Thursday, July 15, 2010
And other times you wonder if you needed to know it at all.
In this post I mentioned something about one of our former work clients.
And in this post I mentioned something I was told about men with red hair.
Something else cropped up at work that I do wish I did not know about someone.
One of the senior tradesmen at work has a nickname. It is donkey.
When I heard this I was really perplexed.
"Why is he called donkey? He hasn't got big ears," I asked my boss.
"Are you serious?' said Boss Barney.
"Well yes. What is all that about?" I persisted.
"He is called that because he has a big willy," my boss patiently explained to me as though I were some idiot.
After recovering from the embarrassment of it I then felt compelled to ask my boss how on earth he would know that anyway. I mean, do men look at each other when they go to the toilet?
It was then explained to me that when this man has a few drinks he feels compelled to put it on show.
What the? What is that about? Is that what men do? Flop out their willy when they are drunk? Is this normal? Or just for men with something worthy of flopping out?
Anyway, today I was discussing this "issue" with the wife of my boss and we naturally had a bit of a silly giggle. It is kind of funny to talk about towards the end of a long day.
"You know. I know this sounds wrong, but I would not mind seeing it. Not for any reason other than the curiosity factor," I mused out loud.
I then added that I was joking just in case word got around that I may be interested.
However, in hindsight, I so wish I did not know.
Every time he comes into the office I remember it.
Is that childish or what?
Monday, July 12, 2010
My son wants to grow his hair long. I say that is fine, his hair, not mine. My husband said that was not okay. I find that response interesting since he had long hair and a moustache in the 70's and his dad hated it. Plus he hated that his dad hated it. I had to laugh.
One of the things my son wanted for his birthday was a mobile phone. I think he is the last kid in school to get one. He asked if he could have an IPhone. I laughed. Not likely I said. We agreed to a budget and will be shopping for it on Saturday. It is a prepaid one and whilst we will pay for the first lot of credits he has to use his pocket money to pay for any top ups.
I give my son pocket money each week. It goes into an interest bearing account and when he wants something other than books then he can use that money. The amount of money he gets weekly is the same as his age. So now he gets $13 each week. He doesn't have to do specific jobs for it. In my mind, pocket money helps teach children to budget. He often asks how much he has in the account and then thinks long and hard before buying something he really wants.
So, back to the phone. I am in two minds about the phone. One time he used one of our phones when he went to the pools with the school and we had to pick him up. He sms's me photos of the pool. Then photos of himself. But then he sent random texts to people he did not know and I saw them on the phone later on and I also saw the responses which were of a quite annoyed nature (and rightly so).
I tackled him on it. He made the comment he was only joking and the texts weren't bad (and they weren't).
"So, what if you sent the sms to someone whose jealous husband read it and then got angry at her. Or perhaps it went to a person who was being stalked or something. Imagine if someone sent an sms to your dad that said something inappropriate and then I saw it. Then they sent a few more. I may not believe your dad. Do you see where I am heading here?" I asked him.
"Oh, I didn't think of that," he said.
I had to really talk long and hard to him about the consequences of misusing technology. How words that are meaningless to us can be devastating to others. Then got onto the consequences of taking photos of people without permission. This lead onto the whole sexting issue. What is funny as a teenager can ruin someones life.
Some people may not agree, but there is just a lot more to discuss with children now. So much more than ten and twenty years ago. I feel like a dragon but I would hate to send him out in the world totally unaware.
There are two things I have said to him to try to drive home the importance of thinking before doing.
The first one is "before you do anything that is a bit risky, ask yourself this, do I want to find out that my parents did the same thing? If the answer is no then perhaps you should not do it".
The second one was an expression that a friend told me his father told him and I love it. It is "before you have sex with someone, ask yourself this, would you want to use that persons toothbrush in your mouth the next morning. If the answer is no, then maybe you should think twice before sleeping with them".
I know they both sound a bit crass, but they are rather thought provoking. I don't want to put him off taking chances in life but doesn't he have to know that some actions incur huge and life changing consequences.
Not sure if I am doing the right thing.
Or doing things the right way.
