HOW DO YOU SAY GOODBYE?

How do you say goodbye to something that’s not only been a part of your life, but IS your life?

I know I’ve blogged before about Stone Manor (Mum’s house), but … I can’t overcome this massive change in my life.  I can only imagine what impact it must be having on Mum…

Stone Manor is my home.  It’s my safe place.  My comfort.

Yes, I left there long ago to start a life and build a home of my own, which I have done successfully, however, there’s no place like home.

So many memories flood to my mind… some blurry, some clear…

I remember (fuzzily) when I was little, Mum sent me to my room for being naughty.  I think this was when my room was going through the ‘purple’ phase.  I was like… four.

I remember pulling a stool in the shape of a sheepdog (don’t ask me – I didn’t design interior furnishings in the 1970’s) that I called Shep, to my door.  I remember climbing up onto it, pulling down the door handle, and opening the door.  I remember pushing Shep out of the way, and sneaking up the hallway to see Mum and Dad having a cuppa at the dinner table.  I stuck my head around the corner, hoping not to be seen…

It’s a memory that’s fading now, but I can still see the blue ‘body’ of Shep, and its big white head and floppy ears…  I wonder what ever happened to him…

When I walk along the driveway, I look down at the rough concrete footpath between the crossover and the driveway.  I look at the scars on my knuckles, and remember when I was pushing my little cousin in a pram ahead of me as I ran along, then tripping over, scraping my knuckles along the concrete as they were pinned under the pram handle.  I still shiver remembering that…

I remember walking out the back door at 17, and seeing this clapped up Torona in the car port.  I can still see Dad smiling as he handed me the keys.  I remember taping windows and taping up globe mags, ready for respraying, in the garage… I remember taking it for it’s first drive…

I remember designing and having a wardrobe company come in and install a new robe in my bedroom, which was going through the ‘green’ phase.  I remember standing on a trestle painting the cornice, and choosing the carpet. 20 years later, it’s still the same…

I remember making love to the man that would eventually be my husband, for the first time in that room. Sshhh.. don’t tell Mum.

I remember the old garage being dismantled (which actually ended up at my uncle’s house in Heyfield) and a new one being built.  I remember the bob cat getting bogged when it was supposed to be levelling out the foundations, and Dad being furious about it! I also remember the framework falling on my Uncle Royce.  He was okay.  Bred the Stone’s tough, they did.

I remember my friend Sharon trying to teach me how to drive a manual in her Suzuki Swift.  Oh yeah.  I remember bunny hopping it once, and the car leapt toward that very same, soon to be dismantled garage, giving Shaz a heart attack.  The lesson ended there.

I remember Dad building the fernery, the decking, the carport, the garage, the back room (with the help of Uncle Royce again), renovating the lounge, dining room, bathroom, bedrooms and back room. 

I remember trees being planted and removed from the gardens, plants being added and relocated, and pot plants multiplying by the hundreds. 

I remember cooking my first cake in the crappy oven that’s been there since the dawn of time.  Still cooks like a mo fo though, and has produced many awesome dishes.  I remember the smell of the house when Mum was baking.  The table would be covered in cakes and cookies.  I remember my cousin Maryanne and I sitting in the lounge with a box full of Chocky Rocks between us, and eating over half of them.  Mum use to make a double batch of Chocky Rocks, which would produce like sixty cookies.  You do the maths.  Maryanne and I were pigs that day…

I remember setting myself on fire when the tea towel I was using to lift the lasagne out of the oven, rested on the element for just long enough to catch alight.  That was fun.  No permanent damage, apart from a fear of naked flames.

I remember playing with my Lego in my bedroom. In the lounge.  In the back room.  On the kitchen table. I remember Dad coming home from work every now and then with a new box for me.  I distinctly remember him bringing home a fire truck. And space ships.  That was cool. Now that Lego will be handed on to my nephews to enjoy.  Hopefully they will love it as much as I did.

I remember Mum sitting down at the kitchen table with me playing card games.  I remember Dad teaching me to colour in between the lines at that same table.

I remember how the dining room chairs pinch my arse.  Thankfully, Mum’s selling them. Fucken uncomfortable things that I won’t miss.

I remember, at 16, falling asleep in my room whilst watching the Australian Open, and waking to Mum turning off the telly.

I remember hanging some of my cross stitches on her walls, as gifts to her.  I still look at them with pride now, and can’t wait to find a place for them in her new home.

