Ebay

Ebay is just one of those little things I love. I look on it every single day and actually feel something akin to withdrawal symptons when I don't have my daily Ebay fix.

There is so much garbage on there, far more than decent stuff. But who cares. It opens the world up to collectors and to a bit of self indulgence. In fact, just the other day I bought a pair of nice earrings that I would not have bothered with in a shop since I never look into jewellery shops.

But, there are some wankers on there who think they have the right to charge whatever they want for something that is, well, for want of a better word, crap. And they always start the description off with a few little words examples which I will list below:

1.RARE (means the seller has never seen one before therefore assumes no-one else has)
2. MUST LOOK (means "please look because it is so crappy")
3. ESTATE ITEM (oh, must have come out of my granny's hope chest which I am now clearing out.)
4. STUNNING (must be ugly)
5. EAMES (anything from 1965 onwards seems to attract this word - usually that word is used when selling rather horrible Parker furniture or Kartell magazine racks)
6. CIRCA (anything pre 1965 gets this word)
7. SHABBY CHIC (shitty piece of furniture painted white, usually very badly. Or is a cracked mirror. Or is smelly with a flower pattern. Or is that crappy French looking stuff - some of which I may have at home I am sorry to say)
8. SWEDISH OR DANISH (let's charge so much more then)
9. RETRO (hmmm, that just says it's own thing really)
10. UNUSUAL (seller has no idea what it is, found it in some shitty shed and thinks they can pass it off as some sort of Australian original folk art piece of furniture. Usually just some old saw horse with a vinyl cushion nailed on it and then called a chair)

And when the Chinese sell something, well that is another story all together. The description is laughable. Example below that I copied from a current advert:

If you like Chinese items, please do not miss so rare and wonderful item. Today, We are proud to present this infrequent item on my ebay store. Look at the pictures we can see it is made with wonderful handwork. Let us admire the wonderful craft that had been created by the artist. Though the pictures we can see many beautiful designs on its surface. Take advantage of this opportunity! If you are interesting in Chinese antiques, it will be a good condition to display or collect.

By the way, the item being sold was a "pretty silvering amber beautiful pendant". Need I say more.

I just love Ebay.

Ciao

LC

Getting Older?

I asked myself that question quite frequently. Am I getting older? Apart from the obvious answer of "yes", it made me wonder about things that we do that would indicate we are aging if our body did not give it away so obviously.

There is the usual give away signs of aging. Not able to handle late nights or boozy nights and definitely not the combination of the two. Being intolerant of younger people apart from ones own children. Moaning about modern times. Wishing we could go back and relive our youth differently - a classic case of wishing for old head on new shoulders.

Well, I think I have sunk to the lowest of lows when it comes to getting older. I am almost ashamed to admit it. It is not always carrying a pair of tweezers in my bag in case of a rogue chin hair. It is not going to the hairdressers every four weeks to get my grey hair hidden away. It is not about the sun spots on parts of my body that I do not believe have actually been exposed to the sun, therefore actually making them AGE spots.

It is this. I bought some undies from the supermarket. Yes, that is it. Not only that, I bought the cheap ones at $2.99 per pair. And let me tell you, you really get what you pay for. I am unsure what shape body they are for, but it ain't mine. The width of the crotch was so much that it bunched up like I had some maxi-pad shoved in there. The leg elastic was heavy duty and gave a whole new meaning to the term "visible pantie line", the material allowance for the bottom area was excessive which led to a saggy bit at the base which could only be overcome by hoisting the rear of the knickers up to just below the middle of my back and that action in itself led to a whole new set of uncomfortable problems. And they kind of chafed me by the end of the day. I noticed, as I put them on in the morning, that there was a sticker that said "inspected by 319". I should have kept the sticker so I could wash them and send them back to China for an exchange for a comfy pair.

So, never again will I purchase anything but food from the supermarket. Interestingly enough, as I bought them, I was almost tempted to purchase a bulk pack of women's undies. Five pairs for $7.99 in the most lurid of colours. Hot pink, lime green, aqua, yellow and a cream. All the pairs were embellished with a little lacy matching frill on the waist and leg bands which I imagine on a hot day would be most unpleasant. I think the style was high cut waist which is about as bad as it gets. The brand name was High Style. What sort of name is that?

