Friday, August 31, 2007
My car found its way to the big shop called DFO which is Direct Factory Outlets where there are lots of stores selling their wares at discounted prices. Which really means they will only make 100% profit on everything as opposed to 400%.
Well, I finally found a suitcase. I like to bond with things that I buy. Have a moment of connection, a thrill when my eyes meet its - um - form? I just know when something is for me. I feel it in my stomach. And that is how I felt when I saw the suitcase. In fact, the previous day I had quickly stopped by and seen it and ignored that initial attraction. Perhaps I was tired or something although not too tired to buy a pair of jeans and four tops (on special!!!). But last night in bed, before my eyes closed and I snuggled down into the bed linen the image of the camel coloured case with all its little zippy and pockety things drifted into my head and went with me into dream land.
So, today I drove straight to DFO and then made my way to the luggage store and there it was - the suitcase in the window, opened up and exposing all its little nooks and crannies to me. I knew it was waiting for me to inspect it. And inspect it I did. Opened every pocket that could be opened, unzipped and zipped all the zips, wheeled it around, read the label and got a bit excited at the 15 year warranty and the 50% off price. "I'll take it" I told the girl. She then got a new and untouched one for me (yeah, like I am not buying something that other people have fiddled with thank you) from out the back and I left there with my new case being wheeled behind me. It even came with its own combination lock. And the camel (NOT beige) colour will match all of my clothes which is important.
I hope it is big enough....because I surely know how to fill a suitcase when on holiday!
One third of the cost that was advertised on television.
Normally I would not confess to such a crime but since I am a person who actually uses such silly things I don't mind.
I used it.
It hurts and makes me look silly whilst partaking in the activity. The movement of using it is not quite as fluid as is suggested on daytime television (which I normally don't watch but was home one day and saw it blah blah yeah yeah)
All in the pursuit of lean and strong legs and pert buttocks. So, so sad indeed. Being over forty and pert are not two things that really go together.
And it folds away and fits under the bed! That was a selling point. It has to fit under the bed.
Excuse me whilst I put it away - under the bed.
If you go to the footy you can bet you will be either painted in your teams colours or dressed or, unfortunately for those who watch, both painted and dressed. Lots of words like "On Ya" and "Yeah" and "Go the Hawks" or "Go the Saints" are heard screeched out from the crowd. The food which is in plentiful supply at great cost is mostly the "Aussie Meat Pie" and the drink of the day is a "beer" and lots of it to ensure that the worst type of behaviour will be on display by the end of the match. People have been known to be so into the game that they will have a pee in the stands rather than miss one precious moment of the game. The meat pie has to be able to be eaten with one hand to enable the other hand to be free for holding a can of beer.
He had asked me a few times if he could walk on his own and I had said no. I wasn't ready. Then yesterday he asked me again and suggested I could walk him over the busy road if I was worried. I still said no. Then afterwards I thought about it, talked about and wondered if perhaps I was not being fair. So I rang him back and said okay, he could do it.
After dropping him off I walked back home, got in my car and just did a little drive by to check he was on track. There he was, bag on his back, walking along almost to school. I tooted the horn and waved. He waved back and as I drove off I could see him looking away and watching the world around him. I was forgotten for that moment and he was in a place of his own where a mother really does not belong.
Growing up is hard for parents. Children move on, feel the need to break away and to take new steps. As a mother I suppose at times I struggle with it but his need for freedom far outweighs my need to keep him close.
I wonder if he will feel the need to make his bed, do his own washing and take out the rubbish bin soon.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
So, today I am sitting in that room where he goes to have lessons, watching the dust drift through the bright sunshine streaming through the windows and I bend down to fiddle with my shoelace and notice, out of the corner of my eye, a little white origami swan sitting beside the leg of the couch I am perched upon. It is only about 3/4 of an inch high. I pick it up and look at the effort that has done into making it and decide to keep it, which was naughty, but I figured it was going to be swept up by the piano teacher later on.
It made me realise that another parent had sat in that same spot and was possibly as bored as I was.
It is now sitting on my desk at home.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Having a shower longer than 4 minutes in these days of water restrictions - guilty
If I throw something that could be recycled into the general rubbish bin - guilty
Toss some food out because it is not eaten - "what a dreadful waste: guilty.