I’ve many memories of sitting at the dining table with the oldies, and their stupid lovebird would be pottering around the table, eating a few grains of sugar off the side of Dad’s plate, it was so tame.  It would cuddle up in Mum’s collar and go to sleep whilst she ate.  However, if she wasn’t looking, it would get into her cup of tea and drink some, or it would shred whatever paper or envelopes she had on the table.  Fucken shredding machine, that bird was… he’s now resting peacefully in the garden.

I remember spending hours studying at the little desk I had in the spare room.  No computers then: I would hand write everything with different coloured scented pens that I absolutely treasured.  How different things are now.

I remember preparing for my wedding day.  Gorgeous Eloise came to do our hair, and we set up in the large hall entry.  I remember Charlie arriving to pick up something to take to the reception centre, and he and his brother had photos taken in the back yard.  I was peeking out the windows all the time, watching.  How handsome they looked…

I remember, that day, enjoying the gourmet chicken sandwiches I’d made, and fun with Iris, Marika, Shaz (photographer), Jade and Eloise.  I remember Dad coming in to tell us the flowers had arrived, and I remember pinning his ‘button hole’ on for him in the fernery. 

How beautiful the garden looked.  Oh my God, what colour and life.  The grass was like bright green carpet and the relaxed, cottage-style garden overflowed with colour.  That garden looks beautiful, even when it needs some love.  The number of times I’ve answered the front door to complete strangers asking questions about the plants, I’ve lost count of…

Now, a lot of my garden here at Allenbee Fields consists of cuttings and plants from Stone Manor.  A living legacy? Maybe.  I beautiful one, for sure.  *laughs* When I stop and think about it, there are little bits of Stone Manor in a lot of gardens out there… :D

I remember many a time, sitting in the back room waiting for Mary to rock up so we could go to the movies.  I could hear her car stereo as she turned in the driveway… if it’s too loud, you’re too old…

I remember Dad’s 1970-something Sandman panel van (yes – bright orange) pulling off Heatherton Road (1/2 a kilometre away) and into our street, the engine was that loud.  The kitchen windows rattled as it came up the driveway.

I remember that our friends and family never used the front door – always the back door, where they were greeted with a smile, a piece of cake, and a cup of tea (no Chocky Rocks, because Mary and I ate them all).

I remember Charlie would walk into the back door, straight to the fridge, and into the Mint Slice biscuits that Mum always has there for him.  Typical male; easily pleased :D

So, how do you say goodbye to something that’s such a part of you? 

Do you even say goodbye?  Or just ‘until we meet again?’ 

I think once Mum leaves, I’ll be hard pressed to go back again.  I don’t think I could bear to see someone else living in it, let alone the state the garden could end up in.  Apparently, the new owner is going to rent it out.  48 years of love in that property, I’d hate to think what a tenant will do…

Hopefully, treat it with as much love as we have.

Hopefully, appreciate it as much as we have, and make it their home.  That would be nice.  It is, after all, a home.

Farewell, Stone Manor.  Thanks for the memories.  You will always be in my heart.

FORREST... AGAIN...

Forrest strikes again.  She's sleeping on my boot box.  Must be more comfortable than it looks....

:D

AM I A RACIST?

On my way to work this morning, I called into a bakery to grab a bottle of water and a salad roll for my lunch.  I was served by a lovely Indian lady, who has been working there for some time now.  For the sake of privacy, we’ll refer to her as India.

As I was walking out with my goodies, I passed a lady coming in.  I really paid no mind, as I had already started ticking over the things I had to do at work that day, and having made my purchase, my mind had shifted to the next gear.

Anyway, as I’m nearly at the door, I hear India ask ‘how can I help you?’, or something to that effect.

The response she got caused me to stop dead in my tracks and turn to look back.  I couldn’t believe what I heard.

The lady that I had passed on her way in simply said ‘You cannot help me.  I want to be served by an Australian, not an Indian.’

And she was dead serious.

Now, those people that know me well, understand that I’m rarely short of an opinion, nor am I afraid to express it.  In this instance, I was completely and utterly speechless.  Totally stunned into silence.

In my defence, I do have an inner ear infection, and it feels like I’m living in a tunnel at the moment.  However, I’m pretty sure I heard right, and by the reaction of India and her ‘Australian’ co-workers, I had heard correctly.

One of the co-workers stepped forward and said ‘India will be able to assist you…’ with a slightly sharp edge to her voice.

The customer didn’t care.  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t like curry munchers.  I need someone else to serve me.’

Curry munchers?  She actually said it out loud AND in direct reference to an Indian person.  My jaw hit the floor.  I was paralysed to the spot.  WTF was going on here?

