Free Friday Was Fantastic

I took a day off today. I mean a real day off.

Often when I take a Friday off, I tend to spend it doing things that keep me close to home. Or I clean up around the house, then do some shopping, then do some studio stuff and go and pick up my son from school.

Even when I have "time alone" it might be doing something like going for a walk down the street to do some food shopping or just having a cup of coffee. It is aimless time, and that is okay but sometimes it is just not enough.

So today I went into the city. Caught a train which was interesting. Once in the city I made my way to the National Gallery of Victoria. The NGV has two parts to it, one is Australian work only, whilst the other is generally a mix of furniture, ancient artifacts and international work. I am a member of the NGV. Even though entry is free, being a member supports the gallery and allows me discounted tickets to various special exhibitions. I also get to sit and have coffee or tea in a room for member's only. Which I did do and read lots of art books they have available. I felt rather special.

When I got into the city I felt a bit of a guilty thrill at being totally on my own. I could get used to this.

As a teenager and young adult, I always went to the art gallery on my own. I like to look at art at my own leisure. Although my husband and son like art in that vague kind of way, neither of them are really into it. Any conversation will consist of me telling them about it in detail which is followed by a "hmmmm" response. I don't mind as I know that art is such a personal thing that it is natural that the interest that people have in it can be so diverse.

So, when I am on my own I have a really good time. I can choose to stand for one second in front of one piece of work or ten minutes in front of another. My reasons for liking art can range from a great interest in the history of a specific piece or particular artist, or just the sensation that the artwork fills me with. It is deeply personal and highly emotional. When we were in the Tate Modern in London earlier this year, there were some paintings there that thrilled me so much I felt light headed and had goosebumps all over my body. The paintings were ones that I had read about and seen pictures of for years beforehand.

Today I saw two photos in an exhibition that had been done by a girl I went to school with. It was quite fascinating to see that. I recall when I had met her at a school reunion a number of years ago, she was embarrassed about saying she was a full time artist whilst I was equally embarrassed telling her that I was a bookkeeper. That was so odd how each of us seemed to measure success.

In the end, most of my time was spent at the two sections of the gallery. I made a half hearted effort to look in some groovy clothes shops but to tell you the truth, I would rather spend money on books and things like that. Although, there was a bit of an interesting clothes shop I may go back to on my next day off. Today, by the time I got to that shop I had been around people long enough and needed to get home.

There was only one tiny thing that was a bit of a spoiler. I went to the cafe in the gallery to have lunch. My safest bet was a smoked salmon seeded roll with a little bit of onion. When I got to my table I had to inspect the entire contents of the roll and sure enough, there they were, capers. I don't think there is one food I find as disgusting in appearance and taste as I find capers. I have never, ever liked them. To me they look like something you pick out of your nose and taste like something you pick out from your rubbish bin. I want to know how, somewhere along the way, some tosser decided that it would be great to infect the flavour of smoked salmon by making a caper a standard addition to it.

Today, the horrible find was only made worse by the fact that the roll had loads of butter on it (yuck) and at least nine capers squished deep in the bed of yellow, smeary butter. I picked all of them out, scraped the butter away and allowed myself to eat what was left only to find that the foul taste of the capers had permeated the normally lovely smokey flavour of the salmon, and the butter had left a greasy residue deep in the bread roll. I was left with the unpleasant flavour in my mouth and even two cups of strong coffee were unable to clear it away.

Perhaps I should have had the fennel soup instead. Or brought my own lunch!

Still, if that was the only hiccup in the day, then I have absolutely nothing to complain about.

Today made up for the grumpy old weekend I had last week. That is what I like about life, you just need one great day to make any dull days insignificant. When I have a bad day, well, it is just bad on the day. When I have a good day, I can relive that day over and over and get a great deal of pleasure from the memory of it. Bad days I just accept and then forget. They are not worth going over.

Now I am going to make myself a cup of tea. My son has gone out doing the Halloween thing with a couple of friends (husband in tow to keep an eye on them).

All this time on my own....mmmmm.

I could get used to this.

Ciao

LC

Silly Mum

Late afternoon yesterday, my son and I went for a walk with the dog. S decided to take his scooter with him.

His scooter is one of those Razor things. Small and silver with hard plastic wheels. They always look like they are just not big enough for the rider.

So, we are walking up the street from our house and the incline is a bit much for my son who decides to walk the scooter instead of riding it. I think he is a bit unfit.

"Here, let me ride it," I said, and handed him the dog lead.

I jumped onto the scooter and zipped ahead. It was a bit small and not particularly safe feeling as a few times the front wheel lifted as I sped ahead.

My son called something out to me. I could not hear him so turned around and went back to him.

"It does not look right," he said to me.

"What?" I asked.

"It looks not right, you riding it. So, don't ride it okay," he looked at me before averting his eyes a bit.

"You are embarrassed by me? Is that what you are saying?" I asked him.

"Yep," he replied.

"Okay, fair enough. I am an EMBARRASSMENT to you," I was laughing as I handed to scooter back to him.

"That is fine mum. That is what parents are meant to do. Embarrass their children," was his know it all answer.

I was laughing and thinking to myself what a great bargaining tool I have here. I can threaten to do something very silly indeed if he does not do as I say.

My mother once threatened to do a belly dance in a restaurant if I did not let her take a doggy bag home from mine and other friends plates. I knew she would do just that (and do it very well indeed) and just shut my mouth as she called the waiter over (in a loud voice of course) and instructed him to give her a doggy bag for all the left overs.

She knew the bargaining power of making a child squirm no matter how old the child was.

Power comes in the strangest ways.

I may use it. Then again I may not.

But the knowledge is there and I like it.

Ciao
LC

Monday And A Bit Bored

Yes, here it is again. Monday. I have a bit of Mondayitis and boredom has crept into my day despite the fact I have work to do. Actually, the reality is, I have ugly work that needs doing and I am making excuses to not do it just yet.

So, I took a photo of myself to show what a lonely place my office is today. My boss came back from six weeks holiday in Tuscany and Spain. We chatted for a while before he had to go out and do what he had to do.

