Out to Dinosaur

There is an episode of the 'new' Twilight Zone in which a salesman wakes up one morning to discover that everyone in his life is suddenly speaking an altered version of English. A colleague invites him out to "dinosaur," he overhears someone saying "you can't teach an old dog new trumpets." He descends into a hellish world in which he can't understand a thing anyone says to him. I am that salesman.
For as long as I can remember, people would always say "make a decision." Yet for at least a year I have been hearing people say "take a decision." At first it was only the odd news report, the occasional confused politician. Now, it seems, it is everywhere. I haven't heard a single broadcaster on Radio National say anything other than "take a decision" for months.
The requisite Google search informs me that this is generally considered 'correct' English whereas 'make a decision' is an Americanism. Further, it is considered particularly correct because one only chooses from an existing set of decisions; one does not create or make a decision. Others argue that because there is not yet a "decision-taking process" in common parlance that it is clearly better to say "make a decision." I'm an ol' fashioned gal but I find this hard to adjust to and I am particularly perplexed by its sudden dominance. Surely I'm not the only one?
Narrator: A question trembles in the silence: Why did this remarkable thing happen to this perfectly ordinary man? It may not matter why the world shifted so drastically for him. Existence is slippery at the best of times. What does matter is that Bill Lowery isn't ordinary. He's one of us. A man determined to prevail in the world that was, and the world that is, or the world that will be. In the Twilight Zone.

5 Year Plant

I was on my lunch-break at work the other day, sitting in the rose garden of the botanical gardens and reading the final instalment of a fetching fantasy novel when I was struck by a genuine existential crisis.
The sun was just this side of too glarey, the paper was just that side of too white and the result was that I kept looking up and away and thinking dangerous thoughts.
I realised, as I sat there, that this was now my life.
Working and mothering.
Mothering and working.
For almost thirty years my life has been defined by periods of work and reward, seasons of deliberate and finite exertion.
Suddenly I found myself facing a never-ending block of activity with no particular point except fiscal reward. I panicked.
I figured out in the days that followed that part of the problem was this sudden shift away from the vocation for which I had been training for the better part of a decade. I had no new work goals to replace the 'dream' of acadaemia with; what, after all, did I want from my work-life?
I think this was part of the panic actually, realising that I was embarking on a life unqualified for anything in particular.
As I write this I begin to fear that the problem really lies in the fact that I have no control over my future. That's so predictable.
Bugger bugger bum.

Rediscovering the Blogosphere

Well, in classic 'me' fashion, I'm lured back by gossip and controversy.
I had, in truth, entirely forgotten that I was semi-keeping this web log until The Lark mentioned a drama on her own blog that set me to reading pages and pages of strangers', semi-strangers' and friend's writings. I don't entirely understand why this mode of writing doesn't obsess me more, I think it may be something as simple as the fact that I am a little out of shape with regard to writing (among other things). I started re-working a letter for someone the other day and I accidentally turned it into a scholarly missive. Egads, the horror.
I did manage to make the hoops that so eluded me. The secret was a plumbing super-store and a patient clerk. The biggest problem after hurdling that obstacle was the expense and wrinkliness of tape. It's months since I made a hoop, though I still dance in rings of plastic.