Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Recently we had a young sales guy come into work. When he first arrived to the office my boss was not yet in and so he chatted away to me until I had to excuse myself to get to work.
A few days later he was in again. He then asked me if I had a child and I said yes, chatted about him for a while.
Then he asked if I was married. Ah, I then realised he was fishing. Told him I was married and had been for eighteen years.
Today he came in again for a meeting with my boss. Whilst waiting for the boss to arrive I made coffee.
Out of the blue he said;
"Have you ever done modelling?".
I thought to myself, hmmmm, interesting pick up line for someone who is married with a child.
"No, no modelling", I replied.
"You know, there was a girl who looked like you in a Bond movie with Pierce Brosnan. His first one. Just like you, I think she was a Russian girl", he went on.
"Well, there you go. I should have sent in my resume at the time", I replied.
"You would make a great Bond girl", he went on.
"I'll keep that thought in mind should a job come up for a bookkeeping spy", I told him.
"And you make great coffee", he added.
"There you go. Budgeting, coffee making and saving my country at the same time. Who else could do that?" I answered.
He was keen to continue the conversation, but I made my way back into the office.
Had to make a call to Q.
See what my next assignment was.
Which was to immediately see which Bond Girl he was talking about.
However, these are thoughts not ones I feed too much or I just might pack my bag, makeup and hairdryer and skip out the front door one sunny day. Besides, a hot shower and some breakfast somehow manages to sort me out.
This morning I had to make a trip into the city to look for a particular PDA. I decided to take a train in as it is quicker than battling peak hour traffic.
When I got onto the train I felt in a time warp. I was taken back to when I worked in the city. Took a train each morning. Always crowded, but today was even worse. Inside the heaters were blasting out stinking heat. I managed to get a seat and spent the trip sitting all tightly to avoid rubbing knees with strangers.
When I got into the city and walked around I was so taken by the shops with all their lovely things on show. Having not been in the city often over the years, except to visit the art gallery or parks, I drifted hungrily past the huge Laura Ashley store making a mental note to visit it next time I made a trip into town.
There was a shop dedicated to beautiful diaries, note books and lovely boxes to put things into. Another store that sold the most deliciously elegant knitwear. Cardigans to die for in the most amazing array of colours and all so soft. The most gorgeous shoe shops, handbag stores and so many big book stores to look into.
In the city are so many small specialty shops. Quirky designers selling interesting clothes. Shops dedicated entirely to chocolates. Tiny coffee shops wedged between other smaller shops, the only access to the coffee via a window that opens out to the narrow lane. Little shops selling interesting jewellery. How do they make ends meet?
Just as well I don't work in the city. All that temptation would be hard to resist. I have always loved the idea of living in the city. In amongst all the happenings, the noises of life coming and going. It always seems such a romantic notion to me. Then I read about the issues with people being woken by early morning rubbish trucks. Street fights happening as people tumble out of nightclubs at 6.00 am in the morning.
In the end I could not get what I wanted. I realised that my boots were not made for walking - long distances anyway. But I enjoyed every minute of the hour and half I was in the city. My plans are now to take a Friday off and go again for the sole purpose of shopping.
Got back to work by 11.30 am and did payroll by 1.30 pm.
Now my mind is full of thoughts of all the lovely things I saw on my morning jaunt into town. My moody disposition all gone, now my mind is filled with the prospect of a future city visit.
Mmmmmmm, city shopping.
So much more exciting than the local shopping centre.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Now, I am a bit tardy getting awards up and running. Hence the reason it has taken this long to respond. I had to think about this one, about how to formulate my answer because it brings to mind all the reasons I like to blog, why I continue to blog and what blogging means to me.
Over three years ago I read an article in a newspaper that mentioned about the popular cyber activity of blogging. Being the sort who has, over the years, kept a spasmodic journal, I thought that having a blog would be a great way to record my day to day activities and thoughts.
It had a couple of names to start with. The name of my dog, the name of my house, and finally, with the help of a friend, I used the name Lindasphere. The heading of my blog "Linda And Her Twaddle" just sums up the contents of the blog I suppose.
For the first eighteen months I just randomly blogged. I found it helped offload what was going on in my head. Sometimes when I was unsettled I would just blog about what was going on and that kind of helped.
In about June 2007 I became adventurous and decided to look at other people's blogs, leave comments and allow the option of comments to be left on my blog. To me, that was a bit step because I am so self critical and overly sensitive that if someone were to leave a nasty comment I would be very upset. As it was, I have not had any bad comments and if I did, these days, I would just figure that everyone is entitled to an opinion of their own.
Blogging helped me work through a lot of issues I had with past events. I have made friends through blogging, friends who actually mean a great deal to me which is strange considering the distances between us. It would be wonderful to have a blogging holiday and visit some of them!
Kat, who so kindly gave me this award, was one of the first blogs I visited. Reading her exceptional poems (the one on underwear gets me laughing, and the one about being on the slab - which I would link if I could find them on her site). I have also had the pleasure of having Kat pen a poem to order for both my son and my brother. Her site is worth a visit, although, these days, I do not get over as often as I would like. I kind of visit in blocks every couple of weeks or so.
Here is her post about this award. I actually feel a bit humbled that she thought me worthy of it.
So, I would like to pass this award onto a couple of other fellow bloggers.
Hope from HopeRadio. Now, Hope is one of these women who just seems to have held onto her intense passion for life whilst always seeming to look out for the needs of others, not withstanding her own four children. Through her blog I have gleaned a lot about the life of the military involvement in Iraq on a very human level. It reminds me that no matter whether you agree or disagree with the involvement in Iraq, at the end of the day there are men out there doing what they believe in doing.
