Sunday

No trip the the art gallery today. I had hoped to go but woke up feeling unwell.

Instead my son and I went for a walk up to the local shops and had a bite to eat.

My son took a photo or two.

I took a few as well.

The two of us. I can see the grey hair coming through now in photos. When I see it I think "do I really want grey hair" and the answer is still yes.

The day was the warmest in ages. About 17 celcius and lots of blue sky showing between the clouds. We went to a book shop and I bought my son three novels to read and a lovely book for myself. After that we stopped off at the bagel shop and bought some bagels to take home.

Then I got home and watched Ironman and Predator.

Below is a photo of my new t-shirt I bought the other week. I normally would not ever wear purple because it makes me feel fat (I feel the same about the colour pale blue) but I liked the artwork on it so I figured why not do purple for a change. Actually, it is more like the colour lilac.

Now I am going to make a cake and some dinner.

Then iron my son's school uniform and other exciting things.

My life is boringly pleasant sometimes.

What about yours?

Ciao

LC

Blab On Saturday 28th August

It's almost Spring and I feel happy that Winter is on the way out.

I went for a walk today down to the street. The sun was shining and injected some warmth into the cold air. All the grass was so green. We have had the wettest Winter in eleven years and I can see so much more growth in the gardens.

I got up early this morning for a cardio exercise class. I lay in bed for a while trying to think up an excuse to stay under the warm doona but in the end I just made the effort and went. Otherwise I have to do a catch up class next week and that is just too hard.

I usually do evening classes. I hate morning exercise. It is harder. I think it is because I am not a morning person. So, this morning I am running around a big oval. Then up a hill. Then up the street. Then around the oval again. Loads of lunges. Heaps of squat jumps. Rope skipping and a few other sweaty things.

All of this for an hour and then I drive home with a face like a radish.

I exercise very intensely four hour long sessions a week. I doubt there is a day where I do not have sore muscles somewhere. When the months warm up and the days are brighter I will pick up more running and try to ride my bike to work now and then. Sometimes I hate exercising but it keeps my mind focused and my moods stable so I just do it.

It also makes me hungry all day long. I know they say that you don't need to eat that much more when you exercise, but because I have a weird diet it means I use up the food energy quicker. So I feel like I need to eat every two hours. Sometimes I wake up starving in the middle of the night after a boxing class.

My son spent the day in pyjamas. He played Xbox and just schlepped around. I think that is what teenage boys do. He always gives forth a constructive argument when justifying a pyjama day. He says it is important to know how to relax and enjoy his free time.

Tomorrow he is coming with me to the art gallery. Under duress need I say. He has moaned about it for the afternoon and deep down I know he realises he is doomed to spend some time moving out and about in fresh air.

My son takes up so much space now. He is once inch shorter than me and has changed so much in the past six months it kind of shocks and amazes me what the human body does.

His voice is so deep that I think "who is that?" when I hear him talking.

The other day he and I were doing a silly dance around the loungeroom. This is not the first time we have done silly dances by the way. Only this time I realised how close he was to size adult.

We were two "big kids" dancing around and laughing.

It's like having a whole new person in the house. The little boy is there but the big kid with his own ideas is the main character now.

Not just an extension of my husband and I any more. I mean, he always has been a separate entity. All humans are separate beings but when teenage years arrive they really move and separate from parents and become their own person.

I love it. I love seeing it happen. It is not just a personal pleasure for me, but also an absolute fascination to see nature at work.

The whole human thing is impressive beyond words when you really, really stop and think about it.

Ciao

LC

Tuesday 24th August

Tuesday is the day I do payroll at work. It coincides with everyone else being out of the office and phone calls coming in.

Tuesday is also the day I realise that I want it to be Friday so that I know I am going to skippity skip out the door and into a weekend.

So, I have Tuesdayitis. Or something. It could be "go to bed earlieritis" as well but I prefer to blame my lack of concentration on the day of the week rather than my staying up late.

I had a good weekend. The reason being is that I had nothing planned. The past three weekends were a bit annoying. I had one Sunday of being sick, then one Sunday of having to go to a friend's place for lunch and then the third Sunday I went to my sister in law's fortieth birthday.

