Day Out Years Ago

When my son was about three or maybe four we went out to a Jazz Festival that was being held about two hours from where we live.

 

My niece, sister in law and nephew came with and we all piled into the car I had then which was a new Renault Scenic.

 

We went there as my husband was playing piano with a few different bands so we thought we might make a day of it.  The festival is family friendly and geared for everyone.  This is the link as to where it is held.

 

So, we got there with our picnic basket packed, picnic rug and chairs and found ourselves the perfect place under a shady tree where we made ourselves comfortable. 

 

The sun was shining, there was the sound of music through the air, the gardens were lush and green and children played on an open lawn just near us.  To make the day more perfect, there were a few peacocks strutting around and showing their glorious tail feathers.

 

My son had his face painted and ran around pretending to be little monster.  As the weather warmed up we all lolled around on the picnic blanket, nibbling at the now warm chicken and wilting salad we had made hours beforehand at home.  The icing on  the cup cakes had become sticky and dripped onto small hands that held them. 

 

After a few hours of this indolent laying around, broken now and then by a relaxed meander around the property to see the bands playing, we decided that we should head home as the boys were getting tired, my niece was planning a night out and my sister in law was also starting to feel the effects of the sunshine and fresh air.

 

I was a bit sunburnt, despite having spent most of the time under the shady canopy of a tree.  My head was thick with tiredness and my arms and legs felt heavy from the warmth that they had absorbed from the heat in the air.  Truly, I would have loved to have gone to sleep on the rug then and there.

 

But we slowly packed things away, rolled up the rug, tossed the left overs back into the picnic basket, folded up the chairs and made our way back to the car which was sitting, amongst hundreds of others, under the hot sun in a big, grassy paddock that was pock marked with holes left behind from cows that had been in the field when the weather was wet. 

 

We stumbled along with tired children complaining, heads thumping now that we were out in the baking sun and eventually found the car.  With great relief we loaded everything in, kids and all.  The interior was stinking hot and the air conditioner was a welcome relief once it kicked in.

 

The drive home was long and silent.  Eventually all the passengers fell asleep and I was left to my own silent concentration.  When I finally made it home it was a complete relief.  Everyone headed home and my son and I were left alone to ourselves.

 

Being so tired, I decided to take a nap on the couch.  So I put on a video for my son to watch and as he did so I drifted off. 

 

Drifting off just does not cover it actually.  I fell into at deep, deep sleep and woke up with fright to a dark house, video finished and my son missing. I leapt up in fright and called out his name.  Then I heard his little voice from the front yard replying to my frantic call.  He had been visiting the neighbours next door.

 

So I went next door to apologise for my son inviting himself over, and also just to say hello.  They had visitors and apparently my son had been there for TWO HOURS unbeknownst to me.  I had been laying, on the couch, in a deep sleep whilst my son took it upon himself to visit the next door neighbours.

 

But worse than that is that he had told them that I had gone out and left him alone in the house! 

 

I was so embarrassed.  But once I explained the truth there was a great deal of laughter.  I think they knew it to be untrue as they would have come over to check otherwise.  They knew me well enough to know that would not happen.

 

Now and then they have reminded me about the time I went out and left my son at home alone. Always with a wink.

 

After that, I always locked the front door screen to prevent any further escapades.

 

Children come up with funny things sometimes.

 

It was a funny end to a lovely day.

 

Ciao

LC

Sometimes

Some days I really don't want to be at work.

I mean, I really, really do not want to be at work.

You know those days?

Where you are driving in the car and listening to the music of your choice?

Then you pull up at the traffic lights and look up at the hint of blue sky coming through the clouds.

See the sun peering at you.

Driving past people sitting in front of a coffee shop, drinking coffee, reading the newspaper or just sitting.

Noticing the blossom coming out on the trees planted in the streets.

The almost empty parks with their lovely green grass ready to walk on.

Sometimes it is hard work being a responsible grown up.

Sigh....



Ciao
LC

Boy's Lunch

Last night I made a lovely loaf of wholemeal bread in my new bread oven.

 

When it was finished I took it out, sliced it and gave a piece to my son. It was warm and had raspberry jam on it.  He munched away at it.

 

Me: "What do you think?"

 

Son of mine:  "Mmmmm, delicious"

 

Me: "So, you can have this bread in your lunchbox at school"

 

Son of mine: "No, I don't want it for school"

 

Me: "Why not? I thought you liked it?"

 

Son of mine: "I do, I just don't want it in my lunch box".

 

Me: "But why?  If you like it why would you not want to have it for lunch?"

 

Son of mine: "Because."

 

Me: "Because it is home made?"

 

Son of mine: "Noooo."

 

Me: "Because it looks home made?  Is that it?  You don't want bread that looks home made in your lunch box?"

 

Son of mine: "Yes, I want my bread to look square and neat like bread from a shop.  Or a bread roll.  I don't want it to look home made."

 

So this morning my husband had to go up the street to get some bread rolls.  Tonight I will make bread rolls for him which are not so likely to look home made.

 

When I was at primary school my mother used to make me lunch that consisted of black bread and stinky cheese sandwiches.  It was tough for me being a child of foreign parents going to a school with kids whose ancestors came over with the first fleet.  I was teased all the time and used to sit on my own to eat lunch.

 

They all ate white bread sandwiches with jam or vegemite.  It was important to fit in just a little bit.

 

I understand where he is coming from.

 

Home made cup cakes are one thing.

 

Home made wholemeal bread might be putting him out of his comfort zone a bit much.

 

Sigh....

 

Ciao

LC

Books

I had another pleasant weekend. Easy going, no pressure. I think I was in a good frame of mind. The sun had been shining now and then in between the blustery wind that shook the trees and made the clothes flap madly on the clothesline.

On Saturday we had to go and pick up a bookshelf I bought on Ebay. It was to go into my son's room as his books were piled high on the floor and bedside table. The other night they all fell over and spread across the floor and woke us up. This event, along with the danger of falling head over heels on the way into or out of his bed made the need for a bookshelf quite urgent.

When I started to put the books onto the new shelf I realised just how many books he has. At least two hundred. I filled up the shelf and stepped back to look at them all. I remember each time we have bought a book together. We could go to the library, but my son is like me in that he wants to keep his books for ever. He likes to buy sets and many children's authors do sets very well. Once he latches onto an author he likes it will not be long before he has read all of that particular author's books.

Mixed in with his books are some books from my childhood. Not many but a few with coarse paper yellowed with age. I remember buying a couple of them through a scheme the book had.

Today my son and husband went to a second hand market together. My son came home, pleased as punch, with a new book to read. It was a hardcover edition of a Mathew Reilly novel. We had looked at it elsewhere the day before but did not buy it for some reason. He was so happy to have a hard cover to read as he loves the heaviness of hardback books.