My grumpy mood from Saturday died down and my weekend finished of with a torrent of tears on Sunday evening. It was triggered by a series of events which included having to do 4 hours bookwork, followed by getting home to put loads of washing on the line, take in washing, the appearance of the forty five foot high pile of ironing that seemed to suddenly arise from the basket and a hideous trip to the supermarket (son in tow) to do the weeks shopping whilst my husband was doing a music job. Oh, yeah, and I mowed the lawn and did weeding in the front yard and a general outdoor tidy. And made dinner.

The tears were the followed by a whinge about every petty grievance I had against the world at that moment coming up into my head. However, my rant went unnoticed due to the fact that my son and husband had gone to bed. So I had to sit and stew in my own misery.

In the end I did what every sensible female does under those circumstances, I ate some chocolate, went to bed and had a good old fashioned argument with my husband.

Now, I am not condoning arguing, especially as I am an expert on conflict avoidance. But I have to admit that my doing my bottle late at night was beneficial because this morning my husband admitted that I was completely right in telling him that he had been a bit lazy the past few months.

In fact, he actually said that he had been "enjoying just working on his car, getting into his bikes and not doing much around the home at all".

And here I was thinking that I was performing under par when in fact, I actually had TWO CHILDREN in the household to look after.

I mean, no wonder I was feeling overwhelmed. I had been trying to do it ALL.

Sheesh!

Ciao
LC

Bad Mood Rising

I am in a bad mood today.

It is no doubt related to the arrival of a particularly unpleasant dose of PMT.

But I wonder about the foul mood and simmering hostility that always seems to come and go with PMT. Is it because I generally manage to put aside deep rooted issues for the rest of the month and then, when emotions get high, they just push past the self control and rear their ugly heads? Or is PMT just a invite for every miserable and bitchy thought that happens to be floating around.

I actually don't dump on anyone in the house when I am like this. I tend to just say "don't talk to me, I am in a mood, it will pass". If the recipient of that warning were to persist in wanting to "talk" it out, I just refuse to as I swear that it would be like opening Pandora's box or something equally squirmy.

Today it has been harder to shake off. I had to go outside and do other things. The bubble has just about burst and I feel teary along with the grumpiness. I shall go down the street and do some things, maybe have a coffee and read the newspaper.

Maybe I need to be left alone for a while.

Anyway, no point in going on about it as this sort of mood loves to be fed to ensure it's survival and even by writing this post I am kind of feeding it a little. Or am I just allowing it to be felt before I get on with things.

Actually, I shall continue the post to talk about what I did yesterday. I had an inkling that there was a bad mood rising within me when I woke up yesterday morning. You know that feeling when you open your eyes and look around the bedroom and two words come to mind "go away". Childish I know, but there were those two words. I woke up wanting the day to go away and let me go back to sleep.

But I just did what one does on a Friday morning irrespective of what one may feel like doing. I got out of bed and got ready for the day. I had the day pretty much to myself with the exception of a brief dentist appointment at about 1.30pm. Cleaned up the house and made my way down the Hampton Street which is a strip shop around twenty minutes from where I live.

I spent my teenage years growing up in Hampton. When I was there, it was a "no big deal" suburb. In the past fifteen years it has become an expensive and exclusive place to live. Houses that were cheap are now selling for around $1million. Suburbs kind of lose their integrity when the people who molded it grow old and die. Those are the people who moved in when young to just raise families and live lives, who gave the suburb the character and to whom status was based on something fairly simple. Those to whom success meant being in the same job for many years, having a long marriage, bringing forth a few children and enjoying grandchildren when they arrived. Pretty basic stuff.

The people who mostly live in this suburb now have a new kind of status ingredient mix. Most have SVU's, live in big, heavily mortgaged houses, the women are blonde, thin, tanned, busy, fashionable and "do" lunch most days. They talk on the phone whilst driving and sit up close behind me as I drive, their agitation obvious. You need an great big car to drive your children to the great big private school each morning, followed by tennis, cricket, ballet, music, children's yoga and any "play dates" that have been noted in your diary. Your car has to be big so that you can see past all the other big cars. I doubt that any of the 4 Wheel Drive's have ever been off road. Yes, yes, I know, I am being mean spirited here about people's rights to enjoy life.

So, there I was down Hampton Street making time until the dentist appointment. Usually when I am down there I feel happy, relaxed and enjoy the bright atmosphere. I walked into a few clothes shops but felt that even the purchase of a $325.00 designer shirt would not have cheered me up. I was dressed in my uniform of baggy pants in the most dreary khaki colour, black t-shirt and black shoes. Every thin chick that passed me by was like a little Spring flower moving beyond the shadow that was me.

I realised that two other words had entered my head during the course of the day and they were "fuck off". Not that I said it. But I did think it. I looked at dresses in a few shop windows and thought "fuck off". Stood for a while staring in the window of a shop that sold nothing but dog accessories and thought "fuck off". Then walked past my dad's bakery and thought it would be nice to be able to say hi to him and then thought "oh, really, fuck off".

I went to the dentist who said that my teeth were in perfect order. I felt good until he said "you know, you have really filled out". I thought "fuck off". Actually I did say to him that there are some things you should never say to a female. Two words "filled out". To which he said to me that last time I saw him I was so thin that he could feel the bones in my neck and face as he checked my teeth. He had been worried that I was anorexic. He said I looked terrific now, so healthy and strong and my face was glowing. Darling dentist he is.

After I left the dentist (feeling healthy and strong) and made my way back to the car I passed this busy outdoor cafe. There were a crowd of students celebrating their final day of high school. They were in uniform and had signed each others name on the uniforms as an autograph memento. The boys, or should I say young men, had their shirts signed. They all sat around the tables and chairs, long legged girls with shining hair and tanned skin. Boys with their shirts untucked and hair casually pushed back on their foreheads. All laughing and eating. Enjoying the moment.

I felt a pang of intense envy. Not for their youth, for I don't want that as much as most may think. I felt envy for their freedom. Not freedom from my own life or anything. Not freedom from my marriage or motherhood or domesticity. But the freedom that goes with youth and youth only. That short time where all that matters is what is about the happen in the next ten minutes. The pang of envy passed when I thought how my own son would have that feeling one day. I hoped he would enjoy it for the short time it was on offer. I certainly did not have it at that age because I went straight into working life with my parent's.

On the way home I drove the long way so that I could look at a few houses I recall going to when I was a teenager. I realised I did not miss it anymore. Not sure what I was missing, but perhaps that was something I have to work out over the course of time.