Take a holiday - feel guilty.
Eat something sweet - double guilt.
Miss more than two days exercise - super guilt.
Send S to school with a non home made biscuit or cake in his lunchbox - bad mother guilt.
Have the ducted heating on 21c - eco vandal guilt.
Only breast fed for 6 weeks - bad, bad mother "took me ten years to get over the shame of it" guilt especially when all the mother's in my group were Earth Mother's who breastfed for three years.
Had a C-section when I had a baby because I had a choice and was scared - lazy and bad mother guilt.
Only had one child (no matter the medical reasons and the fact I have him is a miracle indeed) - did not try hard enough guilt and now your child will be lonely guilt (like, children with siblings are never lonely as adults)
Broke stupid Telly Tubby PC CD in half because it had a scratch on it (and I hated the sound of it after hearing it 300 times) - bad mother "how could you" and "I have never gotten over it mum" guilt - 7 years later
Tipping a glass of water over S when he really, really pissed me off - bitch mum guilt but I still think he deserved it.
Spend the whole day to myself doing what I want (shopping for clothes, books etc) - secret pleasure guilty which isn't really that bad.
Sitting here doing this when I know I have to tackle the stupid laundry crap - hmmm, nope, can't seem to conjure up much guilt about that one.
Monday, August 27, 2007
So I go to the shop that sells every conceivable type of bag you can imagine and I can feel a level of anxiety arising that happens whenever I shop for anything. Do I go for the hard case, the soft duffle type case on wheels, the kind of in between soft and hard, do I need matching cabin bag, should I get the pink because I love pink or the black because it is practical and the pink might look twee and am I too old to look twee? Do I get a make up case to match? Is the case big enough or should I get one too big so I can fill it when I go back home? Is that handle strong enough to pull it along? Should I buy locks to go with it? How much should I spend? Should I buy top of the range which has a 15 year warranty but then means I feel guilty every time I want to buy another bag? Or buy cheap but okay quality and then feel like an eco vandal when it dies and I chuck it out? So I hang around the shop for about 45 minutes feeling each case, then taking it for a wheel around, the opening all the zips, then looking inside them, then thinking that I may be able to get it cheaper somewhere else, then seeing what matches, then getting the feeling that I should buy things in three for some reason or four to even things up (wet pack, make up, cabin bag, suitcase) and then I start to feel so overwhelmed I have to leave the shop and have a coffee and then go home.
Then I feel shallow for even worrying about my luggage because on a scale of 1 to 10 it of things worth getting anxious about it really should not rate at all.
Hmmmm, maybe I can buy something up there?
Need a cup of tea.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
My washing has a landing pattern.
It sits on the floor during the week because the washbasket in the bedroom is full.
That basket is full because due to the fact I have not been able to empty the wash basket in the laundry.
I have been unable to empty that basket as the washing machine seems to have a constant load in it waiting to be emptied.
However, I am unable to empty the machine due to the fact the clothes horse is loaded up (making my dining room look like a chinese laundry) and still has wet/damp articles of clothing hanging on it. Unfortunately I have been unable to hang anything outside since K restrung the clothes line and now if I hang anything on it heavier than a shirt it hangs down to the ground...which would mean clothes getting dirty again, which means more washing etc etc. The spring loaded mechanism has broken in the clothes line which means I have to go and spend more money for a new clothes line.
But even when what is hanging on the clothes horse dries it hangs there longer because the ironing basket is full and there is a limit to how high I can pile it before it tips over. So I do some ironing and then unload the clothes horse, then load it up with more washing and so on and so forth.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
But, S has created this "thing" that has to happen when someone farts. One has to say "Safety" then "Badger (then whistle), three times no pokes". If one does not say that then the other person says "Doorknob" and proceeds to punch the farter until the "Code Words" are said.
It is most annoying. And I don't know why I feel compelled to write about it. But, seeing the words in front of me makes me realise how hideously STUPID it is.
Ho hum indeed.
Friday, August 24, 2007
In a world of hyper professionalism in journalism it is nice to read the spontaneous musings of a person who just leads what appears to be a normal life. It proves that way beyond all the hype of Idol, Big Brother, Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here and other similar low grade shows, there are people who really just are not interested in their 15 minutes of fame. There are people who just want to write and chat and communicate in a world that sometimes appears to be very contrived.
