How to Make Life Difficult for Yourself

Posted on by Dr Karen E McAulay

I’m not writing about scholarship today. Indeed, this is more a case of, ‘Don’t do as I do …’

  • Buy old house
  • After 30 years, learn that rewiring is needed
  • Box most household goods (this is mainly my remit) to facilitate rewiring
  • Pull a muscle in your back (ouch!)
  • Vacate premises
  • Return to scenes like this:-

Upheaval is Anathema

Now, having very elderly and neuro-divergent family members will make any upheaval twice as traumatic. It was. Keep this in mind.

  • Despite the need for redecorating next, I was told that We could not live like that, so the majority of the boxes had to be unboxed (again, my remit)  before Christmas. A painter was engaged to start after Christmas.
  • But first, I had to coordinate Christmas and pack it away again,  singlehandedly.  The pulled muscle complained.
  • And boxing up began again. (Again mainly, painfully, my remit). 
  • But this time, more of my books had to be boxed. Even for a former librarian, heaving big boxes of books about is strenuous work.
  • There were delays. And timekeeping issues. The estimated 4-5 days extended to 18 immensely stressful days. Testosterone Towers took it out on me.  I’m mentally exhausted, and now the house has to be unboxed and tidied again.
  • OK, so now is a good time to go for a shingles vaccination. Only a mild reaction, but temporarily adding physical aches and tiredness to the mental draining. 

Between 4 and 10 pm yesterday, I emptied 12 boxes and cooked dinner.  Testosterone Towers can’t wait for order to be restored out of chaos.  It will happen. (I may be ‘ridiculous’, ‘getting worse as I age’ and ‘a stupid old woman’, but I have my uses.  Apparently, none of this was said.*  I must be losing my marbles, too.)

In Fairness

  • Three rooms completely redecorated
  • Two rooms, hall and landings repaired

Although we had expected a couple of ceilings to be fully repainted, which weren’t, I have to say that the painter’s partial solution was masterful. The highlight of my morning today? Waking to this:-

Never was I happier to look up at a white ceiling. (Even if other parts of it are less pristine!)

I cannot think about research just yet.  I don’t need to, today or most of tomorrow. My mind is still frazzled, and there’s major tidying to do.  But hopefully a nicer environment will make for a calmer mind.

(Now, where’s the hot water bottle for my back?)

*This is gaslighting. These things have been said.

Sofa, So Good: Working from a Chaotic Home

Posted on by Dr Karen E McAulay
The ankles and feet of someone on a painter's ladder

I’m working, but my mind is scattered and my physical surroundings are a nightmare. This is not the place to describe the unique hell of a redecorating project where everything is in boxes, piles or under dustcloths; floors are paint-and-plaster-dusty; deadlines are consistently missed; explanations are sketchy; and it emerges that the 9-5 by which I have structured the past 42 years is a concept entirely alien to our decorator. As is the concept of Monday-to-Friday. Hence the total absence of workers today.

Lounge? LIVING Room?

Throughout the pandemic, I managed the 9-5 quite effectively from my home-office alcove. Small, cramped, but entirely within my control. Take me out of my alcove into another room in which one can neither lounge nor live comfortably, and I am like a fish out of water. I need two small coffee tables – but the tables are glass – the mouse is ill-at-ease on them. And I’m accustomed to using a mouse rather than the trackpad. Makeshift arrangements make this just about workable. I have carved out a whole morning of peace and solitude, and by and large, it’s working.

Yes, it’s stressful. And I’m not alone – I live in Testosterone Towers, where habitual stress is bad enough, but habitual + domestic upheaval stress makes things extraordinarily difficult, and my caring responsibilities are challenged to the max. (Remember, I said that I’m annoying? I am reportedly becoming more annoying by the day, and I don’t seem able to help myself inadvertently doing it. It’s not that I don’t try to be good, either.)

Can I blog about research today? No, I don’t think I can. I’ve just ordered all the tech I need for my forthcoming oral history project – that felt like quite an achievement! – and I have just received a wee book that a kind Ancestry-user sent me about their ancestor, who happens to have been the brother of the professor I was researching in my post-Christmas idleness. The best thing I can do this morning is to read it from cover-to-cover, then get back to compiling a repertoire list that I started last night. (My need to occupy the lounge – ha! lounge?! – may be keeping Testosterone Towers from their daytime TV, but last night I found I could perform activities like searching the British Newspaper Archive quite effectively, whilst ignoring the TV entirely, happy in the knowledge that Testosterone Towers is not being inconvenienced at all.)