Now he wants to go each week and buy one. We have a deal now. He gets pocket money and I am happy to pay for one book a month but if he wants more he has to dip into his savings. Because his reading of books is becoming so prolific I think we will start going to stores that sell second hand books.

As much as I love the classics when it comes to books, I don't try to introduce him to them. Now is not the right time. Let high school do that job. Today I found my school edition of Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy. I found that so awful to read when I was in high school and yet so intensely beautiful when I was in my twenties.

I grew up reading many Enid Blyton books. The Magic Faraway Tree. The Famous Five. Secret Seven. I loved them. They took me to wonderful places in my head, which I still drift over to for a visit now and then.

Naturally when I had my own child I was determined to share the delights of Enid Blyton with him and one evening I sat with him in bed and started to read a little book written by her.

Upon reflection I believe that it was not really ideal reading material for him. The main character had run away from home to join the circus, spoke to strange old men and stole some clothes from someones back yard. To top it off, his name was Dick. My son kept asking why he was called Dick. It was the first and last time I attempted to get him into the books I loved as a child. He is living his childhood, not mine.

However, there have been some books that have stood the test of time as far as enjoyment goes.

Harry The Dirty Dog by Gene Zion, Margaret Bloy Graham is a wonderful book written about a dog. There are three in the series and I think they were written in the 1950's. I read it as a child and it was just as funny when my son first heard it.

Caps for Sale by Esphyr Slobodkina. This is a particularly fine book that I read as a child and it is fantastic. It covers all sorts of wonderful emotions. I was reading it today and it is so fresh even today. The illustrations are timeless.

I found a whole list of great books listed here on this site Vintage Children's Books. Makes a great trip down memory lane for some of them.

I have to confess, the writing skills that are in the older books for children are more finely tuned than today's kids books on offer. Although my son is past the age of most of the two books I have mentioned, they were the books that he wanted me to read to him more than any others. Many of the newer books just never seemed to be as appealing to him.

But I am not a book snob when it comes to reading for children. Or for any age actually. As long as there is a way to get a someone to look at a book, comic or newspaper then I think that is the most important thing.

I am fully aware that this post is a boring one and it is not about to morph into anything exciting. I have just realised that when I started this post I was going to talk about something else.

However the image of my son's spotless bedroom and books all neatly upright on his bookshelf has captured my tired mind and I now have nothing else to say.

Except goodnight.

Ciao
LC

Lardy Carby

This is me. First thing Saturday morning, straight out of bed and into my exercise clothes, ready for a work out. I say ready, but I am never really ready for a work out.

Don't be fooled by my shiny faced smile. I am tired and not looking forward to doing a cardio class. On Saturday's we have a different trainer who is of the belief that if we don't feel like a puke at some time during a class she has failed us.

Today was a difficult day as far as cardio went. The wind was fierce and it seemed that no matter which way I faced the wind was against me. At one point another girl and I were running up a hill, wind pushing into our faces. It was the end of the class and we had been sent on a quick kilometre run to finish off the day.

So here we were, jogging away slowly, legs aching having done at least ninety step ups on each leg and a number of sprints and shuttle runs. Up the hill we went, whinging about it. I asked her if she ever saw people running along and think they were kooks. She said she did think that and now knows it to be true since she feels like a kook doing it.

I know I have mentioned how unnatural exercise is for me, even after a few years of doing it, but it is worth the effort.

But you see, now I really have to exercise because I just bought myself a bread maker. Yep, a big carbohydrate monster.

And if there is one thing I love, it is bread. I did this post once that outlined my love of bread. The fact is, bread, no matter what, is a jolly delicious way to ensure a layer of fat stays on your body for ever and a day. Well, I am speaking for myself anyway.

I have to control myself when it comes to bread. At one point I realised I was eating about six to eight slices of uber healthy, seedy and grainy bread and wondered why I felt like I had bloat or something. It has been tough cutting back.

I can also make pasta dough with this lovely machine. I have already made two loaves of bread in less than twenty four hours, both of which met with approval. Mmmmm, makes the house smell so lovely.

It might not look as glamorous as the shop bought bread, but who cares, it tastes delicious and I am in total control of what is going into the mix. Well, as long as I follow the recipe. If I am going to binge on fresh bread, fresh pasta and other yummy carby foods, well then, I will just keep on working out and running against the wind, up hills and down.

However, I did notice that as you bring one new appliance into the house you have to firstly work out where on earth it is going to go. I had to shift things around to fit it in the bottom of the pantry.

I then had to buy a bread slicing guide to ensure that I could get more than six slices of bread out of one fresh loaf.

Now, I have to buy a pasta machine to make the fresh pasta.

And also a bread box to store the freshly made bread in.

It never stops.

The life cycle of money leaving the wallet.

Ciao

LC

Boring Ho Hom

Sometimes when I read other people's blogs I think my life is very, very silly and full of the most uninteresting personal contemplations of a middle aged female.

Which is fine by me as I am the aforementioned middle aged female.

When I look at houses in streets near me I realise that there are so many different lives going on and I am astonished. In every house are a whole set of dynamics that I know nothing about. Right next door, across the road. So much going on. Little accidental secrets.

If everyone put a little daily chatty note on their front fence each morning that you could read as you walked past, well, it would make you realise that life is full of ordinary things that are the glue that make us a cohesive society.

For example, today I could have a note that said:

Ran out of hair conditioner. Ate raw rice porridge for breakfast and it tasted like flour. Yuck, had to load it up with sugar just to get it down and was still hungry. Am trying to have something different for breakfast each morning but it is too hard to think of it when I get up. Bought some health food crap which I cannot even smell without feeling blech. Have to go to work but really want to stay home and tidy bedroom. Put load of washing on before I left house. Why do I have so much washing? There are only three of us. Got the council rates in today. Have gone up to $1553 per stupid year. What do they do. Empty the bins and mow the park lawns. Oh, who cares anyway. Also got the gas bill. What the? How can it be $400. Oh, yes, because I have the heating going on high. Where is my favorite lipstick? Oh, this one will do, pink is kind of okay. Is that that pink sticky one that my hair sticks in, yuck. Is that a roll of fat around my waist. When did that happen? Shit. Hey Ho, Hey Ho it's off to work I go - again. Today is Ground Hog Day.

If you think about it, you would only have to read three daily reports to realised that everyone has the same stuff happening in between the more interesting events.

What note would you leave?

Ciao
LC

Work And Thursday's

It is Thursday today and I am at work.  Last night I slept poorly.  Restless and overtired which has resulted in me greeting the morning with a vague headache. I need to blab and so a blog post is the place of blabs for me.  

