The Taste of Summer

To me, the taste of Summer is a gelato. I love the sharp colours and icy sweetness of one.

Yesterday we went down to the beach to have an ice cream. Whilst the boys love to eat the the creamy ice cream you get from the van, I always get the gelato. The bright colours reflect the shimmer of a hot day. A gelato from the van parked down at the beach is usually the cheapest version of one that you could get, but still it is my favorite. They are usually too big for me to finish and most times I hand it over to K or S to eat when I am half way through.


I had a perfect birthday yesterday. My brother and his family dropped over in the morning with a gift voucher from an art supply shop. They stayed and chatted for a while before heading off.

Then my work colleague dropped over for lunch with her teenage daughter. J has just bought a brand new car and we spent some time peering through all the nooks and crannies, admiring the smooth plastic interior and the new car smell. She had also bought a GPS and, being a complete troglodyte with map reading of any sort, I was duly impressed. My husband, who is my online GPS when I get lost, rolled his eyes and muttered something about precious skills being lost with all these gadgets. I said that I never had the skills of map reading so it was no loss if I got a GPS.

After she had left I went immediately down to the art supply shop where I spent more than the voucher (as happens) and came home with a brown paper bag full of lovely things.

In the evening we went down to the beach. It was full of people, the wind was quick and whipped around us. By the time we got back into the car my skin was salty from the air. The weather had cooled down when we had arrived, but there were still people in the water. Lots of people bring down chairs, food and families and spend the day down here.

At night it is full of young men charged with testosterone, milling about in their pumped up cars. There were a few there when we arrived. The stood in front of us at the ice cream van and their bodies had the posturing stance of a man barely out of puberty. The language they spoke was almost laughable in it's predictability. Lots of "yo" and "hey man" and horizontal two fingered gesticulations. The young girls in the van were giggling as the boys attempted to flirt with them. I felt old yet, at the same time, relieved. Those young men were of a neanderthal predisposition. Imagine having to pick a prospective mate out of that batch.

Later on that night, I went into the studio for an hour or so and practised some paint mixing.

It is quite amazing how easy it is to mix so many lovely colours and still end up with the one colour - mud. Still, practice makes perfect and so I shall be in there again tonight.

It really was the nicest day.

Ciao

LC

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday to Me

I am no longer 43
I am one digit more
I am now 44!

Yes, today is my birthday.

And I do not mind one little bit.

Ciao

LC

Shirts

It is a strange time of year. This "in between" Christmas Day and New Year period. There is a slumberous kind of movement in the streets, in the shops and in the house.

Although a lot of people are wanting to get out and fill the shopping centres, the atmosphere is one of relaxation and low key excitement. As though anything that matters is put on hold until the New Year brings about the routine once again.

Today is hot. One of those hot summer days that take your breath away when you step out into the open air. A blast of heat that dries any moisture from your skin, making lips dry. On days like today I always threaten to cut my hair short as it is hot and heavy against my neck. I end up wearing it up around the house.

I had to go out to the shops today. Picking up fresh fruit and vegetables and something for dinner. There is a strip shop about twenty minutes drive from my house. It is my favorite. I spent many teenage years walking down there.

It has changed greatly now. The suburb, once a not particularly popular one, has become one of affluence. Houses that were cheap now cost too much for the average person. So, the nature of the shops change to suit the available income of the local person.

Often I browse through the clothes shops, many of which are full of interesting designer items. Skirts with strange patterns and colours, shirts of fine cotton with odd pieces of silk ribbon attached on the collar or cuff for added interest and dresses with floral patterns that one never sees in a department store. These are clothes made for people who want to spend a lot of money to make a statement. Individual and yet at the same time common to those who can afford it.

Sometimes when I look at the shirts I am tempted. The fabrics are usually of a quality you no longer can get easily. Soft white muslin, white cotton and pale silk. Fabrics that make no noise when you wear them. Fabrics that make your skin shiver when you slide your bare arm into the sleeve. Fabrics to handwash carefully and hang away from the harsh sunlight to dry naturally. Fabrics that look insolently expensive, even if you have worn the shirt all day.

There have been odd occasions that one of these shirts has been reduced enough in cost that I make a decision to buy it. Perhaps the price drops from $320 down to $120 which, even though it is still what I consider to be expensive, it is low enough to make me want it. Generally the ones I love most are white, fairly plain and have a boyish yet feminine look about them. A small piece of lace, an imprint of a flower in the fabric or the sleeves are so long that the cuff finishes at the finger tips. These small touches give it an individual look that I am so drawn to.

When I have one of the shirts, I treasure it. I wear it with great thought and take care of it. Not because of the purchase cost, but because of the beauty of it. The relationship I have with it can be personal and full of tenderness. When I open the wardrobe I look at it hanging separately from my everyday clothes. I touch the sleeve, or the front of it and may be half tempted to wear it to work.

But, these shirts only get worn on weekends. When I decide to go out for a cup of coffee or perhaps just for a walk down the street I will wear it. I do not want to sully it's beauty with the tedium of work. I want to feel it against me, see a reflection of it in a shop window. The shirt knows it is special. It has it's own life. A spoilt, but love article of clothing.

Eventually the life of a sweet shirt such as this comes to an end. Perhaps the fine fabric wears thin in places or a small tear may appear in the fragile silk. At that point in time I will decide to wear it to work. Get the most out of it. After that I may keep it for years only wear it less. A new one will replace it but the old ones stay as a reminder to the bond we have.

I am due for a new shirt. I saw a few today, hanging like white ghosts waiting for a wardrobe to haunt. Touched the fabric, stroked the cuffs and collars and held the shirt up against my body. One of them had a little bell attached to the washing instructions to lead you easily to the information. Although they were close to what I wanted, they were not quite right, not calling to me like a Siren to a passing ship of sailors. When I get the tempting song in my head then the shirt has chosen me, not I the shirt.

I still have a few more places to find one, and when I do I cannot wait to put it on.

Ciao
LC

Bad Sleeping Habits

A rather bad habit has developed over the past six weeks with my son and his going to be routine.

Now, I need to tell you a bit of history about S and his bedtime.

I was a very anxious mother from the moment I brought my son home from hospital.

When he cried, I picked him up. All the time. No controlled crying in our house. In fact, I thought how fantastic it was that he would fall asleep so quickly and easily in my arms. I could move him out of the car and into his cot without any problems.

Crying babies make me very anxious. Even now, if I hear a baby cry I think it should be picked up and held until it stops crying.

One day the local mother craft nurse came around and saw that S was asleep in my arms. She warned me that if he did not learn to sleep on his own there would be problems years down the track.

I just thought "well, I don't give a fuck, it makes me happy to pick him up, makes him happy and I am prepared to do it".

Another time I took him to the doctor with an earache and some mention was made that S had been in our bed at night. The doctor asked me if this was common and I said it was. He then said to me that he was not concerned about my son's earache, but more about the fact that he was in our bed so much still at the age of eight.

And I was prepared to do all the other things to help him sleep like let him sleep in our bed if he woke up. Which until early this year he did for about five nights each week.

For years one of us would lay with him in bed until he went to sleep (and us). Then do a very, very careful movement to get out of bed without him waking up, then more careful movements to get out of the room and avoid the creaking floor board or he would wake up. This stopped at just past age nine when I had to take a hard line and force him to go to sleep on his own. It was a traumatic week for us all. But he managed.

Nothing is to be moved in his room or he cannot go to sleep. He actually does not shut his eyes to go to sleep, he just keeps them wide open until they drop shut. Once I moved a picture on his wall and he could not go to sleep as he liked to stare at it to sleep. He tells me that if he shuts his eyes he sees monsters.

He still sleeps with the light on. Not just a small light, but the entire room is lit. We have recently started turning it off once he goes to sleep as he requested us to do it.

