QE2 Twaddle

Tonight we went for a drive down to Station Pier which is along the beach. Maybe a drive of about twenty minutes.

Station Pier was well known many years ago as the place where thousands of migrants arrived to begin a new life in Australia. My mother did. My husband and his family did. They used to be called ten pound migrants as that was the price of coming over here. A place of great memories for many people.

These days it is mostly the odd cruise ship or the Spirit of Tasmania ferry that docks here.

Tonight was a special night as the QE2 was docking here for the last time. She is on her final voyage and her departure will be the end of a very gracious era. Fortunately she will not go the way of many ships, to be broken up as scrap metal in India somewhere. Her life will finish in Dubai to become a luxurious hotel. So, although she will not sail the vast oceans, at least her dignity will remain intact. Nothing worse than the thought of her being stripped naked.

When I first saw the QE2, I was actually pregnant with S. We drove down along the beach and the traffic was very busy. The night was hot and we had to park quite a distance away. Hundreds of other people walked along the footpaths in front of new luxury homes that were being built. Through manicured streets and across the odd lawn before crossing the busy Beach Road to get to Station Pier.

It was dark and quite late as the ship was about to sail out. So, perhaps about midnight. The atmosphere was so exciting. People milled around on the pier shouting and waving to the staff leaning over. Streams of toilet paper hung like streamers from the side, the summer breeze made the paper drift to one side in ghostly abandon.

The crew were singing sailor's songs and waving to everyone. It was all so spontaneous and full of joy that nobody wanted the moment to end.

When she moved out, her huge bulk was slow at first, but the little tug boat was able to get momentum and in no time at all she seemed far way, lights twinkling and her big horn bellowing out a goodbye. It was just beautiful.

She berthed again about seven years ago and all three of us went with S in the pram. He cannot recall the event but we have it on video. Less people gathered to see her off but, still, it is always a nice thing to see.

Last night was a totally different experience. For safety reasons you can no longer go up alongside any ship docked unless you are travelling yourself. So we stood around looking at the QE2 but really feeling unable to connect with her. No standing in her big shadow and looking up at the sides. No waving to the crew. No passengers dressed in their "Dynasty" style dresses and dinner suits waving to us. Hardly any people were even there to view it all.

All in all it was rather sad.

So I just took some photos. Looked at the lovely beach and the choppy waves. Seagulls hanging around for some food action. It was windy and the two boys bought an icecream from the Mr Whippy van and stood around eating it. The wind was so quick that icecream melted all over the place, down the hand of S who complained loudly. He then wiped it all over his clothes and decided that the wind had changed the flavour of the icecream and he could no longer eat it. I think he was actually just over the battle between icecream and the wind.

As we got in the car S said in most annoyed voice: "Great, first time I cannot see the ship because mum is pregnant, second time I cannot remember seeing the ship because I am too little and now, when I am old enough to go up close they won't let me".

Even for him, little changes are happening. I said not to worry, there will always be some things that never change.

Like Mr Whippy icecream.

Ciao

LC

Sorry Boss

Dear Boss of mine

As I know you will not read this, I feel safe confessing the following:

I have pfaffed around at work all day.

Spent ages on the internet reading blogs.

Also looked at Ebay more than once.

Talked on the phone.

Read a big magazine.

Took ages to eat my lunch.

Had coffee.

Posted onto my blog.

Read some more blogs.

Sent some emails.

Read some emails.

Did a bit of work.

You get the drift?

So, sorry about that. It does not happen too often.

But, today I just had to go with the flow.

Let me know if you want me to dock my pay for being a lazy toad.

Ciao
LC

Winning Story

Not that long ago I came across a story that I wrote for my high school magazine.

It was actually part of a competition they had running to get students to contribute to the annual booklet that came out at the later half of the school year.

I remember very clearly being in the library and seeing the notice about it. The prize was a $20 voucher from a local art shop. I sat down a quickly wrote up a story and shoved it in the entry box.

I did win the competition and when I read the story now, I think it is quite amusing. I was a few months short of 17 years old when I penned it. So, it was my last year of school. 1980.

It was mid-morning on a hot summers day. The sky was a vivid blue, not a cloud showing. The sun was glaring fiercely down at the crowds on the beaches, whilst the sea was so vast, so motionless, that it seemed to never end. In the far distance was a small boat: motionless and still. Certainly today was going to be a heatwave.

There were sounds of laughter and talking. A shout came from amidst the crowd and silence fell all around. All eyes turned toward the calm blue sea.

Suddenly she rose from the water like an alien goddess, so breathtakingly beautiful that she was forbidding. Her body that had been kissed by the sun by island resorts and sunny coasts was glistening from the sea and droplets of water clung like diamonds as she broke the mirror surface with a silent splash.

She was clad in a green bathing suit that sucked on to her body revealing movements of her skin underneath. Her hair was long, dark and shone like oil in the sun.

Her movements out of the water were long, slow and deliberate. Her thighs pushed hard against the water, leaving small bubbles trailing behind. Lazily her fingers brushed the water and made little ripples.

Beads of water hung like delicate pearls on her face and her head was held high. Her eyes were dark and challenging and gazed ominously around her. At intervals her ever watchful expression would be interrupted by her tongue flickering out to lick salty water from her lips.

All eyes were upon her as she took her final step out of the water. She walked as an aristocrat: proud, exact and defiant. Her thighs brushed softly together and her hips swayed gently side to side. A thread of hair swept into her face and her hand moved up to brush it away.

With a slow, provocative movement she turned and looked into the camera lens and said in a husky, sultry voice:

"Balvare sunscreen lotion stays on in the water."

A voice from the distance shouted, "Cut those cameras. Edna, your bloody lips are cracked, get back and do it again."

"Bloody Hell," she muttered angrily as she rubbed Vaseline into her lips. And with a silent oath she jogged back into the water for the seventeenth time that morning.

When I read it now, I can see a level of sexual overtones in it.

All I wanted was that first prize.

Ciao
LC

Joyless Twaddle

The other day I was reading out to my son some snippets of wisdom that came from the mouth of Bill Gates.

One of the comments was the one mentioned below.

Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Laughingly I asked S if me and dad were boring and he said YES.

I questioned him further. Why did he think we were boring?

He said to me that he had been watching videos of K and me when we were on holiday overseas in 1994 and I was so funny and silly in them. Dancing around and pulling faces.

As he spoke I was reminded of a conversation that I had with a friend of ours just after S was born. He and his wife were witness to our wedding. They live a long way from us and, since we were married, they have had a son. We have not seen them for 17 years but keep some level of contact via phone calls and cards.

During the conversation I asked how his wife was and he said that she was fine, just joyless as happens to women after the age of forty. When I expressed surprise, he said that you know how it is, women get kind of joyless after they have a child, after they hit forty and get bogged down by their duties. I am sure that there were other reasons for her apparent joyless demeanour, but it always stuck in my mind.