 

Yesterday work had been intense.  Lots of number crunching and ploughing through vast amounts of paperwork.  At one point my desk looked like the inside of a paper recycling bin, so covered it was with stuff.  By the end of the day I managed to get it tidy.

 

On the way home from work I bought dinner from a shop that makes great home made foods.  Just the thought of having to stand in the kitchen and prepare food was too dreary to contemplate.  Doing such a thing used to make me feel guilty, now it makes me feel happy that such places exist. 

 

A couple of years ago I used to think that I was an inefficient human being if I could not do it all.  A bad wife and mother if I could not manage to keep the house spotless, do all the ironing and basically be a domestic angel.  It took a while to realise that it was okay to not do everything and the anything I did do would have to be done again anyway so what was the urgency.

 

Besides, over the years I have learnt to do things really quickly and efficiently in record time.  So, if my bathroom is ignored for three weeks I can get it looking brand spanking new within the hour.  Funnily enough, I spent many years looking for easy ways to do housework.  One day I worked out that there was no easy way.  You just have to do it.  Or pay someone else to do it.  No amount of dust grabbing cloths, steam pads, magic mops, twirly dusters, whizz bang cleaners or fantabulous earth friendly liquids will remove the fact that it takes time and effort.

 

It takes a while to get to a place where you work out how you function as a human being and the approach to take to get the best out of yourself.  For some reason you spend years working on some societal example that has been set, only to realise that it has nothing to do with what is the truth about being a person.  The lead up to that realisation is often spent being so rigid, so unrealistic that it can make life a very difficult thing.

 

At work I go through stages where I am working at full speed and being very productive, followed by quite the opposite, which is where I am at today - hence this post during work times. Going with the flow is what works for me and I am lucky I am in a working environment that encourages that. It is so much more productive.  In the days of yore I used to just work like a Trojan and the collapse with fatigue when I got home.  Not the ideal life balance. 

 

But you have to go through all those realisations to develop the awareness of how to live your own life, as opposed to someone else's.  Some people take longer than others and might find that life has passed them by whilst they were working it all out.

 

When I think of society and what deems a good human being I feel it is all wrong.  Years ago if you lived and died for your country you were a hero.  Or if you married, had children and raised them well,  you were living a good life. Maybe worked for years in your job before retiring was good enough.  Now it seems you have to be rich, beautiful, thin and popular to be successful. I know it to be a lot more than that, but young people may find the fall to reality very hard. 

 

Last night my son said to me "hey, I have pubic hair".  What does that comment have in relation to this post you may well ask.  When he said that I felt my heart lurch in my chest.  Another stage in his life towards the rigours of adulthood.  It made me think of what is ahead, what responsibilities I have towards being a parent.  How can I make his journey a useful one and still allow his spirit to be free and his love of life full of joy?

 

I wonder if I will every be able to answer the questions I ask myself.  Or is it that once I have the answer, a new question will come up.  Isn't that part of life anyway?  Asking oneself the meaning of it all?

 

My son has worked out the best way to find the answer.

 

He was watching Monty Python's "Meaning Of Life".

 

I think I might find the answer in there somewhere.

 

Or at least, the answer that makes the most sense.

 

Ciao

LC

Underneath The Oxter's

Remember this photo of Julia Roberts doing the red carpet thing a couple of years ago?

She shocked the world with her hairy armpit. I mean, it made headlines news!

I thought this photo was great, the way she just nonchalantly raised the arm and showed us what a decent hairy armpit is all about.

I, like most females, wax or shave hair from places where I do not want hair.

I have, in the past, even done the xxxx wax just to see what all the fuss was about and will, incidentally, never allow my pudenda to be hair free ever again. Not to the extent it was done anyway. Apart from the fact it just looks wrong, wrong and wrong to have a hairless foof once you pass the age of twelve, I had so many ingrown hairs that it looked like acne had settled down there to stay. Also, I did it in summer and things just got all hot and rash like.

I know you may not want to hear it, but since I have no shame I just like to share the experience. Plus, I am at the age where I just don't want to take off my knickers to get waxed by some twenty year old girl. These days I am more along the lines of xx wax. Neat and tidy. Pants on thanks.

Besides, when I told my mother what I had done she laughed and said "don't bother, it thins out down there anyway as you get older and you will wish it was all back in it's full glory". Er, thanks for the heads up mum. Remember the 70's when all the girls plucked their eyebrows to kingdom come and then........the eyebrows did not grow back. Well, just keep that thought in mind if you wax your mons veneris.

But I am digressing here (as you would when talking about a Brazilian).

I am a bit of a lazy sort when it comes to making my legs hair free. I hate to shave but I never seem to get around to waxing until things are just a bit far gone. In fact, my son has said to me once that I should get my legs waxed. What the?

It is a funny thing about woman having hairy legs. People are inclined to be taken aback if they see a bushy shin on show from below the hemline of a skirt. I know I am always shocked.

But, more confronting about hairy legs is a set of hairy armpits on a female. Especially a female who looks as though she would be a smooth as silk in all the right places. Hence the reaction to the Julia Roberts photo.

I have, on the odd occasion, allowed the hair under my arms to grow to it's full glory. True. And, in Summer I have gone down the street with a singlet top (sleeveless tank I think you would call it) and been perfectly fine about it all. But, if you could see the eyes open wide on people if I raise my armpit enough to show hair.

You see, hair under the armpit is more confronting than hairy legs. Hairy legs suggest laziness but hair under the armpits is a defiant gesture. The fact that the armpit lies along the gazing line of the breast has something to do with it along with the vague suggestion of feminist inclinations. As if to say "you look at my breasts, now see my hairy armpit".

Not that that is the reason why I allow myself to lapse now and then.

Years ago I was working in the women's clothing section of a big department store. I would do the usual sales work, putting away clothes and helping customers.

One time I had to help a woman with clothing sizes. She was very, very beautiful. Italian, olive skinned and had a lovely body. Aged about mid thirties she was totally confident with her semi nakedness and would hand clothes over to me, talking at the same time whilst standing in just her underwear and no bra. It did not matter than anyone could see her.

But what was most fascinating about her is that she had hairy legs and armpits. It was a contradiction to her luxurious, long dark hair and her heavily made up eyes. Her feminine ways were completely at ease with her hairy body. Everytime she tried on a dress, top or shorts you were able to ignore anything else. She knew what she was doing as she persistently raised her arms as though making some statement. I was duly impressed, strange as it may seem.

Although I am tempted to just keep my hairy armpits sans natural, the reaction from all and sundry is too much to put up with. Even at home a hairy oxter elicits a look of horror from my husband and son. A polite observation is made - just in case I have not noticed that a rodent has left it's fur under the oxter's.

