GOODBYE

A friend of mine recently said ‘You’d be excited about Jade going, wouldn’t you?  Bit of freedom for you and Charlie?’

I instantly burst into tears.

I don’t know where it came from; they just instantly overflowed, surprising both of us.

Sure; a while ago, I would have said that it was an opportunity for Charlie and I to have a break and re-connect.  That’s true.  We’ve had an incredibly difficult and challenging eleven years, as I’ve blogged before.

However, as D-day (Departure Day) came closer, my heart grew heavier and heavier.

And so did Jade’s.

As we load up the car, and she says her final goodbyes to the house, the garden and the fucken cats, I notice a badge on her t-shirt.

‘I love my Dad.’ 

My heart stopped.  I got it for her a few father’s days ago.  I love my Dad.

As we headed down to the airport, Iris rang to say goodbye, and I lost my shit in the front seat. 

The pressure had been building and building, and as I handed the phone to Jade, and listened to her chatting to Grandma, and telling her she’d miss going there after school and dinner on Thursday nights, I just started crying. 

Charlie handed me his half used hankie (bless) and rubbed my leg as he drove on.

Queuing at the Virgin Australia Bag Drop, I look at Jade’s two massive suitcases, and pray to god they’re under 23kg’s each, cos it’s just gonna be salt in the wound for Charlie to have to pay excess luggage fees.  Fuck that.

Miraculously, Jade’s cases weigh 42.8kgs, and we’re set to roll.

As we had to leave at a sparrow’s fart, we decided we would have breakfast at the airport.  Maccas.  Nothing like breaky in style.

Whilst Char and I waited for the food, Jade slipped away to the toilets.  After fighting our way through the dining area for a seat, I texted Jade to tell her where she’d find us.  I got a telling me that she’d been sick.

No surprise.

Poor poppit was possibly more stressed than she was willing to admit.

I go off in search of her, and somehow, managed to miss her, because yelling ‘Jade!’ in the toilets yielded no results.

I returned to the dining room, and found here there, looking pale and bleary eyed, sitting opposite her father.

‘You okay, poppit?’

‘I was just really hungry, and was sick.’

‘More like you were nervous darlin, and were sick.’ I smiled softly, rubbing her back.  ‘It’s not from hunger darl.’

She nodded.  She knew, and proceeded to smash three hash browns and a coffee frappe. *rolls eyes*

As we sat at in the gate lounge, Jade cuddled up to her Dad, and I quietly read; giving them some final time together.

A fucken annoying dude a few seats up, with a loud nasal voice, started singing the jingle for Victory Blinds (why the fuck, I don’t know), and Jade and I burst out laughing.  Fucken dork.

Then they finally called her row. 

This is it.  This is goodbye.

We all stood up, and Jade hugged her Daddy goodbye.  I lost my shit again, and so did she.  Charlie, as ever, was a rock.

Jade turned to me and fell into my arms, and cried and hugged me for the longest time.  She didn’t want to let go, and neither did I.

She joined the long queue, and I moved Charlie to a place when, if she stopped at the entrance to the tarmac, we would be the last thing she saw before she went around the corner.

As she approached the final check in, I noticed her crying, and I cried even harder. 

Charlie just held me to his side.

As she walked through the check in and toward the door, she paused and turned to us, tears streaming down her face.

I could barely see her through mine.  I blinked a few times, enough so I could see her blow me a kiss, and step through the doorway.

And she was gone.

Charlie dragged me along the terminal a little bit, and pointed out to the tarmac.  We could see her walking along, and then up the steps and into the plane.  She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the doorway before disappearing into the plane.

She was gone.

Twenty minutes later, she would have been in the air, and on her way to start a new life, a life without us.

I couldn’t stop the tears.

As we were leaving the terminal, I actually had to stop and sit down, as it was just becoming all too much.

I calmed myself down, and as we hit the escalators that took us to the concourse, Charlie’s brother, sister-in-law and nephew were coming down. 

They were on their way to the Gold Coast for a holiday.

‘Check those clowns out!’ Charlie smiled, pointing up the escalators, and I saw their faces. 