Looking back at videos from way back when I realise that, in fact, I have become a bit joyless as the years have passed. More serious, more introspective and less boisterous in my manner.

Joyless. What a word. Brings up all sorts of miserable connotations.

I think I may be more restrained, more contained in my behaviour, but maybe joyless may also be in there somewhere.

But, it did make me stop and think when my own son notices the difference. Not the difference with his dad, but only with me. To notice that change in me made me feel a bit sad.

Some may call it growing up.

Growing up has always been something I struggled with.

I must have reached it finally.

But only on the outside!

Ciao
LC

Fun At The Park

Over the past few weeks I have been feeling flat. Sort of disinterested in things. A vague indifference. There are a number of reasons, none of which a particularly riveting. The upset with my brother and his wife (which has been happily resolved), eating poorly, tired, over excitement about our upcoming holiday and two weekends in a row being unwell. Sometimes, no matter what is happening around me I can just be plain old sad because my brain is overloaded.

Yesterday I woke up unwell and was so incensed at being robbed of yet another weekend I made a decision that we should go to little Luna Park. I figured that as I was sick anyway I may as well be outside and doing something. Luna Park is a small and old fun park that has managed to resist development and is now a heritage listed icon. The day was sunny and the wind blew off the bay in such a fiesty way that a couple of the rides were shut down due to safety reasons.

It was decided that it would be best if I did not go on any rides for fear of a projectile vomit being the end result. I had to agree on that one. So K and S wandered around looking for a few rides to try. My son actually then reminds me that he hates rides that are dark, rides that are scary or spooky, rides that make him feel sick, rides that go upside down, rides that go too fast and rides that hurt his back. Okay, that did narrow down the choice slightly.

We walked around and I had to take a photo of the tram that has been converted to a party room. I remember travelling all over town on these lovely trams and it is only recently they have been replaced. Apparently Elton John has one. I have a long term desire to buy old tram and train carriages and join them up and make the a series of rooms to live in. Then again, I also want to live in a castle or a straw bale house.

S made his way to a small ferris wheel. K refused to go on it as he is afraid of heights. But S was happy to sit there on his own and just enjoy the ride.

He peered down at me from the seat that swung back and forth in the wind.

The inside of my head felt like the tangle of metal struts and cables that hold the rides together. But there was some order in that chaos and I started to pick up slowly.

After the park we went down to Acland Street in St Kilda. When I was very little, I recall coming down here as it was the only place to get decent food. Acland Street used to be predominantly Jewish. The atmosphere was continental, a wonderful reprieve from the dreary shops near where we lived. It is still famous for the fabulous array of cakes that are sold. These days it is far too crowded for my liking. When I used to frequent it, the clientele was strictly avant garde and quirky, these days it is just full of tourists, backpackers and "latte fashionistas".

One thing for sure, they sell the most delicious gelati. Coffee followed shortly after.

The day was much needed by all of us. Sometimes you do need to get out of the house and just be free of the duties that constantly beckon you.

Today I woke up a little less fragile and made a list of what I need to do to get back on top of things. Eat well, sleep well and stop analysing. Hmmmm, need to analyse how I shall do that....

Ciao

LC

Book Meme

Mizmell has given me a most interesting little meme to do.

So here is how it works.

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages)
2. Open the book to page 123
3. Find the 5th sentence
4. Post the next three sentences
5. Tag 5 people

She never cared to sit down and work out how many years she would have to study to get the the hill in Camperdown, how much money she needed, how many nights would be put in falling over textbooks, or how much money was needed for them either: nor did she compare the wages of young teachers and typists with the cost of a university education. She merely put it vaguely to herself that the sessions at the business college would help her to a quiet office job, out of which she would pay her share at home, pay all expenses, learn Latin, and so be admitted to these classrooms of the ideal and the real. At night, jaded, yellow, hungry and unable to keep her eyes wide open, she peered at the copy of Pro Murena, set for the next university entrance, and at the English crib alongside.

This is a book I would read once a year. It gives a very good description of life in Australia in the 1930's/1940's. The painting on the cover of the book is by an artist called Clarice Beckett who had a most sad and poignant life.

Although I am meant to tag five others, anyone who would like to do this meme is welcome to. I love knowing what other people are reading!

Ciao

LC

My Austin

Many years ago I was the proud owner of the most lovely Austin 1800. I think perhaps it was about a 1969 vintage.

I remember when K and I went to have a look at it with a mind for me making a purchase. The owner led us both to the garage where it was parked. He opened the door and there, sitting in the semi darkness, sat the little two tone blue car.

It was mine. I took it for a test drive, but to tell you the truth, it could have driven like a truck and still it would be coming home with me. It was love at first sight.

The Austin 1800 was about as basic as a car could be within. No radio, no air conditioning, no modern safety features and no back seat belts. The very austerity of the car was so delightful to me. The steering wheel was exceptionally large and when I drove down the freeway I would be able to lean on it quite comfortably. Making a three point turn required many rotations.

After I purchased this little gem, everything that could go wrong with it did. The first six months that I drove the car, the most disconcerting noises would appear and cause me great anxiety. My husband came to dread the words "my car is making a weird noise". The truth is, so did I as each noise meant I had to dig deep in my pocket for money.

Firstly went the cv joints. That is, the constant-velocity joints. Knock, knock and more knocks started on one side. It had to be taken to the mechanics to be replaced. As with all classic cars, mechanics are always over the other side of the city and the trek to him took almost an hour. Not long after, the other cv joint went and off we trudged again to have it replaced. After that, the "nut" that kept the joints tightened had a nasty habit of loosening itself now and then and I was forced to keep in the car a spanner to tighten it. The spanner was about 18 inches long and correspondingly thick.

Then the power booster expired whilst I was on the way to work. A "power booster" is somehow tied in with stopping the car so I think it was important. The final insult was the clutch dying on me on the way to work. My husband decided that he was going to fix it this time, and he did so. He also put in a second set of cv joints which, if I remember correctly, put an end to having to tighten that stupid nut with the giant spanner.

After those episodes the car ticked along beautifully for me. Well, generally. I do recall that the alternator died. Then there was the problem that in wet weather the water would sometimes splash up from the underside of the car, wet something in the engine and causing the car to stop at the most unfortunate times - like in the middle of an intersection.

It took about eighteen months for me to allow a radio to be installed in the car as I was so reluctant to have a hole drilled in the front guard to allow for the antenna. Finally I accepted that there was no avoiding it and left the house whilst "operation antenna" went ahead. After that, driving that car was even better. Smooth ride, nostalgic smell of vinyl seats and the radio blaring out my favorite music.

Sometimes I would come home and have a sleep in the car. The seats folded back to allow for a snooze.
Eventually though, things changed and it was time for a different car. I am not sure what brought about the change. I had left work and was suffering from corporate burn out, K and I were going through a tough time and I was struggling with the concept of embarking on IVF and into the unknown.