And should I go to work with my hairy under arms on show I would never hear the end of it. My boss would take me to task. Can you believe it!

It is very liberating to have hairy armpits.

Maybe even sexy!

I just might put them on show this Summer.

Love me, love my hairy oxters!

No?

Ciao
LC

Leave A Message After The Beep

My fridge beeps if I leave the door open. My last fridge had a weighted door that would shut slowly once you let go of it and moved away. I think that newer fridges are deliberately designed to have doors that don't shut automatically so that it beeps and you are duly impressed with the clever little beep. And possibly pay extra for that little beep.

My dishwasher beeps when it finishes washing. My last one didn't.

My microwave beeps when the food is finished heating and THEN beeps again to remind me if I don't take the food out of the microwave after a certain amount of minutes. Then beeps again if I still don't take it out.

My washing machine beeps when if finishes.

As the the dryer.

When I plug in my mobile phone at night (to charge up) it beeps and then, fifteen or so minutes later, it beeps again to tell me it is now fully charged. That second beep often wakes me up just after I have gone to sleep. And sometimes, for no reason at all, it just does a random beep at some stupid time like 3.00 am in the morning.

My car beeps if I open the door with the lights on. Or open the door and the key is still in the ignition. Or my bag is too heavy on the passenger seat and the car thinks my bag should put a seat belt on.

Beep
Beep
Beep

Everywhere I go I hear beeps.

So I want to leave a message after all those beeps.

Shut Up!

Ciao
LC

Thermals

I have been shopping around for thermal underwear lately.

Because we are going overseas in Winter and because I know I am going to freeze my butt off, I need to get some thermals. This is based on advice from lily livered whiney girls like myself who enjoy sitting in a room that is always 22 degree Celsius.

Get thermals! Wear them under your pants. Under everything. That is what I am going to do as I hate being cold. And my husband and son hate me being cold because I whinge about it.

So, I have been checking out thermals and have been duly impressed by what is out there now. I even bought a couple of thermal tops. One singlet and one long sleeved thing. To try out before I go. I mean, I don't want to get overseas and find that what I have bought is not keeping me warm.

The thermal tops I bought are made of a fine black wool, sheer and lovely. I was so impressed by these new age, fine wool thermal undergarmets I bought as traditional woollen thermals are just plain old ugly. Plus, the manufacturers always try to sex them up by getting some slinky girl to pose in a provocative manner in a beige thermal pair of long johns or long sleeved singlet.

Honestly, thermals are not sexy. So, why not forget trying to make them sexy. Thermals are practical. They need to be warm, not sexy.

How do I know that the warm thermals are not sexy? Because the sexy ones I bought are not warm. That is despite the fact that they are promoted by some well known, blonde sexy snow skier who swears by their thermal properties.

I wore them under my clothes and was just as cold as I had been when I wore my plain old cotton singlet.

So now I am going to have to go for the warm factor and drop the sexy factor.

Thermals, Spanx and other undergarmets that are to serve a practical purpose (keep you warm, hold you in) will never rate high on the sexy stakes.

But I will have to draw the line at beige.

I am not at the beige age yet, even underneath my clothes.

Ciao
LC

Down By The Seaside

Today the air was cool and the sky was blue. We went for a walk along the beach.

And had an icecream which we ate whilst enjoying the sunshine.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, son kindly gave the two fingered salute as I took the photo. I am again reminded of the teenage mindset that is creeping in.

Although, I have been know to do the same thing even now. Could be genetic?

Another opportunity to have a mother and son photo.

I would love to live by the beach. It is a timeless place. No matter the weather, no matter the mood I might be in, just the sight of the water and the sound of the waves fills me with peace.

Lovely place.

Ciao

LC

Er Um O

Tonight my son was sitting at the dining table doing his homework.

Boy, didn't he moan about it. Moaned and moaned.

Moaned about the pen. It was not writing nicely.

Moaned how boring homework was.

Moaned about how tired he was (but not tired enough to go to bed of course).

Finally he came out with the reason for his grumpy mood. He had a bad day at school.

A boy in his class was annoying him.


"I hate Arty. He is so annoying. He talks non stop and if I tell him to shut up it is me who gets caught and told off. And even when I stabbed him with the compass he still did not shut up", my son ranted away.

I said something about how he should not stab someone with a compass just because they are annoying. The expected parental response to such a confession.

"And, it really annoys me how he chews his wooden ruler. You know, he does it all day and I think if he farted you would see sawdust", my son continues on.

I was laughing at him and then he said something that kind of wiped the smile off my face with shock.

"Yeah, and you know what else I hate. He blabs on and on in a stupid high girls voice and wriggles in his seat at the same time for so long like he is having an orgasm", says son of mine.

What?

What, what, what?

I stare at him. Mouth open with shock.

He stares at me. Mouth open and laughing.

"Oh my God. My son said THAT word to me", I said in shock and then do a faux scream in horror.

My son is is really laughing at my reaction.

"You said the O word in front of your mother", I said.

By this stage he is laughing so loudly that my husband calls out from the office.

"What is going on? What is the O word? What did he say?" husband asks.

Son and I look at each other and both laugh.

"Orange", my son calls out.

"What? That is not a rude word. I don't know any rude words beginning with O", my husband answers.

By this stage S and I are laughing so hard that I can hardly breathe. My son comes out with a few more random words beginning with the letter O.

I change the subject. My son says something about knowing all those words and what they mean.

I am reminded of a conversation that my son and I had last year after watching Meet The Fockers. That movie with Barbara Striesand and Ben Stiller. It was a sequel to Meet The Parents.

There is a part in the movie where Ben Stiller (the son) is telling his mother (Barbara Streisand) about how his wife is pregnant. His mother is so pleased for him and then asks him something along the lines of whether when the baby was conceived was the sex extra special. I cannot recall the exact words. But the gist of it was that they were talking about his sex life. It is a bit over the top.

Anyway, my son turned to me and said;

"Do you know mum. That is like you and me isn't it? We will be like that. Talk about anything".

"Um. Well, yes. I suppose so. But you know, you don't have to tell me everything. There will be times it is okay to keep things to yourself. But you can always talk about things to me. Yes, for sure", I answer in amazement at his words.

Later on my husband came out of the office and again asked what was the O word that my son had said.

Which brought forth another bout of laughter from S.

Well, at least I won't have to explain it to him.

But it appears I might have to explain it to my husband!

Ha ha ha.

Now I am laughing.

Ciao
LC

Night, Sleep And Storms

I was woken up a couple of nights ago by a storm.  The wind was loud and with it came heavy rain. 