So I had three Sundays where I felt robbed of my own time. Is that awful of me to say that?

My weekends are spent getting my house in order, doing the laundry and going food shopping. I do it all as quickly as I can so that I can have almost a whole day of doing what I want. So last weekend I did all that stuff and felt pretty relaxed as Sunday drew to a close. Unlike the previous three weekends where I felt robbed.

On Saturday I did something that I normally never do. I took my husband clothes shopping. We never shop together as a rule. He buys his clothes and I buy mine. But he admitted on Saturday that he had no idea what to buy and the whole prospect of going clothes shopping made him feel thoroughly depressed.

So, I said I would go with him and we would get it sorted. And we did. Despite the fact he tried to hurry and avoid trying on more than two things we came home with shirts, pants, underwear and socks. He then cleared out his wardrobe, had a big throw out and felt infinitely free. For the remainder of the weekend he kept saying how much easier it was when I came with.

He also said he never wants to go shopping on his own again. Hmmmmmm.

He has reassured me that he will not insist on going clothes shopping with me when I need things.

I said that was fine by me. I do have my share shopping limits.

On a completely different note. I recently had to upgrade my glasses. I have always worn glasses when I need to do fine work or read tiny print. Really no big deal.

A while ago I felt like I needed them more often for things like watching television or going to the movies. Then I started to wear them more often for reading the newspaper.

A few months ago it seemed as though overnight I could no longer read the back of a jar without either squinting or having to pull that weird face that I have seen people do when they have forgotten their reading glasses.

I had to buy two pairs of glasses because I am short sighted in one eye and long sighted in the other. So, I now have reading glasses and just doing my own thing glasses.

At first it really annoyed me having to wear my glasses pretty much all the time. Just the whole feel of them and having to change them (it was suggested that bifocals would not work for me and I did not like them anyway).

Well, I finally came to grips with it and now wear my reading glasses at work all the time.

And I peer over the top of them at people.

Embracing each step of getting older is becoming a more frequent event.

But I have to say, since when did growing fishing line out of my chin become a physical possibility? I recall doing this post about my love of tweezers but I am thinking things are getting worse.

You know, I will never embrace unwanted hair, especially when it is on my face.

No matter how old I get.

You can bet I will have enough money in my kitty to let me have hair removal as a part of my regime.

Even at the age of ninety.

And that is a promise.

Ciao
LC

In My Day......

My husband is almost 57. His background is Scottish and he grew up in the 1950's over there for the first six or so years of his life before the family emigrated to Australia.

He is a product of the 1950's in that his parents set the standards for how he was to dress and have his hair until he turned 18 and then he rebelled by wearing flared jeans, growing his hair long and sporting a moustache.

Prior to that he spent a lot of time in shorts or short pants as they were called. If they went out he wore a shirt and tie with those short pants. Added to that would be a neat jumper and smart shoes and socks. This was topped off with a hair cut that was called a "college cut".

Neither of his parents ever wore jeans. His father always wore trousers and a collared shirt. In his later years he dispensed with the tie. His mother was always beautifully groomed wearing dresses, pantyhose and very nice shoes which were always stored in the wardrobe in their original boxes. Until she developed Alzheimer's there was rarely a day that she did not wear make up.

Part of his upbringing meant that my husband had fixed ideas about how one should dress and when we first got married this caused great discord between us because he thought I should be more "feminine". However, that issue has long been sorted and he likes me just the way I am now. Also, I do dress better now so that helps. Believe me, I have worn some weird clothes in my time. The 1980's have a lot to answer for.

Despite my father being a mean prick, he never told me what to wear really. As long as I was not dressed in a slatternly manner he did not care what I wore so I was free to express myself. I just want to say how much loved cheesecloth tops, corduroy pants and roman sandals. Oh, and pirate shirts. Wonderful Doc Marten shoes and boots.

Now, move forward to the 2000's. My son's era of clothing. Well, it's a free for all really isn't it? Kids wear what they want most of the time and are fairly resistant to any fashion tips from their parents.