He also has had a cd playing audio books and he has listened to hundreds of hours of great novels as he goes to sleep.

But a few weeks ago K let him watch a Tintin dvd on the portable player whilst he would go to sleep.

I was a bit annoyed about this as I have a rule about televisions or dvd's in a bedroom, especially a child's.

Watching a dvd does not help a child get to sleep, it keeps them awake. I walk in to his bedroom and he is lying there like a zombie with his eyes fixed on the action. And it is ten o'clock at night!

So I have said to K that since he allowed it, he has to disallow it.

That was weeks ago. S is still watching dvd's to go to sleep. He knows every Tintin dvd in such great detail that he has started noticing little faults with the background scenery. As he also reads the books, he is able to tell me any mistakes being made in the dialogue.

Looks like I might have to be miss bossy boots again.

Great.

Ciao
LC

London Trip

I have been visiting Graham's lovely travel blog.

Recently he has been visiting London and the photos are so gorgeous. I started thinking about my upcoming trip in March 2008.

Then I thought of all the things that need doing before we go.

Get a warm coat for each of us.

Think about what to pack.

Get another suitcase for S.

Work out what to see and do whilst we are over there for that short time.

Then, as I was allowing my mind to meander along I realised that I had forgotten on rather important item.

Renew my passport.

My passport expired in 2004. I feel a bit sad that I am unable to use that particular one as, apart from a few nice stamps inside, it also has an autograph from Michael Palin. I went to a book signing of his years ago and got him to sign the passport. He was doing a lot of travel series and books which were great entertainment at the time.

The process to renew a passport is a drag. Get photos (ugly ones at that) of myself not smiling. Get neighbour to sign something that the photo is actually me. Then get some policeman or equivalent to witness something. Have to go to the post office to be interviewed and to show all my id. Post it in and wait.

It actually dawned on me that I had better do something about it or I may be in a little bit of a rush in a couple of months.

Can't someone do it for me?

It's too hard.

Sigh...........

Ciao
LC

Pound Cake

Last night I was looking up a recipe for Madeira cake and came upon a recipe for Pound cake.

The picture they had accompanying the recipe was this one.

For a brief moment I thought I had come across a recipe for a Pudenda cake - not a Pound cake.

Or is my imagination working overtime?

Ciao

LC

Shopping

Oh, if there is one thing to give me a thrill,
It is the big "ka-ching" of a shop store till!

Yes, it was that time of year where all the rubbish that was available to buy before Christmas was reduced heavily in price. Which means instead of the stores making 500% mark up, they only made 200% mark up.

For most of my adult life I have gone to the Boxing Day sales. Only illness has prevented me from not being there.

I only ever go on my own.

Prior to Boxing Day I mumble something about not going as I have enough stuff and don't need anything and am so over it. Then, at about 7.00pm on Christmas Day, the first advertisement appears on television I am overwhelmed with the most intense excitement that I have been known to jump up and do a silly little jig around the room. This is usually accompanied by a high pitched squeal of excitement.

I go to bed and set my alarm nice and early as the best shops open at 7.00 am and I want to be there.

The earliest I have ever managed to get to the shopping centre is 8.30 am and just made a bee line for the coffee shop.

On the morning of going, I check my bank balance, my wallet balance and the coin bowl. I want to make sure I don't spend money that I don't have.

As I walk out the door I feel an absolute rush of excitement and this lasts until I drive up the ramp of the shopping centre and get a parking spot. You have to be there before 9.30 am to get a good parking spot. After that you end up trawling the rows between cars like some sort of gutter crawler.

Once I reach the store and those doors open magically for me, letting loose that perfumey pong that only a department store has, I breeze through, feeling a thrill of pleasure. People milling around looking through the piles of discounted Christmas cards, browsing through reduced cd's and dvd's, loading their arms with mounds of towels or picking their way through mounds of cheap knickers and bras.

Now, I am a big shopper but my actual purchasing does not match that. Meaning that I am happy to meander through a shop and look at things, but generally not buy them. If I am after something I do a great deal of thinking about it prior to the event. I know the prices of everything. I am so into the cost of things that if you were to ask me the prices of each item I bought when I went food shopping, I can tell you.

So, I know what a genuine store mark down is. I know what value for money is. And I know the difference between a need and a want.

Each year, prior to the sales, I agonise over what I think we need. This year it was a new set of saucepans, a new dinner set and a baking dish (for some reason I don't have one).

The trouble is, as much as I love shopping, I hate crowds. No matter how early I get there to avoid the crowds, it is not long before the centre is packed to the gills with people. Children crying in prams, women overloaded with bags pushing their way past me, gaggles of giggly girls with long legs and shrill voices barging their bodies into everyone and the hum of voices is loud and intense. The noise, the smell, the having to wait to be served all really, really piss me off.

It is not long after entering the store that any decision making I planned has been put on hold. A certain logic enters my head. The logic of a practical person. The moment I start to look at something I might vaguely entertain the thought of buying, a little voice in my head says things like:

1. Do you really need it?
2. How many hours do you have to work for this? Do you really want to work ten hours for this?
3. How much do you really need a new set of saucepans? The metal handles on the ones at home aren't so bad are they?
4. You have done without it this long. Don't waste your money.
5. Are you really going to wear it more than once?
6. Go for a walk, if you are still thinking about it in half an hour, then buy it. (I have only once ever gone back to buy something)

I sit down, have a coffee and read a newspaper before making the decision to just meander.

I came home with two t-shirts and a pair of shorts for S, some drawing pencils for me, a couple of books and perfume from the Body Shop. I was at the shopping centre from 9.00 am until 1.30 pm. Only what I bought for S was reduced.

As I jumped into the car to go home, it was at that point I realised that, once again, the anticipation was so much better than the actual event.

Sometimes you just have to be there.

Ciao
LC

Christmas Day

Christmas day is almost over. Such a funny thing. That great rush and panic and then, "ping" like a spent light globe, it is over. Well, kind of over in the sense that one can wind down and relax. Children playing with their gifts, some adults laying supine upon a couch digesting a larger than life lunch or dinner and other adults cleaning up the dishes and wrapping paper in a vain effort to get some order back within the house.

This morning excitement was in the air as S bounced out of bed to open some gifts from K and I and Santa. There is something incredibly delightful about watching children open gifts. One thing with having an only child is that they take their time to unwrap each item. S will feel the wrapped present, slowly peel off the paper and then study the contents with great enjoyment before moving onto the next item. When I was young it was a noisy event. Even last night, when my two nephews came around, the noise level was so much higher and the paper was ripped off in record time.

For me, Christmas day is what other people do as I celebrate the event on the eve of the 24th. As we no longer have people coming over for Christmas lunch, we go out. This year we dropped in to a couple of places for a quick hello, but we had lunch at the nursing home where K's dad lives.

I have a confession to make. I don't visit my father in law that much. He was not my favorite guy when he lived next door to us, but that is not the reason. The reason being, I don't want to. The decision to not visit him that much is made easier by the fact that at 5.00 pm in the afternoon he cannot remember who visited him at 2.00 pm that day.

He is always happy to see people and, in fact, he is happier in there than he ever has been for most of his life. My husband visits him most days but is no longer stressed if he misses a day or two. Anyway, we went there today and had lunch with him. He had quite a major stroke in November 2006 and is bedridden, cannot communicate well and has to be fed his meals (which are mashed) as his motor skills were affected. But, as I said, he is happy, always smiling and laughing.

When we got there S was mumbling about being bored and not hungry. I leant over and whispered in my very scary mummy voice "sometimes we do things we don't want to, so eat it" and he ate most of it. Whilst we were eating there was a lot of really, really awful throat clearing noises from another inmate. At that point in time both S and I had to force ourselves to continue the meal. Later on we talked about it and my husband said that he did not hear it as he has been going there for that long that those sorts of noises go over his head.

