hang out the washing and return to see if they managed to succeed.

Tennis matches are so fraught with tension my fingernails fall victim, so my tactic is to flip channels about every ten minutes to catch the score and monitor the progress. Last night’s semi final, according to the TV guide, was to start at 7.30 then be followed by a movie at 10.30. Following the script of most of the matches this week between the top players, the crowd had to stay until way past midnight before a deciding result.

Nearly 5 hours in duration, Novak and Andy slogged it out, Andy refusing to be intimidated by the world’s No 1. At one set apiece, the third was getting interesting, this was obviously not going to be a Novak walkover. Couldn’t bear to watch, came back to see Andy had won that one. Wasn’t sure I wanted to see Novak beaten, so turned it off, did something else, thought I’d go to bed as it was pretty late.

Made myself a cuppa, turned the TV back on again to find Novak had won the fourth set in no time flat, was 5-2 up in the fifth, see, told you it helps when I’m not watching, so figured I’d watch him take it out as there was no way he could lose it from there.

And what happened? As sure as eggs are eggs the whole thing started to unravel before my eyes. Novak couldn’t win a trick, Andy blitzed him from every angle and before we knew it they were at level pegging with the crowd going ballistic in support of Andy. What had I done? Why was I watching? The whole thing was slipping away, but with some sort of morbid fascination I had to see it through to the bitter end. Of course, the result is now history, with Novak fighting on with grim determination to win what I think was one of the toughest and most defining matches of his career.

Only downside to such a victory is that he now has to gather himself together and do it all again for the final, a daunting prospect, but one which elite players in all sports face week in week out. For us mere mortals, the prize might not be as grand, but we also face daily hurdles which require us to rise to the occasion and put in our best effort. We all feel small in the face of life’s big challenges, but having the guts to realise our full potential, whether or not someone is watching who might have an influence on the outcome, would be rich reward indeed.

As Christopher Robin once said to Winnie the Pooh, “You must remember this; you’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”