Now, that does not bother me because I believe that people can wear what they want. And that young people need to express themselves through the way they dress. That whole tribal thing.

I may not like what they wear and think that many clothes look down right stupid. In particular, I think that girls dress poorly for their shape and size. Too tight clothes for big girls. Too short skirts for very big legs. Or very sexualised clothing for girls that are sexual beings but not ready for the attention that goes with the package.

But, that is part of growing up. Most people find their way as they get older because society requires a certain level of mainstream conformity to function reasonably well. Plus, it is a bad look to be thirty and be dressing like a fifteen year old. In other words, we move on.

So, with that in mind, I let my son wear what he likes. I let him grow his hair how he likes. He likes stuff a bit grungy and embraces the whole funky t-shirt thing. I draw the line when he is out with me and, being too lazy to put shoes and socks on, wants to wear shorts and flip flops in the middle of winter. And he is not allowed to wear tracksuit pants except for sport. There is a difference between standards and personal expression and I am not negotiable on that.

Besides, I asked him if he would like it if I went down the street with him wearing sloppy track pants, grungy t-shirt, unwashed hair and no make up. And then completed the outfit with flip flops. He sees my point so is accepting of a few rules. As for the prospect of a tattoo, well, I have told him if he gets a tattoo then I will frogmarch him down to the cosmetic surgeon to get it burnt off without any pain killers. When he leaves home he can do what he likes.

However, my husband hates the way my son dresses. The other night we were lying in bed and talking about a few things going on with S and after we had resolved most of it my husband had to tell me something that obviously bothered him greatly.

"I do not like the clothes you buy for S. I was so embarrassed by how he dressed overseas," he started with.

"What are you on about?" I answered while casting my mind back to what he wore. Cargo pants, t-shirt, hooded jacket and ski coat. Hiking boots. Hmmm, all seemed okay to me.

"Those pants. They were so untidy. And that hoody thing. Plus the t-shirts you let him where. That one with the monkey that has a cigarette hanging out of its mouth. He looked so shabby," husband gets into rant mode.

"You old fart. He looked fine. What do you want him to wear?" I asked.

"Well, in my day I was respectful of what my parents thought I should wear. What is wrong with looking smart?" he said.

"Nothing is wrong with looking smart at the right times. But teenagers need to be able to express themselves through their music, their clothing, their books, their rooms or their hairstyles. Whatever they need to do has to be respected. You had to wait until you were eighteen for that. Things are different now. As if he is going to wear short pants and a tie," I told him.

He mumbled some more and then went to sleep.

The next day I overheard my son say "Dad, this is 2010 and not 1959 you know". It was some talk about his attire.

I thought about that song on Hair called I Got Life. The guy at the start of the song says to the older woman something like "This is 1964 not 1934" (something like that) before he burst into his funky song about living his life as he chooses.

One day my son may hear the same words come back to him. "Hey dad, this is 2030 and not 2010 you know". Can't wait to see clothes then! And I shall remind my son of the same conversation he had with his father.

Some things never change.

Ciao
LC

Temper Temper

I have, over the years, been the owner of a really shitty temper.

It has not always been about anger. Sometimes sheer frustration, major hormonal upheavals and undiagnosed depression.

Those days have passed. Or should I say, I have things sorted as far as dealing with the huge mood swings I have.

It is not often I get into an almost out of control temper and it is not a nice feeling when it hits me. Not nice for me or those around me.

Today, however, I had a foul and feral temper. It is more than likely hormonal but I can no longer tell because I have had a hysterectomy and would not have any idea when I would have had a period or whether I am mid, post, pre or whatever in the cycle.

It felt hormonal. I wanted to shred my work. I wanted to throw the stupid, stupid cordless mouse across the room because it ran out of batteries AGAIN and I had to steal batteries from someone elses mouse.

I wanted to shove a knife into the stupid, stupid usb port in the computer that only intermittently works at the most inopportune times.

I wanted to throw and kick the paper around the office. I wanted to hang up the phone on a rude, rude person and really wanted to say "fuck off" to him.

I wanted to hit someone after I banged my head on the underside of my desk as I crawled around trying to fix something on my computer.