For someone who may be shy or perhaps not a great networker, the internet is a great place to express yourself. In looking for like minded people who perhaps who share interests that are out of the "normal" box, the internet provides so much satisfaction. Coming across people who have a talent for writing or something with an artistic slant always makes blogging just so much more than a whole lot of online diaries begging to be read. Blogs are a great way for people with heads full of stuff to unload and allow more thoughts to come rushing through.
In the Saturday newspaper I read there is a section where well known authors write about their observations on life and relationships. Now sometimes they are good, but sometimes, when people become very popular they are occassionally inclined to become a bit too good - if you know what I mean. Too slick, too professional, too predictable. Sort of like having the same old movie star appear in movie after movie (Nicole Kidman!!!) and you hanker for something natural and fresh. Something unspoilt before popularity takes hold. Someone who is still within themselves and unafraid to make a mistake.
So, that is why I like reading blogs - there is always something fresh to be exposed to (good or bad).
I suppose I should do something - not sure what but I will think of it soon.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Love the ways bees make honey. Find the pollen, pack it in their bees knees and then fly back to the hive to do a groovy figure 8 dance to tell the other bees where to find the source of sweet pollen. I mean, it is amazing stuff.
Recently I saw a honey product that said it was spreadable as opposed to runny.
So I bought it. Spread it on my toast - it was very sweet so I looked at the ingredients and they were honey, sugar and pectin.
Sugar with honey. No wonder it was sweet. And it has to be kept in the fridge - so I tossed it out. Not right having sugar and honey in the one jar - somehow seems to fly in the face of decency for all those bees that danced for me to have pure honey in my cupboard.
Go you bees!!! Only honey for this honey!!!
However, there is a type of time wasting we do which is a bit naughty and that is going on the internet more than we should.
So, there is a little thing you can download free from the internet which enables you to check just how much time you spend on the internet and how much it costs your boss.
Here is the link:
It sits as a little screen on the desk top and each time you stop work/housework etc, you click on the timer and it times you until you then click it off again.
A bit of fun but also interesting to see that maybe you are not as bad as you think - or worse perhaps???
By the way - I never have lunch breaks so it justifies the fact I just wrote this post at work!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
They are so huge I am unsure if I am meant to swallow them.......or something else.
Maybe I ordered them from a Vet supply by accident and they are for a HORSE.
I had to break them in half before I could take them.
They better be good because my gag reflex is working overtime to get them down.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Then, without thinking, rubbed my face, my eyes and nose with chilli covered fingers and my eyes are still smarting and puffy three hours later.
Also, so much chilli in the stir fry that it made my mouth and tongue puff up like I had a dose of collagen. Even S looked at me and said "what happened to your lips".
Stomach is not happy.
Am now worried about what is going to happen on the exit journey if that is what happened on entry.
Shouldn't really share that thought - but it is quite funny in an ouch kind of way.
Sooooo, I look up the stats of celebrities. Yes, I am ashamed to admit this - I google things like Angelina Jolie's figure statistics to see how thin she is. And Elle McPherson's, Cindy Crawford, Christie Brinkley etc etc. I want to know how much thinner they are than me.
It is a very childish thing to do I know, but I do it anyway. My guilty little secret - which I have decided to share.
Does anyone else do such silly things? What are some of the stupid things other people search for.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Today, S asked me to play Monopoly and I said "yeah, why not".
Once again the whole aim of the game for him was to buy Mayfair, put four houses on it and then one hotel so I would have to land on it and pay $2000.
Well, what do you think - I buy every other property I can and snigger each time he lands on one and has to pay a measly $10.
Then I landed on Mayfair, had to mortgage everything to pay him the $2000.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Currently I am reading Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. This is a favorite of mine. I like the intensity of it, the emotional movement, the sense of regrets and longing and the depressive tone of the story. And that it all happens in one day is interesting to me. To break down a persons day in that fantastic detail says so much about what it is to be human on a daily basis. Some people just move through the day whilst others crash through whilst they navigate their head space.