I have uploaded a photo of S and his two cousins watching him play a game on his Nintendo DS. I love the look of interest on their faces. A modern day expression.

I am off for a walk shortly as the sun is shining and I need to move around after eating a bit more than usual.

Ciao
LC

December 23rd

Being of Danish heritage, I will celebrate Christmas on the eve of the 24th.

When I was younger, Christmas was a fairly big event and, as I came from a family of four children, their was a lot of noise and chaos on the evening.

Even into my thirties we would have all of the family collect together on the eve and have dinner at my house. My dad and mum and their partners, my brother and sister with their respective partners and also any children. There would also be my husband's family arriving on the night.

A long day spent cooking all culminating in a fairly large feast, after which many presents would be opened.

Things have changed.

My mother lives a long way from me now and she may or may not ring me on Christmas day. My father, as I have previously mentioned, does not speak to me any more. My younger sister moved away to be closer to my mum but we still talk a lot. My older sister, who lives around the corner, has no interest in maintaining any level of contact. She does her own thing and is heavily into designing websites. Her children, one of whom lived with us for three years after my sister no longer wanted her at home, are busy with their own lives and we may communicate via the msn network.

My mother in law passed away three years ago after 15 years of Alzheimer's. My father in law is in a high care nursing home after a stroke 15 months ago. He is happy and has short term memory so every day is a new day. We will have lunch with him on Christmas day.

My brother and his family always come around on the eve to have dinner and we are so very close. I cook a roast pork, loads of vegetables, have some cold ham, salad and whatever else I can think of on the night. For dessert we have a traditional Danish sweet called Ris a la mande which is a lovely, almond flavoured creamed rice topped with a sour cherry sauce. I always make a lot for my brother to take home and eat over the next couple of days.

I used to have fairly high expectations of Christmas. I found the break up and dispersing of family a difficult thing to deal with for many years. Now, I am just grateful for each day I wake up and look out of the window and see the sky through the leaves of the trees.

So Christmas is smaller but the dynamics of it are so much more peaceful.

Yesterday I took my son to have his photo taken with Santa. In the back of my mind I wonder if this will be the last year he does it. Children grow up and become self conscious. When I looked at him sitting on Santa's knee I felt that pang of longing, melancholy, love and tenderness.

Santa chatted to me for a while and the funny thing was, I felt shy. His kindness to me and to my son filled my eyes with tears.

For a brief moment, I believed in him. Some things we never grow out of.

I hope everyone has a lovely Christmas full of love and happiness.

Ciao

LC

Fun Kid's Party?

Okay, this is a bit of a bitchy post.

Before I get into the nitty gritty of it I want to say that I love my sister in law dearly, but (there is always a but) she does do some nutty things.

A couple of weeks ago we got an invitation to my nephew's seventh birthday party. It was to be a "wisdom night". A collection of people in his life helping him make the transition from age 6 to 7 perhaps?

Prior to the event we were to come up with a personal letter to him in which we would outline an event that happened in our life and how we dealt with it. The idea of this is to enforce the reality of consequences within his little seven year old brain. That seemed a bit deep and meaningful for my pre-christmas and pmt addled brain so I just made a list of do's and don'ts with the full knowledge he may well never read it again.


Okay, so even though I think this is all a bit of a dreary party for a seven year old boy, I go along to it with an open mind. On the way there S asks me why his cousin always has strange parties. I just said that what may seem strange to him may be perfectly normal to his cousin. He did not buy that one and just rolled his eyes. Conveniently K has a music job to play at and cannot attend the party.

Upon arrival I notice a circle of chairs in the dining room. In the middle of the chair circle is a table laden with unlit candles. The nephew in question is sitting on one of the chairs. Things get settled and all the invitees have to sit upon a chair. The candles are lit and the lights are turned off. There are fourteen adults and three children all up.

Firstly a "sage stick" is passed around to each person and we have to rotate it in a circle above our head. It looks and smells like a giant joint and it took all my self control not to laugh.

We then have to sit with our feet flat on the floor and hands upon our laps with upturned palms. My sister in law asks that we close our eyes as she says a prayer. Which we do.

Now, this was not your run of mill prayer that you may hear in Church, which I don't mind now and then. This had overtones of something that was influenced by "The Wicker Man". Or perhaps if someone went to a white witch tupperware party.

There was mention of spiritual guides and guardian angels but not in the sense that it was in any way connected to Christianity as I know she is agnostic.

Whilst she is saying the prayer he son is sitting on the chair opposite her and occassionally twisting his head around to look longingly at the pile of birthday presents waiting to be opened.

We then had to read our "story" to him. Upon finishing each story, the person had to place it at the bottom of my nephew's chair along with a momento for him to put in a keepsake box. We also had to choose a gemstone from a velour bag.

After about three stories being read out loud, my nephew would say "and soon I will open my presents". He also kept saying "your turn for the lucky dip" when an adult had to get their gemstone.

Eventually it all came to a close, but not before an extra four letters had to be read out on behalf of people who could not make it.

The entire time my nephew wriggled around on his chair and put up with being constantly told to either look at the person reading the story or to keep still.

Finally the readings were done and he was able to open his gifts.

Later that night I was woken up when K came home from his music job and he asked me how it went at the party. I gave a half groan and then did a run down of the event.

"Oh, poor A. Worse than that, I bet in the morning he is going to be asked what he got out of each story and how he felt about the "wisdom" night", K said.

I may be old fashioned, but shouldn't a party just be friends, party food, some little gifts and lots of running around?

Still, each to their own.

Ciao
LC

Yippee! Time for a Break

I finished work yesterday at 3.45pm and could not get out of the office quick enough.

Even though I have lots of things to do before we have our Christmas Eve dinner I feel so relieved to have gotten through the last three hectic weeks of work. Not only that, it is just nice to know I have at least two weeks of pottering around and getting into my studio.

This is only a quick post as S and I are off to face the crowds and get a picture of him with Santa.

Then home again to clean up and just get on top of things. Then I am going to sit and do some posts. I have all these things in my head that need offloading.

The weather is soaking wet and I have a load of washing hanging on the clothes line getting a triple rinse once again.

By the way, since I complain on a regular basis about this, I have PMT.

In fact, I was so bad this morning that I put all my clothes in the wash basket rather than face the overwhelming task of hanging them back up in the wardrobe. I then felt that was the pinnacle of laziness so I took them back out again and "draped" them across the bed where they are still sitting. I have enough unclean washing to get through without washing "clean but creased" items.

The reason for the clean clothes lying around the bedroom on any upright piece of furniture was because I changed my clothes at least three times every single morning this week and then had to rush around like a twit because of that.

And, I have bought myself an early Christmas present. It has not arrived yet, but I expect it in the New Year.

An iron. Not just any old iron but a whizz bang Swiss one (G2 - came with an ironing board etc) Now, I know it seems tragic to get oneself an iron for Christmas, but I really need a good one. I realise that I shall never, ever change my habits of ironing every single thing that gets washed, so it is better to go with that aspect of my persona than change it.

I hate to admit it, but I am a bit excited about using it. I suppose it is like a guy getting a Router or Belt Sander. A new tool to make life easier.

By the way, it is okay for me to get myself an iron for Christmas. It will never, ever be okay for my husband to get me one.

Ciao

LC

Posting Break

Having a few days off posting.

It is definitely that time of year where lots of things need doing.

And, as per usual, I have left all those things until the last minute.

I must like the rush of panic that goes with it as this happens every year.

Ciao
LC

Chemist Conversation

I am not sure if this episode will transfer with as much amusement when I write it as to when my brother told it to me. He told me the story using the most fantastic accent so the full impact was most amusing.