Anyway, I gave the beautiful little blue car to my younger sister, who at that time was not the most reliable person. I thought it would help her with work and getting around. To cut a long story short, she ran that car down to the ground in no time at all. In the end I believe she sold it for $700 and used the money to buy dope. We don't discuss it these days. She feels awful about it.

I felt like I had betrayed that car. That lovely, loyal and graceful little blue wren had a sad end to it's life and I felt ashamed. For about two or three years I could not talk about it or look at a photo without wanting to cry.

Of all the cars I have had, the old and the new, that Austin 1800 was me through and through. There has never been a car that filled me with a such a long lasting thrill since. My new car is lovely and I enjoy it totally but nothing could ever replace the bond I had with my Austin.

Wherever it may be, I hope it forgives me for being so thoughtless when I gave it away. It was a shabby end, to a special car.

I am so sorry.

Ciao
LC

Journalism?

Each day I like to hop onto the ninemsn web site and catch up on all the local and overseas news.

Over the past few weeks I have been following this rather gruesome murder committed by a chef in the UK.

What made it more sensational and disturbing was the fact that he actually engaged in sexual activities with his poor victim after she died. The murderer had apparently been working in Australia under a variety of different names. He was found to have assaulted a young woman and then, when she was unconscious raped her repeatedly.

All of the information regarding the trial and murder has been reported in a fairly succinct way. The usual level of professionalism that one would expect from a reporter following such a case.

That is until I read the following sentence which outlined how the police were able to connect the assault of the woman in Australia with the actual murderer.

The student's knickers were analysed and found to contain Dixie's DNA.

Now, I am not sure what anyone else thinks of this sentence, but I found it totally unprofessional. What on earth is the word "knickers" doing in a serious article about such an horrendous crime. Surely the word "underwear" would have been a little more tasteful.

Obviously that one slipped passed the editor's desk.

Ciao
LC

My Favorite Old House

In October of last year I mentioned in a post about a house that I loved so much as a child.

Today I decided to do a drive past to see how it was going. I have not looked at it for years because in the back of my mind I don't really want to see it's demise.

Really, I should not have gone to see it. For whilst it is still there it has started the fade of neglect. The painted surfaces that were once rich in colour are now peeling back and showing the white bleaching of the sun on the exposed surface below.

The garden, once pristine and with not a weed in sight has now an untidiness about it. The driveway has a few weeds peeking through from the concrete joins.

The house has an air of tiredness surrounding it. The old man who lives there, and has done so for most of his life, must be getting too old to maintain the home as he once did.

I can almost sense the greedy hunger of Real Estate agents who would know the look of a house on the way down.

Like vultures hovering in wait for an animal to die.

Changes, always changes.

Ciao
LC

Sharing My Sleep

The other night my son woke up from a nightmare and wanted to come into our bed. It has been a while since he has felt the need to do that.

He lay as close to me as was comfortable considering it was a hot night. In a small voice he told me that he was so scared he felt like crying. I stroked his smooth hair and the side of his face very softly with my sleepy hand. Told him it was okay now and that I still had scary dreams that woke me up. He wriggled closer until his head was close to mine and chatted for a while. He then moved away and fell asleep.

I know I have mentioned how the sleep patterns of my boy have not been the ideal sort. It went from me picking him up each time he cried and then holding him close until he went to sleep. This was when he was a baby. As he got older, he usually slept between my husband and I, his small body as warm as toast. I would sometimes lay and study his face in the moonlight that would cast a glow into the room.

When he went from a cot into his big bed, he would fall asleep on the couch and we would then lift him up and carry him into his bed to sleep. After a while, he became too heavy to lift without waking him up with the grunt and stumble that accompanied the final lift. We then got into the practice of having to lie next to him in his bed until he fell asleep. My husband and I would take turns each night. Inevitably one would fall asleep on the bed, only to stumble out into the kitchen at 11.00 pm at night, have a cup of tea and then get ready for bed again.

I think it was less than a couple of years ago when I took a hard line and made him go to sleep on his own. It took over one week of me frog marching him back to bed each time he came out begging one of us to sleep with him. It was as hard for me as it was for him. Eventually he came to realise that it was nice to have a read of a book on his own and listen to his cd’s to go to sleep. Once when I deigned to lay next to him he told me that I was too big and to get off the bed.

During all of this time, whenever he woke in the night he had to come into our bed to sleep. Often I would fall asleep next to my husband at night only to wake up the next morning next to my son. Other times he would wake me up to talk about his nightmare, his frightened little body close to mine. His head would be sweaty and wet like a seal pup that had been in the water. He would ask me to hold him tightly which I did until he fell asleep. I don’t think I had unbroken sleep for at least the first nine years of his life.

Eventually the times he ended up in our bed became less and less. Five nights out of seven became four nights and then down to one or two. Then it became every second week and finally to no coming in at all. If he woke up in the night, he would put his story book cd on and fall asleep to the talking.

When he lay next to me the other night, I realised how much he had grown. Once he had felt less scared he did not really want to cuddle up to me, just wanted to be in my space and talk until he drifted off. That natural separation happens when children get older. Parents need to be near, but not too near.

To all the people who told me how I should have used controlled crying with him to get him to fall asleep, to my doctor who told me that my husband and I should be tougher on him, to those who said I was spoiling him for picking him up all the time, to my older sister who told me I should put him outside whenever he gets into our bed (to teach him a lesson), to my brother who said I was weak, to all the "sleep" books I read and then tossed away and to the mother care nurse who said I would regret holding him until he fell asleep I want to tell you that, despite your worries and opinions, it all worked out just fine.

To my mum who said to do what felt right for me, thanks for the advice. It was the best advice I ever had.

Ciao
LC

My Car

Tonight I spent two hours cleaning my car. Whenever I decide to clean my car, it does not matter what I do, it always takes at least two hours, sometimes more.

I have to vaccum it top to toe. This takes a long time and I have the nozzle in every nook and cranny to get rid of little bits of fluff and crumbs. I have a strict "no eating" in my car and will only allow water to be drunk. Except of course when I use the cup holders when I treat myself to a cup of coffee whilst driving. That is okay for me to do that. It is my car and I take care. Children don't.

I never used to be this fussy on the food issue, but since having a child, the inside of previous cars came to resemble a tip and I am over that pervading pong of stinky food that has dropped down a car seat somewhere.

This car is my "grown up lady" car and I treat it very well.

Although I did wash it at home tonight, normally I would not due to water restrictions. I would take it to one of those big communal car washes. However, I only need two buckets of water to clean my car so I figured that was okay. It took 1.5 hours to clean it and dry it off. In between all that I got my son ready for bed and tucked him in.