One character that is intertwined with Clarissa is Septimus Warren Smith who is a shell shocked war hero struggling in a world of chaos - suffering greatly with his depression.
Having experienced different grades of depression throughout my life, there is a small sentence in the novel that really says it all for me. It is something like "The world has raised its whip; where shall it descend?". It describes the look of chaos and apprehension that was with Septimus. It reminded me of times when I have been in that fearful frame of mind and still had to conduct life. There was always that feeling of the world being a noisy and angry place looking around for places to strike. It does not mean self-pity or sadness within - it is a fear within, a lack of understanding and comprehension.
The world has raised its whip; where shall it descend? Only a person who had been through it could come up with that sentence.
Obviously there is so much more to the novel than just that sentence - but I just think the expression is very well worded.
Back to work for me - being a bit slack today.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Anyway, tonight I bought this magazine called Notebook and, of all the crappy magazines I read, this one has somehow managed to make me feel like the most inefficient in all areas of my life. I am actually a bit depressed after reading it. When I write down why, surely it will make me change my mind. And here is why:
It bangs on about how to make one's house gorgeous. Fabulous flowers in the rooms. Big bunches of lovely roses that burst open like a big puffy cloud - white and begging to bury one's face into. Polished and shiny dust free floorboards on which shabby chic furniture is placed. Then, on that fab piece of furniture (for which instructions on how to give it a fashionably distressed look are also attached) one would place wonderful photos of one's beautiful family. Black and white photos of course - no common colour pics on display in this house!
Then amazing and easy (huh?) recipes that one just whips up when one comes home from work. Things like "Pork and cabbage gyozas" and "Duck with apple cider red cabbage". Great little recipes on making all sorts of home made goodies to give as gifts presented in the most wonderful little jars that have hand written labels tied on with raffia ribbon. Delicious toffees with little sprinkles that nestle in little pink paper patties that one can glue paper stars onto to "stand out". I cannot begin to tell you my experience with making toffee - I ended up with some in my hair and had to cut it out.
The furniture is beige, beige couches with throws tossed nonchalantly across the back. Cushions plumped up like big fat hens just defying to be sat on. Beige carpet!! Yes, beige carpet on which a freshly laundered Samoyed dog sits looking - well - very clean. Great pictures adorn the walls - paintings done by the amazing woman who happens to have four children, runs a successful business from home, keeps the place spotless and has a vegetable garden where she gets her herbs from and is a size tiny. She wears great linen pants that are BEIGE and has a Theodore and Scanlan white t-shirt. Her children all help in the garden and wear little gum boots with painted flowers on them.
The beauty section just ensures I feel UGLY with the smooth skinned airbrushed translucent women. In fact, I cannot be bothered going into detail as it just repeats itself in every magazine a woman will read.
So, I had this feeling I just do not try hard enough. And yet another feeling I don't feel I should have to. I mean, after 40 one does not do "shoulds". Now, I know that the magazine has an agenda - it wants me to feel that I want to be that perfect and go about and buy the things it advertises or suggests so I can achieve the perfection it so heavily promotes. And I know that and accept that is part of the cycle of life now. But despite that knowledge I still mange to feel a bit inadequate because I don't come up to scratch in my own head.
There is a lot to be said for reading comics.
Now that is how life should be!
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
My dad must have had a thought in his mind of what a man should be. He drove a big, blue Chevy Impala. All four of the children could fit in the back seat. My memories of that big car are of embarrasment, nauseau and the smell of orange peel. Each time I sat in the back seat of that I remember the urge to vomit was always there.
Anyway, this big car was attached to a 28ft caravan and we travelled the journey over a few weeks. My brother had what I suppose we now call ADHD and bounced back and forth in the back seat of the car the entire way saying out loud "mummy, mummy, mummy, ma" and each time he said a syllable he would bounce his back against the cream, sprung leather seats. So that was 7 bounces over and over and I mean OVER the entire trip. Almost 35 years later I can still hear him doing it. My dad kept yelling at my brother to shut up. But honestly, what are four kids in the back of a stinky hot chevvy meant to do for hours on end. The radio crackled on AM and mum and dad argued over stations to listen to, their hostility towards each other was palpable in the car. But we were so used to it we thought it to be normal.
