My Mum always told her granddaughters that the way to attract a boy’s attention was to drop their handkerchief. Apparently it worked well for her at Saturday night dances!
Equal opportunity handkerchief use, guys!
Well, what a day it has been.
I spent the day yelling at Minerva, not because my evilosity broke free, but because her ‘flu has caused her to get an ear infection and she has become deaf in one ear. So I had to SPEAK VERY LOUDLY for her to hear me, which is not quite the example to set in a library. We chose not to gossip today, or mutter nasty things about the students, as we normally do to vent our frustration and anger, just in case the whole school overheard. Minerva left just after lunch to visit her doctor in the hope of being prescribed a healthy body.
Home, and Mr FD announces that his mother, MIL, has taken a fall. She has been forcing SIL to take her back to her own house for a night each week, and this time as she was lifting her foot the inch up that she needed to cross the threshold, she took a tumble. She is 90 on the 11th and is now too weak to lift her feet to pass through the doorway. We would anticipate this will have been her last visit to the house, but we never underestimate the orneriness of an old woman!
Not half an hour later, and my sister phoned that our Mum had fallen today as well. There was no witness, but they think she slipped in the bathroom. The last couple of days she has been getting very cranky, and telling everyone that she was going to jump over the fence, or run away. She gave my sister quite a hard time yesterday, but Sister mustn’t be the only one, as they had drawn a face on her whiteboard. The face has hair standing on end, but a smiley face, and the word smile written under it. One of the nurses said to her to “look at the whiteboard, and remember we smile around here.”
And today would have been my Dad’s 88th birthday (he died in 2000). He has been on my mind all day. In some ways it only seems like yesterday, but in other ways it seems like a lifetime ago. He has 6 great grandchildren, a 7th on the way that he never got to see, and I know how he would have delighted in them.
It has all caused me to think about hope. If we don’t have hope, what do we have? Age robs people of hope. There is no return, no improvement. No expectations for tomorrow, just more slipping away. Maybe that is why we believe in an afterlife – it is the only hope old people have.
Heavens I have rained on our parade haven’t I? Chocolate all around, I say.
Dear Minerva the library assistant has been away ill, a relapse with the nasty flu. Now that there have been reported deaths from the recent outbreak everyone is being much more cautious. I am sorry that Minerva is ill, but it does leave me with two workloads.
It is alright if I am away, because that is me. Also my work sits until I return. Minerva on the other hand, her workload falls to me, so that doesn’t make me happy. Of course one does prioritise, and leave what is not important, but front desk duties wait for no Minerva, hence how I am allowed to complain. It is always about me.
I know, life is not fair, but we are talking about me, as we always do, and so it should be not only be fair, but heavily slated in my favour. The Big Whatever (TBW) appears to have written my plot line with too many complications and not enough happy resolutions.
The first thing TBW needs to do is make sure Minerva recovers, now. I am sure that I could get her to agree with me on that, so that is not entirely selfish…
Then TBW needs to smite two teaching colleagues and about 47 students. Then I might just make it through the day without initiating mass stick action, though I am not making any promises.
Two years ago I started blogging on WordPress, part of the diaspora of refugees from Vox.
I love blogging, have I ever told you that? I love the friends I have met, the lives that I have been invited into, and the creativity and expression that it allows me.
People come and people go, in the world of blogging, but one thing I notice about those who stay is that they are blogging for their own enjoyment, and to suit their own voice. They aren’t trying to create a brand or a product, they aren’t out for fame or celebrity, though that does come for a rare few, but they are simply blogging because of the many gifts it brings to them, and the pure joy of communication and friendship.
I can be sad, I can be happy. I can ask for opinions, or just ask for a shoulder to cry on. There is nothing like a group blog hug!
It has helped me look at my world differently, and to notice the small things in life. It is the small moments that often make up the most interesting moments. There is surprise in never knowing what will strike a chord with my readers, or what will resound in deafening silence.
Blogging has opened my world to new friends, new cultures and multiple world views; some I agree with, some are as distant from my own as to be almost alien. To quote Martha, it’s a good thing.