Linda from VegasLindaLou is a writer and comedian living and working in LasVegas. She seems to me to live a life that rises above and beyond all the things that get the average person down. Sees the world in a fresh and positive light. Even after a divorce from a difficult man (who is the subject of her book Bastard Husband) Linda has just gotten out there and LIVED. And, I am so jealous 'cos she got to meet two of her fellow bloggers here in this post!
So, just two for the road with this award, for reasons mentioned. I could list mighty good reasons for others but I would take for ever to get the post finished!
1) The Blogger manifests exemplary attitude, respecting the nuances that pervade amongst different cultures and beliefs. (One thing I have learnt through blogging is that, no matter where a person lives or what their beliefs, people seek out the same things in life. Love, validation and a level of contentment)
2) The Blog contents inspire; strives to encourage and offers solutions. (Not sure about the solutions, but hopefully somewhere along the way I may inspire someone to not feel bad if they have not mopped the floor for a month or so, since I certainly haven't)
3) There is a clear purpose at the Blog; one that fosters a better understanding on Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Culture, Sciences and Beliefs. (The clear purpose for me is to share my small life with those who are kind enough and interested enough to read it)
4)The Blog is refreshing and creative. (Ah, well, being self critical, that is something I am always questioning myself about)
5) The Blogger promotes friendship and positive thinking. (I hope it does do just that. Because friendship comes in all sorts of strange ways and blogging is just one of them).
1) Create a post with a mention and link to the blogger who presented the Noblesse Oblige Award to you.
2) The award conditions must be displayed in the post.
3) Write a short article about what your blog has thus far achieved preferably citing one or more older post to support:
4) The blogger must present the Noblesse Oblige Award to blogs in concurrence with the award conditions.
5) The blogger must display the award at any location on their blog.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
We could have bought one earlier but we got used to just doing the dishes. My frugal sensibilities were satisfied by putting of the inevitable purchase.
It started off kind of noble to do the dishes by hand. Then over the months it got dreary. Water left in sink overnight with dishes sitting in it, going cold and leaving a greasy ring. Had to get up in the morning and wash them before you could make breakfast.
Then I had this ever changing sculpture on the right hand side of the sink. Clean, wet dishes just sitting there until dry. Then one of us would put them away eventually, to make room for more.
Finally this week I said we are getting a dishwasher. Rubber gloves had become a regular accessory to my appearance in the house and I had enough.
Both my husband and I loathe shopping for big appliances. Fortunately we do not have to do it that often. I usually start to process by doing loads of online research. After about four weeks I just think "oh, fuck it" and we just go out and buy something.
So we have a new dishwasher installed (after two hours which also included a flood over the kitchen floor) and we have christened it. Also had to buy a new microwave! The old one, bought when I was pregnant with my son, was on it's last legs.
We have a budget, walk into one store and just pick whatever we need and transaction is over. Prices are generally the same in any big store so we just do not bother to shop around for the best price. The savings are so marginal it is not worth the grief of driving around looking for the best deal in town.
The reason we shop at this particular store for white goods is quite funny. They have a huge bin at the rear of the shop and you can bring all the packaging back and put it in there. That is the clincher. Otherwise it would take three weeks of normal home rubbish collection to get rid of it.
Forget about customer loyalty programs, cheaper prices or heavy handed sales pitches. Just put a big bin out the back for the rubbish.
That will win the customers!
Oh, and I discovered something today. If you think your house is clean, just wait until you have to move out a big appliance from where it has been sitting for years. Totally disgusting. So much dust behind my built in microwave I was shocked. The grubbiness you don't see! I dread the fridge having to be replaced. I have not seen behind it since it went into the alcove eight years ago.
By the way, I just do not believe I put up with washing dishes for so long. I feel like a lady of leisure.
Friday, May 22, 2009
I had to take the day off work today. Stopped over to see a client I do the books for. He is getting divorced and needed some idea of what his cost of living will be once the house is sold and money allocated between them.
It is a sad thing, divorce. For so many reasons. In his case things went from amicable to very messy and resulted in him having to take an intervention order against his wife. However, yesterday they met in a mediation situation and came to an agreement that made everyone happy. Now they are both speaking to each other.
Unfortunately, alcohol is the demon in this divorce. His wife's drinking, abuse of sleeping tablets and other prescription drugs has taken it's toll on what was a very good marriage. But, still, two sides to every story, but you have to acknowledge that alcoholism can make lives difficult from all perspectives. And I know from a few mutual friends that he has done much to prop the marriage up but it had worn him out and it was too late now.
I rode my bike there. It takes about twenty minutes and the weather was absolutely divine. Blue sky and sunshine smiling down on me. When I got there he was not home and I made my way to a coffee shop for a morning brew whilst I was waiting. Just sitting in the cafe reminded me how wonderful it is to have a day off work during the week. Has a whole different feel to it than a weekend.
When I finally made my way back to his house he did not want me to come in. He said the place was a mess. For the past two weeks his wife has not been allowed to the house and he has been organising his three children, dinner's, lunch, breakfast, laundry, housework and also running his business. He has always been a very involved father but even all of this has been wearing on him along with the whole stress of the end of a marriage.
I told him not to worry, messy houses are fine. I walked into the kitchen and took in the chaos. Dishes, food, rubbish, pizza box and mess everywhere. Sink overloaded with dirty dishes. It was a sad sight. He came in and apologised.
"Normally I would never offer this, but how about we just both clean up the kitchen and you can relax enough to tell me what the bank needs", I offered. So we got stuck into it all and tidied in about fifteen minutes.