As the trip became boring and we started to bicker my mum would reach over and slap our bare legs telling us to be quiet. When things got too much we would park the car and van along the side of the road at some deserted picnic spot in the middle of nowhere. Brown grassed paddocks dotted with ring barked gum trees and surrounded by barbed wire fences. There we would sit at these concrete picnic tables and benches and have some lunch that mum had made. Liverwurst sandwiches on black rye bread. Sometimes mum would spread the bread with lard first (rather than butter) and the lard would soak into the bread and leave a salty and soggy flavour.
We would drink warm lemon cordial from coloured anodised cups that packed away into a little leatherette case when we had finished with them. Mum and dad would maintain the rage between each other in frosty and disapproving silence.
Always, and without fail, our picnicking was joined by flies. Where ever they lived when no-one was around I do no know, but once you stepped out of the car and into that open space the flies descended like a plague. They sat on your back, crawled on your face and eyes trying to get the moisture from any open orifice.
That trip to Queensland was a selfish one really. Dad pulling us out of school to follow his dream of owning a caravan park and making millions - which, incidentally ended up being owning a fibro cement milk bar opposite a high school in Caboolture. He blamed his lack of success on everyone else. There is more to the story of course, and much more detail - but every now and the snippets of it come to mind and I think I must jot them down for my sake.
Really, some people just never realise that wherever you go and whatever you do there is one person you can never get away from - yourself.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Mostly I listen to music on my tiny Ipod Shuffle - you know the one that clips like a matchbook onto the waistband of jeans. Music is a great way to give me a rhythm to stride to. I can cover a long distance to the sound of a good tune. My step is not just fast, but it is very long. K has to jog to catch up on the odd occasion he may join me. If I am feeling extra fit I will jog maybe 1km on and then walk for 1km and so on.
When the strange, cyclic melancholy descends on me I can only listen to music by Ministry of Sound. Cold, impersonal and full of tribal rhythm that just propels me from point A to point B. I cannot listen to music that may invoke some sort of emotional response when I am on a downer. Should I do that, the purpose of the walk would be lost. And that purpose is to take me out of my head and let me be free of thoughts. It has taken me a long time to discipline myself to not feed the emotional calling of my egoic past and bad patterns of thought processes. Over time I have learnt to place my mind in a very tidy place when I feel even remotely depressed. I am just too aware of the consequences of not doing so.
Recently I have started to not listen to any music when I walk. So I walk and just focus on my surroundings. The trees, the dark sky, the smells in the air of lit fireplaces, the sound of my heavy step and breathing. It is not easy for me to walk in silence and the sound of thoughts in my head is loud and intrusive. If I am feeling strong that is okay but if I am tired, vulnerable or unsure of myself the silence is a scream to me. On those days, by the end of the walk, I will put the music on just to zone out and stop my mind from searching for meaning.
Many, many years ago, the way my mind used to work was such a stressful event for me. It was as though I was standing still and the world was racing by compelling me to make sense of it all. When I first went on anti-depressants I was in wonder of how still the world could be. I realised that this must be how other people saw the world. It was like I had left a war zone and found peace. That was only able to be maintained for a short time as I had to relearn my approach to the world. Medication was only a short term answer to a long term condition. My head had to have a break, my mind needed to be retrained.
Now, I have been off anti-depressants for over 2.5 years and whilst my mind has not changed, how I deal with it has. The world is still moving at 100 miles an hour but my mind looks beyond that and I am mostly able to ignore it. Accepting how I think and who I am has been the most liberating thing I have done. I enjoy being me. Being told I am strange or different no longer baffles me and, most importantly, I feel no obligation to change that.
I see S has a similar demeanour to me and I do my best to give him good emotional tools to cope with it. And these days there is much more consideration given to those to whom the world is not a straightforward place to live. When S says to me things like "I am who I am and do not feel the need to change that" I think to myself that it is funny how it took me many years of being a grown up to work that one out. However, he is safe in his world right now. No hormones racing through his young body, parents who look out for him and a strong sense of security - all that certainly makes things easier.