Maybe I should take a more softly, softly approach.
Whatever that is.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
As a thank you my boss and his wife treated four of the core staff to a lovely day out.
We flew over to Launceston which is in Tasmania and had lunch. It started with a very early morning to catch a plane. I was up at 5.15am which was rather startling for my body clock. I had to take into account the fact I needed to wake up, shower, wake up some more, put on make up to look more awake, wake up after make up, blow dry hair, wake up even more and then jump in the car at 6.10am to be at the meeting point.
Upon arrival in Launceston we took two hire cars. Boss wife and I went to explore a couple of National Trust homes. The one below is Clarendon House.
Which had lovely trees to take photos of. I just adore trees. Their branches, trunks and roots that seem so full of purpose.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
The mice in the office have been busy too, which is not very nice at all. In fact, it has reached the point where we are getting in pest control to sort the problem.
Remember a post I did about a dead mouse being found on my desk? Well, I was always a bit suspicious about why the mouse was so flat. I mean, what mouse dies and deflates?
I found out that the partners from the building company we share the offices with thought it would be funny to put the mouse on my desk. Ha ha indeed.
Initially I did laugh but then I thought it was pretty unhygienic and, although this sounds childish, I also thought it a bit disrespectful to the mouse. Why should a dead animal be part of a practical joke? Am I being silly here?
They do not know that I know. Which shits me no end as I think to myself "how can you talk to me so nonchalantly after dumping a dead mouse on my desk".
But I am planning a little bit of revenge.
Often when I make coffee with our super sexy coffee machine, one of those builder's will ask, in a rather wistful way, if I will make a coffee for him. And I always do because I enjoy doing things for people. Only, next time he asks I am going to put a little rubber mouse in his coffee.
As for his partner in crime, he never drinks coffee but he loves eating my homemade cake. So I shall hollow out the centre of a slice of cake and wedge a rubber mouse in there.
I could also gather up the pile of mouse crap from the factory and tip it in their drawers or under the seat of their work cars but I am not interested in being a complete pig. Besides, they have kids that come into the office and cars so they might get mouse poo on themselves.
Hmmmm, have to think of some other things to do.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Years ago I used to post every day. Sometimes twice. However, I have disciplined myself not to be so utterly boring.
I go to book club once a month. The girls who attend this exciting event have children that are quite young. Not yet at school, but almost. That age where they are all yours and have peachy cheeks and ask loads of questions.
The mother's talk a lot about the problems they are having. Or they talk about the parenting techniques they are currently embracing. The sleep problems. The food issues. Play dates and television time.
I am inclined to keep silent on a lot of things said because I embrace my own style of parenting which is kind of open to change according the nature of the current circumstances.
Okay, I admit it, my parenting style is a bit slack.
For example, these gals often talk about the terrible television. That is when I keep super quiet. You see, I love television. I watch non commercial television all the time. Not reality shows or sport. Just loads of documentaries. Lots of period dramas. The news. I love movies. I like the noise of the television in the background.
But worse than that, I have always let my son watch television. Cartoons. Kids shows. Kids movies. He has watched every Monty Python movie, Ripping Yarns, Three Stooges, The Goodies, Mr Bean, The Young Ones, Tin Tin and Harry Potter movie. Most of those he would have seen before he turned ten.
He started young. I sat with him and we enjoyed every minute. He has watched television all day sometimes. So have I. I have watched Star Trek for an entire day. Star Wars. I watch cartoons when I am alone. Old cartoons. New cartoons. I don't care. I love them.
I buy boxed sets of good movies and watch them when I can. Sometimes when I am on the lap top at home I have a movie running in the corner screen while I am speaking to my mum on msn. My husband is into documentaries and we watch those a lot.
Every Saturday night my son watches The Bill and hates missing it if we go out at all.
I cannot watch reality shows. Or sport. Although, I am currently watching Tour De France which is sensational even though I am clueless on how it works. I rarely watch commercial television as it is so trashy. But I must confess I did watch a bit of "V" before I realised it would end up like "Lost" and go nowhere. I do like science fiction very much.