I tried.  I tried so hard, but I just looked at my sister-in-law and burst into tears again.  I couldn’t even think.

I hope she understood.

She’s gone.  I know she’ll be back to visit, but it’s not the same.  She’s gone.

And I feel empty.

I feel like I’ve failed somehow… but I don’t know how…

Goodbye Jadie. 

Good luck.

I love you.

UNCLE CHAR

So, Charlie announces that he’s invited his two nephews, Matt and Chris, to come and stay over for the night.

Now, this declaration both shocks and excites me at the same time.

I feel sometimes that we’re forgotten by some of his family.  Living out here in the boonies; we must be feral, dirty, backward, uncouth, reckless rednecks, I reckon.

No one ever wants their kids to stay overnight with us, and it puzzles me as to why.  What am I missing?  Do we give off the impression of irresponsibility?  Mmmm…

Anyway, when Charlie’s sister Kellie, who he is not close to at all, agrees to them staying, my heart flips with excitement for Charlie.

If I take a step back a few days, The Buttlers were shopping in Krap Mart for some Christmas presents, and Jade and I decide that books would be good for Matt and Chris, because we know they love reading.

Charlie starts snoring at the suggestion.

So whilst Jade and I are looking at books, Charlie had wandered off to the sporting section, looks at the fishing gear, and fuck me: calls his sister that he rarely speaks too.

I’ll just insert here that I was quite proud of him doing that.   I think he’s getting too old to hold grudges now.

So he comes back to Jade and I, holding two fishing rods and two tackle boxes.  ‘I spoke to Kellie; he likes the idea of these for the boys for Christmas.’

‘You spoke to Kellie?’  Jade and I echo in disbelieve.

‘Yeah.  And the boys are coming to stay over the night on Boxing Day.’

***

So, as Boxing Day rolls around, I find I’m a little nervous.  I don’t know these boys very well, though I like them immensely.  They’re gorgeous boys and so beautifully mannered, but this will be unlike anything they’ve ever experienced, I think.

They’ve come up to the farm a few times before, but never for long periods, and never overnight.  I feel flattered and honoured that Kellie is willing to let her babies stay with us.  I’m really happy she trusts us enough to care for them.

I will never forget the look on Chris’ face when he opened his Christmas present.  I had bought two massive Christmas bags, possibly about a meter high and just as wide, to put the tackle boxes and fishing rods in.

When he opened the bag and saw what was inside, the smile that split his face will stay in my memory forever.

Never before have I seen such pure, unadulterated joy on a child’s face.  Sheer, pure, innocent joy as he pulled out the fishing rod.

Uncle Char explained to them about the rod and the boxes and the things inside, and that tomorrow, he would be taking them fishing in one of our dams that we know had yellow belly biting.

Over the course of the next day, I learnt one very clear thing about my beloved husband; he has infinite patience when it comes to kids.

He spent ALL his time with them.  He never ‘dumped’ them on me, never complained about these two shadows. 

He loved it.

He loved being ‘Uncle Char’.

From the kitchen window, I spied him on a few occasions, helping them with rods, teaching them how to drive the buggy, giving them a spin on the ride on mower, all the while smiling and laughing along with them.

It was beautiful to see.

After a yummy dinner of bangers, mash, onion gravy and chocolate self-saucing pudding, we settled in to play wii bowling.  Great family fun, and we all totally enjoyed ourselves.

After a hearty breakfast of buckwheat pancakes and caramelised bananas, the ‘men’ were off to do a spot of fishing and shooting (with the air rifle!).

That afternoon, the ute pulled up in the back yard, and the horn tooted.  Three very excited boys leapt out of the ute with a bucket, and came running into the house.

Chris had caught a 1kg yellow belly from the dam.  It was massive!  Almost as massive as the smiles on their faces.  Gold.

Uncle Char stood back telling me about how Matthew was the first to catch a fish, but decided to be kind and throw it back for another day.

However, Chris, the suddenly keen fisherman, kept his catch, and asked for some knives and a scaler to clean and gut the fish; which he did all by himself (with a little instruction from me).

After a yummy lunch of toasted egg and bacon sandwiches, a quick check of the yabbie nets, it was time to go.