After that, whilst he was on the phone, I walked around the house. Eighteen years they have been there. Married and moved into it. Had three children, renovated the house, had holidays, friends, Christmas, Easter, birthday's and anniversaries.
Over the years they filled the drawers with things. Cupboards with photo albums. Bookshelves with books over the years. Paintings chosen and hung on walls. Furniture chosen together and then placed around the home in a most eclectic style. Framed photos on the mantle piece and dining room buffet. Their wedding, their children, even photos of relatives from years before they were born.
The piano with children's books stacked upon it. Fridge with photos on it. Awards from school. Notes from the children. Excursion information from school. Things, things and more things that just happen when we live a life. All of it on show, natural and now coming to an end.
I did what needed doing. Spoke to him about it all for a while. He said he was relieved that his wife and he were speaking and friendly. I said that there was still a way to go and it would be a bit tough.
House is going up for auction. Big 1920's Californian bungalow. Great for a family. Lovely renovation. Sell, pay off debts and then split the proceeds.
That is the easy part.
I would hate to have to sort through eighteen years of life and work out what to keep and what not to keep. Neither of them ever thought it would be like this.
Makes you think.
After that, I jumped back on the bike and went for a long ride. Down to my local shops. Walked around, had lunch, read some magazines. Enjoyed the time to myself. Did school pick up and came home.
A simple day.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
They say things like;
Have just put $95K in the bank
Bank has approved $186K transfer
You can pick up cheque from N.....'s for $45K
So much more exciting than one that might say "u r so hot". The way to a bookkeeper's heart is via the bank.
We do have a funny relationship. One time he was telling a few of us about a bookkeeper who had siphoned off thousands of dollars from their client. So much trust placed in the bookkeeper and that happens. It is terrible.
Everyone was saying how rotten it was when a person trusts someone completely only to get screwed over by that person of trust. It is more than just the money issue, it is the faith in another human being that is crushed.
I said to my boss;
"I can assure you that you will never, ever get screwed by me".
"Gee thanks for making that so very clear", came the reply (along with much laughter from other people in the room).
Just in case he was worried.
I had to put his mind at rest.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Even me. I have taken the "lazy slug" tag and run with it, or should I say, sat with it. And, I am going say something a bit mean about my husband in this post. Since I rarely do, I figure I am allowed to today.
Today my son got out of bed in the foulest mood possible. Tired as could be. Moan, moan and more moaning. Grumpy as well. He did the same thing yesterday. The atmosphere was tense. My husband got cross as well and so I told them both to shut up. Yep, I said "Shut up, the both of you. You are infecting the atmosphere here. Keep quiet"
After my husband dropped him off to school we discussed the entire issue of late mornings and sloth lifestyle that had crept into our home over the past few months.
Now, I am quite prepared to take responsibility for some of it, but, to tell you the truth, I think my husband very freely sinks into the lazy mode given the chance. Then I get sick of doing it all so then do nothing, then get sick of doing nothing and then chuck a wobbly which scares the pants off everyone.
Now and then you have to get together for a Pow Wow and sort it out. You know, clear the air. Which is me saying "here is what is going to happen" and my husband saying "Yes dear".
Firstly, he said to me that since I bought my little lap top in June last year it had become part of my body. Fair enough. I do spend time on it. But that is only when I have something like ironing to do.
I said to him that he is connected to You Tube (along with my son) and the only way I know they are in the house in the evening is because I saw them enter the office and not exit it again.
So we agreed that our son is not allowed on the computer or Xbox after 7.00 pm at night. And that we would not sit at the computer until after 9pm each night.
Plus, every weekend my husband has an afternoon nap. What is that? Last Sunday I made him get off the bed and mow the front lawn (me having mowed the back lawn the week before). And, his naps are about two hours long! That is a sleep. Not a nap. Am I being a bit harsh here?
Later in the evening he said to me that I was right to wake him up. He got so much done afterwards. I felt like a bossy boots, but I think that is what happens time to time.
My son is also having sleep issues which ties back to his mother (me) allowing the worst sleep habits to develop. As outlined in this post here and this post here. I talked about trying to fix it in this post here.
However, it has now reached a point where he is not getting enough sleep. I told him this morning that dvd is coming out of his bedroom tonight. Plus I said that he has to have a lamp on in his bedroom as opposed to the entire room being lit up like Christmas.
Told him he has to teach himself to get to sleep without props otherwise when he gets married he cannot sleep with the light and television on all the time. He is most put out.
After the discussion my husband started getting a bit excited. He suggested that we go without television for a whole week. And no computer. Read by candlelight. Go to bed with the sunset. Play cards, listen to music and play board games.
"Forget that", I said.
Sounds too much like camping to me. Next thing he will be suggesting a washboard to do the laundry.
So, let us see what happens. In the meantime, today after work I will get something for dinner, come home and cook dinner, hang out the washing, put a load of washing on, get changed and go for a run, come back and sort through the clean washing. Then bake a cake since both husband and son ate the cake I baked on Sunday.
Then, guess what, it will be about 9pm and I can sit with my lap top and relax.
Monday, May 18, 2009
A politician is being interviewed. Our Prime Minister actually.
Blah, blah and more blah.
If I were to visualise what he has just said in the form of a written paragraph this is what I hear;
blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Now, take that blah and just expand it to about 300 more blahs.
He uses terms like:
In my opinion......
We intend to implement it......
I said quite clearly......
It is my belief......
I do not believe it to be in the economy's interest......
We have a strategy.....
I'll say this again......
All of the above and other dreary claptrap.
Democracy, what a crock. A whole lot of big ego's wearing suits pretending to give a shit about people who fumble along and just try to live a life.