 

I opened my eyes and looked over at the window and could see how the trees were being grabbed and pulled about by the wind.  There were noises of leaves falling down the chimney, rustling as they fell.  It must have only been about 1.30 am. 

 

The wind made the house creak.  That is the thing about an old house.  It moves with the wind, the sun and the rain.  You can hear it.  I know new houses do as well, but they don't make the same sound.  I love the creaks.  I could hear the rain falling on the terracotta tiled roof like soft footsteps.  But in the garden it made a heavy sound as it hit the earth.  I could picture the leaves of plants shaking as the drops hit them.

 

When I was little, storms in the night scared me.  I would wake with fright, my heart beating in my chest.  Even though I am middle aged I still wake with that sudden fright of hearing howling wind interrupt my sleep.  Then I just snuggle down into the doona and close my eyes listening to the sounds until I drift off again.

 

As a child a thunderstorm would send me into my parents bed where I would crawl between the two of them and go to sleep.  Sometimes my dad would wrap his thick, muscled arms around me and I would sleep feeling both trapped and safe. As I got older, the need to feel protected left me.  I learnt to shut my eyes and ignore the noise, the fear.  Now I find that noise soothing as though Nature is letting herself be known.

 

When I was very little we lived in a caravan for a while.  About a year.  One time there was a cyclone.  My father spend the day anchoring the caravan to the ground with star pickets and chains.  The anticipation was unbearable as a child.  Our first big cyclone was on the way.  That night the wind howled and whistled and shook the caravan.  I could hear screeching noises, trees groaning and the rain hitting the metal sided caravan with such a force I thought it might break a window.  Things fell on the roof.  I was in the top bunk and could stretch my hand up to where the twigs and branches landed.  It seemed so close.

 

At one point there was an eerie silence and we stepped out of the caravan.  Outside it was strangely light despite being the middle of the night. 

 

"It's the eye of the storm", my dad told us and we all went back inside.

 

The storm started again and seemed to go on and on and eventually I fell asleep.  When I awoke it was a bright and sunny morning.  Outside the caravan park was littered with debris.  Two vans had tipped over.  Some windows had broken in other vans. Trees were split and long leaves of tropical plants were shredded.  The air was wet and warm with the sun shining through clouds.  I ran over to the pool and saw that it was covered in branches and leaves.  My mother would not let me go in the murky water.

 

Later that day we went for a drive.  There were houses that were flooded up to the decking on the high set verandahs.  People stood and waved to us.  Some of the had little dinghies that they used to get to the front fence.  There were floods everywhere.  My dad had to drive the car through water that was so deep you could lean out of the car window and touch it.  For myself and my siblings it was great fun. 

 

I am amazed that people live where there are hurricanes on a regular basis.  Or in places where tornadoes come to visit and pull up homes and throw cars around as though they are toys.  I suppose that you just adjust to it.  Once I met a girl who was from Lebanon.  She told me that she used to ignore the gun fire that went on around her.  Another girl told me that living in Russia and lining up for food was no big deal. My sister lives in Queensland which is tropical.  She is used to the giant insects, wasps and spiders that visit her home on all the time.

 

What am I used to?  What do I have happen in my life that would be difficult do deal with?  I cannot think of anything and am thankful for that. 

 

The more I know that goes on in the world, the more grateful I am for how little really goes in my world.

 

Sometimes when I think of how lucky I am I wonder what I have done to deserve it. Then I wonder why I think like that.  Doesn't everyone deserve to have a peaceful life?  Why do I feel guilty at times for having peace in my life.  Is it because it is not something that I can share, unlike food or money, how can I share peace?  How can I give the comfort of safety? 

 

Anyway, I suppose a lot of us have to weather a lot of storms to get some sort of peace.

 

And for some, storms will always be on the horizon.  Which is not a bad thing as knowing of it's imminent arrival makes you prepared.

 

Ciao

LC

Just Sunday Stuff

Last week was a busy one for me. Not a particularly enjoyable one either. I had bookkeeping obligations that meant I had to work extra hard and by the end of the week my brain felt fried.

I had also decided to change one of my exercise nights to an exercise morning. So, on Thursday I got out of bed at - get this - 5.30 am to do a 6.15 am class. The night before I had not gotten to bed until 11.30 pm after book club so you can imagine how tired I was the next day. And the day after.

So, not enough sleep, too much book work and an abnormally early morning took a lot out of me. It is a bit tragic isn't it. Sad old middle aged woman who cannot handle a late night. Sigh.

But, despite the early morning upheaval I am continuing it ever Tuesday and Thursday to free up two evenings and allow me to do other things. I am thinking it will take about three weeks to adjust to the change.

This weekend was a relaxing one. The sort of weekend needed after a busy week. For the first time in ages I bought the Saturday newspaper and read it front to back. Bought some new season cherries and, after admiring their glossy red flesh, ate them along with some strawberries.

Today I managed to prune some roses and an overgrown hibiscus. Pull out some weeds from the front yard and do a general tidy up.

Later on my son and I went for a drive down to the beach and had afternoon tea of scones, jam and cream. From inside the warm cafe we looked out at the choppy blue green water of the bay. There were big grey clouds in the sky that held the promise of rain.

After leaving the cafe we went for a walk along the path that ran parallel with the water. My son went behind the safety fence and walked on the big granite rocks that lined the water's edge. The wind was cold and fresh with the smell of the sea upon it.

I watched S as he stepped from rock to rock, his hair blown back, pale face full of smiles. He wiped his eyes that had filled with tears from the cold air blowing into them. At one point he spread his arms and laughed as he walked, as though embracing the cold wind. He looked free and happy.

Eventually we had to turn and head back to the car. As we walked we looked at the homes that share their back fences with the public space. Most of the places were two storey which enabled the owner to enjoy the seaside views. My son said something about how great the view would be here. Then he said to me that although money won't buy happiness it can buy you things that are close to happiness. Like the houses that have views to the beach.

They notice things early don't they.

When we were in the car he was playing his music. Each time a song came on he gave me the run down on who the band was, what the song was called and what it was about. Some of the music I knew, but just as much I had never heard. It made me, once again, realise that my son has things going on in his head that have nothing to do with me. They are his thoughts, his observations and his feelings. He chooses to share them with me and I learn more about him on different levels.

Once home, the routine of life started again. Put a load of washing on, fold up and sort washing, make dinner and then bake a cake for school lunch.

Next week I plan to take Friday off and go into the city for the day. Get to the art gallery. Sometimes there are times when I need my own space. No work, no son, no husband, no house,no computer. Just for a few hours where I can chill out and be somewhere else (that is not the supermarket).

So, hopefully I will get all my work done in four days and be able to take that day off.

A day off is my motivator to work extra hard.