By the time I got home I felt better, more at ease.

In fact, as I finish this post I realise that I feel more at ease in general.

Lovely.

Ciao
LC

Grey Stuff Twaddle

I went grey early. Well, started going grey earlier than I would have liked.

Aged 21 the first couple of grey hairs made their appearance. I plucked them out. Then a few more came and I got rid of those as well. This continued over a few weeks until I actually ended up with a little, hairless patch on my head. So I stopped that. The grey influx was ignored until other people noticed. Comments such as "oh, is that grey hair?" were freely handed out. As if I did not know I had a grey patch happening.

So the hair colouring started. At one stage, in my late twenties and early thirties I had blonde hair. But now I just have my "normal" colour which is brown. I am pretty much completely grey and every four weeks I have my hair done. My brother says I should let my hair go grey as it is natural. Yeah, right. Grey hair looks great if you have smooth hair and if the grey you happen to be the owner of is that lovely white grey. Not like my wirey and wavey steely grey hair that hides under the chocolate brown I have put over it. I would look like a vagrant if I were to let my hair go natural.


I intend to have my hair coloured until I peg it and, if it needs doing after that, I want whoever is at the funeral home to ensure that my roots touched up before they lay me out for my final viewing.

This post is going to go downhill now.

A number of years ago I started getting grey hair out of my CHIN. I know I have mentioned this dreary, old lady aspect to myself in this post here. I hate it. Everyday I am running my fingers over my chin and feeling for the grey invaders that, for some reason, have the consistency of the fishing line they use when they catch marlin or tuna. Me and my tweezers are always close to each other. Although, these days I seem to be more in need of them. It is a daily battle between my tweezers and the pointy tips of the white hairs.

If that is not bad enough, I am now getting grey hairs in my fooph. Yes, yes, exactly what you may be thinking. In my nether regions. Down there! Down below! If that is not a confirmation of pending old age I really don't know what else could be.

My sister in law (husbands sister) told me, in great detail, how she keeps her pudenda blonde by using a shop bought hair dye. Told me I had to do the deed when no-one is at home as you have to sit half naked upon a towel whilst the colour "took". Um, I don't think so. I think this is the one time I shall have to give in and let Mother Nature reign.

If you are under thirty and you think you are not going to go through all this stuff - well, I have news for you.

You are.

So there.

Ciao
LC

Nothing Of Any Importance Blab

I have nothing much to say today, but I have the urge to say something, even if it is likely to be of little substance. I am in blab mode. Possibly I am tired. Since I have nobody here in the office I want to blab to, I am going to blab on my blog. If you choose to read beyond this paragraph I cannot be held responsible how bored you will be at the end.

Lately I have been busier than usual. Not because I have more on board, but actually because I have decided to really pull my finger out and do what I have to do. Seriously, when a person decides to do what has to be done, well, all I can say is that it takes up an awful lot of spare time. Spare time that I would have preferred to allocate to my own leisurely pursuits (which include doing nothing).

However, the upside of having to sacrifice my leisurely and lazy time is an almost empty ironing and washing basket, a weed free front yard, a new compost bin, generally tidier home, motivated husband (mows lawns, sprays for weeds behind garage) and I feel more relaxed.

Something actually triggered this urge to be more useful. Well, not just one thing, a few things. Impending surgery and the subsequent forced rest I shall have to take means that I have to get things organised before November 19th. Plus, I was out walking one day and I noticed how everyone else seems to ensure that their front yard looks reasonably healthy despite our water restrictions. My front yard has been looking tatty and weedy, my vegetable garden (which is in the front yard) was barren. A few plants have suffered due to lack of water and one tree in particular looks very distressed. I feel a bit ashamed that I have let it get to this point of neglect. Not because I am embarrassed, but because I have let the plants down.

I used to be an avid gardener, even had my own hot house. That was years ago. I guess along the way things happen in life that take you from one interest and onto another. Jobs, baby, house, health and just a mixture of events seemed to all come into play and take up time. I am now making the extreme effort to get the garden looking less like that belonging to a rental property and more like a nurtured patch of earth.

So, the past couple of weeks have been one of industrious action. Weeding out the garden beds, planting vegetables, watering on days nominated by the Water board, staking the Camila's that had a growth spurt in Winter, feeding the hungry plants and dead heading those ones that need it.

Another task I have been managing is getting rid of clothes that really, really need to be turned into rags. I can only imagine what an onerous job this is for a mother who has two or three children. My son has had a growth spurt and I have to force him to try things on to see if he can wear them still. I then have to argue with him as to why I should not keep every article of clothing he has worn because it is "special". I try to explain to him that I already have many boxes of special tops, special pants, toys, books, socks, first pair of shoes, more toys, even more books, my toys, my books, bits of paper with little notes from the fairy on it, special blanket that my son had as a baby, another few blankets that he just likes, dress ups that he wants to keep because they are special, the roller skates he found on the side of the road that don't fit him and never did and goodness knows what else. Explained to him that he has to trust me to know what to keep and what to throw out. Tell him that if we lived in a huge house with lots of cupboards he could keep everything for ever. But as we live in a little house with very limited storage, we need to be thoughtful about what stays and what goes. Thoughtful but not heartless.

Sorting clothes also means I have to convince husband that limp shirt he loves looks like a - limp rag, not a limp shirt. Involves long discussion about reasonable presentation requirements. Have to explain that it is nothing personal, just no need for him to embrace the "relaxed" style quite that much.

I am unsure how long this little burst of energy and inclination to "Spring Clean" will last for but it is usually followed by a trip to the stores to replace discarded items.

I feel I have been doing this often enough to be predictable.

Oh, well, that is not so bad is it?

I mean, what else could you expect from a person who writes a predictably boring post?

Ciao
LC

Toe Story

I ought to warn you that I am, once again, going to share something gross with you and destroy the feminine mystique.

I have a strong aversion to feet, toes and toenails. I don't walk around the house in barefeet because I don't like showing them to the world. Even though I keep my feet smooth and nails clipped, they always look very ugly in my mind.

As you get older, feet get uglier. Toenails in particular seem to embrace the colour yellow quite freely which only reminds you of the aging process as you slip your foot into a youthful shoe. Heels crack and need constant attention.