No wonder people end up going shopping.
Or watching Desperate Housewives.
Ho hum indeed.
The smell of cold air at night is so sharp and fresh. Every scent, good or bad, has a shape to it. An edge. Unlike the air during hot weather which drifts out from the source and mingles with every other smell that is nearby.
In cold weather, if you walk past an overloaded rubbish bin full of stinky refuse, it only smells as you get close to it. It can't move too far unless a wind picks it up and even then it just disperses. On a hot day the stench would drift along and foul the air surrounding it for ages.
The odour of petrol is fresh as you lift the nozzle from the bowser before you start to fill the car. Sharp, still and strong without the heat of a summer day. You can almost catch the heavy scent in your hand.
When I walked back to the car the smell of fires that had been lit inside homes was faint in the still air. The fresh and cold smell of darkness and shadows was intoxicating and I stood and looked up at the sky, the inky black curtain on which stars were thrown across and I felt small and alive.
Came home to a warm house, lights on and the sound of the television welcomed me.
But the darkness, the cold air and the sharp smells stayed in me.
Lovely, lovely Autumn nights as they make their way closer to Winter.
The strength of Nature.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Times like this I do wish I had a social circle I could dip into now and then. However, thinking about it, if I had that social circle on hand I would stress about the perceived obligation to maintain the friendships. I don't know how to do that stuff very well. Besides, people are busy.
My husband has taken his car to a car show. He just called and I realised that I would have liked to have gone but forgot to think about it. No matter, he will be home in a couple of hours and I will go for a run and work off some of the mopiness creeping up.
My son has a friend coming over at 1.00pm so it is not like I can change arrangements.
Also have a banana cake baking away in the oven.
So, instead of wallowing in the moment of cabin fever I put on the DVD Notting Hill. You know that one that came out years ago with Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant. I like this movie. I especially like the soundtrack to it.
Normally I am not a fan of chick flicks. But this has enough humour interweaved in the romance factor that I can ignore the sugary aspect of the most unlikely plot.
Whenever I watch it I feel a pang of envy at where the character of Hugh Grant lives. I want his house with the staircase and the blue door, just around the corner from Portobello Road.
Yep, I want to get my lovely pushbike out, the old one I have with the baskets on it. Then I want to pedal around and get yummy foods from interesting delicatessen's, fruit and bread shops. Then invite my friends over for lunch and have a jolly good afternoon.
I don't often think that. Only when I watch the movie. Or when I watch Foyle's War.
Sigh. I just realised I feel a bit lonely today. You know, you can be lonely even if you have people around you. Or if your life is busy with things. It is not about the lack of people. It just is the feeling of loneliness that happens now and then.
Sometimes there is just that "middle of the day on a Sunday" feeling of loneliness that hits us all. Could arrive on any day, but I figure Sunday's cop it the most.
I am sure it has been at your house once or twice.
When it leaves my place to make it's way over to you or someone else, I shall send a little hello with it.
So you won't be completely lonely.
Just a bit.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Perhaps it is hormonal. Part of the female psyche.
It annoys me that marketing has targeted the "sob factor" in the human brain and manage to put the trigger in television adverts. Especially those stupid nappy changing ones. It is pathetic.
I don't cry when things warrant a good sob. But hear the whine of a violin on an advert for panty liners and I feel myself welling up.
Anyway, recently there has been this glut of infommercials for digital free to air television. As this outstandingly boring event affects all of the television stations, we get this advert over and over on a regular basis on every station.
It opens with a brief glimpse of a few old Australian movies and then in comes the music from the movie Born Free. I am not sure if you have heard this piece of music, but it is rather dramatic. And the words are, to me, very beautiful.
Born free, as free as the wind blows
Live free, and beauty surrounds you
Born free, and life is worth living
You would think that after hearing this stupid, stupid advert come on the television for the one hundredth time, I would not react in this way. But no. It happens over and over again.
I am sure that a man would not have this problem. It is one thing to feel a bit emotional when you listen to songs that take you to places in your head long gone, it is quite another to have a sniffle about some boring advertising on television.
I did wonder why this Born Free thing affected me more so and I thought that maybe it was because I recall the song being played a lot on my parents reel to reel machine when I was a little girl.
At the same time they played The Elephant Walk and a whole load of Harry Belafonte songs. Oh, and there was that great song "The Lion Sleeps Tonight".
Ah, as I write this I realise that the true reason I have been feeling emotional when I hear the Born Free advert is because it reminds me of all those lovely songs I heard when I was little.
Phew! For a minute there I thought I was just a big softy.
Although it does not explain my reaction to the nappy changing adverts. I mean, watching a baby get it's bottom wiped, powdered and then nappied up is not a thing to cry for is it?
The song that is played then is "It Must Be Love".
Okay, yes, well, it could be that song. I do recall hearing it first when Madness put it out on record in the 1980's. My days of wearing ten ups Doc Marten's and torn tights (it was the look then).
Pretty emotional stuff was going on in those days too.
Most of it worthy of a good cry.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Years and years ago I worked at my parents furniture factory.
Sometimes I worked out the back and other times in the office and showroom.
We used to get lots of customers coming in to buy our furniture.
There was also the regular salesman coming in to sell something we may need.
One in particular was this guy called David who worked for a company that sold chairs. We would buy their chairs and spray them to match the colour of our furniture.
Sometimes this guy would stay and chat to my parents, have a coffee and talk about business.
He was quite a good looking sort and at that stage I was single so would occasionally cast a glance over his way in the vague hope he may take notice of me.
One time he came by to visit and it was quiet in the showroom. We sat down and talked about things. I think he was interested in me.