So, when they gals in the bookclub go "tut tut" about mothers they know who use the television to "babysit" their kids I just say "yeah, well, let's just line up those bad mothers and send them to a parenting boot camp".
I could go into the discussions they have about what food they put in their kids lunchboxes but that is a whole new story. One thing though, if I were to put a salad wrap, plain yoghurt, bran muffin and an apple in my son's lunch box ever, it would come back day after day. There are nice things that are healthy, a bit naughty and tasty. I mean, what adult would eat that every day and not whinge about it.
It's tough out there in parent land. Especially when the rules seem so rigid.
Okay, I promise. Last post of the day.
Anyway, yesterday I started to feel unwell. Vague headache, stomach ache and all that. During the evening weights class I managed to wrench my neck lifting weights (turned head to talk as I did a shoulder press) and I have woken up this morning still feeling blech but now with an immovable neck.
Tonight I have a cardio class and am pondering how I will get through that with this feeling second rate. It is made worse by the fact that my husband does a morning cardio class on the Tuesday and I get to hear what I am going to do tonight.
He told me all about it as I lay in bed putting off getting up.
"It was awful. We had to run at the end of this road and then up to the supermarket and then across to the restaurant and then up to that road and up the other road and then up that huge hill eight times and then back again. Then when I thought it was all over we had to run up to the round about and back twice. It was awful. But I feel good now," he told me.
No wonder I wanted to stay in bed.
Now I can't stop thinking about what I have to do tonight in cardio. I have done it before but knowing it in advance is off putting.
Next time I am going to tell my husband there is no need to "inform" me.
There are times when I am happy to be ignorant.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
I like the time of aloneness at these moments.
There are different "alone" feelings. Alone in the city on a day off. Alone in the studio fiddling around with pencils, paint and paper. Alone in the kitchen whilst making dinner. Alone at work in an empty office. Alone in the lounge room after everyone is in bed.
Those sorts of alones I love.
There is, of course, the alone that bites deep. Loneliness that I have at times and cannot do much about. It reminds me of the utter loneliness that I often felt when I lived on my own before I married. I don't have it often but I think it is something that everyone has on different levels. It is not very nice no matter how pragmatic I try to be about it all.
Anyway, this post is not about loneliness but about bed time.
My son has bedtime rituals. There was this post and this post that talks about sleep habits I inadvertently cultivated.
Things have changed since then. He no longer sleeps in our bed. That stopped quite a while ago. He only has a low glow light on and that is so he does not trip over if he gets up in the night. And there is no DVD player anymore.
He prefers K to take him to bed as I tend to go 'hurry up and take your socks/shoes off". But he likes me to fill the hot water bottle because I make sure it is nice and full whereas my husband just barely puts any water in. No idea why, he just does it that way.
There are still a bundle of toys on his bed keeping his company. And a favorite fat and fluffy orange cushion he leans against as he reads. The door has to be open but not too much that he sees into the dark hallway during the night.
He lays in bed for a while reading and when he tires of it he always calls out "do you want me to stop reading?". I always laugh at that because he knows full well he can stop or not stop. After that question I take a bottle of water out of the freezer, all cold and icy, and bring it in to him. I love the way he wriggles down into the doona and then I kiss his happy face.
One day he will stop those little things. Just little shifts of independence.
One day the bed will seem too small for him.
And I will probably go to bed way before he does.
Then I can ask him to get me my hot water bottle.
Nah...he better be out by that stage.
I am definitely not ready for any role reversal for a long, long time yet.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
At the moment I am not keen on buying clothes because I currently hate my body. There is no other way to put it. My body and I are keen enemies. Always have been although there is a truce now and then. Lately I have been slipping into bad habits (laxettes, high amounts of protein drinks, intense calorie counting etc..) to bring my body back into line and thus some sort of reasonable control again. It is kind of, well, fucked but I do it less as I get older so I suppose that is a plus.
At least I don't purge my food these days so that, in my mind, is good.
So last night I was looking for a pair of jeans. Needless to say that I did not find any but three times I had to change clothes in the poorly lit change room. I was wearing a skirt, tights, socks and knee length boots and each time I changed into something it involved stripping down in the cold air, trying on clothes, seeing my body at different angles and then having to reverse the entire process again.