I better go to bed right now!

Get some rest and wake up ready for the week ahead.

Ciao
LC

Childhood Exercise

There has been a large amount of expensive study done around the world to explain the increase in childhood obesity.

Obviously food intake has increased. Lots of processed food at that which is believed to have an unknown effect on a person's metabolism. Sweet food, fatty food, high GI food and too much of it as well.

Then there is the truth in the belief that children just do not move around as much choosing instead to plonk in front of the television or computer. And eating all that rubbish at the same time.

Inert and inactive.

So, more food and less exercise. Pretty simple.

But, I realise another reason why children do less physical activities.

Because at a very, very young age they have been exposed to the insane people that appear on that show Funniest Home Videos.

I am sure you have seen it.

People send in home videos of other people (or themselves) doing unbelievably dangerous and stupid antics.

I am sure that a young and impressionable mind of a child could be so put off any exercise after seeing:

1. Bike accidents that involve a violent collision into a hard object (usually some sort of face connection happens)

2. Skate board accidents that end up with someone being almost impaled on a letter box. Or a body slams into concrete. Or they land with some handrail wedged between their legs.

3. Trampoline accidents where the person ends up being propelled onto the ground head first. Or with their crown jewels making impact on the springs. Or the trampoline mat gives way completely.

4. Swinging out on a rope over water.....duh! rope breaks.

5. Gymnastic activities that end up with the gymnast hitting a wall after back flips, coming off the bars at great force, not making it over the horse or falling with spread legs on the balance bar

You get the idea? The list goes on and on.

So, seeing as the "experts" are always going on about how television shows can directly influence a child in a negative manner, then isn't it reasonable to think a child would be completely put off exercise after watching all those insane accidents?

Seriously, when I watch Funniest Home Videos I am reminded that there really are loads of really stupid people out there. Or very brave. Or totally insane.

But I cannot stop watching it either I have to confess.

I feel so safe sitting on my chair seeing all those accidents that other people are having.

Ciao
LC

Hair

The other day I bought the DVD of the movie Hair.

I saw the movie version of Hair when it came out in about 1979. Went into the city with a few school friends. It may have been a Saturday. The day has stayed in my mind so clearly for all my life. I had sewn a top to wear. It was cream and looked a bit like a hip length caftan. Across the back I had embroidered, of all things, a few palm trees with coconuts on them. The edges of the top were all blanket stitched, possibly because the hem was a bit untidy. I wore it over a pair of cobalt blue jeans and topped it off with a pair of black Mary Jane shoes.

I think there were maybe half a dozen of us. Some boys, some girls. The city was a great place to go to when I was a teenager. Especially with friends, special friends. The sun was shining and the buildings were big, casting shadows and making me feel small and happy. In those days you really did have to go into the city for fun as the suburbs were, well, the suburbs. Now the suburbs are almost cities in themselves.

For all my life I have been fascinated by the musical Hair. I actually have the CD of the original soundtrack playing in my car at the moment. Even today I think the storyline is so significant. Unfortunately Hair was kind of defined by the brief moment of nudity in it but those who saw it would probably know it for the political, moral and societal questions it posed. Which, interestingly enough, are very relevant even today.

The movie was not entirely faithful to the stage production. It is difficult to capture the intimacy, the essence of a theatre production once you bring it to film. Many of the songs were left out and the orchestral arrangements changed but the movie still has it's own merits.

Plus, by the time the movie was made, twelve years had passed since the original musical had been and gone, the Vietnam war was over, hippies were out of vogue and people's memories are short. Which is a pity, because the original story is great.

I watched it last Sunday. My son and husband also watched it. For me, it was like being thrown back thirty years and being sixteen again. Having not seen it since then, the memory of it was pulled forth and along with it came the emotions and excitement of that day out.

Seeing it at age forty five reveals the faults in it, which is fine. I recall now that it was also the first time I saw Beverly D'Angelo in a movie and I realised how lovely I thought she was. So different to other movie stars.

I might not watch it again for a long time but I am still playing the music in the car, loud as possible and listening to the words of the songs which, even though I know them off by heart, are very powerful each and everytime I hear them.

One of the songs I love for it's lyrics and music is What A Piece Of Work Is Man:

What a piece of work is man

How noble in reason

How infinite in faculties

In form and moving

How express and admirable

In action how like an angel

In apprehension how like a God

The beauty of the world

The paragon of animals

I have of late

But wherefore

I know not

Lost all my mirth

This goodly frame

The earth

Seems to me a sterile promontory

This most excellent canopy

The air-- look you!

This brave o'erhanging firmament

This majestical roof

Fretted with golden fire

Why it appears no other thing to me

Than a foul and pestilent congregation

Of vapors

What a piece of work is man

How noble in reason

How dare they try to end this beauty?

How dare they try to end this beauty?

Walking in space

We find the purpose of peace

The beauty of life

You can no longer hide

Our eyes are open

Our eyes are open

Our eyes are open

Our eyes are open

Wide wide wide!

Even now after forty one years those words count in every possible way.

The stage production is up and running again on Broadway and I think it would be great to see. Maybe the impact of a musical like Hair would never be so great upon society today because we are so overwhelmed with all the difficulties that the world seems to be continuously going through.

We all just seem to fumble along to get through a day and the last thing we may feel like, at times, is thinking about other people's suffering, our lack of control in what happens beyond our door and whether or not we can ever, ever make a difference anyway.

But it is important, now and then, the be forced to think about things that have nothing to do with us.


I think we owe ourselves that.


Ciao
LC

Afternoon Television

Today I had to do some bookwork at a client's place.

I woke up with a headache, feeling tired and generally blah. But, went off to work and ploughed through it all.

After this job I had to go home to eat. It was about 2.00 pm and I was so hungry that the headache reached epic proportions. As I was making lunch I turned on the television just for company. It was on the children's channel and there was a little cartoon show called Little Bear or something along those lines.

Well, it took me back to the days when my son was a little pre schooler and we did so much together, even watching television shows. We used to watch this Little Bear show a lot along with Postman Pat, Thomas the Tank, Arthur and numerous other lovely shows.

I love children's television. In my opinion it encourages all sorts of imaginative thoughts. In fact, any good quality television is beneficial in it's own way. Bad television offers nothing other than mind numbing time wasting.

Anyway, here I was eating lunch and watching this little cartoon and thinking about those early years being at home and realised how much time has passed and the changes that go with it. I am not sure if I felt a bit teary or not, but I felt a sense of sadness at those moments I cannot get back.

I loved staying home with my boy. Taking him for long walks, reading to him, playing games and talking to him. I loved getting his wriggly body dressed in the morning and feeling his soft skin against my hands. His small voice chatting away to me about all sorts of things.