Recently my brother contracted an unfortunate case of ringworm from someones child who got if from kindergarten.

He freaked. Which is silly really as tinea is just a toe version of it. All of those things just confirm how the body can just catch all sorts of things no matter how clean we are.

Anyway, after self diagnosing himself with ringworm he decided to go to the chemist and pick up some cream or something to get rid of it.

When he got to the chemist he asked the pharmacist what cream he should use for ringworm. The pharmacist was of Indian/Pakistani background with an extremely strong accent and my brother was really having to listen carefully to what he was being told.

The conversation went like this:

"Do you have any cream for ringworm" asks my brother as quietly as he can not wanting to draw attention to the fact he has a fungal affliction.

"Are you sure it is ringworm?" says the pharmacist.

"Yes, I am sure", replies my brother.

"How do you know you are sure?" says man in white coat.

"I know I am sure because I have what looks like the rings of a tree on my back. Okay, so can I have some cream", my brother says firmly.

"Okay, okay, he says he has ringworm then he must have ringworm", the pharmacist says it loudly to the shop assistant.

My brother follows the guy down and aisle and the pharmacist hands him a tin of "Mr Watson's Anti Fungal Cream". It looks like a prop from a pre 1900 movie. My brother studies it. It is very, very cheap.

"You sure this will work?" he asks

"Of course it will. Why would I be giving you this tin if I did not know it would work", the guy looks at my brother like he is an idiot.

"Well, how does it compare with those other brands", my brother points to some well known brands like Daktarin and Lamasil.

"Sure, you want to pay me more money for those ones in their nice packets I don't mind. But why waste money when this one works", is the answer.

"Okay, so, how long has this "Mr Watson's" company been around for?, my brother asks out of curiosity.

"How long have they been around? Dickhead", the pharmacist says.

My brother looks at him in borderline shock. He cannot believe that this guy has just called him a dickhead.

"Look, I may be an annoying customer, but just because I ask how long a company has been around for does not mean I am a dickhead", he says to the guy.

"No, no, no. Not dickhead. Decades, they have been around for decades", the pharmacist starts laughing.

"Mr Watson's Anti Fungal Cream" did the trick. In fact, my brother has been espousing its virtues since.

Ciao
LC

Bowled Over and Tanked Up

We had a rather diverse weekend. Saturday I moped around the house with a headache from hell but in the evening S and I went to a Christmas function organised by the group I exercise with as K was playing music. And we played lawn bowls. My poor son was the only person under 25 at the function and as we walked in he groaned and whispered something about so many old people.

I can understand that, but he joined in playing bowls and we had a great time. He was pretty good at it. I remember thinking that lawn bowls looked terribly boring and something only old people did. But it has had a resurgence here on a big scale and many young people are getting involved.

The game was fun, my bowling improved with each go and I left there thinking that it might be fun to go again.


The next morning we were up early to go for a tank ride that I had organised in October as a birthday present for K.

When we got there we were able to include S as well. I mean, it is something pretty exciting for a ten year old kid to do (and an older one as well).

Here it was coming into park. Big and noisy. Just fantastic. They are busy every weekend and they also do trainer driver courses for Ferrets and some other big things.

It was twenty minutes of noise and dust.

It made me think of young men who are fighting in places where their lives are at risk. We can sit in this for fun, stand up and look around with not a worry about being shot at. No bombs, no gun fire, no oppressive heat and the adrenalin rushing through a young man's body when things go wrong.

We are quite lucky.

Ciao

LC

In The Studio

My studio is finished.

Well, just.

I oiled the bench top last night and then waxed it this morning. My brother made it for me. He wanted me to have something strong to work on, heavy and made with his hands as a gesture of his love for me, his older sister.

There is a small piece of furniture I brought in to pile my books onto. I remember buying that little table when I first moved out of home. I am very fond of it. As I put the books onto it I spent some time looking at each one.

There are books there that have a particular relationship with me and I almost revere their presence in the room. Perhaps they were a gift or I bought the book when I was in a particularly aware mood and the touching of it brings forth strong emotions.

Some of the books are just lovely to read. Not even that good maybe, but definitely lovely to cast my eyes upon and take in the words.

It took a few trips to bring them out.

The white stool is one I bought at least ten years ago from a second hand store. It goes from room to room and has been used for various tasks. In the bathroom it has been a make shift table for magazines and also for the portable dvd player to perch upon to enable some movie watching whilst I soak in a hot bath.

Last night, after the books were in their rightful place, I sat on the stool and looked out of the door. The day had been very hot and the interior of the studio was warm, the smell of the oiled bench top had given me a headache and I was sitting with my back against the wall and listening to what was happening outside.

The sound of pigeons, the dogs running behind the studio, rustling around and sniffing under the tree, neighbours having a Christmas get together, their chatter drifting around in the warm air. My next door neighbour and his wife talking in their own dialect. It was peaceful.

People are rather funny with their reactions when they learn I am going to have a studio.

The fact is, our house is too small for me to have a spare room to mess up. It is easier to just build something in the backyard.

But, there is something very nice about the thought of taking myself physical self away from the house and those in it to be in my own space.

I think after Christmas I will start to spend relevant time in it.

Ciao
LC

Reminder for Guys

When you ask your wife/girlfriend what she wants for Christmas and she says nothing - well, that may be the one time you don't listen to what she says.

And, when she tags the "nothing" with an explanation that you and her do things for each other through the year so presents are not needed for her under the tree (the one that took four hours for her to decorate) - well, once again, just ignore that.

Plus, if she agrees with you that Christmas is just for kids - you might want to ignore that one as well.

And, you may notice that even though you said you wanted nothing (and meant it), she still got you something special. Just take a little lesson from that gesture.

Just want to make sure you knew all this because it took my husband about seven years to twig on that one.

However, the other day my work colleague asked K what he was getting me for Christmas (I was not around at the time) and he said:

"She says she does not want anything"

Er, I think I need to remind him that what I said and what I meant were not the same.

Sheesh, them men persons take ages to train.....

Ciao
LC

I Should Be An Army Cook

I know I have mentioned now and then in my blog what an unfortunate cook I am.

A lot of it has to do with my relationship with food, my lack of interest in following a recipe and my inability to understand the concept of absorbency and how it affects the overall size of the end product. I really would have done well in the Army as a cook. Huge quantities are my speciality.

At least one wheelbarrow full of my “inventions” has ended up down the toilet.

This year was not so bad as I finally managed to harness my mind and follow recipes with a bit more care. What a difference that makes. People are more inclined to eat what you prepare.

Anyway, I was throwing out a giant pan of rice I had cooked the other day and it made me think about some of the stuff I have thrown out over the years.

Last year I purchased a slow cooker with a five litre capacity (more than one gallon) and embarked on the great concept of making huge quantities of soups and casseroles which could be frozen. This would mean that I only had to cook, say, once a week and just dish up a variety of predetermined frozen creations for five nights of the week.

The first week I had the slow cooker was great. I used it every night trying to build up a stock of frozen dinners. I used the freshest ingredients, organic produce and all that stuff so I felt very good about it all. Pasta sauces and soups featured very strongly.

One night I decided to make a pea and ham soup. Now, I have a really major problem with appreciating that food items that are small and hard in packets will subsequently expand 100 times in size when you add water. I don’t actually believe it. Each time I cook rice I just cannot stop myself adding an extra cup - just in case it does not expand enough.

So instead of following the instructions which said to use half a cup of dried, green peas I tipped the whole bag in and topped it up with extra vegetable stock. I then pushed in the ham hocks and turned it on and went to bed.

When I got up the next morning, the peas had absorbed all the liquid stock and expanded so much that the soup had become a giant, oval shaped block rising from the slow cooker so that it lifted the lid just over two inches up and it was sitting on the top of this solid, olive green semi firm substance.