The girls behind the counter exchanged horrified looks, and India gracefully said ‘It’s okay.  Serve her.’ To one of the other girls, who proceeded to do so, albeit reluctantly.  India started to head toward the back room, and I dare say, it was in an effort to hide her feelings from this horrendous woman.

At that moment, my phone rang, and I had to go, but as I drove to work, all I could think of was India and this shocking customer.  I can comfortably say that I can’t recall ever seeing such blatant racism before.  Not in the flesh like that.  It was shocking.

So this started my mind turning, and I wondered ‘am I a racist?’

I believe that I am.

Would I have treated India in such an appalling manner?  Never.  Would I openly discriminate against someone because of their race? Never.  So what makes me think that I’m a racist?

Though I didn’t watch it the other night, the show Can Of Worms raised a question: are you a racist if you laugh at a racist joke?

I think so. 

We’ve all done it.  Don’t kid yourself.  There’s something someone has said that’s derogatory to another race, and we’ve laughed.  Sometimes, these jokes are funny.  Admit it.  However, if we were as ‘anti-racism’ as we claim to be, when we here these jokes, we’d leap onto our soap box, and give the joke teller a piece of our multicultural mind.

Doesn’t happen.

It’s like all the jokes you get on your mobile phone when someone famous dies.  Amy Winehouse is a perfect example.  I reckon it was about two hours, and I had them coming through.  Two hours. 

Did you know that McDonalds has a new happy meal in memory of Amy Winehouse?  It’s just coke and ice.  Hilarious, but completely and utterly disrespectful.  Doesn’t stop people sending them.  Doesn’t stop me laughing at it.  Doesn’t stop me publishing it here.  Doesn’t stop you laughing when you read it.  Hilarious, but wrong.

Same as the racist jokes.  Hilarious, but wrong. 

However, does it make me a racist? 

Or it is just ‘the Australian way’?  Do we just find humour in every situation to make light of it, or are we just inconsiderate racist rednecks?

So, what defines a racist? 

Are there levels of inappropriateness?  Is saying a racist joke okay, because we know we will still buy food from the Indian restaurant, sushi shop, Asian bakery and have yum cha on Sunday’s with your family? We’ll still get our cars washed at Magic Hands, buy our subs from Subway, and enjoy the multicultural culinary delights of Lygon Street, all of which employ a diversity of cultures?

Would you actually walk into a shop and refuse service from someone because of their race? Would you not employ someone because they don’t seem to have a good grasp of the Queen’s English, even though they appear to be quite competent?   Would you help a frail old Muslim woman if she dropped her shopping in front of us, or would we just keep walking, with the fear that she may blow us up?

I think the majority of Australian’s acknowledge and appreciate our multicultural diversity, and enjoy it.  However, we just like to make fun of it every now and then.  So maybe we’re not racists?

Now here’s a question for you: have you ever been the subject of reverse racism?

Have you ever had an immigrant say to you that they hate this country and all Australian’s are racist?  Have you ever had someone call you a filthy infidel, because your beliefs are different to theirs?  Have you ever had someone selected for a job over you, because the employer needs to fill their ‘multicultural quota’?

Do you get angry when you see enclaves of immigrants protesting against the Australian Government, because they don’t like the way people in their homeland are being treated? Have you ever seen these immigrants protest against the government because they don’t like the way they are being treated?  Does it frighten you when you see a lot of gang related racial violence reported on the news? Do you get angry when you see a Muslim temple being built in your neighbourhood? Do you get angry when you see a woman in a burqa?

Do you think: if you don’t like it here, leave?  Don’t push your beliefs onto our country?  Take your racial violence back to you own country; we don’t roll like that in Oz?  I know I have.

Does that make us racists? 

Possibly.  Or does it make us proud Australians; defensive of our way of life, and shocked by the ways of other cultures?

Are we just slapping the ‘racism’ label on something that is natural? Is it normal to feel indifference toward other races, to feel threatened, fearful and confused?

Who knows?

However, what I do know, is the woman that walked into the bakery this morning was a racist.  It was offensive, and its people like her that give people like me a bad name.  Sure, she possibly had her reasons, but you can’t tar everyone with the same brush, now can you?

Measuring myself against this woman this morning was easy.  It was instantaneous actually, and gives me some confidence in knowing that maybe I’m not a racist after all…

Peace out. 

AGEING GRACE

Whether our experiences are good or bad in life, there is a lesson in everything.  A gift of knowledge, you may say.