Feet also seem to attract all sorts of stinky fungal things. Which is natural considering that they are trapped inside a dark and sweaty place for most of the day. Breeding ground for tinea. Why do they call tinea "athlete's foot"? I hardly think tinea confines itself to the sporty sort of person. It must be a way of making the condition healthy somehow.

Then there is toenail fungus. That insidious bug that makes it's way under the toenail where it causes havoc, distorting the shape of the nail and turning the surface yellowy white and crusty. It travels from one toe to the other so that it is possible to look as though you may have dropped a mixture of talcum powder and butter on your toenails. Some people are more prone to it than others. It is luck of the draw and not always about hygiene. I know this for a fact because I got it on one big toe and I can assure you that my feet are squeaky clean.

But I am betting I picked it up from my husband. This is a couple of years ago. My husband developed this fungal thingy. He ended up going to a podiatrist. The place he went to was just local and he was ushered into a curtained off area to sit in a chair that resembled one from a barber's shop. He had to take his shoes and socks off and wait for the podiatrist to come in. He did not even have to wash his feet. It freaks me out just writing about it.

Anyway, the curtain was pushed aside and in walked a middle aged man of dubious cleanliness. He had untidy and greasy dark hair that flopped into his face. He squatted down and peered at the offending big toenail and, before my husband could say a word, this man cut down the centre of the nail, got out a pair of pliers and pulled one side of the nail right out from it's roots. My husband yelled out the word "fuck" and at the same time this guy grabbed the other side of the nail and ripped it out.

"That should fix it," the podiatrist said as he stood up.

Well, it didn't and neither did the various toxic chemicals purchased at the chemist (for a very high price thank you) and my husband resigned himself to the fact he was destined to have to live with "old man" toenails.

Not long after that I noticed that my left big toenail was starting to get that "look". It was happening to me. The crusty offending bug took no time at all covering my toenail. I tried both chemical and natural remedies to fix it but it stayed like an unwelcome house guest. I gave up in the end.

Until last year. I had purchased a very expensive aromatherapy face oil online. Apparently you put it on your skin prior to moisturising and it would increase the blood flow to the surface, along with stimulating collagen activity.......which in turn would reward you with younger and fresher looking skin..........truly. One evening I was standing in the bathroom applying this fountain of youth oil when I had the absurd notion to rub it on my ugly, ugly toenail.

Then I did it the next day and for about three days after that before deciding that the product was too expensive to rub on my toe., especially as I only had a minute amount left. Three or four weeks later I realised that the new growth on my toe was normal in colour. This continued until an entirely new nail grew out completely, leaving me with a more common variety of generally ugly toenail as opposed to crusty toenail.

Despite being very pleased with the totally unexpected result I could not help but wonder what I was putting on my face.

I am tempted to buy it again, maybe in the big salon size bottle, so that I can share the bottle with my husband as he once again attempts to get rid of that "fungus". But that level of intimacy is too, too difficult to contemplate. I mean, I will not even share a towel with anyone in my house!

Besides, I need to rob a bank first. Anything to do with the beauty industry costs a fortune.

Ciao
LC

Open For Business

Sometimes I think about the overwhelming urge I have to record what I am seeing or what I feel. What makes me think it may satisfy some incredible need to put down on paper the picture or thought in my head.

Take today for instance. The carpark where I parked my car today was in behind rows of shops. Gum trees managed to provide sparse shade over my car, their dry grey leaves dropped like litter all over the place each time the wind blew.

When I stepped out of the car and started towards the laneway that would take me out to the main thoroughfare, I was captivated by the sight of the rear of the shops that lined the right of way. I stood for a while and took it all in and I was filled with the most intense wish that I could paint or draw what I was looking at. But as my artistic talent is so limited, I was forced instead to absorb the visual aspect of it all in the vain hope I could write it down.

I needed to record it all somehow so that, one day, when I read it back to myself I can recapture that brief moment of strange longing I had as I stood and took in all that shabby beauty.

All my life I have loved the rear of shops, especially those which have dwellings above them. Most of the old shops here do have dwellings. Sometimes they are rented out separately, whilst other times the person who has the shop will also live in the dwelling.

Today I watched the activity that went on in and around each shop, of which there were about fifteen in my direct panoramic view. Each shop had a parking area behind it and also a spiral staircase up the the residence upstairs. That was where the similarity ended. Each place had it's own individuality according to the function the shop had.

The bakery had piles of cardboard that had been flattened and tied with string waiting to be picked up. The grocer's had a number of mountainous stacks of polystyrene boxes, empty and awaiting disposal. Industrial bins were open and flies hovered at the entrance of the stinking cavern. A laundromat had been extended so that the parking space was now an extra room for more washing machines and dryers to be installed. People sat on some seats inside, reading magazines as they waited for their washing to be finished.

One of the dwellings had an extensive potted garden on the balcony whilst another place had only a chair. A few had laden washing lines, clothes flapping around publicly. Towels hung there with underwear and shirts all for the world to see.

People came in and out of the back door of the shops intermittently. Most of the doorways had the ubiquitous fly strips hanging in the opening and each time someone went the the doorway the coloured strips with flap lazily, the idea being that the movement would prevent a fly from entering the interior.

My parents once had a shop that had a dwelling upstairs. I desperately wanted to live there, take in all the daily activity, the sun shining in the upper window and always hearing the noise of life from outside. Trams used to pass by every few minutes. Sometimes I would sit upstairs on a chair and read a book and enjoy imagining I was living there. There was always a feeling of both connection and isolation that I found so deeply satisfying. It was generally used for storage and I felt very sad that I never got to realise that little dream.

The rear of shops belies the business like activity of the public view of it. Sort of like the mind of a person. We show what we want everyone to see to make the business of being human succeed. The we pop out the back and dump all our rubbish in boxes. The more rubbish we have, the further out the back we may have to go, down some stairs maybe, where we store the worst trash. Fortunately, the older we get, the less often we are inclined to open any of the "basement boxes", having learnt how some memories can be total compost, so we finally allow ourselves to stay a bit more often in the shop front or, when needing some reflection, we make our way out the back where we can peruse our thoughts.

My shop is busy, full of thoughts that hang on the wall. I used to keep them out the back for special occasions but now I am happy to have them around me.