My mother used to say to me that once he went to school he would not be all mine and I did take that comment seriously. Those first five or so years he had his own personality but he was still so close to me, so attached. After he went to school and gained independence he was his own person more and more each day.

So, I feel I did embrace those first few years totally. Studied his happy face as he spoke, listened to what he had to say and answered all his questions. Took him to places where he could run around and be free of restraints. Gave myself over to him entirely. My time was his because in the back of my mind I knew it would not be forever. When each time comes to let go, I do so as I know it to be right for him.

Funnily enough, he cannot remember much of those years. Bits and pieces come to mind now and then. Most of it, however, is in my memory bank and not his.

But, whenever he watches a cartoon or other show from that time he says "Oh, I remember this". So, somewhere in his head lives all sorts of memories from those sweet days.

Something about time is very surreal.

Seems like yesterday and yet, also like ancient history.

Ciao
LC

School Sports

Despite the fact that I exercise at least four times a week like a mad woman, I am not into sport in any way. I exercise to keep fit and healthy, end of story. It is a means to an end, the end being feeling good about myself.

When I go to exercise class I will partake in the team aspect of it because that is what has to be done, not because I am into team sports. It takes great effort on my part to continue to exercise because it my body and mind are just not naturally inclined to get out there and run. But I do it irrespectively.

Having been unfit and overweight many years ago, I just do not want to be like that again. Besides, my body is my temple, all I have to take me to the end so I need to look after it to the best of my ability.

When I went to school, sports day was my living nightmare. Here in Australia, if you are not into sport you are an outsider. I think that is pretty common everywhere. The sports men and women get accolades whilst the thinkers, scientists, artistic types and musicians just get a mention in the lower left hand column on page one hundred in the newspaper. If they are lucky!

Not only was I bad at sport, I also had a bitch for a sports teacher who loathed non sporty humans. Any opportunity to humiliate someone who came last or forgot their sports uniform was grabbed and used with great, poisonous relish. I always came last in any race, dropped the ball, misunderstood rules and was always distracted by what was going on elsewhere. And she was always there to make me feel like I had let down the entire school. When I think of sport at school I have not one good memory of it.

Ironically, nearly all of the sporty people at school have since dropped any physical activity and morphed into sport watchers (aka couch potatoes) and many of the non sporty sorts have taken it up in later years. Go figure that one!

Because my parents were European, we did not follow Australian Rules Football like the majority of the population. So, as children, we did other things. Read books, went to the museum and art gallery or just rode our bikes somewhere. When I used to visit an Australian friend's home and they would talk about footy I felt like an alien. And, should anyone find out that you were not into Aussie Rules, they would question you as though you had just said you were just out of prison for murder.

One of the reasons I chose to marry a non Australian was because I knew I would never, ever be able to integrate with a football, barbecue, cricket watching culture. It would have bored me to death. The sporting culture here is laden with drinking, immaturity and sexual conquests.

My husband is the same as me when it comes to sport. So, naturally, we produced a child of the same ilk. My son is not into team sports at all. We will watch a good soccer match on television but that is about it.

However, there are times when my son has to do sport at school and we are not the sort of parents who would make excuses for him just because he does not want to do it. Because he knows how we were as children at sport, he is pretty comfortable with his lack of sporting skills. One time, about two years ago, he had to take part in the Athletics Carnival at school and expressed great displeasure about it all. I had a conversation along these lines with him:

"I know you are doing sport today and it is really important that you maintain the family tradition when you give it all you have got", I said to him.

"What do you mean"? he asked.

"You know, don't let us down by coming first. It has taken us a lot of courage to come last. Your father did it, his father did it, I did it and I can assure you that all of my family came last in the races", I explained to him.

He was laughing about it and did us the honour of running last.

Today and yesterday he had the carnival again and initially did not want to take part but I explained to him that he has to because life is full of doing things we may not like to do. Bottom line is, he has to deal with it.

He won't even wear shorts at the race. Refuses point blank and I am not the sort of mother who wishes to lock horns with my child over what he deems as important. So, like the other non sporty sorts, he wore his full school uniform, came last and got on with the rest of the day. He said to my husband that he came second in shotput, until all the others had a turn. He can make a joke about it even though I know finds it hard.

Yesterday he said to me, "If I found the cure for cancer I would not be as popular as someone who was great at football". I told him not to worry as he had other outstanding personal qualities that would serve him well in life.

Next year at high school sport is more structured, more involved, more variety so I think he will find something he likes. The teaching method is about encouragement and helping a child find the motivation. Sometimes parents cannot be the ones to do that. An outsider can be ideal for that.

It is a very difficult process to get a young person to take on regular exercise when they really, really do not want to. You have to be very careful not to put them off for life as I feel I was with the teacher at high school. Sport is more than football and cricket or any team sports. You can be active and healthy without having to be part of any team although, it does tend to lead you to like minded people.

Some people are naturally sporty and love it. Others take a while to find the physical activity that suits their mindset. To force a square peg into a round hole is pointless. To humiliate someone who is not sporty is unacceptable.

My son has expressed interest in joining a gym and doing weights. He is a bit young for that at the moment but sometimes I show him things to do with weights, but he does not want me or his father to show him anything. He will find his own way, do his own thing when he is ready.

In the meantime, all my husband and I can do as parents is set good examples and encourage him to do more.

Hopefully the penny will drop one day.

Until then, the family tradition for coming last will be safe.

Ciao
LC

Shopping Twaddle

I do grocery shopping for home and for work.

My boss pays for me to go to the supermarket to buy lunch provisions for the office. I do this on a Monday morning on the way to work.

Sometimes it gets confusing when I am at the shops. What fridge has what in it and I have, more than once, found myself with excess cheese in the work fridge and no cheese at home. Or six litres of milk in the home fridge and none at work.

When I was pregnant I was incredibly forgetful about what food, cleaning products or anything else I had in the house. At one point there were five tubes of toothpaste, thirty six rolls of toilet paper, half a dozen bottles of shampoo AND conditioner and an awfully large amount of yoghurt in stock.

Sometimes I just forget what I actually have in the house and just end up with double amounts, especially if something happens to be on special.

Yesterday I went grocery shopping and brought the big load back to unpack. As I unpacked the bags and my husband put some things away he asked me a question.

"Were baked beans on special?" he asked.

"Yes, how did you know?" I looked into the pantry and saw this...........

"Just a lucky guess", he replied.

I must remember this photo when next I do grocery shopping.

One thing is obvious to anyone who looks in the pantry.

Fibre plays an important role in our home!

Ciao
LC

Crafty Weekend

There was a craft show this weekend in the city. So I felt that I should go.