Unfortunately, being so fussy with cleaning a car is a burden for me. It is all or nothing. My husband has no trouble cleaning his car inside and out in under half and hour. So he cleans his car each week. I clean mine every six weeks.

I have been a fiddly car cleaner for as long as I can remember. I have all different cloths for different jobs. Microfibre cloth for the outside of the windows, different ones for the inside of the windows, a washing mitt for the upper section of the car, a different one for the lower section, wheel cleaning cloth, interior surface cloth and two chamois to dry everything off as I go. I upgrade them once a year at least. I hand wash and dry the cloths when finished cleaning the car. I use top grade car shampoo. When I bought my car I paid a small fortune for the paint protection to ensure that it always looks nice.

Fiddle, fiddle and more fiddling. When I am finished the car looks like it came out of the showroom. Shiny and smooth. Spotless inside and it always smells fresh - partly due to the "no farting" rule that was set up when the car first arrived home. That may have been broken once or twice, but only under duress.

It is a bit annoying being so pedantic with cleaning my car as the job is such a huge job and I have to set aside a couple of hours without fail. Once I start, I just keep going until the job is done. No radio going. With a previous car I flattened the battery listening to the radio whilst cleaning it because I took so long. I cannot change how I am car cleaning, it just makes me feel incomplete.

Once I am done I am so happy with the result. Even my husband questions how I manage to make any car look like new.

This weekend I will be cleaning my bathroom. The same thing applies. I can spend over an hour in a 6' x 8' bathroom getting it clean. In between cleans it just goes downhill until I am forced to clean.

All or nothing.

Makes me appreciate the end result.

Ciao
LC

Homework

This is a brief post about homework.

This year my son is in grade 5. In two years he will be in high school. It is about now that the homework load becomes a bit more serious and has to be managed well or problems will arise when he gets to high school. Both K and I want him to get into doing homework before it is due and not at the last minute. It may not work, but at least we feel we have tried.

Without going into too much detail, my son and I had what is known as a "ding dong" about his having to do homework. The bottom line is, he did not want to do it and I said he had to.

Thus he stormed off to his bedroom in a foul temper. It was all compounded by the fact that a friend had phoned to ask him to go to a local park and play and I said no.

He called me an "asshole". Now, I don't use this sort of language in the house and don't allow it.

But I have to confess that it took some of my control to not wring his neck and swear back at him. However, being a parent does not allow that. You may think it, but that is where it really stops.

I had to sit down and basically make him acknowledge how he felt, why he was feeling it. I had to ask him if he thought it was right to speak that way to me. How would he feel if I spoke like that? I don't want him to lose face, but I need him to see what his behaviour is all about. In the old days, I suppose he would have been giving a clip over the ear. Last thing I want is to condone physical punishment. Besides, he is too old for a smack as well as too big!

I then had to punish him for his actions by banning him from the computer for two days.

He then came out and did homework and all was well again.

Later on he said to me, unprompted, that he felt really bad that he had spoken to me like that. He said the words just were in his head and out of his mouth before he could stop them. It was then that I felt that some of the words I had said had sunk into his head.

I think being a young person is hard. Having to get a handle on emotions, having to learn to interpret things and react in the best way, having to learn about other people's feelings and all the variety of life interactions that come their way. All this and teenage hormones.

So glad I am past that.

Just got old lady hormones now.

Ciao
LC

More Meme

Here is a meme kindly offered to me by Poetikat.

Ten things you will never hear me say. I actually struggled with this one much to my surprise. I am unsure as to why. I felt that I was having a problem with "things I say but don't mean" and "things I would never say even if I thought it" and "things I would never say".

1. I really need to put on some weight.
2. I am really happy with my body shape and size.
3. Sure, I'd love to go and watch Aussie Rules football all Saturday.
4. Cooking is so much fun.
5. I love housework.
6. I would love to be 21 again.
7. I miss my dad.
8. I don't mind pulling the hair out of my shower plug hole.
9. I am having a dinner party.
10. I'll have a Big Mac (or any other McBurger).

Certain as I am that I shall suddenly remember ten others once I get to bed, these were all I could squeeze out of my head.

Two meme's in 24 hours - be impressed, be very impressed.

Ciao
LC

A Meme

I have been given an interesting meme from Hope. I am afraid I am a bit disorganised with meme's. Often I start them and then forget about them. In this meme, there were a collection of brief words which were to be built on.

After six:

After six years of age, I realised that The Magic Faraway Tree written by Enid Blyton was not a true story and I was stuck with my family no matter how many trees I climbed.

It doesn't matter:

It doesn't matter that I sometimes think one thing and say another. I have learnt over the years that it is best to hold back what is on the tip of my tongue.

In another:

In another life I don't think I would have changed anything. I am here now and like myself. I know many people who had perfect lives who still have not found happiness or peace within.

My mother always said:

My mother always said to not get pregnant. I think that was due to the fact that my older sister got pregnant at fifteen. Needless to say that after that big mistake my social life was at an end until I escaped from home. I do wish, however, that my mother had given me some more relevant snippets of wisdom as, for all of my adult life, I could not have a shag without the spectre of an unwanted pregnancy looming over me. The irony is, I ended up having to have IVF to actually get pregnant at age 33.

At the wake:

At the wake of dawn, I am always asleep. Also, at the wake of my funeral it would amuse me greatly if my body expelled air very loudly or something totally freaky like that.

Consideration brings:

Consideration brings forth happiness in others, but sometimes unhappiness within myself. Truly, there are times, when I don't want to consider anyone but myself. Even this morning I said that I was making a cup of tea for myself and not for anyone else because I just wanted to be selfish. I know that is a small thing, but I did feel a bit mean saying it.

In 1986:

In 1986 I was just a very, very difficult person with myself and any fool willing to become involved with me. Being highly strung, attractive and volatile however appeared to be a magnet for some guys. What can I say. Fools will rush in where angels fear to tread.

Don't laugh but:

Don't laugh but, even now at the age off 44 a whoopee cushion still makes me almost wet myself with laughter. No matter how often it gets used.

Without hesitation:

Without hesitation I would give up my happiness to ensure the emotional well being, security, happiness and safety of my son.

Ordinarily, I never....but in this case:

Ordinarily I never would admit this to just anyone but in this case I will have to confess that I generally prefer my own company above and beyond anyone elses. This is only because I know myself, give myself little trouble and never feel offended by what I say or think. That is not to say that I don't enjoy other people being around me, it just mean I am happy in my own skin. It took along time to get to this place, I want to saviour it.

I was driving to...the other day and I:

I was driving to work one day last week and I realised that really, if I did not have to, I don't think I would ever work again. Work is good. I have a great job and a great boss. But the fact is, I have lots of other things I want to do, none of which happen to be work related. Work is a means to an end.