I don’t know who was more disappointed; Charlie or the boys. 

After hugs, kisses and thanks all ‘round, Uncle Char drove his nephews back to Kilmore, Chris’ massive fish stowed in the eski.  Proud fisherman.

I really don’t know who had more fun; Charlie or the boys. 

I think Charlie really felt like an ‘Uncle’ for the first time; really relishing spending quality time with his charges.  It was beautiful. 

He had been planning for days.  Feeding the fish, organising his own fishing stuff; making sure he had enough caps for the air rifle… just gorgeous.

I know the boys love their Uncle Char, but Chris took too him like a fly on shit.  I saw him a few times looking up at him in complete adoration, and it made me smile.

What a profound impact Charlie would have on that boy’s life.  I think of the stories that Charlie would tell me of times he’d spend with his grandfather, eating raw potatoes from the ground (gross), and his memory of his grandfather’s ‘lake’ (to a young boy, a large dam would have easily looked like a lake).

I hope they come to stay again soon.  They were good fun.

Such a precious age, for both Uncle Char and his nephews.

Peace out.

SNAKES ALIVE?

SNAKE NUMBER ONE

So Charlie is strolling over to the calf paddock, and notices the cows are all standing, staring in the same direction; eyes fixed on something on the ground.

Wondering WTF, he comes up beside them, and turns to see what they’re all looking at. 

A brown snake.  Two foot long.  A baby. 

Yay.  Right next to a gate I’d just walked through not two hours earlier.  I hate that gate, because the latch is so hard to open and close.  I would have stood there for a few minutes with that fucker within cooee of me L

Charlie bolts off to the shed, comes back with a shovel, but it’s too late; the snake’s gone.  He rummages around in the grass, but can’t find him.  Great.  A two footer right near the house.

Somewhere.

People stupidly think that because they’re babies, they’re not as deadly.  They still have the same venom; still have the same effect. 

The only good snake, is a dead one.

SNAKE NUMBER TWO

‘Woman! Woman!’ Charlie yells from the back yard.  I’m in the study, and peer out the window at him.  He’s waving at me to come over.

*Sigh

I stroll through the house, out the back door (in thongs), and across to the veggie patch.

‘What’s up, babe?’ what the fuck does he want?  For fucks sake! Can’t he see I’m busy stalking my friends on Facebook?

‘Have a look at that.’ He points to the edge of the garden, and there, tangled in my bird netting, is a five foot brown snake.

‘What the fuck?’ my heart absolutely stopped, and my legs went weak.  Holy shit!

‘It’s dead.  It’s strangled itself in the netting.’

‘Thank fuck.’ My hand fluttered to my thumping heart.  Apart from the Zoo thing, I’ve never seen a snake like this.  It frightened the shit out of me.

‘That’s the second one in a couple of weeks now.’ He looks uncomfortably pissed off, if that makes sense.  Charlie doesn’t like snakes at all.  I’ve seen the dude flick and squash huntsman’s with his hands, but snakes are a completely different kettle of fish.

He climbs over the garden fence, strolls into the shed for his hunting knife and a feed back to dispose of the snake.  He comes back, cuts it free, whilst standing about ten feet away from it, if that’s at all possible.

‘How the fuck am I going to get it in the bag?’ he ponders aloud.

‘Just pick it the fuck up and put it in there.’  He just looks at me.  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake…’ I mutter, and climb over the fence.

‘Don’t touch it…’

‘Why?  It’s dead, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Then it’s no threat to me…’ I said, grabbing the tail of the snake and picking it up.  I dropped it into the open bag, which Charlie tied off.

If figured if I didn’t touch it, I would always be terrified of them, like I am of spiders.  Not that I plan on chasing after snakes any time soon, but I’ve got to have some steel around them. 

I think of my poor friend Bek, who is absolutely petrified of them.  Poor darling had so many snakes in her back yard last summer that it wasn’t funny.  Lost a beloved dog to a bite, too. 

I think, over the several years we’ve been here, that Charlie’s seen like three snakes.  Now, in two or three weeks, he’s seen two.  Great.

Fucken snakes.  Legless spawns of Satan.