Then I gave up and went home with nothing.
Today I went into another shop to look for jeans and realised that it was best to wait until I was over this intense body loathing phase I am going through. When I feel like this, unless I wake up tomorrow looking like a stick insect nothing will look right on me. Once the feeling moves on I will wake up feeling okay.
Years ago when I was like this I had no idea how to deal with it. I was unaware that the feeling would eventually produce its own cycle and I would learn to live with it. Eventually the intense hatred of the body I am housed in faded to some sort of reluctant acceptance. Perhaps the process of maturing and understanding my emotions helped ease it all.
However, all was not wasted as I went into my favorite art supply shop and spent the money I had put aside for a pair of jeans on a swag of lovely paints, sketch books and delicious paint brushes. Which means tomorrow I shall finish off a painting I started last week.
Much more pleasurable than going clothes shopping.
Tonight I went for a long walk just as the night crept in. I walked about 8kms and the air was lovely and fresh. My Ipod battery was flat so I took my son's Ipod shuffle to listen to as I walked.
Now, I fully expect his taste in music to be different to my own. By the time I got back from my walk I was wired and pumped up after listening to all the music on the shuffle. Had I dressed properly I would have jogged the way with all that music making its way in my head.
But there was one song on there that I found very intriguing amongst the plethora of pumping songs it nestled amongst.
It was "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)". I think it was the version by The Mighty Giants or something like that. Anyone who is familiar with Putting on The Ritz will recognise the tune. The whole song is wonderfully absurd and I laughed out loud when I heard it on the shuffle.
It was a song that finished of a walk perfectly.
Friday, July 02, 2010
The day before a weekend.
I also love a Thursday.
The day before the Friday. All full of anticipation.
But I do like weekends the best of all.
Sometimes I do spend time cleaning up the house on a weekend but I have finally reached a point of saying "meh" to housework if I have something more interesting to do. And trust me, that is a common event. I believe it has something to do with priorities and housework just does not feature in my list of what is good.
You see. I believe that by doing housework I am setting a bad example to my son. He will think that is what women do when they get married. So, when housework is being done, you can bet my husband is doing his fair share (and more). My son needs to see that it is everyones job.
I have learnt a lot from my son.
It is okay not to wash now and then (although that is still in theory in my books).
It is okay to wear the same clothes every day (and believe me, I do that).
It is okay to wear pyjamas all day on a Saturday (now and then, I may have indulged until midday).
It is okay to listen to Ipod, play on the computer AND eat all at the same time (I am all for multi tasking).
Interestingly, since I have lightened up on the housework, the house is tidier.
Now, instead of allocating time to do the things I like to do I am now allocating time to do the things that bore me. I do something like this:
1. Clean bathroom 4pm Saturday.
2. Vacuum floors 2pm Sunday.
3. Bake biscuits/cake 7.30pm Saturday or Sunday night whilst watching tv.
4. Hang out giant basket of wet washing 3.30 pm Sunday.
You get the drift. Beforehand I used to make time for the things I liked, now I make time for the things I hate. And boy, do I make that time short and quick. And I do it. If anything needs doing in between I may consider doing it but I have found it just as easy to ignore.
I am sure other people have done this for years and are saying "ho hum" but I have always struggled with a huge sense of duty when it comes to having a tidy house but now I just let it ride. Keep the place tidy and germ free. The rest is just incidental.
The only down side is that now and then I "forget" to do some things and then it turns into "7pm Sunday night do everything madly or else we won't have clothes to wear or food to eat".
Right now though, I am allocating time for a coffee at work.
That never gets forgotten.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Time has raced by and shall continue to race if I am guessing correctly.
The photo below seems like one hundred years ago and yet also seems like yesterday. I think he was maybe almost three years old. The little girl turned thirteen yesterday.