In my mind:

In my mind I am small, a child and easily crushed, frightened or driven to anger. As an adult I have learnt how to overcome that. My emotions are a web around me and I am always mending the holes that get poked into it by careless comments from others. Perhaps I am over sensitive. That is fine. I am not intending to change that aspect of who I am. Instead I accept it. Acceptance makes life so much easier.

Thanks Hope for this meme.

I got it done!

Ciao
LC

Postcards

A few years ago I went through a stage where I collected old postcards. They were generally of the city or local areas. Often hard to find and many times quite costly. I used to look at them a lot and, as happens, went onto another interest and they were subsequently packed away. The other day when the old photos came out the old postcards resurfaced. When I looked at them I realised why I loved collecting them.

If there is one thing that is a great snapshot of time gone by it is a postcard. These days postcards are everywhere and once something becomes prolific it does loose it's appeal a bit.

Some of the postcards are addressed to someone, mostly they are blank because I think they would have been bought when on holiday and kept as a momento. Many, many years ago, long before everyone had access to telephones and cars, communication was generally by letter and postcard. The postcards I have that are addressed to another and not about being on holiday, but just a greeting to a friend. The picture on the postcard is often the suburb they live in or near.

The postcard below is a particularly appealing one for me. It is a road that I travel down frequently. Those trees are gone, replaced by huge houses on the left, on the right is where the beach is and, over the years, been made more accessible with car parks and grassed areas. The sandy road is now a busy, asphalted place of constant noise and traffic. I feel a strong sense of loss and poignancy when I look at this touched up photo. It is a place I know because I drive there, but I don't know it as I would have liked to.

But on the back of the card is a brief letter from a woman to a couple. It is written with a fountain pen in that old fashioned and spidery way that we associate with elderly people. Although not dated, I can guess by the picture on the card, the clothing of the children and the mode of transport that it is very early 1900's.

In the letter there are a few things that indicate that the writer, Sally Kennedy, has possibly had to separate from her husband. She writes that she supposes that the couple (Harry and Fanny) would not want to have much to do with her now and that is why she took so long to contact them. She tells them that she is working and she underlines the word "working" as though it is something to be ashamed of. There is an offer to send them a gift each for Christmas. At the end of the letter there is a mention of the children being in hospital with scarlett fever. The whole tone of the letter is one of apology and is rather sad.

The photo below is of a road which now takes traffic into the city of Melbourne. How I wish it were as serene and scenic as this now. All the trees on the river side are now huge, leafy affairs. The road itself is heavily used and many times I have found myself bumper to bumper in peak hour traffic on this very stretch.

The postcard below is of a place called The Block Arcade in the city of Melbourne. Many years ago people used to "do the Block". You would meet up in your best finery and take a walk through the arcade and out onto the street. It was the place to be seen. If you walked with more than one man around the block you were considered to be "fast". If you walked around more than once around the block with the same man, you were considered to be his future wife or something close to it.

These days the Block Arcade is full of divinely expensive shops including a lovely chocolatier by the name of Haig's. Mmmmm, yummy!

Some of the other cards I have are of Melbourne in the early 1900's. Things are so quiet and beautiful. Other ones of of seaside towns where people once went for holidays but are now congested suburbs that one would want to escape from to go on a holiday. Melbourne has one of the biggest urban sprawls in the world. Suburb after suburb. To find a place that is far away from the busy crowds and the feeling of being hemmed in would involve almost two hours driving. Then when you get there it appears that everyone else had the same thought.

It is hard to get away.

I think that is why I love to stay at home.

No crowds here. I can send myself a postcard and tell myself what a great time I am having.

Ciao

LC

Who Knows That You Blog?

When I go and visit other people's blogs and read comments left behind I realise that a lot of people must share their blogs with friends and family. And I know that some people meet friends via their blogs. Not in the "dating" sense, but just as people with similar interests. I think that if I live in the US that I would probably take a chance to meet some fellow bloggers.

No one I know reads my blog. Not even my husband. He knows I have a blog and I have said to him that any time he wants to read it, just let me know. To date, he has never expressed the desire to read it which I don't mind at all. I guess that since he sees and hears me every day I am old hat. I do mean that in the most affectionate way.

I would never dream of letting the scant friends I have read my stuff. Or the people I work with. Although a couple know I blab away on the internet, they just think I am off on another planet. They just think that the internet is full of perverts and creeps and desperate people so therefore I must be one of them.

Over the past few weeks I have been very disciplined about not sneaking onto the internet at work. Mainly out of respect for the trust given to me by my boss. The problem is, often I think of most things to write whilst I am at work and then when I get home I have forgotten it. Or I am too tired to recall it.

Then I get to the computer and my head becomes anal about letting my thoughts flow.

So I really feel I should apologise for my run of dreary posts.

I am thinking that perhaps I will keep a word document open on the computer and write when the urge takes me and then save it and email it to home.

I just realised that I have written this post as though I am talking out loud to someone.

What does that mean?

Ciao
LC

Photo Sorting Twaddle

Recently my son had to find some photos to bring to school for a project. The search for the right handful of photos resulted in the entire dining table being covered with black and white photos dating back almost eighty years.

My husband has now fallen into that trap of "sorting" them out. Shuffling them around and then piling them into appropriate decades. Picking up each one and making a comment. People long gone, young people now old and babies once wrapped in wollen jumpers now have their own children and grandchildren.

Around the same time I made the decision to start getting printed all the digital photos I have stored on the computer.

They arrived today. All 370 of them. I still have another 200 or more to get printed.

Although I have flicked through them on the computer, there is something just that little more pleasing about holding a photo in your hand and studying the detail. Staring at it on a computer screen just does not satisfy the feeling that you have actually seen it properly. Perhaps it equates to watching a television. Being non tactile does not give any depth to the emotional satisfaction that comes from the photo being within your grasp.

So I sat for a while looking at each one. So many photos of just me with my son. It took me back to the many outings we went on together. He does not remember a lot of them at first, but after looking at the photos, holding them up to his face, the memories peek through. How his face has changed over the years. From an apple cheeked three year old to the face pulling smirk of a ten year old. Yet still he has the same smiling eyes.

I then picked up photo albums from twenty one years ago. When I first met K. A lifetime ago really.

I am unsure how other people look back on themselves, but I tend to look back at the photos of me and refer, in my head, to the pictures of me as "the other me". Part of it ties in with how much more aware I am about who I am now. The other part ties in with the awful clothes I wore coupled with the hideous hairstyles I was sporting. It took a long time for the 1980's to completely disappear from the fashion scene. I have photos of me with very wavey hair, very short hair, very big hair, very blond hair, very frizzy hair and there is even on vision of me with a violet shade mixing in with black hair. It is quite cringeworthy.

Our aim is to get all the photos in order and into albums and keep updating on a regular basis. In theory I like this concept. But I have to say that there is something so nice about opening an old tin with family photos in it. The same tin that I opened up an peered into when I was a small child. I feel a bit sad that I am contemplating moving them out of what has been their home for more than 40 years and them putting them into an album.