I saw an academic event on Eventbrite that I’d have liked to sign up to, even if it’s a non-working day. I dare not sign up to it. I can’t imagine the redecorating being finished by Tuesday.

My apologies for moaning. Maybe things will be better by this time next week!

Image by Kris from Pixabay

Rewiring (Domestic, not Neurological!)

Posted on by Dr Karen E McAulay

A smell.  (My nose is as finely-tuned as my ears are not.) 

A melting fuse.

One thing led to another, and we’re getting the whole old house rewired this week.  I’ve rearranged my part-time morning and taken my part-time day off. And I’m not going through to Edinburgh.  With everything packed up in boxes during the upheaval, and ourselves displaced, I simply can’t get on.  I hesitate even to tackle emails, in case I forget where I got to in the different aspects of my work. I can’t simultaneously get my head around the intricacies of research, which explains why I’m not blogging as much as usual.

It appears that the ‘semi’ part of my retirement is to be dedicated to caring for the old house.  (Elderly houses have their own unique requirements and challenges,  different to older humans. At least Himself doesn’t have dodgy ceilings and won’t need redecoration.) 

In semi-retirement, it falls to me both to coordinate things – and sometimes repeat things.  (I’m the only one with hearing aids. Although this is disputed, I find they work fine, as evidenced by the fact that I get to repeat what the electrician said!) And, particularly but not entirely, because a rewire is stressful for all concerned, I find myself on the receiving end of quite a few adverse comments. (I’m apparently frequently very annoying.)

I’ll be glad when this week is over.  My kind and unfailingly courteous historical publishers await me!

How to Holiday. Part 4 (Chaos)

Posted on by Dr Karen E McAulay

It is the week of the bathroom renovation. There’s a team doing it, and all I have to do is basically keep out of the way. (Said she, glumly contemplating the inconveniences of having no – erm – plumbing for hours at a time.) It’s going to be fabulous, but the upheaval is quite something else. This morning, we have a singing electrician and two joiners. I am much distracted by the banging and crashing upstairs and down, and a table has appeared in the garden!

An ‘Auld Hoose’

The electrician has just inspected the fusebox, and warned me that there might be some inappropriate language if certain switches and boxes don’t do what he needs them to do. Silence. He stops singing …

This ‘Hame o’ Mine’

I look for ways to divert myself. Yesterday, I did some ironing (that’s always a sign of stress. I ironed before I got married; I ironed when I was in labour; and I iron when someone has rattled me!) I also wrote a report, which felt strangely grounding – and reached out to another professional with whom I have a point of common interest. Maybe not exactly holiday activities, but definitely worthwhile.

Strangely enough, tidying seems quite therapeutic. If much of the house is in chaos inside and out, then imposing order on a tiny corner – David versus Goliath – feels like taking back just a bit of control. Last week I put unwanted books on eBay and visited the charity shop, but I can always find more. I could do some gardening, but everything’s very wet out there after overnight rain, Maybe later!

I could sort paperwork and filing, but creating more mess and covering more surfaces may not be a good idea. I may be reduced to commencing a [small] sewing project, or perhaps starting knitting! Or …

An Album of WELL-LOVED SONGS From the Repertoire of Robert Wilson, ‘THE VOICE OF SCOTLAND’

Scotland Sings - a book of songs as sung by Scottish singer Robert Wilson

My eye falls on the Robert Wilson song-book that has lain on the piano for a couple of weeks. That needs putting away – but not before I reflect that the publication has its own points of interest. I like the fact that this book, published by Ascherberg, Hopwood & Crew, predates when Wilson and his cronies bought James S Kerr’s publishing concern and began publishing jaunty, variety-influenced (‘tartan-tinted’) light song repertoire that not only suited his own voice, but met with affectionate approval with his many, many followers. The English firm’s publication contains an older selection of Scottish songs, which clearly marks an earlier stage in Wilson’s career:- ‘My ain Wee House’ (Hoose, surely?! But it’s an English publisher); ‘Hame o’ mine’; ‘Bonnie wee thing’; ‘The auld House’ (ahem. Hoose, please); ‘O sing to me the auld Scotch sangs’; ‘Yon wee bit heather’; ‘The Scottish Emigrant’s Farewell’, and more. It couldn’t be more different from his later repertoire.