Then I wanted to kick something after I noticed a big tear in my new black tights that happened as I was crawling under the aforementioned desk.

Instead I took a deep breath and said "fuckity fuck" and I said it more than once.

And made myself a cup of tea and ate a nice biscuit.

It kind of helped.

Still not happy about the tights.

They were not cheap.

Ciao
LC

Move It!

I know I have made reference to my son's lack of movement before, but I really need to vent today as he is just so slow it does my head in.

When my son wakes up in the morning.....oh, wait, no, I mean "when my son is WOKEN up in the morning", we have to yell at him to get up. He responds with a series of grunts and promises before he rolls into an upright position on the bed and then sits there waiting for something to happen. Not sure what. Maybe for his clothes to appear on him like he is an Avatar or something.

Yesterday morning he was getting dressed in his room at his usual leisurely pace. All his clothes are ready for him so he does not have to think about where to find them. So, I get into the shower, wash my hair etc. and then get out, dry myself and get dressed. Say, fifteen minutes at least and twenty minutes at the most.

Then, I get out of the bathroom and check on my son and he is lying on his bed half dressed.

"What are you doing?" I half yell.

"Resting," he replies casually as though that is what one does when one is in the process of getting dressed.

"Get dressed," I fully yell.

His response is to begrudgingly shift into an upright position and slowly inspect his socks that he has to put on. By the way, don't even get me started on his sock saga. I blogged about it once and NOTHING has changed, in fact, things are worse. Socks have to be soft and inside out or they annoy his feet.

It took him another twenty minutes to get dressed.

This morning it took him twenty minutes to put his socks and shoes on. Actually, it was one sock and two shoes as he was schlepping around the house in his uniform but only one sock on before I yelled at him to hurry.

Everyday he walks to school eating his breakfast because I refuse to drive him the five minutes to school and have forbidden my husband from driving him because it makes him an "enabler" to my son's sloth like tendencies. Last term my husband got into the habit of driving him and my son just adopted an even more slug like movement each morning because he knew he would be driven to school.

I do get frustrated but deep down I know he is doomed to be a slow poke in the morning because I am the same. Only I have it sorted after forty odd years of being called lazy or slow. Well, I say sorted but the fact is I just no longer give a shit and work according to my body clock and that is more productive than trying to turn me into an early bird. However, I do set an example and move faster than him in the morning.

My husband also confessed that his mother was always saying to him to hurry, hurry and hurry. It must be hard wired.

But I figure I have to at least push him because if I don't instill some sense of urgency into him at this age, well, he will never get it.

And even if he does get it he will just say "meh" and be who he is.

Which is fine once he moves out of home.

So, going by today's trend with kids moving out, I have about another, say, twenty years of yelling to do.

Ciao
LC

Saturday

I had an exercise free morning today and slept in until 9.00 am. It was bliss. I needed the rest.

After I had breakfast and got dressed I had to go to the shopping centre to pick up a gift for my sister in law's fortieth birthday tomorrow. The place was packed and I just meandered around for about three hours looking at what was in the shops.

Not that I want anything from there. Not even clothes. There is so much stuff for sale that I really cannot get my head around it. Stuff, stuff, stuff and crap that fills peoples homes and creates landfill.

When I got home I decided to clean the studio out.

In winter I don't go out to the studio much. I am not very creative in the colder months. Sometimes I just keep my basic drawing gear in the house and do things there.

Recently I started a painting which is still not finished. But I expect to finish it next weekend as I want to start on two big ones.

I took all the books down from the shelf, cleaned everything and rearranged my gear. The books in my studio are my favorites and I love them very much. It was hard to resist the urge to open a few of them.

The studio is microcosm of my mind. All the things that mean something deeply personal are in this small building. Things that have nothing to do with anyone but me. When I come in here I feel very relaxed and kind of regress a bit back to when I was just belonged to me and nobody else.

The painting I am working on is called Three Brain Cells and is already destined to a new home. I am swapping it with a painting that a friend has done. He is currently exhibiting his work and when he saw this one he asked if I wanted to swap it for one of his. Which is kind of nice and apparently the thing done between artists so I was very chuffed.