Not wanting it to go to waste I sliced the hard slab of pea and ham soup in half and dropped that in my biggest saucepan and added water to soften it up. I then added more water to the other half which was still sitting in the slow cooker.

I had to keep adding water to enable the soup to have some sort of liquid form and by the time K got home from a bike ride I had just over 12 litres of soup divided between the cooker and the saucepan.

He looked at the simmering, swampy green liquid with curiosity. Now and then the ham bones would rise to the surface like a body part. There was a degree of silence between us as we both studied it.

“What is that?” he finally asked.

“Pea and ham soup. I thought you may like it. I made a lot so I could freeze it”, I said very brightly.

“Firstly, I don’t like pea and ham soup and secondly I am not too fond of the prospect of having to go through what looks like 100 litres of it over the next three months” he said kindly.

“Right, okay, I can see what you mean. Toilet tip?” I said.

“Apparently so”, he replied.

I had to pick out the ham bones and throw them out. Then K had the task of flushing down the s-bend and it took at least half a dozen flushes to complete the task.

I have since replaced the 5 litre slow cooker with a smaller 3 litre one and now follow instructions very, very carefully.

Otherwise I am sure the toilet will one day block.

I cannot even tell you the polenta story other than to say I had to tip some caustic soda down after it to unblock the s-bend.

For the sake of the environment, I am being very careful these days.

Ciao
LC

Christmas Cards

It is that time of year where lots of us send out Christmas cards. Half of the cards sent go to people I never speak to during the year.

I have a confession to make.

I like to buy Christmas cards. Lovely scenes of Christmas on the front of a quality card appeal to my nostalgic senses.

But I hate sending them out.

I hate writing in them, I hate doing the address, sticking the stamp on and posting them. It gives me a headache and increases my anxiety. There is no logical reason behind it.

In the early days of marriage I did all of them. Then I told K to do his lot as I had never heard of Auntie Poo Poo from Scotland and I am sure she never had a clue who I was. That was fine, he was happy to.

I used to write a passage in each card that gave a brief run down of what was happening in the twelve months since I sent the last card with a similar passage.

Now I just write Ho Ho Ho in each one.

I never actually let on to K and S that it shits me doing them. It would just add to my anti social reputation which I do not need to do.

The other day I said to S that he might want to do some Christmas cards for his friends in class. I had purchased some lovely ones for him to use.

"No, I don't want to give people cards just because I am in class with them. That is a waste of paper and besides I only like a few in my class, the rest of them are just there to fill the room", he told me.

Now, I am not sure if I need to seriously step back and look at my behaviour in general, because I thought he was pretty rude making that comment. It was not remotely amusing or acceptable to me even if he was in a grumpy mood when he said it. I don't recall talking about anyone in that dismissive way - not in front of him anyway.

So I explained to him about how we all live together in a society and it is nice to acknowledge each other's presence in our lives no matter how small the contribution they may actually make. Furthermore, I added that whilst he may not be best buddies with all the people he spends each school day with, they have just as much to offer this world as anyone else, including him. It was important to remember that fact, especially when he gets out in the big world and starts having serious relationships.

I explained how the giving of a Christmas card at this time of year is a small gesture of kindness that would just be a nice thing to do. It helps keep a connection with those that we cannot always see when we would like. Whilst understanding that he may not feel like giving a card to all the children he has shared the year with, it would not be too much of an effort to include them all in his card giving to ensure that no-one's feelings are hurt.

He agreed and is now sitting and doing the cards as I type this.

I have to say that after talking to him about it I did remember why I do send the cards out each year. It is just nice to connect with people who I have had in my life for many years.

Also realised that children really do need to be taught good manners ALL THE TIME.

Oh, and I lied before - I did find it a bit amusing what he said, but kept my face very "cross mummy" style.

Ciao
LC

Night Away

I had a rather pleasant day today.

In fact, it started last evening.

My lovely boss treated key staff members and partners to a night at a place called The Mansion Hotel. It included dinner, overnight stay, breakfast, massage at the day spa and lunch. It was delightful.

The photo below is me at the top of the stairs in the historical home itself.

I took a few pictures of the place, however was unable to take a picture of the historical Werribee Mansion as they were erecting a giant stage in front of the building.

Elton John is playing there this weekend to hundreds of people willing to pay $300 per ticket, sit on a blanket under the stars and quaff wine. Hopefully it will not rain!

Below is a picture of the billiard room in the mansion. As you can see it is in the process of restoration. I do feel a bit sorry for the hippo!

There are a great deal of sculptures scattered throughout the historical estate and I took a couple of photos of some of them. I love the one below as it looks so different from on angle to the other.

I am unsure what to make of the one below. But I did feel it warranted a photo.

The mansion used to be a private home and later on became a monastery. It was converted into a five star hotel and day spa a number of years ago.

The historical mansion itself is open to the public to view and is in the most lovely original condition. I would love to live there. Once a year, in late November, they hold a huge food and wine festival and thousands attend and sample beautiful foods.

The original owners of the house have of course long gone. But they left a dubious legacy behind for which Australia will forever be - er - most annoyed.

They brought into the country half a dozen rabbits from England to use for hunting. Needless to say the rabbits did what rabbits do and populated the pristine land of Australia.

We have never been able to get rid of them wascally wabbits since.

Ciao

LC

Christmas Shopping

I decided to go and partake in some Christmas shopping this morning.

Not far from where I live is a shopping centre called Chadstone. It is touted as "The Fashion Capital".

It should be "Car Parking Hell".

Even during the "non commercial" times of year, it is almost impossible to find a parking spot at Chadstone. You have to go first thing in the morning or one hour prior to closing time. During the Christmas season you have get there at about 8.30 am to get yourself a spot that does not require a day pack to walk from your car to the first entrance.

As I left the house this morning I noticed that a vague headache was starting. The closer I got to the hallowed shopping precinct the more pressure built up in my skull. This was soon joined by a bout of anxiety as I saw, at least 500 metres before I even sighted the big ugly building that is Chadstone, a line of cars waiting to get in.

No fucking way am I spending one second trawling the car park at Chadstone looking for a place to park my car. I did a u-turn and drove thirty minutes to another shopping centre (Southland) where I got a car parking spot without any effort.

When I got into the centre I suddenly had an attack of "what am I doing here" syndrome. I wondered around aimlessly stopping only once for a cup of coffee. Well, I may have stopped more than once to buy some bits and pieces. But prior to that I was very aimless.

Whilst Chadstone may have the most "fashion shops", Southland has the longest distance from on main department store to the other. I am sure that I walked approximately 5kms just getting around.

I am not sure how other people go with Christmas shopping, but I am hopeless. I write a list, bring it with me and then forget I have it. I look at everything and in the end find myself so overwhelmed by what is on offer that I end up doing what a lot of people must surely do....

I end up buying something for myself.

This is a problem because it means I have to go back again and get the presents, then once again come home with perhaps one present and something for me.

Generally I am able to exhibit a level of self control, but at this time of year I just seem to cave in and indulge myself.

Today it was a pair of lovely chocolate brown, wide legged trousers, three of the most gorgeous beach towels with lovely stripes and rope ends (three for the price of two) and a couple of presents. The other day it was a pair of jeans. Plus a t-shirt. Some underwear. Hmmmm, oh, and some books.

All on special, with significantly reduced prices.

You do have to spend money to save it.

I am thinking of shopping online....

Ciao
LC

Landcox Park

When I was about ten years old we lived in a suburb called Brighton.

Life was pretty much about school and getting out of the house as much as possible.