Ah, I’ve just heard a triumphant ‘YES!’ from the bathroom. And no swearing. I’ll take that as a sign that the fusebox and switches did what they were meant to do. (Thank God!)

No ‘Auld Scotch Sangs’, but any ‘Sangs’ will do!

The electrician has started singing again, so all must be well! A quick burst of the burglar alarm – that’ll annoy the neighbours! – then fuses are put back, the alarm is reset and peace descends … for now.

Fitness to Work

Posted on by Dr Karen E McAulay

And so, today is the last day when I’m officially unfit to work. I go back to the library on Monday, but not without some anxiety.

Mind the Gap!

There is a discrepancy. After my eye surgery, I’m now ‘fit’ to return to work, but all clinical advice says that full recovery takes a number of months, if not a year. The hospital doctor tells me I can’t even get new glasses (which I need) until after the summer, by which time the fixed eye should have settled enough to merit a new prescription. (I’ll also have retired from librarianship and will be simply a part-time researcher.) At present, vision through that eye is still blurred, although the two eyes together can manage okay. I’ve attempted to contrast what my two eyes see at the moment, by doctoring an old stereoscope image, seen above. The black bubble diminishes day by day – it might disappear by the end of next week.

Pixabay bubble, more colourful than mine!

I spent some time googling ‘return to work after macular hole surgery’, because I’m sure I’ll be asked if I need anything to support my return to work – but for myself, the only advice I’ve had is, ‘yes, you can return to work’. If you live in Blackburn, UK, you’re told not to work for three months! Three whole months? This is the only health authority suggesting such a long time off work. Otherwise, the advice sheets I’ve seen simply advise not to fly with a black gas bubble (not a problem); not to drive, ditto; not to lift anything heavy, and to take a rest if your good eye starts to ache. That’s it. It seems reasonable.

Emails? Sure, but the print on CD covers is TINY!

Just like anyone else returning to work, there will be a lot of emails to catch up on. I’m sure there will also be a backlog of cataloguing. It has to be done, small print or not. I do have a magnifying glass.

If you’re AT work, colleagues are entitled to assume you can do the work, all of the work, and no pick-and-choosing. Fit to work means, well, fit to work. The patrons you interact with similarly don’t know you’re still a little fragile, and will expect you to function normally. And if a patron is waiting for a book, they should have it catalogued – my fitness has absolutely nothing to do with it – that’s irrelevant. Similarly, a query should be dealt with timeously. I set up ‘out of office’ email messages before my operation, but one query directly to me, had been by telephone, and I wasn’t able to make contact with the enquirer before I took sick leave, despite a dozen attempts to return the call. I fear they’ll be annoyed by my silence. I’ll be as apologetic as I can!

And how do I confess if I can’t lift something, or indeed see something clearly? If I’m ‘fit to work’ as normal, I should be able to. As for taking a rest? Why should I be afforded that privilege? That would seem unfair on everyone else.

On the positive side, of course, it means I can get back to my research on Wednesdays and Thursday mornings. Heaven! And hopefully I’ll soon find out if any more needs to be done to my book draft before it can go forward into the copy-editing process.

Wish me luck.

Countdowns!

Posted on by Dr Karen E McAulay

You know the story of the shoemaker and the elves? He goes to bed, exhausted, and wakes to find the little elves have done all his outstanding work? Oh, I wish!

Technically, my book is meant to be finished by the end of July. I’ve written quite a bit of the last chapter, but it goes without saying that that’s not the end of the process!

  • Writing the conclusion;
  • Tidying the introduction;
  • Checking the whole thing – for content, and also against the style guide;
  • Converting footnotes to endnotes;
  • Sorting the bibliography…

I’m also handling the comms for an international congress – it begins on 31 July.

Of course, there’s also the day-job to be done! And domesticated things don’t just stop. Garden hedges grow regardless of everything. Aargh!

And I have a whole magazine issue to proofread ASAP. (This task was accepted on my behalf – literally nothing to do with me!)

Daily Countdown

Now, the book deadline has been engraved on my brain for a long time. I’ve also known the congress date quite a long time. But believe it or not, it’s only just dawned on me that both dates coincide, and that therefore 38 days’ countdown for one thing would be 38 days for the other. Strange how the realisation suddenly makes it all the more stressful! All I can do is keep doing what I can. A colleague asked me the other day, what were my plans for this summer … ?

‘Finish a book’, I whispered. One way or another!

Alas, I don’t feel indomitable today. More like, a bit hopeless, faced with the mountain in front of me.