There is still more to do on it so maybe he won't like it when it is finished. I don't mind because I don't paint for anyone but myself.

Soon I am starting on a series of wire collages and have drawn up a few designs I plan on working around. Sometimes a design is pointless because of the engineering aspect but I don't let that stop me. I figure you have to start somewhere.

Today there was less of a chill in the air and the sun was giving some welcome warmth. I felt that restless urge to do something different so I suppose that is what spurred me on to get out and clean the studio top to toe.

Now it is about 6pm and I have not a clue what to do for dinner. I don't even have anything much in the house. So I expect to nip down to the supermarket and grab something to cook.

Some days I feel really at ease. I feel like I have achieved something.

This was one of those days.

Ciao

LC

Hanging On The Telephone

It is a lonely week in the office this week.

Bossman and his wife are on holiday for ten days which means that the Project Manager is out of the office more often.

Mostly I don't mind being alone in the office. But when I have a lot of work and the phone rings non stop it kind of annoys me. I hate answering the phone and would never answer it if someone else is in the office.

At home I would only answer the phone if there is nobody else in the house. We used to have an answering machine which meant I did not have to answer it at all. I loved that. If I am really engrossed in something and the phone rings I will just ignore it completely.

Sometimes when bossman and I are in the office on a Friday we just do not answer the phone.

I actually hate speaking on the phone. Home phone or mobile phone - they both annoy me. I prefer face to face or via msn and Facebook. If I must talk on the phone I try to keep it short.

Of course, now and then it is nice to have a long chat with my sister or my mum but that would be an uncommon event. And I am never so rude that I will cut a phone call short.

You could say it is unsociable and I may well agree.

My sister in law is a phone whore. She will talk on the phone for hours. Call after call. One time she came over to look after my son when my husband and I were out. The next day my son said that she was on the phone for the entire evening. About five hours. What on earth is there to say? Was her ear not sore?

Not only that, most of the people she talks to are ones she also sees on a regular basis. I could understand if perhaps they lived in another state which is the situation with my mother and sister, but she will speak to someone for two hours that she had coffee with only three days beforehand.

Maybe I just have nothing to say.

Ciao
LC

Frenchy

The other day when I was out and about with work, I stopped to have lunch at a very French bakery with my boss and his wife.

The company had previously fitted out this place and subsequently knew the owner and the chef.

This bakery is just full of delicious food. All the staff are French and it has a lovely, overseas feel about it.

Anyway, as we were eating lunch, the chef came out to say hello to us. I have not met him before. He is French and very friendly with the females.

After he introduced himself to me (gave me the old palm tickling hand shake) he then brought over a place of freshly made macaroons for us to have. He went through the fillings of each colour with great detail and kept saying things like "Linda, only you and I can share this yellow one for it is for lovers" and "one bite of this chocolate one and you will feel like you are walking with me down the Champs-Elysees" and other things. I was laughing about all this (as was bossman and wife). It was fun seeing a flagrantly flirting Frenchman at work.


His accent was just lovely and he oozed all the charm of a Frenchman despite the fact he looked like a giant turtle, only the shell was on his front (stomach). But you know, it was all in good fun and as we left he actually kissed my hand twice and I had to kind of wrestle it back.

Plus, I bought a box of the macaroons because I am telling you they were unbelievably delicious.

The next day my boss told me that the French chef had asked for my phone number as he wanted to get to know me better. My boss said that he would ask me first as he was not at liberty to give out my number freely. I think he chose not to tell him I was married in case it affected future work projects.

I felt rather flattered until my boss said "I hate to burst your bubble of ego, but he is like that with all the females".

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Let me enjoy the moment," I said.

Later on I told my husband what had transpired and he said that my boss can give his number to the French chef.

He will tell him what he can do with his macaroons.

Having said that, it did not stop him from eating a few of the ones I brought home.

Ciao
LC

Well, Sooo Sorry

You know, I work five days a week.

Then, four times a week I exercise for an hour each time.

Plus think about dinner, lunch and all those things for other people.

On the weekend I make sure clothes are washed, school uniform ready, bed linen changed, do some baking, go food shopping for the week ahead and all that stuff. Even pair all the socks so that there is no panic pairing in the morning.