The photo below is today. Out with his friend. We went to Gold Class cinemas and watched The A Team. Initially I was going to drop them off at the movies and walk around the complex but decided that I was in the mood for a movie.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
I know that sounds like a cop out but I am not that good at verbalising things I personally have an deep issue with. Besides, I find it easier to communicate via written word. It makes more sense to me and I am able to be more objective. It helps distance me from the situation or turns it into a third person thing. Whatever.
Also, my husband likes to take time to process what he wants to say, only he takes time while I am standing in front of him which is hard for me as you can bet I have been processing anything I want to say in life for the past 46 years! Carefully managed and thought out words are ready to burst from me whereas when K is confronted with that he may inadvertently say something he may not mean, or it comes out wrong or something along those lines. So we have this weird protocol which works.
For example, I am so anal about money that when he and I need to make a significant dip into savings he no longer speaks to me in person, he sends me an email to discuss it. I can connect my "thing" about money way, way back to childhood and the financial ups and downs that my parents experienced.
Being the bookkeeper at work and being tight with money makes my boss happy. Being uptight about money at home can make me a bit of a bore. However, after doing bookwork for extravagant and self indulgent clients and seeing where they end up completely justifies my attitude towards money.
That is not to say I do not spend money. I just like to have a stash to spend when we want to. And I like to think about it.
Anyway, about two months ago K sent me an email expressing his desire to purchase a second classic car to tinker with.
The email had sentences like:
I did not want this to happen but I have fallen in love.
It is a midlife thing, all about men and sheds and the need to have projects.
I will understand completely if you say no.
Anyway, needless to say I said sure thing and we now have another car which my husband adores. I could tell it was pretty important to him.
So, one day we will just email only and not talk. I have suggested we live in separate houses but he said that was a bit too remote.
I mean, if we lived in separate houses I would have to make my own cups of tea.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Ages ago I did this post here about paying my son to squeeze a pimple.
I swore I would never do it again.
Sadly, I caved in.
Paid my son $10 to get a very angry pimple on his face.
Fool that I am.
Although part of the deal was that if it was still there the next day or two I was able to have a second go at it. The $10 include that as part of the verbal contract.
I need to work on resisting before I become poor.
Teenagers tend to have more pimples than I can pay for.
Monday, June 28, 2010
I bought a premade lasagne.
And a premade garlic bread.
A premade soup.
When I went to pay for it at the checkout I felt more embarrassed than if I had been buying condoms and hemorrhoid cream. I felt like a very bad and lazy mother (despite having worked all day etc..) I felt a teeny bit vindicated by the fact the food was organic, preservative and colour free.
But, you know, sometimes, just sometimes I just do not give a shit. Well, not that I don't give a shit but it is hard work being a perfect person and that is what I do when cannot reach the benchmark I have set.
Anyway, I got home and heated it up and presented it rather untidily onto a plate before getting changed to go and do exercise outdoors in the freezing cold.
After my son ate it all in a flash he said "that was great, you should not cook more often".
Why do I bother.....
Today we sold it. It sat looking very nice in the music room but was never being played. My husband has a baby grand piano and my son is not into the pianola. It took up so much space as it shared the room with the big piano.
So we advertised it on Ebay. It did not sell but after auction somebody emailed us about it, came and had a look and bought it.
I felt a bit sad about it really. The day the pianola was delivered to us after being restored was the day I found out that I was pregnant with my son. This was a big thing after having IVF and I always attach the pianola to that memory.
But, I have to be realistic. The memory is going to be with me irrespective of whether or not the pianola is in my home.
So, later on I had the following conversation with my son.
"Why are you selling it?" asks son.
"It takes up room and we never use it anymore," explains me.
"Oh, okay," replies son.
"You are not upset are you? Did you want to keep it?" asks me.
"No," answers son.
Mother, feeling a bit sniffy and sentimental then says.....
"You know, I feel a bit sad because the day I found out I was pregnant with you was the day we got the pianola."
"Yeah, well, you could have been eating a banana when you found out. What then? Keep all bananas from then on?" comes the reply from son.
"Well, no, of course not," I half laughed.
"Or stepped on an ant. Or eaten bread. Or picked your nose," he went on about a few more things I could have been doing at the time of finding out I was pregnant.