He told me about his family. His father had died. His mother lived in a swanky apartment in Sydney. He also had a sister who was married to a well know clothes designer. In fact, that very day I was wearing a skirt that came from that same designer.
During the course of the conversation my brother came into the showroom to say a quick hello. I introduced him to this guy and made a comment that my brother and I had just moved into a flat together.
He then told me that he used to share a flat with his aforementioned sister before she was married. Told me they used to go out together to nightclubs and bars and have a good time.
Then he said;
"Oh, yeah, one night we came home plastered and had sex. You know how it is".
I stared at him. He had just told me that he had sex with his sister and thought that I might know how it is.....
"No, I don't know how it is. I would never sleep with my own brother no matter how much I drank", I replied. I don't know how I managed to get even those words out of my shocked mouth.
In my head a voice was screaming something along the lines of "he slept with his sister".
Then he changed the conversation to something else.
I cut short the "chat" after that. I could not get my head around what he had said so casually.
He asked me out! I declined.
That designer is still in business. Still married to the sister. I wonder if he knows that she shagged her own brother.
Sometimes I think there are some secrets we should take to our grave.
That is definitely one of them.
At the end of most articles there is the option of being able to leave a comment. On the rare occasion I leave a comment, it is either amusing or kind. Or a combination of both. My comments are a reflection of how I would speak to a person face to face.
I have to ask myself about what sort of people live on this earth who feel it is okay to leave the most vitriolic and spiteful comments you could imagine.
Whilst I appreciate the people may not agree with the contents of the article, there is a protocol that I was brought up with when it comes to putting forth an opposing view. You certainly don't leave mean, nasty and poisonous comments. Well, at least, I wouldn't.
Some of the words that people freely leave behind make me feel as though there is some sort of subculture of complete lunatics out there. It leaves me wondering who these people are. Do I know them? Hmmmmm.
For example, there was a perfectly nice photo of the actress Julia Roberts in a bikini on the beach. You know, having a holiday, enjoying the sunshine. Heaven help us all, after having three children she exposed her stomach to the world and revealed that she had a bit of loose skin. All in all, her appearance was that of a good looking woman out having a nice day.
Personally, I thought it was a nice thing to see a celebrity not caving in to the temptation to have a complete make over and pull all loose skin tight as a drum. However, of the one hundred or more comments left behind in response to the photo, you would think that she had stepped out onto the beach looking like a sumo wrestler in a g-string bikini - without a wax.
It was so nasty that I felt a bit depressed about how horrible people can be when hiding behind the safety of a computer. How freely that just vomit their nasty thoughts for all to see. They must get some sort of weird thrill from being able to have a say without any come back. The comments are not even funny.
This happens on article after article and I end up reading a book or blogging rather than allow the nastiness to infect my day.
Of course I do know that there have always been mean and nasty people out there. But now that the internet offers itself up as a big vessel in which to pour ones venom into, we all get exposed to it whether we like it or not.
I can forgive the poor grammar and the spelling mistakes because not everyone has access to a good education. But nastiness is just that, irrespective of education or class.
I do know the difference between sarcasm and spite even if it is served up in the form of humour.
Nope, these comments are just mean spirited.
Unlike the comments on blogs which are kind.
Maybe I need to toughen up a bit.
Oh, and my son has a You Tube account. He uploads these little animation videos he makes and people can comment on them. You should see the stuff that some people say. Talk about awful. I asked my son if that upsets him. He said no, he does not know them so who cares what they think.
I need to take his line of thought.
Stop taking things to heart.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
My mind was still. My thoughts were quiet. I spent time getting my son's clothes ready for camp. Packed his suitcase. He is excited about going. I love his excitement. His happiness fills me with happiness.
I have not called my mother yet to speak to her, to wish her a happy day. So once I finish what I am doing I will ring to say thanks. She thinks she was a bad mother to all of us. Feels that sh didn't do enough. As though doing her best under difficult circumstances was not good enough.
Must be part of that mother guilt thing that goes with the territory.
Always feel as though we could do better.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
It was with good intentions that I went to bed last night. Planning on getting up early and get out of the house to take my son shopping for clothes for camp. Unfortunately my body did not respond to the alarm going off. Well, my hand responded by turning it off but then it just went back to sleep with the rest of my body.
When I finally made the effort to get out of bed, I continued to function on go slow until well into mid morning. Part of the problem was that I had to organise my son. He had to have a bath.
His bath capers can be really onerous. Firstly, he takes ages to get himself into the bath, ages to get him out and the even longer to dry himself (as previously posted). Today was just another chapter to the "how to make mum shout" story.
So, today he gets in the bath. Then, I go and have a shower. After I get out of the shower and get dressed, I tell him to get out of the bath.
"Yeah", comes his reply. Nothing happens.
I then put on my make up and intermittently call to him to get out of the bath. Each request is met with a "yeah" reply. Each request gets louder until I have to shout. Still nothing happens.
After putting on my make up I went in and told him to get out of the bath NOW.
"Yeah okay", he again replies. Guess what? Nothing happens.
I go off and dry my hair. He still is in the bath. By this time I am getting shitty. I want to get out of the house, get to the shops, do what needs doing and get back home.
"Get out of the bath now. We have loads to do and I want it done", I shouted at him.
"We haven't got that much to do", he yelled back.
I stomped into the bathroom and had a rant what needed doing.
"We have to get you pants, socks, polar fleece, underwear and some t-shirts", I went on, ticking each item off each finger.
"Mum, you know, you can say it without the attitude", he told me. What the?
"Get out now", I said in my "quiet before the storm" tone of voice.
