I can’t remember when I wrote the following paragraph about using containers in prisons to mop up overcrowding:
“My response to the use of containers to imprison convicted criminals was to ask myself the following questions: Are the containers secure? Will they mop up overcrowding? By prison standards of accommodation, are these containers humane? The answer is yes in all cases.”
Historically, emotions have had a bad rap in the business world.
Good decision-making has typically highlighted clear logic, rational analysis, and excellent critical thinking. All of these venerate cool logic over messy things like emotions, intuition or gut feelings.
In fact, with some organisations, the mantra has been “when you come to work, leave emotions at home!” Yep – hang it like you would a coat on a coat-stand before you enter the work place.
I never imagined I’d sit with my mother as she died. Or view her a few days later.
But then I never imagined we would be right there in our kitchen with our vet, Brendan, as he gave Bill his last injection. The ‘we’, included Suzy, Bill’s canine litter-mate of thirteen years.
A friend who had been away from home for several weeks was complaining about how much the weeds had grown in his absence. And worse, before he could attend to this, he had to take another unscheduled trip, which left no competition between him and the rambling mini forest (okay – a wee exaggeration!) on his return.
With my background in psychology, this led me to reflect on our minds and the weeds we let grow, sometimes unwittingly, and the way those plants can take over our thinking.
I’m very confused about all the different types of batteries and have so many questions—what do the different types mean? Are they all hazardous? Which batteries are recyclable and which aren’t? What about the wee round ones like those from my husband’s hearing aids that sometimes get sucked up into my vacuum cleaner?
‘Boarding school syndrome’ was the title of an insightful article from the UK ‘Guardian’, sent to me by my London-based sister last year. It got me thinking, or more accurately remembering things I’ve tried to erase from my memory.
So you’re at the kitchen bench and acting like a 16 year old – though you know that was half a century ago. You plonk a heavy pot almost playfully and… misjudge. Its rim heads with relentless accuracy to the one part of your foot not covered by slippers.
Perfectionism is a personality trait, wrote Mary Ellis on Kiwiboomers earlier this month.
It is not, she added, the same as striving for excellence or having high standards:
(Part one of a two part series on the plight of perfectionism)
I’m not perfect. I don’t even want to be perfect. I just want to be good. Not well-behaved good. Good as in good at. That doesn’t sound unreasonable, does it?