It may be time to go shopping for some decent underwear. In the meantime I have some rather practical ones to tide me over.

Hey, don't you just hate the word pantie!

Ciao

LC

100 Posts

I could not help but notice that I have written 100 entries into my blog which is quite a lot really considering I do not have all that much to blab about when you consider the complex lives that others lead.

However, there are a few proverbs I have read that have meaning in my life:

1. Never put your finger where you would not put your nose.
2. There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.
3. Think twice before you speak, especially if you intend to say what you think.
4. Time is a great teacher, unfortunately it kills all its students.
5. Eat right, Stay fit, Die anyway.

Of course, the best one is "Become who you are - Nietzsche".

Why do I blog?

To capture small snippets of time and then remind myself of days that passed, thoughts that went with those days and the truth in the fact that no matter where you are, that is where you're at.

Ciao

LC

My Brother's House

My brother lives about 20 minutes from my house. Yet in that short distance it seems as though he lives three hours away as the setting is so different.

My house is in an old suburb about 20 minutes from the GPO. A standard block abutting three others. Main road is at the end of my street. There is always a quiet hum of traffic, even in the middle of the night. The train line is only one street behind us and trains go up and down from 5.00am in the morning until last one at about midnight. There is a Fire Station nearby and often there will be a wail of sirens to wake me up from a sleep. We are walking distance to everything. Somehow, despite the fact that we are so close to another person, we manage to live a fairly private life without too many neighbourly interruptions.

My brother, though just 20 minutes away, lives in an area where market gardens once prevailed. His block is about an acre in size as are all the blocks up his street, which is about 1km long I am sure. At the end of his street is a very busy road, however by the time you drive down to his house all evidence of traffic and suburban life just disappears. He lives there with his wife and two children in this semi-idyllic state. They have fruit trees. chickens, vegetable garden and lots of grass to run around on. Right down the back he has his "shed". Shed is a polite way of saying "HUGE workshop".

The Workshop. Well, I suppose it is every man's dream. A giant work shed. When he first moved to the property it was a chicken shed on a big scale and there was a lot of work to do cleaning it out. Now it is a home away from home. He has a television and cane chairs down there and shares his solitude with black, fat and hairy spiders that sit on the rafters and look down at him. The place is full of timber, tools, paints and lacquers, work benches and anything else you can imagine. He makes furniture and windows and doors and all sorts of things that he needs for jobs. He gets lovely pieces of timber that are second hand and more beautiful than anything you could buy new with their lovely aged glow that comes through once the grey surface is sanded back and a coat of oil rubbed in. I suppose that this is where he escapes to when he needs peace and quiet.

At the rear of his block is a giant market garden. Huge hothouses with their thick plastic covering that ripples when the wind blows along the surface. Vast expanses of green vegetable or flower matter growing. The fence is all but fallen down and thick t-trees and other gnarly and twisted vegetation have created a natural type of fence - perhaps an Australian version of the English hedgerow. Diagonally across the road from him some people have sheep and further up the road someone has a cow in their front yard. The neighbour on one side grows gerbera's for the florist industry. The neighbour's house is very old, Victorian and has featured in the odd movie. To mow my brother's lawn with a ride on mower takes about two hours.

The other day I went there and waited for him for about 15 minutes. In that time I walked down the backyard to the chicken shed where the hens clucked my arrival and watched me peer in at them. I then walked up to the front of the house and stood looking up and down the empty road in front. It was completely devoid of any human noise. I could hear the silence of nature. Birds, insects, sheep and the wind in the trees. The ringing sound of sun drugged crickets and the crunch of dry grass and twigs as I walked back and forth looking at the dry ground littered with gum leaves. It was so hot and so quiet I felt as though I were only a child visiting my parents friends in Dookie where that same peaceful atmosphere was everywhere.

I love that idea of having a big block away from the main suburbs but still close to a busy strip shop or impersonal shopping centre. I try to condense that feeling in my own small surburban patch but not always with success. It is quite often that I will be hanging out the washing and hear my neighbour clear his throat or that sharp yap of a nearby dog and the sound of a door opening and shutting. When the lady next door hangs out her washing, I hear the squeak of the hoist as she winds it up or down and the flap of clothes as the wind dries them off. Whilst that may seem too close for some, there is also a comfort in being near to human beings. Sort of a confirmation of the whole process of society and the odd kind of semi dependence we have on each other. A comfort and a stress all wrapped into one.