He gets out. Then we have the towel drying saga. Ten minutes it took.
In that ten minutes I put on a load of washing, strip the bed, hang out some things, clean the kitchen bench all the while yelling at him to dry himself NOW.
"Listen, it takes me a few minutes to dry myself, why does it take you so long?" I ask him.
"You have more years experience drying your body. I only have eleven years", was his answer.
And then he adds, "besides mum, I have more bits that you to dry".
Oh, of course. I cannot let this one pass by without a response.
"Listen, if your "bits" were perhaps the size of watermelon I may understand the time it takes to dry them. Until then, you can drop that excuse", I tell him, doing my best not to laugh.
Typical boy, thinking things bigger than they are.....
In the end we got out of the house and off to the shops.
That two hour trip is worthy of a post on it's own, so stressful it was.
But we managed to buy what we needed.
Next time, he has a bath the night before.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Thursday, May 07, 2009
When he came home he gave me the run down on who, what, when and where.
His ex girlfriend was there with her partner. She is a singer and was doing a few jobs there as well. Girlfriend is a silly word to use on her as she is 53 and menopausal. Yes, yes, that was meant to sound bitchy.
He catches up with her maybe twice a year. Get all the low down on what she has been doing. She has a rather messy life and therefore quite interesting.
Fortunately, I am essentially not a jealous person as such. So I don't have an issue with him seeing her. Although, I do think it unlikely that my husband would take kindly to me catching up with the old odd boyfriend twice a year.
Anyway, I asked how she was and he went on about how fantastic she looked. Her hair looked great, make up was nice, she did not look her age and was dressed in nice clothes. I think I said something like "how nice" in response to his enthusiasm.
Then, later on he said more about how nice she looked and it was at that point I felt a bit put out.
"So, how old does she look exactly? I mean, does she look younger than me?" I asked him.
Do you know what happened then?
Yes, he fucking well hesitated before he said "Oh, well, not really, you know, I don't know, I suppose so".
I am not sure which part of his response pissed me off the most. The hesitation or his answer. Especially because I know she is a scrawny, bleached blonde (sorry decent blonde's), tired old MOLE. And, she looks older than me. Old tart.
I cannot remember my response in detail but it went something along the lines of;
"You had to hesitate? You hesitated before answering that question? And then you answered it like that?"
Then I said;
"Imagine if you asked me if my ex boyfriend was s good in bed as you were and I HESITATED before saying "um, er, well, yeah I suppose so".
Then he said something about not realising that I had asked a loaded question.
I said it wasn't loaded until he HESITATED.
He had to make me lots of cups of tea that night.
Firstly, thanks to the office gal who lost her driving licence for six months, I have to do ten hours extra work each week. Ten hours of filing, data processing and other fiddly things that take me away from other stuff. I have handed some of it over to my boss's wife to do, but the rest is for me.
I hate filing and have not done it for six weeks so the pile reached crisis point yesterday and today I am chewing through it. So much for a paperless office.
Secondly, things are tough. Money coming in never seems to match the money that needs to go out. Years ago we went through a tough time when work dropped back and I had to learn to bullet proof myself against phone calls from people wanting money. Although this time around it is not so bad and I manage it well enough. But still, I get stressed and have to apply all my coping skills to not let it become an issue.
The end of year is looming ahead. I know it is about eight weeks away, but for a bookkeeper that is close and I am mentally going through what needs doing before I get there.
Our fax machine, which is the oldest piece of office equipment we own, is on it's last legs. My boss keeps asking when we are getting a new one and I have two answers for that:
1. When I have some money.
2. When we go through the remaining forty rolls of fax carbon ink rolls that I bought on special about two years ago. This is a bit of a joke in the office.
These particular fax rolls normally cost the earth and we go through them really quickly. Then I found them on special only you had to buy 150 rolls of them. So I bought them. And here they still are, almost finished. I am hoping that the fax will die about the same time the last roll is being used. Then I will feel satisfied I got my money's worth.
My boss has this weird thing about what we have to do with fax rolls when they are finished. Most people would toss them in the bin, but he insists that we keep each one. So, everytime a fax roll is used up it has to be labelled with the date and time it was finished. Then it goes into storage. Just in case we have to find the imprint of a fax one day.
We have two boxes of the stupid things. Two big boxes! Going back about seven years. Rolls and rolls. Honestly, if a legal case ever came up that required me to find a particular fax roll that may or may not have the imprint of an important document, I would point out the way to the boxes and say "you want it, you find it".
Another thing he does is insist on keeping all the used stamps that are on letters. Fair enough as it is part of raising money for children in Third World countries. They have to be torn off and then put in an envelope to be steamed off later on. They are then used for fund raising by the Rotary group.
One time I forgot to take the stamps of the envelopes and my boss made me go through the rubbish bin, find the envelopes and remove the stamps.
All for a good cause of course.
This post was not as whiney as I thought it would be.
In reality it was a work avoidance post.
Work is still waiting.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Before I go into my little, shallow experience there, I have to make a comment about how much time I seem to spend at the supermarket. Too much time. I am a regular there. It embarrasses me that I am there so often I notice when a staff member gets a new haircut and then compliment them on it. Sad.
Anyway, when I was there I saw this lady who has, on more than one occasion, caught my eye with her make up and hair style.
She is about 75 and wears very, very dramatic make up. False eyelashes, heavy foundation, mascara, eye shadow, blusher, lipstick and eyeliner. It is so heavy it is almost theatrical. Admittedly the application of the make up is sensational. She obviously knows what she is doing. However the quantity of it makes the girls at a department store make up counter looked washed out.
But it is her hair that fascinates me even more so.