If the unfortunate should happen and I am sick on a weekend then I am in the shit for the next week.

This happened last weekend. I was unwell. Still managed to do a load of washing for the school uniform so my son had clothes to wear. But nothing else got done. Life just stopped.

The house did not get cleaned and on Thursday I actually came home from work early so that I could change the bed linen, vacuum and dust the place and just get the place looking clean because it was looking a bit grubby. Also did grocery shopping after a boxing class in the evening. Because you know, I just want to be at the supermarket at 8pm on a Thursday night.

Then on Friday morning my husband said "none of my underwear has been washed" as though I had somehow reneged on my marriage vows or had it in for him.

I apologised profusely for having been such a lazy cow.

How thoughtless of me.

Sheesh!

Ciao
LC

Kids On Computers

My son has been surfing the Internet for many years. Possibly more than the average child but I made a conscious decision that I would rather he learn early the ins and outs of being on the Internet. I have always been of the belief that education about anything is the key to managing things in adult years.

He has a You Tube account and has had it for two years. He uploads things like his Xbox battles he has recorded or instructions on how to draw things. Very funny stuff. Having the You Tube account exposed him to the world of morons and cretins who leave the most gobsmacking comments for no reason other than to be trolls.

He has a Facebook account but never logs in as he says it is pointless. So I log in and keep his Farmville game going.

He is on a couple of virtual games in which he is an avatar and has his little world. It is a bit weird for a number of reasons but he lets me sit and watch what he writes, keeps records of his chats and I have the password.

Anyway, I asked him tonight what the world of the Internet tells him about people. He told me that he thinks there a loads of perverts out there as well as nasty people.

"Does that bother you?" I asked as it sure bothered me that he came to that conclusion.

"No, why should it? I don't care. I have nothing to do with them and never would. They are just idiots," he told me.

"Do you think all people are like that?" I asked.

"No, of course not. People hide behind the computer and then just feel very important leaving troll messages. Plus, you can tell a pervert straight away and then you just tell them to f*** off," he told me. Then he reassured me by saying he knows that most people are good but that on the Internet it is the rotten people who are the annoying ones.

Sometimes I wonder if somehow all this exposure to the world of nutters is a bad thing but then I think that it would be worse if he knew nothing.

He did say to me that most of his friends are pretty clueless about what people are like out there and believe what they are told. They get on Facebook and the parents have no idea who they talk to and who their "friends" are. The other thing is that quite a few of his friends have the computer in their bedroom and no supervision.

I find that pretty scary. With all that is said via the media about the dangers of the Internet would you not think that it would be a basic safety thing to keep the computer out in the open?

The whole thing about communication is so strange now.

How we make friends, meet someone we hope to love, collect our information and buy our things.

The way we live life is so different to how I thought I would live it and yet to my son it is so normal. And I think that is where I get some comfort. His life is his life and how life is meant to be because it is in the now.

And it all somehow connects the old and new together.

And we keep muddling around working at getting it right.

Ciao
LC

Out And About

On Wednesday I was out and about seeing a few of the jobs we have been doing at work. I may do this four times a year and usually when we are about to do handover. I see every supplier bill that comes in for these jobs and it is always interesting to see how a person spends a million dollars or more.

It is a long process building a house for a client. In particular, an architect designed house for a client with money. I did a post about it here a couple of years ago.

Below is a photo of the apartment block in which we have just finished a two year renovation. The apartment is in the bottom left of the building. I actually ran out of camera battery just as I stepped out to take a photo of the building so this shall have to suffice.


In the photo below I am standing just inside of the entrance foyer. The black and white marble tiles are original as are all the architectural fittings.

This is the interior of the apartment. When the client bought it a couple of years ago it was in a terrible state. Part of the renovation has involved shoring up the entire three storeys above it at great cost. The architect who designed the interior has allowed the old and new to blend well.

Below the floor is a basement for storage. The trapdoor is motorised.

Below is the ensuite shower. Although it may look a bit grim and grey the space is very light and airy. There are two sets of doors. One to the main bedroom and the other opens to a very narrow outdoor section.