Sometimes when I am out amongst crowds of people I find that not only the noise but the chaos of all those human beings exuding their emotions and verbalising at the one time is so overwhelming I just want to get home to the solitude I have created in my own house. I have learnt over the years to zone out when there is no escape otherwise I would be too anxious to leave the house.

Escapism - the best way is to perfect the art of it in your head. I have it almost down to perfection.

Ciao

LC

The Perpetuity of the Beach

The smell of sea air evokes a sense of wistfulness and the desire for freedom. Days on the beach for me were not as many as the average Australian as mum and dad were not beach goers as such. In my teenage years I used to go on my own or take my nieces down for a play. Rarely did I have a friend to go with and I suppose that is why there is a sense of peace and melancholy attached to it. When S and I go, the day is often quiet, K is working and it is early in the day before the crowds appear.

I like the quiet splash of the water as the sea meets the sand edge and rolls back and perpetuates the movement over and over and creates this peaceful mantra as you lie back and enjoy the sun. I always have an eye on S as he paddles about and now and then join him, wading slowly in trying to avoid that cold creep of water up the body. Getting past the waist is always difficult.

The noise of the beach, water, children, background chatting and the traffic in the background is strange and soothing and always gives one a sense of deja-vous. Hot days down the beach are the best even when uncomfortable and prickly in the hot sun. We have a lovely 1960's canvas beach wind shelter and we huddle in there and have lunch and tuck our feet under the towel to hide them from the sun.

S will then jump up and decide he is going to dig a big hole. The two of us dig for a while and every now and then S runs down to get a bucket of water to fill the hole but it is futile as the water simply seeps through the sand. But it makes the sand cool and we put our hands in the hole and feel the coolness. After a while he tires of this activity and the two of us sit on the edge of the water and make a castle or fort or look for flat stones to skip across the surface of the water. I can do about five skips on average and S can do three. It takes a while to master the position of the hand, arm and body to get the movement right.

We never take much food down the beach. Lots of water though. Hot days just stifle ones appetite. But S always gets an ice cream from the Mr Whippy van if it is parked nearby. He will wait patiently in line. He likes the whipped, sweet and cold ice cream dipped in melted chocolate and on a hot day, as he walks away from the van, one hand gripping a towel around him, the other holding the ice cream, it is a race to lick the melting ice cream and chocolate before the hot sun and wind do their job. Dripping down the cone and onto his hand making it sticky and he alternates between licking the ice cream and licking his hand. I have never seen an ice cream disappear so quickly and by the time we make the slow walk back to our towels it has all but gone.

Sometimes I get a gelato. The colours of a gelato have not changed since I was a child. The ice cream van would go up our street tinkling and tempting us to run out. I always got gelato. Pink, blue, white, orange and brown all mixed in a pile. So now I get them still, nostalgia may be a part of the appeal. Even though I like the white and tart lemon flavour the most, I still ask for the full colour range so I can enjoy looking at it as I eat it.

Eventually the day has to have it's end and we shuffle up the the beach to the car with me carrying almost everything except the towel that S has wrapped around himself rather than get dressed. Whilst the car is hot, it is never as hot as when I was small, no vinyl seats to burn our thighs, no chrome seat belt clips too hot to touch and the best thing is that we can turn on the air conditioner and cool down.

The sounds around us, the blue sky, the changing colour of the water, the dark patches where rocks and seaweed hide and the gritty sand never change through the years. The fashions may change, sunburned skin not so prevalent, rash vests and hats everywhere and huge sun shelters that spring up like blue and yellow mushrooms all around. But the rest stays the same.

So the beach is a twofold event for me. Reliving the ever changing yet never changing atmosphere of it and sharing that time with S, perhaps creating a new memory for him that he may take with him when he takes his own children or meets his friends at the beach.

Ciao

LC

More Pics of my younger years.

I am going to upload some photos of me in some rather dubious outfits that I am sure were right at the time - but now I am not so sure.