Some people grab these gifts and use them.  Some do not. 

For example, my teenage step daughter, after 10 years of living with me, still doesn’t understand that getting her dirty clothes into the laundry BEFORE washing day, ensures that they are washed.  No matter now many ‘experiences’ she has with this one, she ain’t learning. 

It could be a teenage thing, or it could be that she’s just a dumbarse.  I not sure, but I’m tippin’ it’s a combination of both.  Either way, she ain’t grabbing these ‘gifts of knowledge’ and running with them.

Having to deal with a lot of this real estate stuff for Mum over the past couple of months, has handed me a lot of gifts of knowledge.  And some of them are quite startling, and I would like to share some of them with you.

How Things Change

I remember my mother when she was younger.  She was really active and what you would call a ‘go getter’.  She was rarely idle.  If she wasn’t running around after me, working or cooking, she was volunteering for the CWA, gardening or making crafts (she can knit like a mo fo).

Age has slowed her down somewhat, but she’s as active as she can be.  If she’s not volunteering for the CWA, gardening or cooking, she will be sitting in front of the telly, ‘watching’ it, whilst knitting something.  If she’s not knitting (very rare) she’ll be doing her crosswords and word puzzles.  She loves them.  She keeps her mind and her hands as active as possible.

She still does a lot, but it’s like she’s in slow motion.  I guess that’s aging for you.

What has this taught me: patience.  To move at a slower pace; you’ll still get there in the end.

Not Too Much At Once

Although Mum is very intelligent, I have found I cannot throw too much at her at once.  If you and I were having a discussion, we could possibly bandy around twenty different ideas, and still be on top of them all.

Not the case with Mum.  I find if I hit her with too much, she gets easily confused, or has an ‘information overload’.  She never use to be like this… perhaps it’s an aging thing.

However, this has taught me many things.  The patience to slow down and take things one step at a time; forward planning so that she’s not overloaded all at once, and understanding what stuff needs to be dealt with now, and what can seriously wait for later.

Fear

I think a lot of her reactions and decisions are driven by fear.  Fear of the unknown, fear of technology, fear of not understanding, fear of being taken advantage of, fear of being lost, fear of forgetting something important, fear of missing out, fear of being out of her comfort zone, fear of something happening to the stupid cat, fear of strangers, fear of letting people down, fear of being an inconvenience, fear of idiots on the road, fear of being lonely.  Fear of dying.  Fear of missing everybody when she’s gone.

It’s everywhere in everything she does… it’s like an unspoken thing… an uninvited visitor… it’s just there.  In the back ground. 

What I’ve learnt from this: constant reassurance is the key.  Thinking ahead of all the possible outcomes, narrowing it down to the positives, and presenting her with those.  Providing a constant comfort.  Am I wrapping her in cotton wool by doing this?  Possibly.  However, at 74 years of age, don’t you think she deserves it?

Constant surprises

Just when I think that she’s off her game, Mum will come out and slam me. 

You see, she’ll sit back and process something for a while; toss it around in her mind, and then she’ll go KABAM! This usually revolves around financial matters, which I won’t go into here, but she’s on it, and comes up with some fantastic ideas that even surprise me.

And I shouldn’t be surprised, because she is an intelligent woman.  Credit where it’s due.

Lesson here: don’t underestimate anyone.  They will constantly surprise you.

Respect

Having an oldie for a parent has opened my eyes to how disrespectful some people are toward our aging population.

When I was younger, I didn’t give a crap about oldies, and even know, I get cranky when they’re driving at 80kms her hour in a 110km zone. 

However, when you see their health decline, their abilities fade, their limitations increase, and their fears rise… your attitude changes pretty quickly.  Though… I cannot expect the ignorance and arrogance of youth to understand that.

I will, without a hesitation, punch anyone in the head that offends or upsets my mother.  You don’t be disrespectin’ Iris. 

Lesson here: respect your elders.  Understand where they have come from, what their experiences are, and what they’ve gone through to give you and me the life we have now.  Respect and acknowledge.

Who’s Going To Look After Me When I Get Older?

As I do things for my mother, I wonder what would happen to her if I wasn’t here.  I’m her only child; what would happen to her if I go?  Who will look after her?  I know Charlie will.   He loves Iris as much as I do… he is only human after all.

This, however, raised a question in me though, and I suppose… it’s something I do fear.  Who will look after me when I’m old and frail?  I don’t have any children of my own.  Given the chance, Jade will be out of here like a dog shot in the arse, starting her own life… responsibilities for a step-mother far from a priority on her list.