On the weekends I would do what I had to do at home and jump on my bike to visit friends. Riding the streets until just before the sun set. I had a dragstar, similar to my son's one in this photo. Mine was a boy's bike, purple paintwork with a glittery purple seat that had white trim on the sides. My dad gave it to me as a brithday present. I rode it around until one day I forgot to pump up the tyres and my father took the bike off me to teach me a lesson. He was all for the "teaching of lessons".
Once a few friends and I had collected together we would ride down to Landcox Park. A little gang of girls and boys on their dragstar bikes with the long sissy bar at the back. I remember that my mum had bought me a pair of denim flares and an orange t-shirt. My hair was cut in what was then called the "dolly haircut". It was a nice feeling to be groovy and out on my bike.

Landcox Park has a small lake in the middle of it.

When I was ten, it was a lovely, dirty and slimy environment. Muddy, olive coloured water with algae and branches floating in it. Big Willow trees grew all around the edge of the lake, their long and thick branches reaching out and over the water. Sometimes the weight of the tree limbs would pull it down to touch the surface of the murky water. Black swans and the odd duck bobbled along the surface, every now and then dipping their long necks into the water. If you were quiet you would see the nose tip of a tortoise break the stillness of the lake. If I remembered I would bring bread to feed the birds.

In the middle of the lake was a small island upon which were a couple of palm trees almost hidden from view by other giant, green nondescript trees. If you waded across to the little island, you would run the risk of being nipped by yabbies which lived on the bottom of the dirty water. Of course, I doubt anyone ever actually encountered the pincers of a yabbie in reality, but the prospect of that hindered me for a long time.

One day I decided to steel myself and wade across. The water was thigh deep and cool. My bare feet sunk into the squishy mud along the bottom of the lake. Once I reached the island I scrambled up the sides and onto the leafy ground. Everything on this small mound of earth smelt musky and damp. If you crawled toward the centre and looked up, the sun was obscured by the overhead foliage. It was a world within a world.

I did not encounter any yabbies with my feet, but I did catch some on another day with a string and a piece of meat, only to throw it back into the water. It never occurred to me that people may have wished to eat them.

Years later I took my own son down to Landcox Park. How it had changed.

The entire lake had been cleaned up which meant that many of the old Willow trees had been removed. Most of the growth had been pulled up and replaced with native flora. The swans that had lived there for years were relocated and in their place were Australian water fowl. There were signs outlining the vegetative changes that had been made along with strict rules about no feeding of the birds and no wading over to the island.

Nothing like officials to make things boring.

The island seemed to have shrunk! It had been cleared of a lot of trees, but the palm trees were still there. What seemed like a long journey from the edge of the lake to the island was, in fact, only a few metres.

It is often like this. We try to show our own children things that we experienced only to find that life has changed the pictures slightly. Even if we wish to revisit these places on our own to reminisce, we are reminded that all those memories live within us as though in a story book.

We can share the memory, but the images may change as we do so. It does not really matter as I realised that when my son went to Landcox Park, his memory of it was in no way any less sweet and free as mine had been.

Today when I went there on my own to take some photos I remembered when I last took him there about four years ago. He ran around the trees and climbed the big ones, played in the playground and ran up a hill that I also had climbed. He rolled down it and jumped up laughing and covered in grass.

I rolled down it and staggered around thinking I was going to vomit.

Things had definitely changed!

Ciao

LC

Tired Boy

S came home from camping on Friday afternoon. He was tired, sunburnt and pleased to be back.

Today he has been watching television and playing on the computer.

He did not want to get dressed saying that he was too tired.

This morning I opened his case and could not believe the stink that sprung from the confines of it.

How can my lovely boy produce such a smell after two days even though he had two showers whilst away?

I cannot explain exactly what sort of smell it is. But it is what I think is known as a "locker room" odour. Perhaps a sign of worse to come?

Eeeewww.

Ciao
LC

Love Story?

When I was a teenager I used to hang out at my sister's house a lot. She had three little children and was just up the road from home.

My sister is always busy with things, friends and has been like that all her life.

One of her friends was this older guy called Terry.

Terry was a most unassuming man to look at. Middle aged, slightly plump, big halo of grey hair and he wore glasses.

He taught calligraphy from a small studio. His talents were very well known and he was (and still is) commissioned to restore old books. The type of books that have very elaborate and decorative writings at the beginning of each chapter. Books you have to wear white gloves whilst reading to protect them.

His studio was lined with lovely old books, strange writing implements and shelves of beautiful, thick parchment type paper, edges rough and the surface porous when the tip of a calligraphy pen touched it. It was always crowded in the room, which was situated on the top of a 1930's shop. The windows had crossbar leadlight in them and there was a feeling of being somewhere sweet and romantic when you were in the studio - and not on the corner of a busy intersection.

I thought he was a nice old guy. He thought I was crude because I liked Spike Milligan and could also recite dirty ditties by the dozen. My older sister was much more feminine than me.

Anyway, one day my sister showed me copies of poetry that he had written. The poetry was not for her, it was for a woman that he had fallen in love with. He had started an affair with her and wrote her these most amazing pages of adoring love and ardour.

They were not of the "roses are red" kind. They were so incredibly passionate and so beautifully written I was floored.

For years I kept copies of them and would read them because the beauty of them moved me. They got lost in a house move and I was so upset when I could not find them.

I recall a couple of lines in one that mentioned hips and legs entwined and kisses on the neck and all sorts of fascination with the soft skin of the woman who was his love.

He had even written a series of verses that described how the tip of his fountain pen touching the paper filled him with longing for his lips to touch hers.

He had married at a very young age, had five children and been a good and dutiful husband. His wife was a good mother but after the fifth child was born had decided that sex was no longer on the agenda as they had enough children. The marriage was practical.

So I guess it was natural for him to eventually seek emotional and physical intimacy elsewhere.

The affair progressed and he gathered the courage to leave his wife to live with the woman he was now in love with.

His children and his wife hounded him to go back. The children said it was disgusting that an old man would embark on such a thing. His wife was upset that he left her when she had been such a good wife and mother. His sons told him to go back to their mother and not to be silly about this woman and that he was just going through a mid life crisis.

Eventually he caved in under the pressure and emotional guilt and went back home to his wife. It was a most heartbreaking loss for him which he never got over. Shortly after he went back to his wife he closed down his studio and worked from home.

Years later I contacted him as I needed some calligraphy writing done in the front of a bible I was giving to my God daughter.

Whilst the rest of the house was frighteningly spotless and very austere in appearance, his small room was as beautifully crowded and dusty as the studio had been. We chatted for a while, he asked how my sister was as they had lost contact over the years. He showed me some of the commissions he was doing along with some books he had acquired over the years.

As I left I wanted to tell him how much I loved his poetry but was unsure if I should. Perhaps he had given copies to my sister not thinking she would show anyone.

Instead I asked him a question, which in hindsight was astonishingly rude.

"Are you happy Terry?" I said just as I was about to go to my car.

"Not really, no", he looked directly at me and we both knew what each were thinking at that moment.

We said our goodbye's.

When I think of love, I think of the poetry that Terry wrote.

It said it all.

Ciao
LC

Telemarketing Phone Calls

We get a lot of annoying telemarketing calls to the office.

Most of them originate from India. I appreciate that people need to make money and I am always polite to them. It is tough out there.

I have a very effective way of getting them to terminate the phone call without being rude to them at all.

When they call and ask me how I am today (as they always do) I say the following:

"I am not too well, I got my period today and feel really awful as it is so heavy. I had to use a tampon and a pad. You know how it is being a woman".

I can tell you, it works everytime. They hang up usually before I get to the word tampon.

My co worker's kill themselves laughing.

Not sure if a guy could use this line.

Ciao
LC

Hot Summer Ahead

Summer has arrived here.

It is not like your normal hot day that may occur in Spring or the early days of Autumn. A hot Summer day has a distinctive feel about it. The sunshine bites when it hits bare skin.