Open 24 hours a day.

Ciao
LC

Computer Blah Twaddle

I have not done much as far as blogging goes over the past week.

There is a reason for this and it lies squarely with my little notebook computer that I have.

It has been giving me some grief, but I finally fixed the problem.

Now although the problem itself was small, the stress it caused me was large. It annoyed me to the point that I was unable to settle myself for a few days and carried a vague shittiness inside me like a badge.

Now, I am not going to bog anyone down with technical details but I feel compelled to express my frustration so that I myself can read this post again in six months when the same problem will no doubt rehash itself.

Around three months ago I bought myself an Asus EEEPC 900 notebook. It is really minute and has very limited storage capacity. A total of 12gb actually, which is divided into two sections. One section is the C drive (where Windows runs from) and the D drive (where you would save data). Now, these two drives are not just partitioned, they are physically separate so there is no way of ever connecting them to make more room. You would use this little notebook for doing stuff on the internet. Not for downloading music or anything like that.

The C drive is around 4gb and the D drive is 8gb. The D drive is not the issue here, but the C drive is. Because it is so small, it leaves minimal space for the computer to think with. It has to have a minimum of 200mb free on it and it had dropped down to 23mb and I kept having to do a disc clean, find things to delete, turn off all Microsoft automatic updates etc. It finally got to the point where I was forced to ring Asus customer service.

I spoke to someone called Troy and then, later on, spoke to someone called Aaron. Interestingly, I have noticed that you never get a Kevin, Gordon or Neville working in IT customer service since they are more than likely retired. Or a James - they always work in banking and finance.

Well, I had to get information about how to increase the spare space on the C drive.

The first customer service guy goes through the things I can do, most of which I have done and certainly not enough to free up space. After I realise that he knows only marginally more than me I tell him that I will play around with it more and ring back if I get stuck.

So I pfaff around with it more and start to get more agitated than usual and ring Asus again. I get another polite rep who starts to repeat what the last rep had said and I told him that I had done all that so I needed something more successful. He told me that it was just one of those things with that model of computer.

"Are you serious? I pay $500 for a computer that has a major storage problem? I uninstalled pretty much everything off the computer and, three months later, I have this happening? Can I go back to the store and get my money back?" I ask him.

"No, no, the best thing is to go onto the forums and read how everyone else sorts the problem. That is what we do," came his advice and then he adds, "It is fun, you can learn all sorts of new and exciting things about your eeepc!" Not likely buddy. I know all I really want to know when it comes to computer's, thank very much. Anyway, I am thinking, great, like I really want to spend my time sitting on geek forums and decipher their wordy advice. It is a recipe for disaster as I might develop some sort of misplaced confidence in my ability and do something that will wipe my computer (which I have done once before, only this year actually).

After I hung up the phone I went onto the forums and could see that my problem was universal and significant. By this stage I was so angry that I felt like dropping the computer on the floor and stomping on it. At one point K came into the office to tell me I should take the thing back to the shop and I just put my hand up and said "don't say anything yet". He made a hasty retreat - being fully aware of what the "hand in the air" signal means. I calmed my mind down, took a deep breath and persevered by using my own limited, middle aged lady knowledge and, amazingly, managed to increase the free space from 23mb to 460mb. And managed to keep the computer intact and working as per normal.

The relief was immediate and my entire mood lifted. Later on my husband said to me how nice it was not to see me with my nose buried in the computer.

I woke up this morning feeling relieved.

Then I felt a bit angry that I allowed myself to let a machine govern my mood.

That is never happening again!

That is, of course, until next time. But then I will know what do to. Unless the problem is a different one. Then I will have to start all over again.

I am getting anxious just thinking about it.

I need to think about something worthy of being agitated about. Like global warming or the current economic crisis.

Oh, that is too depressing.

At least I can fix the computer.

Sigh.....

Ciao
LC

Where Are You?

I mentioned in a previous post the relationship I have with my mobile phone.

But there is something I forgot to add to that whole post and the is how hard it is to "get away" when you have a mobile phone.

Yesterday I took my son with me to a garden centre to get some vegetable seedlings. Funnily enough, I think I spent $100 which will allow me to grow about $50 of vegetables.

Anyway, we had something to eat there, walked around looking at plants and then made our way to the cash register where, sure enough, the phone rings just as I am about to pay. Since the phone was buried deep in the bowels of my bag I actually cut the phone call off. Handing the phone to my son I told him that it would be his dad ringing to see where we are. And it was.

You see, these days, no matter where I am, I know that at one point in time I am going to get the dreaded phone call with those few words "where are you?' or "when are you home" or "can you get something on the way home". It annoys the crap out of me. Makes me feel guilty for indulging in little and shallow pleasures like shopping or having coffee and reading magazines.

"Where are you?" translates to "What are you doing? Why aren't you home? When are you coming home? Are you spending money?" and similar things. I know it is all in my head because my husband NEVER really thinks along those lines.

In the pre mobile days you could just kind of sneak out of the house with a vague wave and mumble about shopping. Then you were left to your own solitary devices until you saw fit to come back home. It was easy to self regulate the timing of making the way home.

Not now. Somehow there is always an overt pressure to cut short the lonesome, idyllic coffee I am having and to come home. My husband insists it is not like that at all. That he just wants to say hello. To which I answer that prior to having a mobile phone, that urge did not exist. The mobile phone has created this annoying and constant contactable situation.

Which brings me onto today's effort. My husband had been out to a hardware store to get some "man things" and just as he came home, I was heading out the door with S to take him to a friend's house to play. After I dropped him off I decided to make my way down to the local shops to have a mosey and a cup of coffee, maybe some lunch. Just an all round meander on a nice and hot day.

I pull up to a prize parking spot and, sure enough, the phone rings and those words entered my right ear "where are you?". I explained I was down the street and then my husband asked me if I wanted to go with him to the hardware store as he had to return something. I said that I didn't and I could hear a disappointed "oh" in his voice. I suggested he meet me for a coffee on the way to the hardware store and he did so.

We then had a conversation that went like this (all in good humour);

Me: "Now, I don't want you to get offended, but can I just make something clear. When our son spends more and more time away from us and therefore leaving us with more and more time to fill, can you just not get into your head that I will want to hang around with you at hardware stores? And you won't hang around with me at clothes shops or supermarkets and stuff like that? "

Husband: "You cow. Of course that won't happen. Today was a one off."