SNAKE NUMBER THREE

The very next night, we all pile into the ute, all prettied up and heading out to a friends party in Puckapunyal.

As we’re reversing out of the car port, Charlie hits the breaks and yells ‘Snake!’

My heart hammers to my throat again, and it takes a few moments for me to focus on the five foot brown slithering across the ground directly in front of the double glass doors of the back room.  A foot away from it, is Milo.

Milo’s walking toward the snake, a ‘hi, what are you? Can we be friends and play?’ look on his face, as he sniffs the air in front of him.  Wide eyed and innocent, my beloved stupid cat doesn’t have a clue what he’s walking toward.

‘Milo!’ I cry, pointing, as the snake rears up to strike.  ‘Charlie!’

Charlie slams the car in gear, and hammers toward the snake.  He toots the horn, which succeeds in scaring Milo off before the snake could strike (thank fuck), and slams on the brakes before crashing into the house (double thank fuck).

He hits reverse, and flies back.  He missed the fucken snake, and it casually slithers toward the house.

We all pile out of the car, in totally inappropriate footwear, and Jade runs off to the shed to get her father a shovel as Charlie and I watch this legless spawn of Satan slide under the house.

Great.

Charlie runs off to the shed to get one of his guns, as I stand there with the shovel, watching the boards he slithered between to get under the house.

I feel ten foot tall and bullet proof, cos I gots me a shovel.

‘Jade, get up on the decking, and watch out the back of the house.  See if it comes out there.’ I say, and she’s onto the decking in a heart beat.  Kid has the attention span of a fly, and is easily distracted by sparkly things.  She’s not likely to see the snake escape, but at least she’s safe up there.

Charlie comes back, grabs the shovel, and runs around the back to the hatch leading under the house.  I wander up to the northern end of the house beside the decking, my precious shovel replaced by a hoe.

Jade is above me on the decking, flapping her gums.  ‘Shut the fuck up, child!’ I bark.  ‘Listen to your father for once… be quiet and listen…’

‘I can see it!’ Charlie yells.  ‘Everyone stand perfectly still.’  I freeze, and a gunshot rings through the air.

Seconds later, this fucken serpent flies out from under the house, heading north toward the paddock.  Charlie comes flying around the corner, shovel in hand, and clobbers it a few times, but it’s just too fast. 

Where the fuck is your shotty, Char? I think to myself.  Watching Charlie chase this fucker around the fruit trees, I realise that the hoe in my hand is completely fucken useless.  It’s too small to do anything.  I need a fucken shovel.

I suddenly feel quite defenceless and completely exposed as the snake turns and starts slithering toward me.

Charlie clobbers it again, and it vanishes under the house.  Again.  This time, however, it’s about a foot shorter, as Charlie took a chunk off of him.

Charlie clambers under the house with the shovel, and I’m now on the decking, watching the eastern side of the house to see if it will come out. 

Our house is built on a slight hill, with a slab on the southern side, and the east, north and western sides on gradual stumps.  The only escape routes for the snakes are through the base boards, which are being watched.

Of course, this doesn’t mean he won’t get past us.  Jade’s still flapping her gums, in between me yelling at her to shut up and watch the fucken base boards. *rolls eyes*

After about ten minutes of Charlie banging and clanging around under the house, he can’t find the fucker, and gives up.

‘I know from Bek that if their skin is broken, they’re fucked, because all of the ants and flies will get to them, and they can’t shoo them off. ‘

‘Makes sense.  Fucker’s as good as dead then.’ Nods Charlie, and we pack up and pile into the car, and head off to our party a little more shaken than we’d like to admit.

SNAKE NUMBER FOUR

It’s Christmas day, and in about half an hour, we’re supposed to be heading into Kilmore for lunch at Trackside.

Charlie decides that this is the time to go hunting for fucken snakes *rolls eyes*. 

He wanders over to the gate near the calf paddock, and see’s the two foot baby again!  The slippery fucker disappears into the gate post! He realises then that the post must be hollow, and the fucker has been hiding in there all along.

Off to the shed he goes, and returns with a shovel and shotgun.