"Yeah, okay I am getting the reality check here thanks," I said, suddenly feeling like a sap.
Gee, nothing like a teenage boy to put sentimentality into perspective.
Friday, June 25, 2010
And went into the city.
It was raining. All day actually. I had my umbrella up a lot of the time when I was outside. It took a bit of a mental effort to get myself out of the house and out into the wet weather. However, once I jumped on the train it was obvious I needed to get out.
I went to the National Art Gallery where there were two major exhibitions on. But I did not feel like seeing either of them. I figured they could wait until another day. They were a bit crowded and I wanted my own space.
So I walked around to a few shops. Had lunch in an obscure cafe. I had soup which was lovely and hot. As I ate it the place filled with office workers. Men in their suits and ties. Girls in high shoes and fashionable clothing. It reminded me of the days when I was one of those girls. I felt a bit old but that was okay because, compared to them, I am.
There are two places where I love being on my own. The city and the beach. I love feeling isolated amongst throngs of people. Although, looking at these two photos you would think that nobody is in the city. The crowds are further in, past the river and in the business and shopping part of town.
When I am in the city I feel aimless with a sense of purpose. It seems contradictory but I enjoy walking around to some favorite places in an aimless sort of way. I allow myself to be distracted by what is happening around me.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
I turned to get something out of an in tray and there, on the desk, nestled under a bit of paper was a dead mouse.
I knew things were bad. Remember this post.
I could not remember the rest of the phone conversation and hung up saying "there is a dead mouse on my desk". The person at the other end of the phone must have thought I was a nutter. I got the computer guy to get rid of it. That is a man's job.
Now bossman is getting in the pest control.
Gee thanks. A mouse has to expire on my desk to get action.
However, I noticed the mouse was a bit flat and not just because he was sad and dead. Why was that? Did something sit on him. And, just how long had he been under that piece of paper? I had not touched it for at least two days as I was working on other bits of paper.
Was he on my desk yesterday and I did not notice? That is possible. Which is a bit awful in so many ways (messy desk, dead companion etc.).
I don't even eat at my desk so there is nary a crumb to nibble on.
It was totally gross. I should report it to HR but since that is me (as well as bookkeeper) there is no point.
Sigh. Poor mouse.
That was my day.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
I read a blog that is done by a life coach and he talked about sense of self.
When I think of it I just think it is about the things I do that give me a sense of self.
Work, mother, wife.
Is that my sense of self? Or is that a sense of duty?
Does the sense of duty give me my sense of self?
If I did not have those roles in my life would I have any sense of self or would I be aimless?
If you asked me to tell you about myself I would most likely tell you about my life, my son, my work, my husband, my hobbies etc. I would tell you things that are external to me and in my control. I doubt I would tell you about things that make me sick with angst. Or that make me lie awake in a silent night. Or things that make me cry in the shower so that nobody knows I am sad.
But those things have nothing to do with sense of self do they? Are they not just shit things? Or difficult things? Life things?
When I do this blog, I think that is about as close to a sense of self that I can show without absolutely squirming.
The whole thing about sense of self is always lurking in my head.
Is sense of self about freedom? Freedom of my mind. Freedom from responsibilities?
Or is it just accepting who you are and making the most of it?
Or seeing who you are and wanting to better it?
Not that it matters really.
Right now I just have a sense of awareness that I have no definitive sense of self.
I can make that into a project.
Working on finding one's sense of self.
Should take me no longer than, oh I don't know, no longer than a lifetime.
Not how they look, but how they feel on me.
I never wear shirts anymore. This is despite the fact I have some delicious shirts hanging rather forlornly in my wardrobe. Shirts make me wriggle. They touch my shoulders in a way that is different to a nice t-shirt. Kind of a crunchy way.
I like t-shirts. Long sleeved, short sleeved and three quarter sleeved ones. They have to be fitted but not too fitted or it annoys me. If they are baggy it annoys me. If the neck touches a certain part of my neck it annoys me.
Pants and jeans are another thing. They have to be tight but not too tight (reminding me of my body is a big no no). If they are too baggy then I can hear them swish when I walk and I hate noisy clothes.