I went yesterday actually (Saturday) at about 3.00pm in the afternoon after deciding that talking about going was getting a bit boring.

The drive into the city was quiet. Blue sky with flat white clouds that stretched across like they had been put on with a pallet knife. The sun was bright but the air was cold. It was nice in the car, warm, music playing and the roads almost quiet.

So, there I was, driving along, embracing the music, looking forward to the craft show when all of a sudden it dawned on me that I actually did not know where exactly the building was that the show was being held at.

Time for Tom Tom! I did a quick left hand turn into a quiet street and got out the GPS. Trouble was, I could not remember what the building was called. So, I had to make a phone call to my husband. Actually, I admit it, three phone calls later I managed to find myself in the car park of the venue.

But, I had to ring him back and eat some humble pie to apologise for my irrational behaviour over the phone. Fortunately he did not take it personally. I am hoping that such events lessen over time.

Below is a picture of the Polly Woodside which is just outside of the Exhibition Centre where the show was being held. The Tall Ship is a popular Melbourne tourist attraction here although currently closed for restoration.

At the craft show the patronage was mostly women over sixty. Some poor husbands had been dragged along and meandered behind looking very disinterested. Lots of young gals buying up beads, scrap booking supplies and card making tat.

Just when I was beginning to think that I had wasted my money coming to the show, I came across a stall selling Amy Butler fabric. I bought the fabric I wanted for my skirt. The stall was packed. It is very hard to get lovely skirt fabrics here without having to travel to some obscure suburb.

Although, with the GPS I might be more adventurous about where I do my shopping.

On the way home I turned on the GPS and Tom Tom's dulcet tones guided me back to familiar territory and I was at ease. I would not be lying if I said that the moment I turn that GPS on and hear the directions drift into my car space I feel totally relaxed.

Today I bought the rest of the things needed to make my skirt. When I went to the fabric store the girls were so very kind making sure I had everything I needed and gave me some tips. I think they were all of 21 years old.

So, tonight I am going to unfold the beige tissue paper in the pattern packet and start cutting.

Oh, and I worked out that by the time I make the skirt it will have cost me a total of $185.00!

I can tell you that I would NEVER spend that on a skirt from the shop.

But, this one will be a one off. Nobody else will have one like mine.

It better look good and even if it doesn't, I am wearing it.

Ciao
LC

New Man

I have a new man in my life.

He fits in my handbag when I don't need his services.

His name is Tom. Tom Tom actually. Below is a photo of him in my car today.

Yes, Tom Tom is a GPS. My boss had a spare one at home and gave it to me to use.

I actually used it for the first time last week when I had to go on a site visit far from home in some suburb I never go to.

Normally I would have to read the street directory over and over again, stop the car four times to double check where I was, do three u-turns in some illegal spot and arrive at my destination in a lather of sweaty anxiety.

That is, of course, unless I had made a desperate and abusive phone call to my poor husband to find out where I actually was. You see, for me, getting lost is like not knowing how to swim and finding yourself in the deep end, drowning. I just panic.

But, when I turned on Tom Tom and he found his position, his smooth words led me to where I wanted to go.

For the first time in my driving life I drove to an unknown destination anxiety free. It was fantastic. Okay, I did go through one red arrow and cut in front of a taxi, but at least I was not anxious.

Oh, Tom Tom, you have truly made a difference to my life.

Ciao
LC

Boys Will Be Boys

Yesterday I had to pick my son up from school.

 

Straight after school pick up I had to take him to the chiropractor for a visit. 

 

When he got into the car he started telling me that he had dropped his sandwich at lunchtime and was now starving.  His stomach was aching. He was bloated.

 

His hunger was so bad that after he dropped his sandwich he asked his friends for some food.

 

"Well, the chiro won't take long. Then we can go home and get you some food", I told him.

 

Once in at the chiropractor waiting room he continued to tell me how hungry he was.  How his stomach was aching. How bloated he was and that he really, really wanted to fart.

 

"Well, then go outside or something", I instructed him, laughing at the same time (of course).

 

"No, it can wait", came the reply.

 

During his adjustment somehow the conversation came to how bloated he was and the chiropractor told him that he would not be the first or the last to let one go.  I reminded my son that this did not mean it was okay.  The entire treatment was full of my son laughing.

 

Anyway, whilst I stood at the receptionist's desk and paid the bill my son darted outside, and not for fresh air. 

 

I looked over at him and there he was, in full view, standing in what could only be called a classic fart pose.  Honestly, I could not believe it.  It came with the facial expression and all.

 

It was almost like watching a comedy.  Knees half bent, bum stuck out and face all squinting.

 

I went outside and said that he could have been a little more discreet in his obvious efforts.  He said that he could not because there was so much there.

 

Then, to my absolute annoyance, he got into my car and farted again.

 

Without any apologies.

 

I mean, after all the examples I have set him, you think he could show a little more self control.

 

Sheesh!

 

Ciao

LC

Shine On Me Mr Sun

Yesterday the sun was bright in the sky. The day was almost warm. I hung out the washing on the clothes line and it dried quickly because the wind was strong. Today was the same.

When I took the washing in and smelt the freshness of it I thought to myself how that smell is one of my favorites. Along with freshly mowed grass. It reminds me that Spring is perhaps closer than I thought. On the calendar it tells me there are six weeks before it officially arrives, but the air tells me something else.

I could not imagine what is must be like to have bitterly cold Winters. Although, I suppose I am going to find out in January when we go overseas. But three months of dark mornings and long evenings. Grey skies and dismal rain.

It is not really the cold that makes Winter a bit of a bleak time, it is that lack of sunshine. The shorter days with grey clouds that hover around for days on end. Over the years I have tried to be really enthusiastic about the onset of the colder months, but now I feel like my whole persona just winds down and shifts into low gear as the days get shorter.

But, today, when the sun shone brightly and the wind was wild, it felt a bit like Spring. I felt a bit excited with the hint of some warmth in the air.

The warmth of the sun reminded me of the Aesop fable I read as a child.

The sun and the wind were having a competition about who was the strongest of the two. Below them is a man walking along wearing a coat. The wind thinks that he can blow the coat off the man, but the more he blows the tighter the man pulls his coat to his body.

When the turn comes for the sun to show his strength, he radiates his genial warmth down upon the man and he subsequently removes his coat and then has to sit down under the shade of the tree.

Apart from the moral behind the story (it is better to use persuasion than force to get someone to do something), I love the absolute strength of the sun shining in the story.

There is a poem by Robert Louis Stephenson called Summer Sun. I love the first paragraph.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Snow, rain, hail, grey clouds and chilly air all have their place.

But the sun just seems to fill me with a certain kind of joy.

Ciao
LC