He bangs the base of the post, and sure enough, part of it collapses.  It’s definitely hollow.  ‘Where is the fucker?’ Charlie mutters to himself.

He shovels a heap of dirt around the hole and base of the post, trapping the snake in there.  He pokes his shotty through one of the holes further up the post, and fires two not-so-friendly shots into the post.

Nothing.  Either he’s dead or struggling, because there’s no escaping the shotty.

‘Any luck?’ I call from the verandah.  Hurry the fuck up man… we have to get going!

He rattles off his attack plan, and adds that if he’d had more time, he would have flooded the post and got him out that way.

‘That’s wonderful love.  Hurry the fuck up.  We’re going to be late.’

‘I couldn’t just leave it…’ he’s right.  He couldn’t leave it; he did the right thing.  But now we’re late.  Fucken.

Three snakes in four days.  One definitely dead.  Two maybe dead. 

How many more of the fuckers will turn up?

*sigh

‘I’m gonna teach you to use the shotty again.’ Charlie said.

‘No.  Fucken no way.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s too powerful, Char.  It nearly blew my fucken shoulder off last time I tried to use it.  It’s too big for me.’  Visions of me bracing myself, aiming at an empty pot on a fence post, pulling the trigger, and staggering aback about four feet as pellets sprayed the sky filled my mind. 

The clouds are in more danger from me and a shotgun than a snake on the ground would be.

‘Fair enough.  I would just rather you have a go at a snake than leave it.’ he shrugs.

You’re fucken kidding, right? ‘Sure.  I’ll put my fucken life in danger.  I don’t mind.’  Last thing I’m gonna to do is go hunting fucken snakes.  ‘If you get a girly shotgun, we could be in business.’  I offer.

‘I think I might have to…’

Great.

Peace out.

LITTLE ANGELS

At what point does one rationally decide that it’s acceptable to murder a child?

What drives a person to do this?

On Saturday morning, whilst I was heading down to The Nong, the news broke, and the world caught it’s breath as they came to terms with a twenty year old had shot dead 27 people (as well as himself), and that twenty of those victims were children.

What. The. Fuck?

Twenty children.  Primary school aged children.  Elementary school, as they say in America.

Twenty babies that will never see Christmas.  Twenty babies that will never graduate from high school, college, university, start a job, meet the love of their life, get married, have babies and start a family of their own.

Twenty children that were robbed of life.

Twenty families that have lost their babies.

Forty parents, eighty grandparents, countless siblings, cousins, friends, aunts, uncles and fuck knows who else.

Twenty families destroyed because one man decided that it was okay to shoot them all.

I’ve had a busy few days since this tragedy, and haven’t really paid a great deal of attention to the continually unfolding news reports about this horror.  All I know is that this kid shot his mother, and proceeded to the school where she worked, and claimed another twenty-six lives. 

For what, I don’t know.  You may, but I still don’t.  No doubt they’ll comb his house, his computer, his history, his life and dig up just about everything they can to explain why the fuck he did this.

Whatever they find will be cold comfort to the victims families, though.  It won’t get their babies back. 

You know what I wonder?  How many of the victims were only children?  How many of those parents lost their only child?  Not that it makes a difference, but you know what I mean. 

How many of those victims were IVF babies, or adopted or hard to conceive?  Again, not that it makes a difference; a life is a life, but you can imagine the impact on a couple that has struggled to have a baby, and only has one, and now it’s been ripped away from them so horrendously.

How would a parent ever recover?  Would they ever recover?

I wish the shooter had survived.  I wish they’d taken him into custody, then accidentally threw him to the mob of waiting parents.  He would have been ripped apart, and that still wouldn’t have been good enough.  Fucken dog.

Two six year old babies were laid to rest yesterday; the funeral procession begins.  Only eighteen more to go.  Dear God…

I cried when I heard the news.  I cried when I stood in front of my bffls big screen telly on Saturday afternoon, watching a news report.  I watched as my bffl’s two year old niece played quietly at my feet, and wondered what kind of mind it takes to hurt something as innocent as that. 

I can believe they filed the surviving children out past the bodies; telling them to keep heir eyes closed.  Did you see the images?  Poor babies were hysterical.