All those years they have been laying against each other in no particular order. One on top of the other, interleaving and sharing a black and white intimacy of captured memories. Sharing space with some Mother's Day cards I made at school for my mum. Some stamps from Denmark, the menu from the ship that my mum arrived in decades ago and a card that my father held up to the baby viewing window when my brother was born. It says "Baby Madsen" on it. I remember he held it and the nurse picked out my brother, wrapped in a blue blanket and pushed him up to the window for us to see.

So, there they all are in their collective chaos waiting for a change.

It seems a pity really. I mean, they all seem so perfectly happy where they are.

Thinking about it now, I just might just leave them there a bit longer.

Another 40 or so years.

Ciao
LC

Ho Hum Weekend Whiney Whingey Post

I had what is known as a flat weekend.

You know the sort. Where you wake up and think it would be nice to just not get out of bed at all.

No one has to do anything to trigger that feeling. Just kind of hangs around like a fuzzy cloud sitting your head. Bumping into you when you try to think.

To top it off, I also had a fat weekend.

I bet most people know that one. Where, even if you weigh not one ounce more you feel like you are just a big blob.

So, fat and flat for almost two days.

Everything went right so it was not about that.

I think I just kind of annoyed myself. I was hanging around with me for two whole days and I just was not too keen on my company. Peevish and whiney as well.

And I was sort of slovenly. Got showered and dressed late both days. And wore clothes that I had worn a bit too much so looked like a bit scruffy. And, forgot to put on deoderant. Not forgot. Just could not be bothered putting it on because I was dressed and then I have to kind of get my hand up under my clothes with that roll on thing and then end up wiping it all over the place, including on my clothes.

Still did my hair though. Things have to be really bad to let my hair dry naturally. And put make up on.

In the end I thought I would just pull my finger out and go off to do the weekly food shopping. I decided to be adventurous and do the shopping in a different store. I know that sounds so pathetic, but now and then I like to step out of my comfort zone and shop in another suburb.

The fact that this particular store is within the confines of a giant shopping centre may well have been an influencing factor. So off I go with the idea that I would kill two birds with one stone. Shop for food and have a brief browse around.

When I got there I realised there is one problem with going to a different food shop. The layout is never the same and I don't know where anything is. This forced me to meander for over an hour. I was distracted by all the other things they sell that my regular food shop doesn't.

Then I came to the second realisation. Food stores in big malls attract fifty times more people which means I had to stand in a long line at the checkout.

Then another problem. The shop is about one mile from my where I have parked my car. I have to push to trolley like some bogan throught the shopping mall, up a lift and through a car park. Then have to bring the trolley back because I am such a do gooder when it comes to that.

Now I was sweaty and wished I had made the effort to put deoderant on. Just felt stinky, sweaty and scruffy as I schlepped the trolley to the allocated trolley bays.

By this time I really should be getting home. I also need to go to the toilet which is another unwanted and long walk. Get there and notice in the mirror that my mascara has smudged under my eyes and I look as though I have slept in my make up with my face in the pillow. How long had it looked like that for.

I cannot stand the thought that I was in the shopping centre and did not have any browse time. Have to do something. Decided that as I was feeling both flat and fat it would not be adviseable to look at clothes.

I ended up in a book shop where I bought a book for S and a book on London. Felt much better as I was then able to distract myself with thoughts of my holiday which is only six weeks ahead.

Then realised I still have not renewed my passport.

But I have filled out the paperwork and done the photo.

I guess that is a start.

Ciao
LC

The Real Spider Man

I am sure that through the years of marriage, there may be times that you would ask yourself what exactly was the reason that you married the person who happens to be sharing a house with you.

Was it because he gave you bunches of flowers, intelligent books, took you to see a chick flick or perhaps cleaned the toilet on a regular basis.

Well, when I get big and fat spiders like this in my lounge room.....

I have a real life Spider Man come to the rescue.

And he calmly takes the wriggle spider into his bare hands and takes it outside whilst his wife screeches like a fishwife in the background.

Tell me that is not what really men are all about.

Who gives a toss about a man who can chop wood.

A real man picks up big spiders with his bare hands.

Ciao

LC

Short Straw

This evening I was having a conversation with my husband about health and genetics.

This was triggered by a phone conversation I had with my younger sister earlier on. We were discussing the gene pool and all the things that get passed on whether you like it or not. In our family we have depression, OCD and one case of Tourette's.

I am standing in the kitchen and chatting away and I have this realisation dawn on me.

"I picked the short straw with you", I said to K

"What are you on about?" he says.

"Well, you married a woman ten years younger than you. On my side of the family is longevity, low cholesterol, low blood pressure and no dementia", I tell him.

"And?" comes the reply.

"I married a man ten years older than me. Also, on your side of the family is high cholesterol, high blood pressure, heart attacks, strokes, vascular dementia, alzheimers (three cases) and stiff joints", I continue.

"So what are you saying?" K asks (mildly offended).

"Well I can tell you it is more likely I will be pushing you around in a wheelchair. I drew the short straw here." I duly inform him of my conclusion.

"I chose well didn't I." says K.

Thankfully he declined to bring up any of the negatives on my side of the family. I would have denied them anyway.

I wonder if, in the future, people will get prospective marriage partners to do a DNA saliva swab to check for defects.

You could make the kit part of the dating game. Swab on the first date will determine whether or not you want to continue with the relationship. They could have a swab report to hand to any interested parties.

An "I've been swabbed" badge. Or "My swab was perfect".

I am being very silly here.

I think I need to go to bed.

Ciao
LC

Don't Laugh

I have been meaning to post this confession for a while.

You know how you might read words all the time, know what they mean, know how to spell them but then hesitate when you have to actually pronounce them?

Last year I was having a conversation with my husband about something and the word "gaol" came up.

The conversation went like this.

"I hate that word gaol," I said whilst I was reading stuff in a magazine.

"What did you say?" K asks staring at me.

"I hate the word gaol," I repeat, "It is stupid, it just does not sound right when I say it. Doesn't flow properly".

"That is because you are pronouncing it incorrectly," husband is staring in amazement at me.

"What do you mean - incorrectly. G-A-O-L - gayole," I repeat to him like he is an idiot.

"It is G-A-O-L as in JAIL," he looks at me in utter fascination.

"Are you serious?" I feel a creeping blush happening.

"Yes, and I cannot believe that it has taken you 43 years to know how to pronounce that word," my husband starts laughing.

"Great, I cannot believe I have been reading books and pronouncing it my head as "gayole" and I have actually said it out loud to other people," I am so embarrassed.

For the next few days he says things to me like I should go to gayole for my gaff.

I won't tell him that for years I pronounced the word "Cotoneaster" as Cotton Easter.