Yesterday morning I hung out some washing before leaving to go to work. I could feel the promise of a hot day around me. The intermittent warm gusts of wind moving around. The sound of the leaves on the weeping Chinese Elm tree, rustling as the breeze ran through them.

These sorts of hot days beckon me to go down to the beach. There is a silence in the air which expands once I get onto the sand near the edge of the water. It almost drowns out the sound of people's voices. I love just lying there reading a book until I get a thumping, great headache and shuffle back up the the car. I am always slathered in sunscreen having spent too many teenage years dipping my entire body in Reef Coconut oil to sizzle like a sausage on the sandy edge.

I am now pale and freckly. Or, should I say, pale and interesting.

Despite the lure of the beach, I was compelled to go to work where I stared out of the window at a two story brick factory opposite our office. They bake croissants and other buttery pastries there on a big scale. Recently I walked past and looked into the factory. There, sitting on a pallet, was the biggest block of solid, yellow butter I have ever seen. It was taller than me and looked like a block of cheese. They were cutting into it, great big slabs were slice off and carried to some place further inside.

It was very off putting to see butter on such a large scale. To me, butter should be in a little curl shape perched on a sweet dish at the breakfast table to spread on some crusty white bread.

The smell, whilst they are baking, fills the air and is quite yummy in the cooler months. On a hot day it is disgusting. Perhaps because when it is warm weather you are not so inclined to eat. Or do the molecules in hot air kind of stick together and carry the butter pong slowly around.

It is this time of year that suppliers come around and deliver thank you presents to us for doing business for them. Last year I scored a large number of really, really ugly long sleeved t-shirts size XXXL which I wear when I go jogging as the sleeves hang way past my fingertips and keep me warm. I am expecting replacements. They also give bottles of wine and boxes of chocolate but as I partake in neither it is completely wasted on me.

I do appreciate they drop in, but I hate that I have to make forced chit chat. Ten minutes is my limit. I am able to get into some social banter before I say "oh dear, I must get those wages done". Then I can slink off and get back to my desk and fiddle around while they talk to someone else.

Well, I am guessing it is time to change my chit chat repertoire as one of the reps said to me "you were doing the wages the last two years I came here. I think you are using that as an excuse to get rid of me".

"Yes, you are right", I said deciding it was pointless to lie.

Then I went back to work and left him to the Project Manager. My boss tells me I have improved my social skills hugely since I started with him seven years ago.

He told me he does not mind letting me out in public places now. He feels safe I shall not offend anyone these days.

Gee thanks!

Ciao
LC

Untidy at Work

I am not a person who has a tidy desk.

During the day there is paper spread from one side of the desk to the other. At the end of the day I put everything into a big pile ready to be spread out again the next day.

My boss is worse than me. His desk is frighteningly untidy and sometimes it smells. Even if he had a bigger desk it would make no difference as he would merely extend his mess further.

J, who does my filing and data entry is the complete and absolute opposite.

Not only is her desk spotless, her filing is extraordinary with it's neatness. Beautiful handwriting marks the edge of each tab divider in folders. Pages are neatly stapled, edges perfectly aligned and holes punched in the side of paper are even and centred perfectly.

Whilst my filing is alphabetically perfect, as is hers, it is inclined to be rather shabbily put together.

I never staple things together that I want J to file as I know she will glare at me as she unpicks my stapled paperwork, tidy the edges together and re staple it.

Any untidiness frustrates her and she watches my desk like a hawk. However, my recall of suppliers, customers, invoice amounts, payments made, money owing and product knowledge astounds her.

If the Project Manager wants to know where we bought some obscure product for a project we did three years ago, I can tell him where it came from, how much it was and where to find the invoice.

If you want to know what day it is or what time it is - don't ask me as I often have no idea. My week is broken up into days 1, 2, 3 and 4. They have no names.

Personally I do not see my desk as being untidy.

It is merely creative neglect.

Ciao
LC

Camping Kid

S has gone off for a two day camp.

This is the second time he has been away on camp, the first being twelve months ago.

I did not handle it very well last year. It was stressful, I was not organised and I fretted that I had perhaps not packed enough warm clothing. Of course he was fine and had a great time.

Last year at one point I was telling one of the tradesmen at work about S being away and I started to cry. He looked at me kindly and said "You need to let him go love, he needs you to do it, you need to do it".

Well, this year is so different. We packed the bag together, made sure he had plenty of clothes and he would be warm and dry if it rained.

I dropped him off at school this morning along with all his other excited friends and he kissed me goodbye.

I was fine.

Until about 2.00pm this afternoon when I realised that neither K nor I had to pick him up from school until Friday.

Then I felt that teary feeling that only a mother seems to get.

When I got home and told K about how I felt he could not believe it. He reminded me that it was only for two nights and I should enjoy the peace and quiet.

Maybe.

But really, when your son is as nerdy as mine is in the picture below, well, how could you not miss him....

Ciao

LC

The Modern Face of Today

I know that words have evolved and changed over the centuries to reflect the assimilation of societies, cultures and various media's.

New words like email, cyberspace, blog and web page are all words that have been created out of a need to accommodate the new technology we live with.

I think there are more facial expressions than there were ten years ago.

Facial expressions generally stay the same. Happy, sad, angry, surprised, lustful, fearful and all those expressions associated with various emotions. But I think there are a couple of extras that will be now here to stay.

The other day I was watching some guy looking at his mobile phone with great intensity. His eyes were almost cross eyed and his mouth was half open. As I was waiting for coffee to be made, it allowed me the opportunity to step behind him to watch what he was doing.

He was watching a television show on the tiny screen on his mobile. It was actually a sports programme and he had ear plugs in his ears. Every now and then his body would give what appeared like an involuntary spasm which I can only assume was a reaction to what was going on via the mobile phone.

Firstly, how expensive would that be? Secondly, how on earth can you watch what is on a television programme on your mobile. I would need that thing pressed against my nose to see it for a start. And finally, who the fuck wants to watch television when they are out.

It kind of contradicts the whole mentality of buying a giant plasma television for a small room just to watch the news.

The other expression that is common now is the intense stare that goes on when sending and sms. It is almost similar to the one you get watching your mobile, but it is less animated and more intense and usually has a frown attached to it. The older the person is doing the sms'ing, the deeper the frown.

Then there is the more common computer screen stupor. Unlike a television stupor which also involves having an almost banana shaped body slouch which comes about from half lying on the couch, the computer stare has intermittent eye movement followed by a flicker down at the keyboard whilst typing.

Mouth is generally open as is the same problem with television watching.

My son made mention of my computer face the other day.

"Your mouth is open", he kindly reminded me...

Not really the look I want at my age.

Ciao
LC

Zzzzzzzzzzzz

Title of post indicates state of brain.

I think I must go through stages when it comes to the urge to write something.

All or Nothing.

Well, neither of those is really a stage is it. More like a state.

So, I will rephrase that. I go through states.

And tonight I am the Nothing state.

Head is completely empty, couple of thoughts running around looking for somewhere to sit down only to disappear down the basement and get lost.

I think it may be due to the fact I have not been eating my vegetables lately.

The zucchini from the garden, along with a big tub of mung beans and three tomatoes has been my entire vegetable intake for the past five days.

I cannot even believe I feel the need to divulge such important information to the rest of the world. It indicates that there is something in me that thinks you might be remotely interested.

And that shows just how tired I really am.

It is on that incredibly banal blab up above that I shall sign off.

Ciao
LC

Train Sets

I love train sets.

I love the whole concept of having a little world to play with using scale model train thingies.

Those little bushes they make, those lovely fake gravel roads for die cast toy cars to drive upon. The beautiful trees, the atmospheric houses and the metres of train track that winds between it all.