I don’t care what you say; those babies will be fucked up for the rest of their lives.  Nothing will heal this horror.  Time may dim it a little bit, but it will never be forgotten.

You know what pisses me off the most, though?  The fucken coward took his own life in the end.  Fucking coward.  Brave enough to kill innocent children, but not brave enough to face society’s wrath afterward, you fucken lunatic.

At least you saved the American tax payers millions of dollars by not rotting in prison or a padded cell, you dog.

And so opens the debate about America’s red-neck mentality, and their self-righteous need to ‘bare arms’.

Since Martin Bryant opened fire on the innocent people of Port Arthur all those years ago, and the government at the time (Liberal I think it was), introduced a gun amnesty and massive changes to the constitution relating to gun ownership in this country, we’ve seen nothing like it since.

Sure, it hasn’t eliminated gun-related crimes, but it’s certainly eliminated the fuckwit-nutters unloading on the unsuspecting public.

It’s clearly a safer country, post legislative changes.  However, we don’t have the relationship to weaponry that the American populous has, do we?

Have you seen the documentary (if you’d call it that) Bowling for Columbine?  If you haven’t, do yourself a favour.  It’s…. enlightening.  Gives great insight into the American gun-culture.  Pack of gun crazy lunatics.

Two things from this movie stand out in my mind.  Firstly, when you opened a bank account at a certain bank, you got a free gun.

A free-fucken-gun.  For the love of God!  ‘Here… open a bank account, and take this gun and rob us with it.  We won’t mind!’ 

Seriously.  What the fuck are you thinking?  Why?  Why would you give a completely random person that you know nothing about, a gun?  Why?

Secondly, on one side of a river (I can’t remember what it was called) is Detroit.  On the other side, is Canada.  Detroit has one of the highest gun-related crime rates in America (apparently).  You’ve heard all the shit about Detroit from movies and television and stuff.  The place is a violent shithole.

Across the pond is Canada, where Mike Moore (the producer of the documentary), randomly walked up to the front door of many houses, only to find them unlocked.  When he walked in, he was welcomed by the inhabitants.

Wouldn’t see that in Detroit.  Fucken place is locked up like Fort Knox, but still doesn’t stop the crime and violence.

One extreme to another, and there are only three things that separate these patches of earth.  A river, constitutional legislation, and their mindset.

In Canada, gun-related crimes are nearly non-existent, when in America, thousands of acts of violence are committed with guns on daily basis. 

In Canada, you can safely leave your house unlocked, and know that people won’t come and rob it.  In America, if you leave your house unlocked, you’d be lucky if the fucken building was still there when you got back.

In Canada, things are peacefully and simply resolved.  In America, aggression and violence rule the day.  Two completely different approaches to life.

A patch of water, laws and a completely different mindset separate these countries, yet you can actually see the shore of one if you’re standing on the other.

Fucken ridiculous.

No one on the planet should be surprised that this horrible crime occurred, simply because of America’s attitude toward gun ownership.

I have visions of Charlton Heston (is he still alive?) being wheeled out to a podium, waving a rifle around, and screaming ‘It’s our constitutional right!’ before a big banner emblazoned with the AGA (American Gun Association – or something like that. *rolls eyes*

Gun ownership is justified in America, because their fucken constitution says they can do it.  Forget out putting weapons into the hands of idiots and the mentally unstable.  Forget out the thousands of lives that are wasted each year because people don’t respect the weaponry, or more importantly; the value of another person’s life.

It’s their right.  So typically, selfishly, aggressively and arrogantly, they exercise their rights.  God forbid they miss out.

It’s just too easy.

Too easy to own a gun, and too easy to use it.

Clearly, the judicial system in America is not scary enough to dissuade these idiots from carrying and using these weapons.  Overloaded prisons, constant re-offences… their rehabilitation and incarceration systems clearly don’t work.  The majority of people that leave prison (if they actually get sent there), re-offend.

So from gun ownership to crime and punishment; nothing deters the public from exercising their God-given, constitutional rights.

There have been many tragedies in America like this.  The massacre at Columbine University is a perfect example of it.  A couple of kids took the lives of so many; all in the name of their own form of social justice.