Who will look after me when I get older?  If Charlie goes, I have no one.  That thought alone makes me sad.  I think of all the oldies in this position now; good people that have no one, and wonder if I’m set for that same course.  Will everything I’ve gone through in my life result in nothing?

I personally do not fear death.  I have faced it a few times, and have won out.  Thankfully.  However, I know it will come for one final time, and I just pray when it does, it takes me quickly.  I just wonder where I’ll be when it happens.  Will I have someone to care for me, like Iris does, or will I be alone?

A great mystery that only God can answer, I think.

Bit deep for a Monday, hey?

Lesson learnt here: get over yourself.

I suppose what I have learnt the most is that I admire my Mum.  I admire her inner strength and easy going nature.  She can over come anything put in front of her, and she will do it with good spirits.  She accepts her lot in life, and she rolls with it.   She never complains (except about the idiots that park across her driveway), and is always appreciative of what she has.

I admire her strength and her kindness.  I admire her vulnerability.  She is full of love and caring, which she doles out by the shovel load.  Even on the stupid cat.

Her body is failing her.  Her hip makes it hard for her to walk.  Her legs don’t last as long as they use to, and she has to sit down a lot when we’re shopping.  Her hands shake a lot more, but that doesn’t stop her doing her puzzles and crafts.  She get’s tired a lot, and has about 50 nanna naps a day, and almost as many cups of tea.

She’s a lady of such refined grace, but of such good humour and fun.  I think I’m terribly fortunate to have her in my life.  I’m lucky to have a mother such as Iris.

KARMA

Dear Universe,

Thank you for dishing out instant karma last night, and allowing me to witness it.

You see, I was a little peeved when driving down Somerville Road behind a couple of other vehicles, happily doing the speed limit and minding my own business, to be over taken by a clown in his ute.

Certainly, being over taken is not an issue, but when he’s flying up the painted median and turning lanes in the middle of the road AND throwing stones up all over my car, I tend to get a little miffed.

That’s when I kind of pray for the police, who never seem to be around when you need them.  Though I shouldn’t complain; they’re possibly catching real criminals.

So, I said to myself ‘Self; obviously, there must be some kind of emergency for him to be in such a hurry…’ and I relaxed again until I was at one with myself.

However, no more than a minute later, did I pull up to an intersection to find ute boy in front of me.  Well, that amount of speeding and stones certainly paid off, didn’t it champ?

Then, I noticed that his vehicle was moving sideways.  Sideways.  Wtf?  Ute boy had his back wheels on the thick painted line of the pedestrian crossing, and he was spinning his wheels.  This was causing him to slide sideways; toward the truck beside him.

The truck driver could see it too, and started yelling at him.  Ute boy stopped being a clown; but only momentarily.

Lights changed, and he was off like desperate shoppers bursting through the doors at the Myer Stocktake Sale. 

As he hammered down the road, me sitting there thinking ‘you’re a dick, and something needs to happen to make you stop…’ smoke started to appear from under his vehicle.

As he drove along, the smoke was getting thicker and heavier, causing him to pull over.  Smoke was pouring out from under his bonnet, and as I drove past, he was out of his car and on the phone to someone who possibly gave as much of a shit as I did.

Suck on that, you fucking clown.

So thank you universe.  Thank you for dishing out karma last night.  I feel privileged witnessing it, and I truly appreciate it.

Peace out.

THE OPRAH BLOWOUT

So, in the past couple of days, we’ve seen the media report on the costs of having the Oprah Show come out to Australia earlier this year. 

Just to refresh your memory, Tourism Australia, in association with the various states tourism authorities, bought the Big O out here in an attempt to promote this magnificent country on an international stage, and attract the lucrative tourism dollar.

The cost to the Victorian tax payers alone (and that’s what I’ll focus on here) was $650,000.

Now, as I’ve said before, I am a Liberal voter.  The concept of the Big O coming out here, was a Labor one.  For this liberal conservative, I thought the idea was nothing short of brilliant.

$650,000?  Pffft.  A drop in the ocean.  Worth every cent, in my view.  I seriously don’t know what people are carrying on about here.  $650,000 is nothing in a trillion dollar economy.  Let’s be realistic about that.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a massive Oprah fan.  I've only ever watched her show a couple of times, and I cannot stand her ‘it’s all about me and I’ve made it’, ‘peace, love and harmony’ and ‘a hug will fix everything’ attitude.  Get realistic with me, Oprah; there’s only so much sugar I can take.