This is the exit door of the ensuite. The only bit of garden space so they have built a living wall which adds a bit of colour to the place. The windows here are almost warehouse style with anodised aluminium. It looks great.

The kitchen has all appliances built into the joinery. Fridge, freezer, dishwasher and coffee machine. Even a flat screen television pops out and allows the client to watch television when making coffee. Through the clear glass is a set of stairs to the downstairs basement and you can also just see the study area.

Below is an indication of the downside of having every gadget you can imagine. Curtains that open and shut with a remote. Heating and cooling. Stereo and television. I think there were another three or four remotes not yet in the drawer.

Okay, the place was pricey but I like that people are keeping these beautiful buildings in the cycle of life. Otherwise it would have been pulled down years ago.

There is no garden as such (apart from the living garden) but once you step outside of the front door you are in the most gorgeous suburb around. I would be happy to live in a shoe box if I could live in Albert Park. Full of lovely shops and cafes and near the beach.

So, that is just one example of some of the work we do.

And do it well.

Ciao

LC

How Lazy?

My son is lazy.

I know this is not the first time I have made mention of his laziness but yesterday I was reminded about how lazy he is.

He had to take a day off school because something bit his foot and he could not get his shoe on.

When I left the house to go to work at 9.00 am he was fully dressed in his school uniform with the exception of the sore foot.

So, fully dressed with one heavy, black school shoe and sock on and one bare foot.

Now, if that was me I would take the shoe and sock off so that I had two bare feet and did not have to walk around with one clumpy shoe on. I mean, that makes sense doesn't it?

I had to come home earlier than usual to clean my house because last weekend I was sick and nothing happened on the home front. No cleaning, no food shopping, no clothes washing. Although, I did manage to wash the school uniform so that was something.

Anyway, I get home and there is my son still with that one shoe on.

Finally, at around 5pm I said "Why don't you take that shoe off?".

To which he replied "I can't be bothered".

What is that?

Teenage lazy?

Or is that just your basic plain old fucking lazy?

Ciao
LC

Question?

The other day my son said to me;

"Why would Nature decide to give you pimples when you are a teenager? I mean, you feel weird enough anyway without having to look at yourself with pimples. What is the point of pimples? None. There is no purpose."

I ask myself the same question when it comes to the purpose of cellulite.

No purpose whatsoever.

At all.

None.

And you cannot even get any satisfaction out of squeezing it.

What a thought... Imagine if you could squeeze cellulite like you can do to a pimple.

It would be quite horrendous.

Ciao
LC

Hook Or By Crook, I'll Be First In This Book

Remember the days of an autograph book? I had one but it is long gone.

About twenty years ago my mother was at a second hand market and came across a dealer selling this autograph book. It was quite expensive - about $25 which was a lot at the time.

She gave it to me as I have always had a liking for "stuff" and especially other people's "stuff".

Inside the cover is a photo of what I believe to be the son of the original owner of the book. Mainly because it says, in the shaky handwriting of an older person, my son Donald three years ago. So I think it is safe to assume it is her son.

The book was started in about 1910. That is the earliest entry. It is definitely Australian. Many of the poems and drawings are of Australian content. The writing style is beautiful. I wonder how the handwriting of then deteriorated to the standard it is now (well at least in our schools).

The poems and comments are gorgeous. Full of romanticism and gentle humour.

A lot of patriotism. The picture of the flag below is painted onto the page. It is thick and shiny to look at and the date is, I think, 12/09/1916 which was smack bang in the middle of the Great War. In those days Australian society still saw England as the Mother Country and many, many men went to fight for her.

The little ink drawing looks old fashioned but it really is not. That style of dress was still being worn at that time so it was modern.

Another depiction of the day.

The drawing below is lovely. Very pre Raphaelite.

Below is a very funny verse that was in it.

I found them in a book last night,

These withered violets.

A token of that early love

Which no man ever forgets.

Pressed carefully between the leaves,

The keep their colour still.

I cannot look at the tonight

Without an old time thrill.

Ah me, what tricks doth memory plays

The passing years have fled

And hopes which once I cherished here

Alas are long since dead.