Her hair is long and in the most glossy condition. Ash brown with a bit of grey through it. Although I have never actually seen it down in it's full glory, it is what she does with it that informs me as to how much of it she actually has.
She puts it up in such an elaborate manner that the end result is something that looks like a twelve inch high, big, fat and round snowman sitting on her head. Truly, it has one big round section and then another smaller one on top that just needs a carrot stuck in it to look like a pale brown snowman perched up high.
Let me tell you, twelve inches is very high when it is perched on top of a tall, thin elderly woman wearing Broadway style make up. Plus, it is full and fat. She must tease the shit out of it to get it that big! I cannot take my eyes off her when I see her. And I am not the only one who sneaks a peek. Everyone does. She is rather compelling.
So, last night there she was all dressed up and at the supermarket and just happened to be standing in front me waiting to be served. Even her perfume is overwhelming.
Now, I know I did look a bit scruffy after one hour of sweaty cardio exercise. And my hair was frizzy from sweat and cold air. And maybe my make up had smudged. Plus, I did wipe my face on my white t-shirt and leave a big smear of face make up across it. But really, did I deserve the look she gave me as she was casually looking around?
She must have thought I looked like an absolute slob. Had let myself go. Going out in public dressed as I was.
In her brief up and down scan of my sloppy attire, she somehow managed to make me feel as though I was part of the great unwashed that roam the streets at night. Some sort of slatternly middle aged woman who no longer cared.
I actually blushed.
Boy, next time I see her I am going to STARE AT HER HAIR.
See how she likes that one!
Monday, May 04, 2009
I hate dog poo, especially when I step on it. And, strangely enough, I seem to step on it when I have my running shoes on so that the crap sits deep in the grooves. This makes the cleaning of it so much more disgusting.
We have a dog and more often than not I get to do poo patrol in the back yard. A job which always makes me pull a particularly ugly face as I do it.
I have my own style of doing poo patrol. Not for me the use of a spade to pick it up and a bucket to drop it in. Reason being is that the spade invariably breaks the crust that has formed on the stinky lump and then I have to carry that bucket and run the risk of seeing the contents more than once.
I wear a pair of rubber gloves. Then I put a plastic bag over one gloved hand and then hold open and plastic bag in the other hand to drop the crap into. It is so much quicker and, as gross as it may be to pick up dog shit, it is better than using a spade and then being exposed to the smell of it.
Somehow it is always my job. My husband is colour blind and does not always notice the brown barker's eggs against the sea of green grass. Or so he says. Plus, he is not as diligent as me in the job. I think I am being hoodwinked here, but as you know, in a marriage you just kind of work out who does what best and get on with things. Even with mundane activities like poo patrol.
Anyway, why I am I telling you all this. No reason in particular except that tonight I stepped on dog shit when I was exercising outside, in the dark and running on grass. I noticed it when I got into the car and the heater got going and I smelt it and just thought fuckity, fuckity, fuck all the way home.
It reminded me of an episode that happened when my husband and I were going out one night. We were not married then, I don't think, and I drove to his house to pick him up. We were going to see a musical.
He gets in the car and says to me;
"What on earth have you been eating, your breath stinks". Yes folks, that is what he said to me, and, yes folks, I still married him.
"What do you mean? It does not stink. I had a dim sim, but it is not that bad", I defended myself and then spent the whole drive into the city licking the back of my hand and sniffing it to see if, in fact, my breath was as bad as he continued to make out.
Just as we pulled into the car park I realised that the smell was the odour of shit on a shoe. Dog shit to be exact. And, guess what, it was not my shoe sole in which the poo had meshed itself, it was my husband's.
I then really took him to task that he had said my breath smelt like dog shit. How offensive was that!
We got into the theatre and sat down. However, despite cleaning his shoes the best that he could with the limited cleaning resources we could find in my car (old tissues and a magazine), every time he crossed his legs the movement would bring forth a vague and vile stink of doggy poo into the surrounding air.
As a result of this, the people sitting immediate to us got up and moved. Even those in front stood up and sat elsewhere towards the back thus offering us a clear view of the stage.
It is a tactic you may want to use to get a good view next time you go to the theatre.
Just don't do it on a hot date. It might not go down well.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Over the years things have been packed away into boxes and stored in the garage on a purpose built mezzanine floor. Having a small house with limited storage forces that decision now and then. It all happens rather sporadically and I never think much of it when I am packing something away. My intention is to reintroduce it into the house later. I am still waiting for the later part of it.
Today I climbed up a ladder and peered at what was actually in storage right now. There was a thick layer of dust on many boxes and large plastic containers. I carefully opened a couple of cardboard boxes to see what was within. Books mostly. My favorite ones that had been packed away a few years ago when we were renovating and still remain unpacked due to lack of bookshelf space in the house.
I could see what was in the plastic containers without opening the lids. Linen my mother had given me, strange little ornaments and the like that I have collected. Each one I can recall quite clearly where it came from and the circumstances that led me to own it, even after all these years. Cartons of Bayko, a building toy from the 1960's. So much of it waiting to be used again.
There were a couple of large containers that had my son's baby toys and childhood books stored in it. When he was little, I mostly bought him toys that were made of wood or tin. Small and interesting hand made items from specialised markets. Books that were hardcover or reprints of ones I had read. Also packed away were the little blankets I wrapped him in when he was a baby. Blankets that had kept him warm in his pram when we went for long walks on cold Autumn days. All of it special to me.
My decision to see what was up on the mezzanine floor was not just to explore. It was also to work out how to make room for some more things to be stored. My son's room has reached crisis stage and he needs to clean it out with my help. My husband says to throw it out but we all know that is not happening without great thought. Some of the things he has represent small but crucial little stages he went through. These things can be packed away and looked at when he gets the urge years from now.