So I think, out of respect to all of the real Oprah fans, it is fair to say that I am not one.

In saying that, I do not for a second under estimate her pulling power.  My God, the woman has billions of fans.  Billions.  In dozens of nations across the planet.  The woman has more connections than God.  In fact, God goes through her if he/she needs to speak to someone important.

So how could the concept of bringing her out here fail?  Seriously?  Australia has been exposed to billions of people in dozens of countries around the world through Oprah. This campaign would've reached people that had never heard of Australia, and they would've been blown away by the awesomeness of this great land.  They are, after all, only human.

Sadly, the timing of this experiment seems to have been slightly off.  Studies have shown that tourism from America has dropped 8% since she came out here.  If we stop and think, it possibly has a lot to do with the fact that America are so broke, that they’re making third world countries look good.  Our Aussie dollar is too strong, so it’s not an attractive option for them to come out here.  At the moment. 

But what about Asia?  Asians love Oprah.  They love Australia.  You would think some studies out there may have been done on the Asian factor? Surely? Mmm… 

Either way, Australia is out there, on the international stage, thanks to Oprah, who will have had almost as much impact, I think, as Paul Hogan and his BBQ shrimps.  Let’s forget that horrendous ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ campaign from the bikini clad car accident.  Let’s forget that ‘walkabout’ arty-farty campaign from Baz Lurman.  Omg.  I’m rolling with Oprah, and I think this campaign will have done wonders for this land.

$650,000.  Nothing.  Let’s put it into perspective for a moment.

Melbourne hosts a car race every year; an internationally renowned event that is supposed to bring not only tourists to this country, but very wealthy ones.  This race costs the Victorian tax payers approximately $50,000.000.  That’s fifty million dollars.  Every year.  Gone.

What the hell is $650,000?  NOTHING.

Let’s face it; ANYTHING that promotes Australia as a good tourist destination is great, and if it only costs the state $650,000, then I think I can live with that.

Peace out.

BIG BAD BAZZA

Mark Knight cartoon from the Herald Sun: 20 July 2011

bahahahahaaaaa!!!!

FOZZY

So, I would like to introduce you to one of my cats; Forrest.  She's a 14 year old de-sexed female that loves to cuddle, lick, pad and drool.  

She also has a great knack of finding the most interesting places to sleep.  

Here are just a few shots of her in various spaces (my ironing basket, on top of my fax/printer, and on top of my napkin basket).  

She is the reason I throw a towel over my ironing basket, as there's nothin' worse than having nice clean clothing squished and covered in cat hair!  

I'm going to make it my mission to collect as many of these types of photo's of her as I can, simply because she sleeps in the most interesting spaces (the sock box, the linen press, the shelving in the walk in robe, just to mention a few).  

I figure that the fax/printer must be warm, because this is one of her favorite places, and she'll snooze there whilst I'm working away beside her...

This one, taken last night, was of her snoozing in the napkin holder.  She will sleep on top of just about anything, but rarely on a cold surface.  So, if there are place mats or oven mits on the table or bench, she will sleep on top of them!

Interesting cat.

Enjoy.  Peace out.

THE STRANGEST DREAM...

I had the strangest dream last night.

Charlie-Albert and I were working in the garden at home, and we decided that we had to go and move something.

So we walked across the yard, and fell into this abyss.  It was like we fell over the edge of a cliff, into a massive hole...

We're falling and falling into this blackness, and I'm thinking 'I've heard of these...  can't believe we've fallen into one...'

Charlie's like 'What's going on?  Where are we?'

'We're in an abyss type of thing... we're just falling...'

'Well, how do we get out?' and he started reaching out to his sides.

'Don't let go of me!  I'm heavier than you! I'll fall faster, and I'll never see you again!' and I grabbed onto him tighter.

'We need to find the side... something to grab onto...'

'There's nothing... just blackness...' I said, and suddenly thoughts of everything I had have been lost.  Lost my Mum, lost my house, lost my car, lost my friends, lost my job... all of these thoughts of finality were flashing through my head.

'There's got to be a way out...'

'I don't think there is... we will just fall and fall... we will die of thirst before we stop falling...it's over....'

'We've got to get out...' he kept saying.

'There is one way, I think!' I said.  'I don't know if it will work though...'

'Let's try it...'

'Ok.  Are you ready?' I gripped him tighter.

'Yep.'

'Ok.  WAKE UP!'

