My days are numbered

The aversion to numbers or anything faintly numerical,started when I was around six.My father who had a pretty decent grip on numbers,had to deal first with the disappointment of having to deal with three daughters(the common belief being that boys were more numerically inclined)and to add to that he discovers that the first two could barely count and were nowhere close to being numbers driven.In one last ditch attempt he decided to start me young and math classes began the moment I entered school.He tried when I started to talk but didn't succeed.Well being my fathers and mothers daughter,I was a combination of stubborn determination and dormant rebellion so if he thought he was going to teach me maths,it had better be my way(one plus one equals two would mean putting two chocolates to do the addition or nothing else).Well every time he sat down to teach,the battle started.He was a man of little patience who simply couldn't understand how any child with even the basic brain could be so difficult when it came to simple arithmetic.Well the long and short of it is that I developed an eternal hatred towards anything numerical.
Imagine my surprise and my parents shock when I ended up with a distinction in statistics in college.My mother was convinced that the examiner was drunk when he corrected my papers and my father secretly had that "I told you she had some brains" look on his face.As I started working and generally getting some experience of life the truth dawned that perhaps I should have fallen in line early in life and realised that everything finally comes down to numbers.So from sales targets,to income tax,to simple everyday accounts,there was no getting away from it.The tragedy was that even something I love like drawing,painting and cooking needed some quantitative ability to get places.So I stopped dreaming of being a painter and instead decided to cook everything that didn't need precision measurements.So baking was simply out of the question.
Years later and now that I have time on my hands,I have decided to bury the ghost of my numerical aversion so the baking is first on my list.It started with chocolate fudge...all measurements in place and the dish is an instant hit with all my friends.Well well,the first hurdle has been overcome.So my next step was chocolate brownie.This required the next level of measurements so I made my attempt.Except that the oven was a bit too hot,the brownies came out a nice sticky brown exactly the way they are meant to be.So my confidence sufficiently boosted I am well on my way to the next level of testing.Its going to be bread next and if I get that right well perhaps my father can be proved right.....there is a bit if brains just waiting to be used.I may have tackled the office accounts and targets and other mundane ever day corporate stuff(that's only meant to survive and impress the boss) but to be able to master a passion long lying dormant because I believed I couldn't master numbers.....well that's a new high and now its all coming together,the ingredients are all ready and I am ready to arrive hot off the oven.

old order changes

We started school learning to write.I remember many note books with pink lines as borders with three blue lines in between and we had to write in a way that all the starting letters touched the pink lines and the others stayed within the blue lines.End result....lovely handwriting.This was also repeated for Tamil class as well so much so that my Tamil handwriting is picture perfect.
When it came to reading,we had regular reading classes both in English and Tamil.While English was a good class,Tamil was sheer humiliation(worse when one has an elder sister in the same school who is fluent in any language taught and is constantly being held up as an example).The sheer anxiety of those Tamil reading class makes me wonder how I survived all those school years staying sane.Unfortunately Tamil turned to french in college and if one didn't have the advantage of the Alliance francais then well,it couldn't have gotten much worse.
The point of all this is that years later when the ink pen gave way to the ball point,to the felt tip to the key board....well hand writings went for a toss.Imagine my surprise when the bank manager claims that my signatures don't match the original(signed some twenty years ago).Its shameful because my dad was 87 when the manager claimed his signature didnt match the original.To be in the same position some 40 years earlier is cause for concern.Now as to reading,well that's gone by the wayside to.When was the last time I read aloud....cant remember.Not allowed to sing aloud even in the car when travelling with husband as the man objects loudly(one would think that if any support was forthcoming it should be from family,whatever happened to the better of for worse promise?).
So I am wondering if i should start to write letters to friends and family(used to do this earlier only to realise that most of them never got posted coz lazy me couldn't dream of walking up to the Post office)but then again why when i can call.So this is probably an obituary to the written word and to public speaking.....sigh....once again I am faced with the fact that my world has changed forever.....on the bright side....I am still standing

Goodbye sunshine hello thunder

Funny how when one is nice to people,one gets taken for a ride or at best ignored.Get nasty and they take notice,end result however is that if one is dealing with inefficient people then the matter stays unresolved.
For starters I worked for a company that had no clue to accounting so they generally dumped money into my account and expected me to run an office....so poor me looks rather rich on paper(the truth being far different).Now if one is rich and middle class and salaried(difficult to be all the same at once as they are all different states of being but yours truly always manages to do the impossible) and cant manage to explain to nosy auditors how I came about being allegedly rich.One then goes to ones bank.Now here is a bank that spends millions on advertising to say how great they are etc etc so poor me despite having been in advertising so long(helps you come to terms with the fact that all advertising is rubbish and untrue)actually went to them for help.Being polite by nature I asked them for information and waited patiently since i was told that the data will be available in two days.When two days became four,I asked them firmly why the data wasn't available.Went four days became ten,I blew a fuse.Strange,it fell of deaf ears,they continued to mouth the same excuses and despite my rants,they are unable to give me the information.This bank is famous for this and while I find that being polite and nasty gets the same results....well I may as well feel good and let of steam at them.This is a bank,but I find that nasty behaviour works in most places.Talk of a crying child getting more attention.My new motto in life is to shout,rant,be nasty and say goodbye to my nice self.It was nice being you but the world has changed and I am adapting to a changing world.

under attack

To be part of a minority is not a very happy state but not one that is top of mind either.Personal attack on the other hand is something else.It makes one feel vulnerable and introspective.Was it me,was it something I said and one tends to keep thinking back.Its funny that as human beings we focus more on the negatives(unless one is an out and out positive person).
Recently some of us commented on a story that was doing the rounds.Sordid as it was,we decided to look at the funny side.It didn't work....suddenly the mail box was full of self righteous,sanctimonious remarks from women who live far away and who in my opinion had lost their sense of humour (assuming they had one in the first place).The outcome was that I ended up feeling vulnerable and sad.It took two other women to come up with something funny to put my mind at rest but the outcome was strange.Most of the group thought that the funny side was misplaced.Did they expect us to be sad for the whole world?.But then again have we become so immune to disaster and sordid details that we no longer care?....I am still not sure.