Or the word "indignant" as "indijant".

Or "what" as "wutt".

Or "any" as "annie".

Or always get the words "wonder" and "wander" confused in both pronunciation and in meaning.

Carnt do nuffin' about it now.

Ciao
LC

Need For Sleep

Intermittently I go through stages where I don't get enough sleep.

It may be for a variety of reasons. Sometimes there may be things bothering me and I lie in bed for ages thinking about them. Sometimes I am overtired. Generally, however, it is because I have a lot of trouble making myself go to bed.

I like being out of bed. Whether I am watching television, reading, on the computer or doing some drawing, it does not matter, I just love being awake.

And then I love going to bed. Getting ready for bed and then wriggling down into the cotton sheets and doona feels great. I kind of move around feeling really happy to be in bed before I settle down and drift off.

Then I hate getting out of bed. In the morning my alarm goes off and I then lay in a semi concious state until the absolute last minute. Then I kind of fall out of bed and do my best to get going.

Now I know some of you may find the following sentence unbelievable. Recently I noticed how much, just how much easier it is to get out of bed when I go to bed earlier and actually go to sleep.

I knew that fact in theory for years, but it is only now that I am applying that theory to my life.

If I get more sleep at night, it is easier to get out of bed in the morning. Not just easier, I feel bright and happy.

In the back of my mind I have known this thing but deep down I wonder if I thought I was able to somehow be different to the average person. You know, if I denied the truth it would somehow not apply to me.

Plus, along the line I always thought that if you kept yourself busy at night before you went to bed then that was a different kind of tired to just watching television.

I feel like I have discovered some secret that everyone has been keeping from me.

It was brought to my real attention when I noticed how much more alert I was at work when I had a good sleep the night before.

I do know that one of my New Year resolutions was to go to bed earlier. I must go back and check on the other ones! This one has made such a difference.

Have to go to bed now.....

Ciao
LC

Sis In Law Trouble

Recently an issue occured between my sister in law and myself.

I sent her an email that highly offended her.

For the past year she has been talking about wanting another baby. My brother and her have two boys. My brother does not want any more because they are already struggling to make ends meet. In about two months, their fixed rate mortgage will go up and they shall have to find another $250 per week.

I understand that the urge to have a child can be very, very strong and I would never discount that feeling in anyone.

But, over the year we have talked about it. Well, she has talked about it and asked me what I think. Along with asking me about what I think, she also has told me how she feels.

She feels tired all the time with her two boys, she hates having no money, her and my brother argue about having no money. Holidays are almost non existent. She loves shopping but cannot go when she likes.

My brother does not want any more children. He feels so much pressure being the only breadwinner and just does not want to add to his stress levels yet. He works twelve hours a day, six days a week.

So I have told her that if all these things bother her, then she has to take them into consideration. Financial stress is one major factor in marriages having problems.

The urge to have a baby will be there even after she has another one, and so on. At one point you have to make a rational and practical decision. Sometimes we have to be careful not to always run with our emotions. It can have major repercussions.

Sometimes I have taken her shopping and used my savings so that she can feel better about herself and, really, I would rather she have something extra because I have come over that hill in life and have what I need.

This year they run a very big risk of losing their much loved home. Another baby would be the straw that breaks the camel's back. My sister in law does not want to go out and work full time. Despite being a qualified primary school teacher and also a qualified masseuse she says it is not really what she wants and she is not quite sure yet what it is she really wants to do. At age 37, well, that is a bit of a poor excuse.

However, recently things became more intense because her sister is pregnant with her first child and now my sister in law really wants a baby. She has been putting the pressure on my brother to the point he won't have sex with her as she is the sort who would accidently get pregnant.

She sent me an email about two weeks ago with lots of general chit chat. I answered back and at the tail end of it I made some comments just reminding her about the seriousness of their financial situation and to be very careful before making that decision to have another baby.

I worded it really, really gently and carefully and said to her that I hope she is not too offended etc. There was not one single thing in that email I said that I have not said to her face to face. It was extremely tactful.

I would never, ever say anything of this nature if, over time, we did not have this type of relationship where she tells me all of her problems. My brother and her often come to our house and have huge arguements and then have to have a mediator. I don't always take sides as there are two sides to every story etc.

Anyway, she reads the email and totally freaks. Rather than pick up the phone and say to me "hey, you upset me", she goes to her mother and tells her how awful I am. Then, over the next ten days tells all her friends, my boss and anyone else she sees. She says things like "how would I know how she feels as I only have one child" etc. Her mother says to her that she cannot believe anyone could be so thoughtless.

My boss says I should apologise and I said that unless J picks up the phone and talks to me I really cannot say anything. Everything I am hearing is 2nd and 3rd hand and I refuse to get involved.

By the weekend I am really upset. Not because she is now not talking to me, but because I know I did nothing wrong and felt much maligned. Three people, whose opinion I value highly, read my email and said there was nothing wrong with it. Even my brother said that everything I said was true and that J just did not like hearing it.

In the end my husband had to ring my brother and tell him to sort it. He said that I had done nothing wrong, J had over reacted and that my brother had to do something as it would get worse.

Last night I cried myself to sleep with the whole stress of it. If you knew me, you would know I rarely cry. I am a closet cryer. My husband knows something is seriously upsetting me if he sees tears. He was very angry about the whole situation.

This morning my sister in law sends me an email saying that she has no issues and has moved on and I should move on with her.

But, to tell you the truth, I am still mightily shitty. For now I know she has been slagging me off to people I see at her house on a regular basis. I don't really want to see her actually.

I will do the right thing by my brother and be polite and friendly because she is his wife. But, unfortunately, the relationship is unlikely to be the same for a long time. You just cannot be like that to another person and expect everything to be okay.

One thing is for sure, the dynamics between her and I have changed and I shall now be on the back foot when talking to her. Perhaps I am being dramatic, but I feel hurt and offended. I sent her that email out of concern for her and my brother's welfare and well being. They can have 100 babies if they like.

My son had the right attitude. He said to me that I have at least another 50 years on earth and by then the whole thing will be forgotten.

Fifty years feels about right at the moment.

I just needed to whinge about this.

I feel better now.

Ciao
LC

Clothing Comfort

This morning as I got dressed, I had the sneaking suspicion that the underwear I had chosen for the day was a pair that should have been thrown out due to the "creeping" factor.

But I decided to ignore that suspicion and wear the overpriced undergarments anyway. I was in a hurry and not at all inclined to search for another pair.

It is now 12.30 pm and I have, for the fiftieth time, pulled the offending undies out from my nether regions.

One should always trust their gut instinct.

Or should I say their butt instinct.

Ciao
LC

Second Hand Memories

Lately I have been completely obsessed with the whole concept of people's lives being peddled at markets and on Ebay.