Clothes that require thinking about to be able to put them on.
Clothes that dangle.
Clothes that have a distinctive smell about the fabric. Some wool is like that.
Anything that is scratchy.
Tags that tickle. I like to have tags on so if the tag tickles I won't buy the item.
Today I have particularly annoying cardigan on. For the love of me I have no idea as to why I bought it and while I actually kind of do love it there are aspects to it that go against what I want in clothing. It is grey and very loose and baggy with big baggy sleeves. It even has a faux fur collar (something I have a soft spot for is faux fur). It looks great. Really wonderful. However, it is for wondering around a park on a wintry day. It is a "walking around to look nice" kind of cardigan. It is an item that you do not want to do anything in. Apart from swan around and look cosy.
But, it was cold this morning and I wore it to work.
My day is now stressful. The sleeves flap when I move. They knocked off the paper from my desk onto the floor. It is just a flappy and annoying heavy thing. And as I only have a t-shirt underneath I cannot take it off as it is too cold.
It is so stressful wearing it that I have a headache thinking about it. And I can feel it on me. It is a bit weighty. Plus I can kind of see it when I move. Like a grey being moving in on me throughout the day.
Heavy, flappy, floppy and dangly.
And I still have at least five hours to go.
I may crank the heater up and then take it off.
Who would think a cardigan could have such an impact.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
I worked almost full time there. Doing books and setting up a monumental data base system that allowed them to ensure they were paid from the big mobile network company they franchised for. In between it all I was going through IVF and when that succeeded I worked until a few days before I had my son.
This couple were not close friends, they were work friends. The wife was about my age and her husband was at least 15 years older. He was a nice enough guy in his own incredibly rude and abrupt way. He was of the generation that you said things as they were which was fine by me as I find that quite refreshing (and amusing).
He looked a bit like Terry Thomas who was a terrific English actor from days yore. Mind you, he only looked like him, he certainly was not imbued with the gentlemanly and humorous charm of Terry Thomas.
He shared the same name as well. Anyway, he smoked heavily. And he also drank a few glasses of Scotch when he got home from work. In fact, both he and his wife were like that. It kind of intrigues me how a person could indulge in things that are bound to give you bad breath and yellow teeth. Let alone the health aspects of both.
So, he smoked and he had grey kind of skin and grey hair and a grey old fashioned moustache. He swore like a trooper and the more stressed he was the more often I heard the "f" word.
But at the core of him, he was a really good guy. Really very funny and a loving father. Can't say he was the best husband as he and his wife fought all the time when they were together. They must have gotten on well enough because they had three kids and were planning on another one.
He spent most of his time at a shop that also sold televisions and similar items. The mobile phone aspect came later on. The shop was in an older area and trams rattled past all day long and you could see them through the open door. Nearby was a tired old supermarket and some other obscure shops eking out a living selling bits and pieces.
Right opposite our shop was a milk bar. It kept a reasonable trade selling newspapers, milk, lunch items and bread. A couple of years beforehand it had been sold to a Chinese couple who were really lovely and gentle people. However, there was a bit of an ongoing issue between Terry and this couple on how to heat a pie.
You see, the meat pie is a bit of an Aussie icon. Most tradesmen eat one for morning smoko. My son would love to eat one everyday but since I am not an Aussie as such, there is no way that is happening. Unless it is a homemade meat pie.
However, I am digressing. A meat pie should be heated in an oven to enable it to be piping hot inside with a lovely, flaky and slightly crisp pastry on the outside. It should not be heated inside a microwave oven as it will just be limp, hot and soggy with not the slightest bit of flakiness in the pastry. Horrible.
Well, this Chinese couple who owned the milk bar just did not get the whole concept of how a meat pie should be. So when Terry went across the road to get a meat pie for lunch he would invariably come back with a microwave heated slop of a pie. It really, really annoyed him.
He would come into the shop saying something like "fucking pie" before throwing it into the bin and complaining for the rest of the afternoon.
On and off over a few months he tried to tell them how to heat the pie. Once or twice they agreed to crank up the oven and do the pie how Terry wanted it but the next day it would be back to the microwave and Terry would despair.