Me: "Just making sure. Just in case you had some idea that in ten years you and me will be hanging out 24/7."

Husband: "You wish."

Conversation then changes to other stuff. I bring up the mobile phone issue and how, for everyone, there is no way of just being alone without the dreaded phone ringing. My husband agreed and added that he had left the phone in the car so that no one could ring him. Good idea.

Actually, not a good idea because after he left I had to ring him and he did not answer his phone.

If you are going to have a mobile phone, you could at least answer it when it rings.

Especially when I am calling.

Ciao
LC

Well, Excuse Me!!!

This is not a particularly illuminating post but whenever I think of this tiny little event that happened years ago I always think of those three words "well, excuse me".

When I go shopping I am a polite person. I chat to the cashier or shop assistant in a friendly way (much to the embarrassment of my son).

I am the sort who hangs up and puts away clothing after I try them on. And, I noticed the other day that my son does the same.

I never get cross at flustered shop assistants who are under the pump in the short staffed department store. Even rude shop assistants I treat with firm but polite recourse if they are pushing the "you shit me" boundaries.

I mean, really, it is not that hard to be nice to people is it? Besides, many, many years ago I worked in retail and it has always stuck in my mind how an unpleasant encounter with a rude customer can really spoil your day.

Sometimes, when I am sitting in the huge and hideous food court of Chadstone (which is apparently the Fashion Capital) there may be a moment when one of the uniformed cleaners will come over to my table and remove and rubbish. I always say thank you and I mean it. It is a thankless job and hard work.

Anyway, years ago I just happened to be sitting and having a cup of coffee in the food court. It was empty when I got there and I was enjoying the peace and quiet.

As I sat there people started to trickle in and sit at tables. I was reading a book and really did not notice much until one of the cleaner's came up to my table and picked up my empty coffee cup and started to wipe the table. I looked up and said thank you. At the same time I suddenly noticed that the food court was extremely crowded. In the short time I had been engrossed in the book I was reading, there was a huge influx of people.

"Oh, I wonder where all these people came from," I said out loud, half to myself but also directed rather politely to the woman cleaning the table.

She stopped what she was doing, looked down at me like I had just vomited on her shoes and said......."How the fuck should I know."

And then walked off.

"Well, excuse me," I said to her back as she walked off.

Ruined my shopping day. Well, for about ten minutes anyway. I bravely consoled my offended senses with the purchase of a rather nice pair of socks.

To this day I cannot think her without smiling. She was so rude. It was great.

Some people stick in your mind for the oddest reasons.

Ciao
LC

Ross The Signwriter

Before I met my husband, I did have a few boyfriends here and there. Most I won't mention but some are worthy of a mention.

Ross was not a boyfriend as such, he was the boy you had between boyfriend's I suppose.


When I was around 19 or 20 I was working for my parents. They had a furniture factory and they also had a furniture shop. I was working in the shop for a while, thankfully away from the parental influence. We also sold lots of second hand tat along with the furniture. The shop needed to have sign writing done and I went through the yellow pages and found a local sign writer. I called him up and organised a time to come over and go through what needed to be done.


When he arrived I could not help but notice the irrefutable fact that he was handsome. Not in that classic Hollywood handsome way. He had a look. The look that some men have that bypasses any logical brain matter and goes straight to the core of human sexual attraction. It was not leery or predatory. It was downright delicious.

He ended up doing the sign writing and we established a nice friendship. After a few months of business dealings, Ross called me up at my flat one night and asked me out for dinner. Unfortunately, only that very afternoon, I had accepted an invitation from a customer we had sold furniture to and had to decline Ross's offer. Interestingly enough, the person I did end up going out with was a complete and utter prick who had a significantly negative impact on my life for a number of years. Talk about making bad choices - but that is another story.

Anyhow, over the years Ross and I would still chat and catch up either for a hello or for some more sign writing needed when a new store opened. He told me, years later, that when he met me for the first time at the shop he went home and told his mother that he had met the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. I laughed when I heard that, for I certainly did not think of myself as that.


When I broke up with the "prick" and was single I went out with Ross for a short while, but he was not someone that I felt would be the ideal partner. You see, Ross had a weakness and that weakness was the female species. One time he was chatting to my mother and she was laughing away in a rather flirty manner. Intrigued by the banter that went on between my mother and Ross, I later asked him if he liked older women. "Linda, " he said, looking me straight in the eye, "I love ALL women". And he did. He loved them and, as a result of that interest, none of his relationships lasted very long.


When I was 23 I met the man who would become my husband, but I kept catching up with Ross for a hello.

Apart from sign writing he was a keen artist. Often I think that an artist goes into the field of sign writing otherwise they may starve for lack of money. One time he had an exhibition and he invited my husband and I to the opening. When I arrived I could see all of his ex girlfriends and also his many female friends. I made a comment to K that I could bet that every female in this room would have shared a bed with Ross. I am able to confirm that the comment was not appreciated as I was included amongst the bevy of girls.

Eventually contact between Ross and myself drifted. Once a female gets married, a husband prefers male friends to be removed from the picture. It is a way of clearing out any competition I suppose. I personally have never asked my husband to cease contact with his ex girlfriends, so I am guessing that men are a bit insecure and inclined to be a little jealous. But I am digressing here.

A few years ago, when my son was about four years old, I drove past Ross's home and saw him out the front. I stopped the car and got out and said hello. He was very pleased to see me and invited my son and I in for a cold drink.

He had changed in the way that people change as age creeps up on them. Now in his 40's, he had put on weight, his hair had thinned and lines of time had crept in. Still smoking and obviously having a regular drink showed up in the puffiness under his eyes. But handsome he was, albeit an older version of handsome. His charming smile and complete attention to my son and I reminded me of his absolute male appeal.

I noticed that he was still living on his own and asked him if there were any women in his life, or more specifically, one special woman.

"Well, I hate to admit this but I just cannot seem to settle down. I don't know, the whole chase is so exciting that anything after that is boring. I just love women too much and I certainly won't ever be able to find one who wants to settle down, have children and also allow me to have a few affairs," he admitted rather shamefacedly.