The polkadot outfit was a real squeeze to get into. I was at the Botanical Gardens that day with a very unforgettable boyfriend. Princess Diana and Prince Charles were there and I got to see them. I am not a big fan of Princess Diana, but in real life she was quite stunning. Her skin was like porcelain and she was willowy and shy. Very pretty indeed. I cannot say the same for me on that day. My hair is in full "perm" glory. Those sunnies. Big and plastic.




The yellow outfit. OMG. So eighties. How ugly. It was for a photo shoot for a modelling portfolio. My dad MADE me do a modelling course at Suzanne Johnston modelling school. The only good thing that came out of it was a stack of very laughable photos. I was about 18 at the the time. How is that pseudo sexy look. I had to return the outfit to work the next day - Myer Miss Shop. If memory serves me well, and it does, I am certain I stole half my wardrobe from Myers. Unfortunately I got caught and got the sack. It is wrong to say this, but it was worth a whole year of looking fabulous for next to nothing. However, I would not recommend it if a career in fashion is what you are after.





Second last picture. At a work conference up in sunny QLD. It was a Mexican night. Lots of sangria maybe. But I felt the moustache would look better under my arms. My hair, oh my hair. It was red and wild. I was about 30 at the time.




Ah, the last one. Wedding day. Bought dress the day before. Chucked out two years later. My hair had almost one can of hairspray in it. The next morning, as I awoke with the worst hangover, my hair had kind of cracked open like a giant dinosaur egg on my head. I got to the mirror in the bathroom and it truly appeared that something had erupted from my head and left two big egg shells gaping apart. Certainly felt like something erupted from my head. Took three washes to get the hair product out. I spewed in the shower and when I got out I lay on the floor of the hotel bathroom for ages before crawling back into bed where I stayed until 5.00 pm that day. The bridal bouquet looks lethal. And that smile on my face? It was very hot and I was itchy on the legs from the tulle under the skirt part of the dress. I think K was the only man in Cairns wearing a double breasted woollen suit.


That is it for now.


Ciao


LC

Funny Photo

I just have to upload this photo.

I remember this day so well. I was in a foul mood and it shows on my sulky face. I think I was saying something unpleasant in response to my mummy - I was six years old, wearing my favorite outfit. Check out those groovy socks! It was in the front yard of a house we lived in in Brighton. I can still feel that sensation of being shitty. Since that day, I confess that I felt it many, many more times and of a much greater intensity.

LC

The Internet

I had an issue the other day when our internet at home "went down". It was actually the modem. There were a couple of things about the episode that really bothered me. One was the fact that I waited on the phone, three separate times, for over an hour. Each time I rang I only got a robotic voice that managed to bring forth in me a feeling akin to PMT or road rage. Patronising is an understatement. And still, after answering her pleasant and impersonal requests in similar way, I was still kept on hold. I actually almost wanted to cry and I have to confess that I did hit and waggle the modem repeatedly in agressive manner. I won't go on about that though because a more disturbing fact was the realisation that I am..................

Addicted to the Internet

Yes, I think I may be. I jump on that computer 20 times a day I am sure. Looking at ebay, amusing websites, buying things (though not too many things) and just looking on it. I don't even look at porn sites so it is not like I being specific about what does it for me. It is just mindless. Not totally as I get all my recipes online. And I am sure I look at lots of interesting things. But the fact is, I am on it too much. And I think I am addicted because I said to myself that I should limit my hours and then thought, no way! So I have made a decision. Over the next 100 years I am going to reduce my internet access by half. Oh, sorry, I meant the next four weeks. I am not doing cold turkey, I will do it gradually.

I wonder if I can get an Internet patch from the chemist to help me wean off!

Whilst we had almost 2 days with no internet, I realised how often I just doodled over to the computer and sat down at it. I counted over 10 times I did that in just two hours! In the end, I was compelled to clean my house, tidy my clothes in the bedroom, make my bed, put two loads of washing on, do some reading, potter around outside and seriously think about what to have for dinner. I essentially pulled my finger out and did something useful.

So, should I be not writing on my blog?

I just have to limit myself. Fuck, yet another thing to improve in myself. Honestly, by the time I get to 50 I will be a completely different person than I was 25 years ago. All this self improvement - who is it really for!

Ciao

LC