I could hardly blame them. It costs a lot of money to heat up the oven and that would eat up and measly profit they made when they sold it.
I often wondered why Terry continued to get his pies from there when it was obvious that the odds of getting a microwaved pie were extremely high. More intriguing was the fact that only a few minutes walk up the road was a bakery that sold very fine meat pies that were lovely and flaky straight from the pie oven. I did ask him and he said it was too far to walk....
So, this thing continued. Buy pie, come into shop, open bag and then say "fucking pie" before throwing it away and moaning about it. I used to tell him to get a salad sandwich or something instead. It was really funny.
However, one day it obviously got the better of him because he came inside the shop with the hot and soggy pie and was fuming.
"I have fucking had it with this. I am going to do something about it," he said and turned and walked back out of the shop.
I stood up and followed him to see what he had in mind.
He stood in the middle of the road. And I mean in the middle of the road with traffic passing.
He then yelled out to the Chinese couple in the milk bar to come out as he had something to show them. They stood at the door watching.
Then, he took the pie out of the paper bag and threw it with all his might up into the air at least twenty feet high. It came down hard on the road and splattered across like some sort of dead animal.
"That's what I think of your fucking pie," he yelled and then stormed off back into the shop.
The Chinese couple laughed and went back into their milk bar. A few other people just shook their heads and went on.
Then, much to my utter surprise, two days later Terry went across to the milk bar and bought a pie for lunch.
And it was microwaved.
All he said was "fucking pie". Only this time he took a few bites before throwing it into the bin.
I never really understood what was going on in his mind.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Tick and tock.
I picked up two new pairs of glasses this week. My usual script was updated and this time around I also had to get reading glasses. Yes, the age of reading glasses has arrived. I am short sighted in one eye and long sighted in the other. Not much, but enough to now NEED to wear glasses more often than not. I chose not to have bifocals because I like my reading glasses light weight and my other glasses more heavy rimmed.
Anyway, the other night I was sitting in bed reading with my new glasses and my husband came into the room and said something. As I answered him I did that thing where you look up and over the rim of the glasses. He stopped, stared and then said.........
"Oh, I really am married to a middle aged lady now."
And, lately , I have been feeling a bit middle aged. I know that forty is the new thirty and fifty is the new sixty. Or in my case, forty six is the new thirty six.
Well, I am telling you that it ain't so. Forty six is forty six. How one chooses to treat ones body is what defines what age we feel. But the fact is, no matter how hard I try, aging is happening. The external stuff I am fine with.
It is the internal happenings which annoy me greatly. The waking up to go to the toilet. The slowing down of the metabolism. The wearing of glasses more often. The great effort it requires to maintain fitness and good health. The semi forgetfulness. The intolerance. And that is despite being a patient sort of person.
There is, within me, a creeping general annoyance at the majority of the unknown portion of the population. You know, people kind of shit me. Not just anyone, but stupid people. Not unintelligent ones, just dunderheads and "know it alls". Not so much older ones but more often younger ones. In fact, I am turning into a bit of a grumpy sort. I don't like being told what to do at all. Or being "informed" about what is best for me.
I am feeling as though the world is constantly rehashing the same old shit and I am now hearing it for the tenth time. I cannot explain what I mean but it is all about the ongoing society education of the consumer.
Things like what to eat and what not to eat, what to wear, what to drive, what exercise to do, what not to do, what to think, how to bring up children, how to treat old people, what to buy, where to go. I am sure they have been talking about this stuff since the beginning of time and the older I get the more often I am hearing it!
Everything that was once "out" is now in and what was "in" is now out. In, out, in, out. Rehashing the same old, same old.
In Nature, the changing of just those four seasons year in and year out is bliss but in society the changing of everything only to have it repeated five years later in a better looking shape just does not have the same feel about it.
Not only that, my husband went through this and, being ten years older, tells me it gets worse.
I think this is happening to me because I am living with a teenage boy and everything is new to him. And he loves it.
And I want a taste of that newness.
Sigh, I may go shopping. Get something new.