I am unsure if it is because, at the ripe old age of 44, I am overly fascinated by a human beings mortality and what they leave behind. Perhaps I am just nosey in wanting to know the story behind things.

When I am looking for things on Ebay, I often come across other items that I never would have looked for. It is quite by accident and many times I have made an unintended purchase.

Recently I bought a pair of 1950's brand new striped tea towels. They were as fresh as the day they would have been purchased and put away. Their colours are so bright and cheerful I love using them. I wonder about the person who bought them. Were they a wedding present? Why were they never used. The seller said they were from her aunt's house (as they always seem to be). Let us just assume it is true, why did she not want them? Even if it is a load of sentimental rubbish, where were these tea towels for the past forty plus years?

I have so many things like this hidden in places in my home. A pack of playing cards packed away in a lovely, mint green bakelite box. The design on the cards is of trains from the 1950's. They have hardly been played with. I take them out and admire the waxy surface of each card and the lovely and stylish box they rest in. Who had these?

When my husband had to empty the house where his parents had resided next door to us, so much was sent down to the charity shop. An equal amount was thrown out. I found little purses with earrings in them. Cloth bags with colourful beaded necklaces. Boxes of shoes and a variety of umbrellas. I tried to keep as much as possible, which was no small feat. My mother in law was a most beautiful woman and she loved to go shopping. I could see little snippets of her indulgent purchases when I was sorting things out. I remember she used to work in town and told me how she would spend her lunchtime either in the bookshop or in the big department store browsing for things.

The last 15 years of her too short life were spent living in a world of confusion for she had Alzheimers. So we never really thought to ask her all about the things she owned.

The entire life cycle of many treasures is really never ending. In 1994 when I first went overseas, I remember going to Portabello Road Antique market in London. I had never, ever in my life seen such an enormous amount of paraphanalia in one spot. I am sure that my mouth remained open in utter awe at how much was there to buy.

Obviously since then everything there has been sold and replaced over the 14 years since I was there. Sold and replaced. Out of one persons house and then into another. In a few years, perhaps that person will die or go into a nursing home and all the things that made their life valid and interesting will be once again sitting on a trestle table ready to make another person happy.

Whilst I completely understand the purpose of the life cycle of a moth or a spider and the relevance is has on Earth, I have less success comprehending the life cycle of the material things that people buy. For so many of the things that have made their way into and out of a home often have absolutely no purpose other than to visually please someone. I am one of those culprits. Not only am I attracted to the beauty of an item, I hanker more so for it when it is old, when it is second hand, when it has and unknown memory.

This whole concept of the validity of our existence ties in with the desire to collect and own things. Not everyone feels this way of course, but when I have all my bits and pieces just right in my house it somehow says so much about me and it is almost a challenge for someone to guess what it all really means.

It is as though I feel the need to express who I am, how I think and how I fit in this world. So I do this by filling my house with the memories and lives of people generally long gone.

I like to feel that their small and significant time on this earth did not go by completely unnoticed.

Ciao
LC

Runaway Days and Driving Music

I have had one of those weekends where I would just like to skip town.

You know the feeling I am sure.

It is not always a reflection on those around you, then again it may be.

Sometimes it is triggered by a particular type of sunny day. Not too hot, slight breeze and a scattering of clouds across an azure blue sky. Days that remind you of being free.

Perhaps it is a song in the car. At the moment I am listening to the best of Paul Simon. His music takes me back to being so young, so unsure, so fresh and free and totally confused. Free as a bird whose wings were weighted down with family obligations and a troubled mind.

Well, today I had both the perfect sunny day and the nostalgic music drift into my mind and curl itself around the part of me that occasionally eschews responsibilities.

I was driving back from a one hour jaunt at the big shopping centre. I only popped over to have an hour to myself as both yesterday and today K is working, leaving me with lots of time with my son. I do like to have some time out before getting on with the things I do as a grown up.

So I am driving back and some song came on. One of Paul Simon's. I think it was "The Obvious Child". Full of words of youth, love and times long gone. The breeze blew softly into my open car window as I sat at the lights waiting to go. That warm breeze that moves around you and tucks itself under your hair before disappearing.

When that breeze went, I wanted to follow it.

I felt that longing. That urge to just keep driving. Not to anywhere in particular. Just on and on. Listening to the music, feeling the warm air around me. What a delicious urge. What an enticing feeling.

However, once I reached the point in the road where I make the turn off to go home, well, I turned off and went home.

Now I have just made bolognaise sauce for dinner tonight. Will make a cake for the school week, put a few loads of washing on, hang them out, vacuum the house and later, in the evening, I will go for a long walk and when I get home out will come the ironing board.

Runaway days and driving music. They should bottle that feeling. It is quite unique and yet so universal.

Ciao
LC

Grey House

Tired and worn
Abandoned
Alone
Were you ever someone's home?
Did a young man bring their new bride here
Over the threshold
Where they stumbled laughing
Into the hall
And steadied themselves against the wall.
A wall once smooth and white
Fresh and new.
Now you stand old.
Who once loved you?
Was it children who ran
Through the now empty rooms.
A young couple with plans
That included you.
Dinners cooked and visitors came.
A Christmas tree

Decorations sparse
Then packed away and one day gone.
Where did they go?
These people who lived in your space.
No more did one paint your peeling boards.
Or sweep the porch
And look beyond

To dream of being with you

In years to come.
Now windows grey
Grim
Showing your demise
Like tired men with rheumy eyes.
You ached and groaned as the sun
Glared down onto your empty shell.
Now faded are the memories of a family gone
Their voices swept away.
And life goes on.
Soon come the trucks
With giant jaws
That pluck your roof and walls
To crush them small to dust
And crumbs and nothing more
So where you stood in quiet decay
Another home shall see a new day.

Ciao

LC

Two Years Posting

Today I have been posting for two years.

I don't often read back what I write, especially stuff from two years ago. I am afraid I might be tempted to delete some of the entries. But today I made the effort to read the handful of twaddle entries I did in February 2006.

When I read from the beginning I am amazed how I can recall the mood I was in when it was written. It shows me how invaluable it is to just write something each day even if the content is going to be silly.

Generally I find that it is perhaps a habit to just remember the big significant things that happen in life. That must be natural as to be able to constantly recall small, yet significant events would require the most astonishing mental agility.

By writing down bits and pieces and just having them in place to read when I feel like it, the whole day rushes back to me as clear as if it were happening here and now. The content varies from cringeworthy to non offending. In fact, there was one post that contained nothing but the word "fat" written over and over.

So, here is to many more years of blogging and saving my days up into cyberspace where they shall drift at random maybe long after I am gone.

Although, future generations may just have little silicone chips implanted in their brain at birth and just think out their entire life directly onto a "personalised birth blog".

Don't laugh.

It could happen.

Remember years ago your first mobile phone? Your first calculator?

And the term "information highway".

Anything could happen.

Ciao
LC