And this all all that I can say

These flowere remind me of some girl....

I wish, I knew which one!

The ending makes me laugh.

I do wonder what happens in families that makes these things end up at a market stall. I am always reminded of our worth to others when I see things like this. It is not that it is a bad thing, but there is something poignant about coming across these things.

I think the owner of the book was born around 1900, perhaps earlier. Maybe she was a teenager (not that there was that term then) when she received the book.

Did she keep it packed away in a box for years and then when she died it was just thrown out? How does that happen? Am I just too sentimental? I think I am. I would never throw anything like that out.

Years ago I recall someone whose grandmother died. He was the only living heir so he inherited everything. He sold everything in the house as he did not want that "old shit". Sent anything not sold down to the rubbish dump. Like she did not matter.

I might not know the woman who owned this diary but I have spent a long time looking at the verses inside it. The drawings done by people with lives as important as mine. I wonder if some of them died in the war? They were about that age, it was about that time.

The spine of the book is loose and some of the pages have come free of the binding. It sits in a bookcase behind glass with all my old books.

Autograph books are out of fashion now. I suppose Facebook has replaced them.

Not quite the same is it?

I once did a post about my mum throwing out letters and how important writing a letter is still and I think it just cements in my mind that the handwritten word beats any communication hands down.

Ciao

LC

Computer Elbow

The other day I was pfaffing around in the bathroom and blow drying my hair when I noticed that my left elbow looked like I had attached some sort of leathery pink patch to it.

It was dry and horrid. I freaked. Rubbed in a scrub, then a load of oil and over priced moisturiser to see if I could fix it. It sort of settled.

Strangely enough, the other elbow was perfectly acceptable. I could not think of why until last night.

I was sitting at my lap top and reading something and I noticed a bit of pain in my left elbow so I rubbed it and then I realised how I got that "tough" elbow.

When I am sitting at the laptop I have my right hand on the mouse and my chin resting in the left hand - you know, sort of holding up my head (as if I cannot hold it up naturally).

I am almost embarrassed to admit that I sit in that slovenly "elbow on the table" pose when reading things on the internet.

So the elbow hurt last night because I had softened the skin and brought it back to normal.

I think they should manufacture elbow pads for this modern problem. The new problem of Computer Elbow. The RSI of 2010.

In the meantime I have folded a piece of soft felt into a little cushion upon which I shall rest my elbow when it is holding up my head.

Leathery elbows I am not ready for.

Nor am I going to sit ramrod straight.

Ciao
LC

Private And Sleep

Well now I am private.

I want to thank everyone who kindly sent me an email to stay on the read list. I think that you may have to set up a gmail account to have access. I know it is a bit fiddly to sign in and then read, but it only has to be done once.

However, if it is too difficult I may just have to reconsider it. Blogger is not very friendly to private blogs and I do not think the Feedburner works on it when a blog goes private. I shall investigate and see what comes up. Please email me if it is just really annoying for me to be private.

And for those I added anyway, well it is because you have posted a lot over the past.

It is Sunday today and one of those wet days that make you want to stay inside.

Last night I lay in bed and listened to the rain against the window. It rained all night or at least it seemed that way as each time I woke up I could hear that pitter patter.

When I go to bed at night I lay on my side and look out the window. I have curtains that can be drawn to block out any view, but once they are open I can see to the neighbour's fence, the sky and trees. Some night when the moon is so bright in the sky I can see the light from it on the window frames and the trees are beautiful silhouettes.

For me, those presleep minutes (or longer) when I lay and look out the window into the night sky, are so peaceful. I can put the stress of the day out of my head for a while before I go to sleep.

I have been laying and looking out of that window for many years.

When I look out that window I think that nothing has changed much. Trees get a bit taller, leaves come and go and that is about it.

I wonder if that is why I like it so much.

Out and beyond the window everything changes. Noise, neighbours, old buildings get older and then get pulled down and replaced by new ones, more traffic up my street and people coming and going. But that little view outside my bedroom window is kind of static.

Sometimes it is nice when nothing changes.

Just stays still.

Ciao
LC