I had to laugh at his admission. Talk about wanting his cake and eating it too. But I actually felt for him as he would have made a very good husband, even if a bit of a wayward one. A true artist, finding beauty everywhere and wanting to experience it all. Not everyone could live that that ideal.

So, we said goodbye to each other and I have not seen him since. I wonder if he managed to end the chase with something more fulfilling. Although, what is fulfilling to one person may not be to another, but I did sense that he did have an underlying issue with it. He kept making mention of how happy his parents marriage had been.

Well, no matter, just made me think of choices we make and whether or not we may wonder about them years later. Ultimately, I guess that the road ends up taking you where ever you are meant to be. Just that the choices we make will decide whether the journey will be rocky or not.

Might make it easier if it was sign written.....

Ciao
LC

New Slave

I have to confess, if I can get someone to do something I don't want to do - well, I will take full advantage of them.

That does sound like I am some sort of lazy princess, and I know that in my childhood I was always called lazy as once mentioned in this post.

But the way I see it, I do all the following:

• food shopping - allow for driving and unpacking etc (5 hours in a week)
• ironing (5 hours in a week)
• working (25 to 30 hours in a week)
• amuse my son (infinity hours each week)
• vacuum (2 hours a week)
• incidental, unavoidable and inexplicable stuff (5 hours each week)
• cooking dinner (5 hours at least each week)
• general housework (5 hours minimum)
• baking cakes for play lunch and cup of tea time (2 hours each week)
• exercise to keep healthy (6 hours each week)
• AND blow dry my hair and put on make up so that I look pretty (7 hours each week)

In between all that there is sleep, bits of gardening, "me" time and allowing for unexpected interruptions. Therefore, I do think it is not unreasonable to get other people to do as much as possible so that I don't have to do it.

So, last night I had remarked to my husband that there was no bread and he said he would pick it up in the morning. So I went to bed with the knowledge that dear K would get up when my alarm went off and get fresh bread rolls.

Well, due to the mismanagement of my alarm clock today (my fault), we all woke up very late this morning. Panic stations set in. Husband realises he has a dentist appointment at 8.00 am and cannot pick up the bread for me.

I threw myself dramatically out of bed mumbling something about having to do things myself and stomped off to get my son's clothes ready for school and get him out of bed.

I then had a light bulb moment.

"Get out of bed, you have to go up the street to get bread," I told my son who was still buried deep under the doona.

"What? Why?" he asked.

"I have to have a shower and we have no bread and I have no time to get it so you have to," I explained.

Whilst I had a shower he got dressed. He was not happy about the prospect of having to walk up the street and get bread. When I came out from the showere, he asked me if he could ride his bike up to get the bread. I hesitated. This was a big thing. I have never let him ride his bike anywhere without adult supervision. But urgent matters require a change of mindset. I agreed.

Well, after instructions of how to get there (and a long tirade about safety etc), he took off. Ten minutes later he was back with the goods, happy as could be.

It dawned on me all the possibilities of new uses for my son.

Message boy. Get bread, post letter, pick up newspaper - get pizza.

I wonder if I could send him off for the week's shopping?

The possibilities are endless.

New staff are so hard to find these days - unless of course they live with you.

Ciao

LC

Oh Sunny Sunday

Even though I know that warm weather will arrive after the Winter comes to a close, it never fails to amaze me how unbelievably new and delicious it feels when it does warm up.

My son and husband actually don't like the day being too warm. They just like mild weather. So, trips down to the beach on a hot day are usually done alone these days. I really cannot stand the moaning that goes on if they join me outside on a hot day and so I make time to go on my own. I refuse to relinquish that pleasure for anyone.

Today was lovely. Warm sun, blue sky and a breeze that was soft enough to lift your hair from your face. A day to do anything, just as long as it was outside.

We started the morning, all three of us, by having breakfast down at the local strip shop. For quite a while it has been just my son and myself doing things together as K has been working each weekend either with a music job or a normal work job so we thought it was time to do something together. After breakfast S and I said our goodbye's to K (who was doing another music job) and made our way into the city.
As I drove towards the city, S was reading a comic. I had the radio on and was listening to the music. It was incredibly nice. The car was warm from the morning sun and the heat outside was enough to drive with the window open. I could feel the sun shining in, leaving it's hot sting on my bare arm.

I felt like I was alone. But not lonely, just wonderfully isolated in the driver's seat. Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" came on the radio. As I drove I listened to the music fill the car and drift around me. Driving into the city on a Sunday is always pleasant as the traffic is reasonable. People seem more relaxed, polite and the aggression has been put aside until the Monday morning rush.

The words of the song fill my head. There's a feeling I get When I look to the west, And my spirit is crying for leaving. I wonder if it means anything to me today. It probably doesn't, but if I thought enough about any words to a song, I could make them relate to the day quite easily. And as we wind on down the road, Our shadows taller than our soul......

The song ends and I am brought back to the reality with George Michael telling me that he was my man. As we get closer to the city I have to concentrate more about which lane to move into and I turn the radio down to avoid distraction. S has finished his comic by now and is looking out of the window. We finally parked in a car park and made our way down a few small streets to meet the throng of the Sunday visitors.

I had told S that it would be nice to go into the State Library and we headed off in that direction. The walk was longer than I recalled but there was a lot to see. The city invites a wide range of the population and it is always interesting to view the mix of people that are in there. To tell you the truth, and I don' want to sound mean here, there are some really, really odd people around. It is almost sad to see the state of some men and women.

It was crowded and I was constantly having to manoeuvre S around to avoid running into people. Adults are often inclined to ignore young people and most would not move out of his way, preferring to bump into him that move aside. Children are easily distracted and don't always look at where they are walking. The art of moving in and around crowds is a learned one and children really struggle. Hence the need for a mother to guide the child - especially a mother who is starting to get a bit shitty about the rudeness of others. Let me just say, I was forced to use my elbow more than one.

When we got to the library and stepped into the silent rooms I realised that I had made a grave mistake coming. I saw the droop of my son's shoulders as we walked around. The silence was deafening. He could not find anything to read, wanted to go on the Internet (and was not allowed to - by me) and his mood shifted from one of anticipation to one of irritability. I braced myself for the whinging that was sure to come. I suggested we make our way out. He readily agreed.