My eyes snapped open and I shook with a start, awake in bed.  I actually woke myself up from my dream! My heart was absolutely hammering, and I was literally shaking.    I reached out and felt Charlie beside me, and shook him.  'Char?'

He just grunted back at me.  He was okay.

It was THE most bizarre dream I've had in a while.  Considering dreams start to fade as soon as they're over, I find it strange that I can remember it with clarity.

Anyone know how to analyse dreams?  Please, if you do: tell me what the hell that was all about.

Peace out.

THE GREEN THING

Hi peeps,

this is a copy of an email i received from a girlfriend today, that I thought I would share with you.  Some interesting, if not amusing, reading.  Enjoy. (Thanks Auntie Mole!)

The Green Thing

In the line at the store, the cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.

The woman apologized to him and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."
The clerk responded, " That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."

He was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that old lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana..

In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us.

When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.

We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

But we didn't have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service..

We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?

SOMETIMES, THINGS ARE NOT ALWAYS AS THEY APPEAR

So; let me set the scene for you.  I had to help Mum with some house stuff yesterday, so instead of driving from Tooborac to The Nong and back in one day, and then to Sunshine the next day (about a four hour round trip), I stayed at Mum’s last night and drove to work from there (no, my husband didn’t miss me.  At all).  As a direct result of this, I didn’t bring any lunch with me.

Now, I know this could have been potentially devastating. However, I actually had some money in my purse, I headed out about 12.30pm to go and grab me some viddles.

It’s only a short drive to the tuck shop (too far to walk in the time frame I have), and on the way, one of my girlfriends calls me.  I have a newish car, which has the hands free thingy in the car stereo, so I’m driving along, flapping my gums, having a great time.

I get to the tuck shop, park the car, and continue my conversation with my peep.

Whilst I’m yapping away, I notice two guys, who looked like tradesmen in their fluro yellow safety jumpers, sitting on a bench seat in front of the tuck shop, eating their lunch.  They’re looking at me, laughing and chatting, and to be honest, I really paid them no mind.

Anyway, I finish my conversation, climb out of the car, and head toward the shop.

As I walk past these two guys, one of them says to me ‘Did you have a good conversation?’

Now, I must let you know; I have an inner ear infection at the moment.  So apart from the constant popping and gurgling in my effing ear making life somewhat of a challenge, I cannot hear very well.  So I stopped at looked at them; ‘Sorry?  What did you say?’

‘I said, did you have a good conversation?’ the bigger one of the two said, trying not to laugh.  The other skinny dork was giggling like a teenage school girl.  I’m like wtf?

‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, my patience vanishing quicker than a hooker at quittin’ time.  WTF were they on about? I was a touch confused...

‘You were sitting in your car talking to yourself!’ tall dude said, and started pissing himself laughing.  The two of them were having a great ol’ time!

Talk about embarrassing.  They were loud and laughing at me, and people were staring.  I could not believe it! I felt like I'd stepped through a time portal and landed smack bang in the middle of friggin high school!  ‘Are you kidding me?’ I said incredulously.  ‘You thought I was talking to myself?’ I was quite taken aback that they not only thought that, but had the nerve to say something.  How fucken rude!

They were laughing their heads off; at my expense.  Oh my God they thought it was funny… Me on the other hand… well, I had sand in my pants, so I wasn’t particularly in the mood for douches today. ‘You are kidding me, right?’ I grunted a laugh.  ‘You’re seriously not that stupid, are you? You didn’t really think that?’

Well if that didn’t smack the smiles off their faces.  ‘Who are you calling stupid?’ the tall one asked, successfully managing to slur all five words into one.

‘Why you and your buddy here, champ.’ I smiled pleasantly.  I pointed at the beaten up, piece-of-shit ute a couple of spaces up from them.  ‘Let me guess; that’s your vehicle?’ I asked politely.  They looked from me, to the piece of crap that was barely being held together by rust, and back to me again.

‘What of it?’ the skinny dork barked.

‘Well, unlike your relic from the dark ages, modern vehicles today, just like mine, actually have what’s called ‘hands free’ built into them.  It’s an amazing thing really,’ I explained, exaggerating my happiness, ‘because you can actually drive AND have a telephone conversation at the same time, without having to hold your phone or wear headphones.’ I said sarcastically.  ‘And you know what’s totally unbelievable? It also works when the car’s stopped.  It’s incredible!’ I waved my hands in the air.  ‘So, to break it down even simpler for you, because I’m sure you’re struggling to keep up; I was talking on my hands free.’