Today, an eleven year old child was arrested in America for taking a gun to school.  He said he took it to protect himself.  Eleven.  Apparently, a family member had given the gun to the family.  What the fuck are they teaching their children?

High schools in America have metal detectors at their entrances in an attempt to stop any weaponry entering the school.  WTF?

How do you change the mindset of a nation that has the mentality that ‘violence is the solution’ ingrained into their DNA?  How?

In years gone by, as things like Columbine have hit the headlines, the call for changes to gun legislation has fallen of deaf ears.

I wonder now, considering that twenty babies have been murdered, will they finally see the light?  Will the government have the balls to do something that the families of victims have been crying out for?

Will they finally do something to change the nation’s mindset? 

Many countries around the world have strict legislation in place surrounding the use and ownership of weaponry.  Their crime statistics are nothing compared to that of America’s.  It’s clear that things need to change.

Will these twenty babies deaths be enough to force this change? 

Or will it all be for nothing. 

Again.

May those poor little angels rest in peace, may their families eventually find some comfort, and may their deaths not be in vain.

Peace out.

IT'S LIKE THUNDER! LIGHTENING!

Saturday morning.

It was a nice, mild morning, and the French doors between the bedroom and verandah were open, and the morning light was streaming in.

It was raining, strangely.  Typical summer shower.  Love the sound of it on the tin roof.

Charlie was snoring his arse off next to me, and I was just laying there, half dozing, eyes closed, pump strapped in place.

Yeah.

A God almighty crack startled me, and a massive flash stung my closed eyes.

A lightening strike.  And close to the house too, cos my ears were still ringing.

Charlie absolutely shit himself. 

He leapt out of bed, and stood braced on the other side of the room, facing the doors, hands in fists ready to punch whoever had just fired that gun.

He seriously thought it was a gunshot.  I don’t blame him; he was asleep and it did sound like a gunshot.

‘What the fuck?’ he muttered, half dazed.

‘Summer storm, love.’ I yawned.  ‘We’ve lost power.’

‘Fucken great.’ He drops his arms.  ‘I’ll check the box.’

A few minutes later, he comes back and says that there’s no power coming into the meter.  ‘The thunder must have fucked it somehow,’

‘That wasn’t thunder, love.  It was a lightening strike.  And close to the house too.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep.  Lit the joint up like a fucken hospital theatre.’ And I would fucken know.

‘Give it half an hour, and see if it comes back on.’

Half an hour later, I’m climbing out of bed, throwing on my jimmies, and trudging down the hallway to the fridge.  The power company’s number is on a magnet on the fridge.  Yay me.

‘It was a lightening strike close to the house…’ I find myself explaining to the very nice lady at Power Corp.  ‘I don’t know if anyone else in the area is affected…’

‘Have you made contact with any of your neighbours?’ she asked.

‘Our nearest neighbour is half a kilometre away, and it’s a tad too early to call them….’ It was 7.30am.

‘Fair enough.  Look; we’ll get someone out there to have a look as quickly as we can.  Are you home all day?’

‘Nope.  We’ll be gone by lunchtime.’ Charlie had to pick up a couple of butchered cows from the butcher, and deliver them, then he was picking up Jade and I, and we were heading down to Dromana to visiting my bffl’s for the weekend.

‘Well, as long as he can access the meter and the pole, you won’t need to be home.’

‘Sweet!’

An hour later, after Charlie finally dragged his arse out of bed, the power dude turned up, changed over the blown fuse, and power was restored.

I couldn’t believe it! An hour! How awesome was that service!  Yeaheah!!  Fuck should for what they charge me… don’t get me started on that!

However, this is when I discovered a major, major problem.

Charlie had left to go and collect the meat, and Jade was sitting at the computer wasting an enormous amount of time doing fuck all.

I had finished packing my order to be delivered on the way to Dromana, strolled into the bedroom to pack an overnight bag, and realised that my new cpap machine (Bertha II), was dead.

My heart leapt to my throat.  You’ve got to be fucken kidding me! NO!!!

I switched it off and on at the power point.  Nothing.  I unplugged it, turned it upside down to see if there was a reset button on it.  Nothing.  I plugged it in again and switched it on.  Nothing.  Bertha II was dead.