On the way out there was a small exhibition outlining the role of sport during periods of war. I wanted to see it and S begrudgingly followed me into the small room in which it was held. In an attempt to divert his ever growing black mood, I pointed out a few photos which showed men in the armed forces playing sport. I explained how even in times of stress, we all need to do things that connect us with others. And how even in the most difficult of situations, people always find a way to enjoy themselves. My son mumbled something about "what did that have to do with him". As I led him out of the exhibition, I mumbled back something about "it is not all about you buddy".

We made our way out and down the steps of the library and out into the sunshine. S started on about how he hated war, hated whoever invented the gun, hated whoever invented bombs and then added that he was hot. Moan, moan, moan. The tone continued for a while as we walked back towards where the car had been parked. A few times I berated him for going on in such a negative way and to just enjoy himself. He told me he was not going to talk for the next ten minutes because he was just getting angry. I knew why. His expectations not being met, too many people, sun shining down on him, having to walk further than expected and having to just be somewhere where he did not want to be. We walked a bit further in silence.

So we finally made our way down along the Yarra River which is at one end of the city perimeter. There was an outdoor art exhibition and we walked around looking at it all.

By this stage S had settled down, having filled himself up with an icey drink and walked out his bad mood. He decided that he would like to go on a Ferris wheel. I love going up in those big things. They are so free and high and looking down is still as fun as it was when I was ten years old.

The ride took around eight minutes which is so long when you are going around and around. In fact, after a while it got a bit boring and both of us were getting impatient about it all. I needed to go to the toilet and S was just wanting to get out.

After we got down, we made our way back towards the car. By this stage the sun was high and hot in the sky and S was regrouping his grumpy mood again.

He started on about how he hated the library, it was stupid. And he was never going into the city because it was boring and full of people who were annoying and he hated strangers bumping into him. I started to drift off and let him go on a bit longer. After a while I felt my own mood being affected by his words and decided to say something.

"Listen, when you tell me how bad the day has been, it makes me feel that I am somehow doing a bad job as a mother. It makes me feel awful. As though I have let you down. It also makes me feel angry that you are such and ungrateful monkey," I finally said to him. I really wanted to call him an ungrateful shit, but thought better of it because my husband would hear of my potty mouth later on.

My son was surprised at what I said. He assured me that he had a nice enough time and did not blame me at all for anything. Told me that he was arguing and whinging because it felt right and he needed to do it.

Oh, whatever. I didn't care. Really, I enjoyed myself. The day reminded me of when I used to go into the city on my own when I was a teenager. It has changed since then, but I always liked the feeling of being in the hustle and bustle of it all.

Even the dirtiness of it appeals to me. I would love to live in the city now and then. Step out into the noise of the people. Or lay in bed and hear the comings and goings of the streets below. Wake up and have breakfast in a cafe, walk to the art gallery or down to the Botanical gardens. That may sound idealistic, but it is a nice thought. Not even the grumpy words of an eleven year old can change that for me.

We finally got back to the car and drove home.

The sigh of relief from S as I pulled into the driveway was loud.

"Well my boy, just think of this. There is nothing like home is there", I reminded him as he got out of the car.

He shook his head, followed me as I opened the front door and made his way straight to the computer.

As, you can see, I did also.

Ciao

LC

I Need A Meme

I made my way over to Poetikat and had a little read of her meme and decided to do it myself.

So, here it is.

1.My uncle once: Painted our house using a very wobbly ladder and a cigarette in his mouth the whole time.

2. Never in my life have I: Been able to swim.

3. When I was five my parents: Really had a miserable marriage.

4. High school was: Awful, really, could have done without it actually.

5. I will never forget to: Put my mobile phone in my handbag.

6. Once I met: Boris Becker and he showed me how to hold a tennis racket.

7. There’s this boy I know: Thinks it is funny to show me his bare bottom randomly.

8. Once, at a bar, I: Tipped a drink over a guy's head and subsequently got chucked out.

9. By noon, I’m: Thinking of food.

11. If only I had: Some idea of what it is all about.

12. Next time I go to church: Well, I will let you know, because you will be witnessing a miracle.

13. What worries me most is that I: Shall die wondering.

14. When I turn my head left I see: My microwave oven.

15. When I turn my head right I see: My pantry.

16. You know I’m lying when I: Tell you that I am fine.

17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: My age.

18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: Katherina in Taming of the Shrew.

19. By this time next year I will: Possibly be training for a marathon or possibly not.

20. A better name for me would be: Mrs Controlling.

21. I have a hard time understanding: The meaning of life.

22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: Tell them boys I like them.

23. You know I like you if I: Don't worry, I will make it very clear.

24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: Me!

25. Take my advice, never: Keep undies that don't fit.

So, there you go.

Ciao
LC

Stinky Twaddle

I am not and never have been a stinky person - farting aside.

I am talking about general body odour.

In fact, I actually have a naturally nice body odour. My clothes always smell nice. In fact, when I was younger, my favorite niece would always smell my clothes whenever she saw me. There were a few times that she would get one of her friends to smell me. She would say "this is my aunt, she smells so nice, have a smell".

My hair always smells fresh, clean and a bit perfumey. I always wear a nice perfume. My skin smells nice. Sometimes, when I am at work, one of the tradesmen will comment on how nice I smell. Perhaps they are just hitting on me, but I doubt it as they know me better than to try that on.

I can wear my socks four days in a row and my feet won't smell of anything but leather. And, yeah, I have been known to wear my socks more than once okay.

Last night I went to exercise class and was running around madly in the warmish evening when I noticed some bad body odour. In fact, each time I caught a whiff of it I just thought that whoever that was making that smell should use deodorant. It was pretty bad.

Then when I got back in the car I lifted my arm up to push up the sun visor and, to my absolute amazement and horror, I encountered that stinky smell again.

It was me. Me. Me who smelt like a boys locker room. I have never smelt like that in my life.

Totally gross. And, I spent the ten minute drive home sniffing each arm pit intermittently as though completely in denial that I could ever make such a pong.

I might start using "man deodorant" rather than that poncey "sweet citrus feminine deodorant".

Obviously I am working out harder than usual.

Or, maybe I just have never noticed it before and have been offending others for months.

Whatever the reason, I was shocked.

Stinky indeed!

Ciao
LC