So, the walk I go on most nights is such a good way to bring my mind down from space city and get it ready for bed.
i have my mind tied to a string
like a balloon
in a child's hand.
tugging every now and then
I bring it down
to safely land.
precariously it hovers above
until it feels the surface clear
from unknown fear.
close it comes
full of silent thoughts
then rests in peace to let me walk.
when i am done
and reach the front door
i let it go
to drift once more.
Friday, August 10, 2007
This time I got under my EYE BROW.
Like, what the fuck is that.
I look like an insect bit me. I admit that had I left it alone it may not be so obvious.
But really, every other aging process is happening to me - grey hair, sun spots, easily tired, unwanted hair - you get the gist.
But when are the pimples going to stop?
Hmmmm. Also ate two bagels today and now feel like I may also have ingested TWO HUGE BALLOONS since I feel like I may explode.
S is also home sick. Cannot speak due to sore throat and claps his hands for my attention. I feel like a slave.
Cup of green tea - here I come.
And then there is "The USA Food Shop". Now, I am not quite sure why the word "Food" is in the name of the shop as I personally would not eat or drink anything that comes out of it. They import foods that are pretty much specific to the USA. Things like tinned sweet potato, Dr Pepper, Hershey chocolate and some other indescribeable sweet products. They are lovely people in the store. A few years ago they managed to get the whole trader's association involved with Halloween and now each year many children dress up and then visit each shop in Bentleigh to get some lollies and all that. But what I cannot help noticing is the odour that comes from the open door when I pass the place. In other food shops, the smell of cheeses, fresh cut watermelon, garlic, hams or fresh bread drift out to tempt passing traffic. In the USA store the smell is that of a giant bag of sickly sugar. A great big blast of sweet and totally unatural stink hits you when you get near that place. Summer is worse as it seems to coagulate in the air.
It does make me wonder about what exactly constitutes food in America. Surely it is not all about packaged, tinned and excessive sweetness? Even S cannot eat the chocolate from store - he says it is too sweet! I have friends who have travelled to the US and said that it was pretty hard to get good, healthy food from take away places. Surely this cannot be true. I looked up on the internet and I know that there is great traditional American fare to be had.
You really do have to look beyond what is shown to us as reality. I just do not believe that America is only a junk food nation. Surely not.
Monday, August 06, 2007
But, all I can think about at the moment is what I am going to wear! Hmmmm.
In September we are having a short trip up to sunny Noosa for a break and again I am thinking what I will wear.
In fact, when I wake up in the morning I think about what I will wear to work. Then, depending in the severity of PMT and other things, it is quite normal for me to change my clothes three times before I leave the house.
I have a very bad relationship with clothes (does not stop me buying them) Truly, I just to wear jeans and t-shirts and school shoes. Add a cardigan when chilly. Then I wear something girly and think maybe I should make more of an effort with my clothes. Although last week I wore the same jeans for 7 days and I may have worn a t-shirt THREE days in a row.
But I do buy dresses and skirts in anticipation of having the urge to dress up. Then I spend the day wriggling around and fussing about with my clothes and cannot wait to get home and change.
When I do wear a dress S will say "mum, why are you wearing a dress" and he does say "wow" but usually the former and not the latter.
And as for high heels - ah no way. Give me practical shoes any day. I have one pair of high heels in my wardrobe (4") that shall never see the light of day. Apart from the fact I will end up just over 6 foot in them, I am not exactly sure how women walk around all day in them. Interesting indeed.
My clogs are as high as I need to go. Not as sexy as a pair of couture high heels, but sexy enough for me.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Yeah, I know that all of the above is trite and shallow and there is so much more in the world happening that rates way above all of this. I have all that negativity being throw at me via the television, newspapers, radio and magazines. I don't have to bring it home or even comment about it. Concentrating on my small world is what matters to me. Being nice, polite, kind and thoughtful is what I try to instill in my son and also what I try to be.
Well, that time of day now where I have to organise dinner - rather excited about the "Red Chilli Dal" I am about to concoct. I suppose S will have pasta again - so I am making a carbornara sauce variation. Hmmmm, what cake tonight? I think a chocolate one this time - S does like that the best for play lunch at school.
Then, after all that cooking I am off for a long walk followed by a plonk on my gorgeous day bed to watch Midsomer Murders and have a nice cup of green tea.