Holy fuck.  What am I supposed to do now?  I need my cpap! I’m going away for the weekend!!!

I’ll ring the chemist! OMG! Im’ going through Dandenong! I’ll ring them and tell them what’s happened.

‘So, we’ve had a power failure, and the power’s back on, but my cpap is dead!’ I explained to the chemist, desperately trying to control my hysteria.  ‘I live a couple of hours away from you, but coincidentally, am heading through Dandenong on the way to the peninsula.  Can I drop it in for you to look at?’

‘Certainly.  Drop it in, but we’ll have to send it into Fisher & Paykel to have a look at.  We can’t do anything with it here.’

‘Fair enough.  I can do that.  However, I have another problem.  I need a cpap machine.  I cannot sleep without one.  Can I hire one through you?’

‘Certainly.  If you can be down here by one o’clock, I’ll take in your old machine, and we’ll organise a hire one for you.’

‘Sweet!!’  Twenty minutes later, I had changed, tidied myself up, packed the car, call Charlie to tell him that I couldn’t wait for him, and I’d meet him in Dromana, and I was on my way to The Nong.

What a pain in the arse taking two cars to Dromana.

Two hours later (Melbourne freeways are a dream run non-peak), I hit The Nong.

I drove along the service road of the main highway, hoping to get a car park anywhere, as the realisation that I was heading into The Nong a week before Christmas, at 12pm on a Saturday when not only was the local market open, but every other fucken in the Southern Hemisphere would be out and about.

Fuck.

As I get a little closer to the chemist, the fuckwit in front of me decides to stop in the middle of the service lane, and tries to reverse backward so he can grab the park of the car he just passed.  Of course that stops me and the tossbag behind me in his hotted up 4WD, who insists on screaming obscenities at both myself and the fool in front of me.

So he reverses back, somehow manages not to hit my rental car (thank fuck, because all I could think is it’s a $1000 excess), and through a sheer miracle, the dude in the car park manages to back out without hitting any of us, and drives off, allowing the fool to slip into his space.

4WD fuckwit is still screaming behind me.  Fucken 4WD owners.

I drive a little further down the service lane, 4WD fuckwit behind me, and slip into a 15 minute car space.  4WD fuckwit slips in beside me.  He’s still carrying on.

I get out, grab Bertha II, and lock the car, all whilst 4WD fuckwit is telling me that I should have gone around him.  He’s going on and on, and because I’ve had a front-bum of a day so far, I end up losing my shit (as you can imagine).

‘Listen fuckwit!  I’m not in the mood for your arrogant fucken shit!  I don’t care what you think I could have done; clearly, he was too close to me to go around! Why the fuck didn’t you go around, instead of sitting there like a loud mouth wanker?’

‘Because I was too fucken close to you!’  he yelled back at me, trying to look all tough in his way-too tight white t-shirt and sunnies.  Fuckwit.

‘Oh, so if you can’t get around me, how the fuck do you expect me to get around him, you fucken clown?’

‘Ahhhh….’ He waves his arms and starts walking away.  ‘You should have gone around him!’ he calls over his shoulder.

‘And considering you’re walking away, I’ll take it that I’m right and you can’t be fucked arguing anymore, you fucken git.’ I say to his back.  Fuckwit.

Two people on the sidewalk watching laughed.

Fucken clown.

Half an hour later (and me thanking God that I don’t have a parking ticket, and 4WD fuckwit hasn’t keyed my rental), I’m in possession of a rented Bertha and on my way to Dingley to drop off my order.

Charlie rings to tell me that they’ve left and is on the way to the peninsula, and I start to relax as things seem to be falling into place.

Fucken thunderstorms and lightening strikes.  Fucked my day.

We later found out that it also fucked the DVD player in the lounge.  Someone had forgotten to turn the tv and DVD units off from the power point before they went to bed the night before (JADE!!!), so no DVD’s in the lounge for her.  Not that she gives a fuck: she’s leaving in two weeks!!

No DVD’s in the lounge for Charlie and I for a while.  Fucken.

Peace out.