When you live in a house for so long you forget what you own and don't own. You tend to just be aware of what is being used at the time. Until you open a drawer or a cupboard and see something that leads you to a couple of hours of introspective distraction.
My husband says to me that I would not know half the stuff I have squirreled away. My response is that I may not know exactly what I have but I would definitely know if it were not there anymore. One day I will recall something nice about an object and seek it out and enjoy the finding of it in some box wedged in a corner on the mezzanine floor in the garage.
The other day I was cooking and had, in my hand, an ancient glass Danish measuring vessel. My mother gave it to me when I was about eighteen, her mother gave it to her when she left home at eighteen to come over here. It is old, thick and heavy with raised glass measurements on the inside of it, all in Danish. Made in the late 1800's.
My husband asked me where I got it from. When I told him he expressed amazement that in all the years of being married he had never seen it. I had not used it much due to it's age, but felt like it including it again in the baking process on that particular day.
That's why I never throw things out. Eventually I want to use them again and enjoy them all the more with their little story that goes with it.
After I nosed around the garage a bit longer, I decided that today was not the day to open boxes and rifle through the contents on a trip down memory lane.
Another day perhaps.
I love having that option in the back of my mind.
If you take away those boxes, well, you take away the prospect of such a delicious way to waste a day and rekindle feelings that too often get put aside and forgotten in the day to day aspect of living.
Much like the boxes in which you pack away things that matter.
Always ready to reopen at a later date.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
There were the usual rides. I stood by and watched. My role for the day was pack horse and money tree. I bought a few things from a stall that had home made food. There were mostly cakes on offer. Home baked (I donated a cake) and some other interesting foodie things.
I am always hesitant about buying food from fetes. Twice I have been unlucky enough to have eaten something that has made me violently ill. Once it was home made lemon butter and the other was a home made pate (foolish choice). Since then I am mindful of what ingredients are in the food.
But today I bought some home made muesli. It looked great and the ingredients seemed appealing. However, when I got it home I was once again reminded that appearances can deceive. The muesli was disgusting and ended up in the bin.
On the way home S had to sit down for a rest. He had been walking around for almost three hours in the sunshine and just wanted to get home and rest. It took twice as long to get home as it had to walk to the school.
I had to slow down my walking pace to the point where I stood ahead waiting for him to catch up. Like him, I was wanting to get home. I was wearing a dress made of wool as was my top. It was hot and itchy and aggravated my eczema.
I was listening to some music as I walked. Cold Play - Don't Panic. I love this song. The way Chris Martin's voice falls into the lyrics and always has the hint of a sigh in them.
I remember he was interviewed once on Andrew Denton's Enough Rope and he was asked how he came up with his songs. The audience was expecting him to come up with a deeply profound answer and he just said something along the lines of "well, you just think of words and then rhyme them". It made me laugh. A formula that has worked well for him.
Here I am about to post. After this I am doing some drawing and watching The Bill on television. I have been watching this series since it started. My son also loves it. If we go out on a Saturday night he always wants to be home in time to watch it.
So, that was my sunny Saturday.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The dentist I went to see was called David. It was about 1979, the last years of moustached men. This dentist was a thick set, hairy guy with his shirt undone enough to expose his black, hairy chest. He was moustached and all in all a very manly looking guy of the time.
Not that I cared. As far as I was concerned, all dentists were just there to take money and administer pain - in reverse order.
I went straight after school so had my uniform on and sat on the chair. This was the first time I had been to this dentist.
He introduced himself and as he was leaning across to examine my teeth, he chatted to me. He asked how old I was, what did I want to do when I left school, did my parents work, did I have a boyfriend etc.. Bit hard to answer with his fingers and dental implements in my open mouth.
He shirt was short sleeved and now and then his forearm would brush against my bare arm, the hair all tickly. He had latex gloves on and I could see the whorls of hair under the tight stretch of their thin, rubbery surface. I found his whole presence a bit invasive and at one point his arm rested lightly on my breasts.
But you know, when you are sixteen you are just not sure about anything. So I just waited for the appointment to be over and done with.
He found that I needed to have a filling which was not a surprise to me since I went there with a toothache.
The appointment was drawing to a close when he leaned over to me, his face close to mine. He then brought up his hand to my face and with his thumb he rubbed it along my bottom lip in the most inappropriate manner. Looking back, it was a very sexually provocative movement. He was so close to me that I could smell the gloves and also his aftershave.
As he caressed my bottom lip in this very intimate manner he said, almost to himself, "you have the most incredible bottom lip".
Fear and discomfort enveloped me and I kind of wriggled out of the seat. He followed me to the receptionist's desk and asked the girl to make an appointment for me to have to tooth filled.
"Make it the last session for the day," he told her. I had enough sense in me to hear alarm bells ringing at this request of his. He handed me the card and said something about looking forward to seeing me.
When I got home, the next day I rang and cancelled the appointment. No way I was going there.
Anyway, I thought nothing of it after that until shortly after, one day after school, the phone at home rang.
I answered it and it was Dave the dentist. I could not believe it. Ringing me at my home.
He asked me why I had cancelled on him and I said my mum wanted me to go to her dentist. Then he expressed his disappointment. I hung up on him.
Now, although at the time it was creepy, it was also a bit of a thrill as well. It must have been, because it is as clear in my mind as if it happened yesterday.
Now and then, many years ago, I used to wonder what would have happened had I gone to that "last appointment for the day".
Visits to the dentist have never been quite as exciting since.