The tall dude looked at me and blinked a couple of times.  Either he was taking a moment to process what I was saying, or he thought I was totally hot and was taking memory photographs of my gorgeous self. ‘Well,’ he started quietly. ‘there’s no need to be nasty… we didn’t realise…’

‘Are you kidding me?’ I snapped.  ‘You actually had the audacity to have a crack at me about talking to myself, and that was okay.  However, when someone calls you on your mistake, that’s not okay?’  I rubbed my chin.  ‘Gee… that sounds fair.’

I turned and started to head toward the shop door.  I paused and looked back at them. ‘A piece of advice? Best to keep your mouth shut next time and let people think you’re stupid, than open your mouth and prove them right.’ They just blinked at me.  ‘Sometimes, things are not always as they appear.’

Pffft.  Fuckwits.

Peace out.

FEELING THE PAIN?

Hi peeps,

A friend of mine posted this article link on my facebook for me.  I found it a fantastic (and funny) read.

It's a very interesting look at the 'carbon tax' debate, and even if you don't necessarily believe it, have a think about it.  A lot of people I know are anti-carbon-tax, but I think a lot of people, including myself, need to look at the flip of the coin (as my friend suggested to me).

http://www.abc.net.au/unleashed/2794652.html

The one thing in this article I do agree with: this will cost Julia Gillard her political career.

Peace out.

OTHER PEOPLES BULLSHIT

A friend of mine posted on Facebook the other day, that she’s tired of her day being filled with other people’s bullshit.

I sat back in my chair and thought damn!  That’s so my life!  Day after day of dealing with other people’s bullshit!

How did that happen?

When did it start?

Like, my whole job is about dealing with the needs of others; dropping everything to get things done, meeting deadlines, organising shit… all other’s people crap that they don’t have time to deal with.  At least I get paid for it (and paid well; I’m very grateful for my job – particularly in this economic climate).  It’s my job, and it’s what I have to do.  Htfu.

Then I come home from work, knackered after a nearly two hour drive and dealing with bullshit all day, to have a husband and child dump their crap on me.

Both of them ‘dump’ with different styles; one aggressively complaining about the wingers and knuckleheads he has to work with (takes a winger to know a winger, I tell him), the other talking at 200 miles an hour about all the socially relevant issues of her teenage day. *rolls eyes*

Then there is paperwork my husband doesn’t understand, or the printer that won’t print properly, or the internet that won’t show the information that he wants, that he comes to me to fix. 

Then there’s the homework we don’t understand, the permission forms that need to be returned, the social engagements that you need some kind of degree in logistics to organise.  God forbid you have something planned, and cannot re-arrange the planets so a 14 years can have a sleep over at her besty’s house.

For the love of God, start sorting your own shit out.  I just wanna watch Masterchef in peace.

Then when I need help, I get ‘whatever…’ or 'Can I do it later?'  Are you kidding me?  I'll remember that when you need your clothes washed and your socks sorted next time.  Fuckers.

There are situations, of course, that cannot be avoided.  For example; Mum needs a lot of assistance with the sale of her home, and the purchase of a new one.  She’s 74, and although she is quite intelligent, if she gets too much thrown at her, she get’s confused.   So, I have to involve myself a lot there to protect her.  I’m happy to do that.

However, when I sit back and analyse my day, I wonder why I am faced with so much crap? Seriously.  95% of the stuff I deal with every day is not mine.

Is this normal?  Do you experience this as well? Do you sit there inwardly screaming ‘Do I look like a IT expert? Fix your own fucking printer!’

I know Mum’s out there have it a lot tougher than me.  Let’s be honest: you have your children to deal with, plus your husband.  So really, you have an extra kid; he’s just a little older…

I do seriously wonder if this is indeed normal.  Is it a woman thing? To people come to you because they genuinely respect you, and need your council? Are they honestly stuck or puzzled, and just need some assistance? Do they need someone they can vent to or express themselves to, and you’re in the line of fire? Or are they just too damn lazy to find their own socks ?

This is an absolute revelation to me. 

I seriously cannot believe I have never realised this before.  My day is full of other people’s bullshit.

I wonder if I should join a monastery or something.  Find some inner peace…. Yeah….  I’d possibly be bored in five minutes.  Mainly because I wouldn't be able to listen to Ke$ha or Pitbull, but mostly… well, I think I would miss other people’s bullshit.

Maybe that’s just life.  Maybe that’s what human interaction is; the exchanging of bullshit.

Maybe that’s the secret to life?

OMG… I could be onto something here...

Mmm… something to ponder…

Peace out.