When people tell me they have a train set I want to know more. How big, how old, when did you get it, where is it, do your children like it, do you let them play with it?

I have seen train set ups where the entire set up is on a giant table in the middle of which you can stand and watch the small world go by.

Trains that make noises, have lights and lots of different carriages being pulled behind it.

Thomas the Tank delights me. His little face, those naughty friends and the lovely place he lives.

I bought a lovely train set for S when he was small. It was very expensive and so sweet. He did not show one iota of interest in it and I sold it, reluctantly, for approximately one tenth of what I paid for it.

Once I saw a train set at a shop that made it's way all around the building above the door height. It travelled along, through a small archway from room to room. Immediately I wanted one and K said that was fine as long as I did it myself.

And that is the problem. I like to look at them, but I am not very good at building them.

All those curves, straights and then those other kind of joined track things that somehow connect to some other bit which has to loop around to allow the trains to pass each other by without touching each other.

What is that about?

I want someone else to build me a train set so I can look at it and play with it carefully. Better still, I want their train set all done and brought over to my house so I can play with it.

The reason I am writing this is that I just bought my 2.5 year old nephew a wooden train set for Christmas. It came with a table which I managed to put together. It also came with about 60 pieces of track which, apparently, a village idiot could put together with no pieces left over.

Of course, it did not come with a picture.

Which is what I need to put the fucking thing together before Christmas so that when he unwraps all the lovely shiny paper there it is in completed glory. Because it would not be nice to just open the box and then have to spend two hours putting it together.

I have spent approximately two hours trying to put these wooden track pieces together so that it all fits.

And it appears that I am a bit dumb.

Because it just ain't working.

I have a photo of it up on the computer from the website I bought it from. So, I run back and forth from room to room and try to remember how it looks.

Run into office - two large curvy bits, one long straight bit, one short curve then that double thing.

Run back into dining room saying under my breath - two large curvy bits, one long straight bit, one short curve then that double thing.

This goes on for a while before I realise that what I am remembering has become a bad case of Chinese Whispers by the time I get to the train table.

Oh, dear, as I write this I have just realised I could have lifted the table up, brought it into the office and just had the picture in front of me.

This village idiot is now going to bed.

Ciao

LC

Moment of Truth

In the past couple of years there has been an influx of the most annoying and, at times, provocative signage appearing all over the place.

Apart from the usual scantily clad girls promoting shoes and cars, there is a more annoying one, one that my son reads and then asks what it means.

Nasal delivery technology to help maintain erections and help with your sex life.

Needless to say, young boys with curious minds read the signage and want answers.

So, S asks me later on whilst we are home what is nasal delivery technology. What does it have to do with your sex life.

I need to tread carefully here as each answer points to a new alley way of questions. I explain about erections and why one needs an erection. Which he knows from previous conversations anyway.

But there are other things to be mentioned in the conversation as I don't want him to think that young men essentially need to use medication to get an erection. I have to explain the role of recreational drugs and excess alcohol and how they affect the body. Then I have to explain that older men with vascular problems and other health issues may need help.

The conversation seemed to go well and he was satisfied with the explanation.

Later on though he says to me that whilst he knows that having sex is an expression of love and caring between a male and female, do you have to love someone to have sex. Can you just have sex and not love someone.

I have to tell the truth here because the last thing I want is him constantly associating love with sex and vice versa as, although in an ideal world it would be wonderful, the reality is that nature is at work and wanting humans to shag and populate the earth. That is the bottom line. I just need him to be mindful of the emotions that can enhance the experience.

Blah blah blah stuff.

So I say to him that you can have sex without being in love and you can love someone and not have sex.

"Oh, like you and dad?" he says.

"What?" I say laughing.

"Well, you know, you love dad but don't have sex", he looks at me for confirmation.

"Oh, I don't think you are right there", I answer and the atmosphere changes. There is absolutely no need for me to elaborate as I can see he knows exactly what I mean.

He looks at me and then his eyes open a little wider and he pulls a face of disbelief combined with borderline horror.

"It's okay to be freaked out that parents, family and old people have sex", I cannot stop laughing by now.

He changed the subject.

Talk about a moment of truth.

I almost heard the clink of the penny as it dropped.

Ciao
LC

Christmas Tree

I love to put the Christmas tree up in the first weekend of December to get the full benefit of it's lovely, sparkly sweetness.

It is by no means a small job.

Firstly we have to get the numerous boxes down from a rather high place in the tiny laundry.

This is the job for a husband and son with the mother instructing from another room. We don't have a real tree choosing instead to have a big fake one out of a box. It comes in many sections.

There are a number of reasons why we don't have a real tree. One year a spider had babies in the real tree and spread it's ghastly web all over the room and there were baby spiders everywhere. Another year, in very hot weather the tree pegged it and turned yellow two days before Christmas despite being watered.

Also, I cannot tell you how hard it is to get rid of a dead pine tree once the celebrations are over. For months on end they appear in front of houses, brown and dry. Or, worse still, they live up the blind side of the house being chopped away at week after week to fit in the rubbish bin for weekly pick up.

Besides, it seems rather mean to cut down a tree just to dangle decorations on it.

There is always help to set it up from S. Then he will be involved in putting some decorations up before he tires of the long job.

I have bought many decorations over the years. I love the glass birds that clip onto the branches as we had ones like that when I was little. This year I held back on some decorations as it was looking a bit crowded.

There was a brief moment where the lights did not work and I had to fiddle around to fix them. Without going into too much detail (for fear of showing what a grump I can be) I had to verbally wind down to show my son how to use self control to diffuse a bad mood.

The entire process took about 3.5 hours which included cleaning the room completely. The dining room table was covered in photos and other bits and pieces. Funny how you can just clean up an annoying mess when you have to, in half the time you kept thinking it would take.

So the tree is up now, some presents are under it and the lights are on.

S stayed in his pyjamas all day.

Ciao

LC

Swedish Bazaar

Today S and I went to the Swedish Christmas Bazaar.

It is held once a year at the Swedish Church in Toorak.

They sell a lot of Scandinavian Christmas decorations, food, fabrics, clogs and all sorts of other odds and ends. The weather was just divine. Warm with a lovely breeze. The smell of danish meatballs cooking drifted around tempting people over to have some even though it was still mid morning.

S opted for a hot dog, followed by some tea cake, Danish Christmas cookies, kransekager, icecream and a soft drink. Needless to say it was not long before he decided he had actually eaten too much and had to sit down.

I opted just for coffee and a taste of cake.

Whilst we were both walking around and looking at things, S kept saying to me that he could hear people speaking Danish and did I know what they were saying. Only snippets were familiar to me. But the accent brings a sense of my childhood to me. My parents had lots of Danish friends visiting us when we were little and I recall their accents. The Swedish accent has more of a sing song sound to it.

My parent spoke Danish to each other but had decided to not teach us the language after my older sister was teased and called a "wog" as a child. I can understand the most basic parts of it like yes, no and thank you. However, when I hear as part of a conversation, then a few more words make sense to me.

The Swedish Church is where my parents were married in 1959. Below is a photo of where they were married.

On the wedding day the minister asked my mother if she had to get married. She replied that she did as she was five months pregnant. His advice to her was to stick it out for three years, not to have any more children to her future husband and then get divorced. Hardly what a bride wants to hear on her wedding day. He had seen the writing on the wall.

My mother married in emerald green, which is apparently bad luck. Years later the dress was cut up and the fabric used to make clothes for my dolls.

Twenty nine years and four living children and one deceased child later my parents finally divorced. I said to my mother that if she was unhappy with dad, why did she have four children.

To which she replied that when you have children you at least know that someone will love you.

I found that comment terribly heartbreaking.

But she was right, we do love her.

Ciao

LC