I am visible, though I hide behind my persona. I am creative. I am excited and I want to continue blogging. It never gets dull, and there are always new people to meet.
Thank you WordPress, thank you friends. You light up my world.
[Don’t worry, this is about as much nice as I am capable of, so I vow to be back to my cynical, opinionated FD tomorrow. ]
Mr FD has sent me to my room.
Mr FD feels that I am a threat to life and limb, most probably his, and so has instructed me to go and have a little lie down.
He has based this on the fact that so far today I have dropped an egg while cooking breakfast, and then catapulted my medication container across the kitchen, spraying its contents and detritus onto the floor as well. Luckily this was not at the same time.
So, as I rarely drop things, he was concerned that I may be hatching a diabolical plot to do him in some way, so he suggested that I rest above stairs, while he remained below stairs.
Just as an aside, Mr FD and I have individual medication boxes. His is a little tin Star Wars lunch box, and my is an oval lacquered bamboo container with red velvet lining and hand painted roses on it lid. Appropriate don’t you think?
We usually leave these on the kitchen counter, but while we are playing perfect families (!) to achieve a house sale, the medication has been moved to the pantry, hence why I had the opportunity to catapult mine around the room.
Today is a lovely pre-Spring day. Birds chirping, sun shinning. One daughter is in Perth for the weekend, another has gone to the beach with her husband. The house is perfection personified, and so I am having a day of rest (well, except for the laundry I need to do, now that I can safely put my undies out to dry away from possible house lookers).
One thing that I have noticed in the last couple weeks is how the two men in the house, Mr FD and Son no longer assume that I am team leader and have taken more ownership of household tasks.
Previously, they would wait until I identified a task and requested their assistance. I was wife, mother, the domestic goddess, and they were, often an unwilling, support team. Now, they identify and complete tasks spontaneously. What a joy.
I would like to delude myself that it will be a permanent change, but I won’t bet money on it just yet. It looks promising, but we all know how addicts can relapse at any moment. One day at a time.
Another by product now that I have an uncluttered, clean and happy house is that I feel my own spirits lift. I feel very creative. I feel like I want to jump back into life. Dare I say, I feel happier than I have for a very long time. I am looking forward, not marking time again.
Ok there is still a long way to go with our minimalist living of intentional lives, but we have our goal and we are marking progress towards it. If I can suggest one thing, it is unchain yourself. Get rid of the shit and the crap. Meet your needs not all your wants. Fly be free – and you can still keep the day job.
A Saturday morning where you find yourself humming the lyrics “I fall to pieces” as you brush your teeth, is obviously a day on the edge.
That was how the day started for me. We were down for an open house showing by our realtor. It was timed for just 45 minutes from 12 noon to 12.45, but of course the pressure was on to transform the Flamingo Dancer abode. Just what I love to do, first thing on a Saturday morning, especially after the very busy week I had at school, but that is life.
I pushed through with the last minute stuff as much as possible on Friday night, but was still up at 6.30 to tweak everything. Mr FD had a more substantial list to complete, but somehow even he got everything under control eventually.
Supermarket opening time saw me buying bunches of flowers – roses for the ensuite, carnations and diosma for the living room, and a mixed bunch of lilies for our kitchen. I even had croissants artfully arranged on a bread board. Am I manipulative, or am I manipulative; going for the emotive vein?
We left as the realtor arrived and went to a nearby restaurant for lunch. I brooked no excuse from Son and insisted that he lunch with us – something he will only do under extreme threat and sufferance. Apparently he feels that we socially embarrass him by exhibiting unpredictable and often rather eccentric behaviour on a regular basis. Ungrateful spawn.
We were back home soon after the end of viewing, but already the realtor had moved onto the next house on his schedule. He left a written report, and two bottles of water (?) bearing their logo. Two couples had viewed the house.
One commented that the house was too big for them (one of our reasons for moving now that we have only Son) and the others had only just started their house hunt and may return. In our price bracket I think that is about as good as one can expect.
We three were so exhausted from the effort of turning our castle into a palace, or a sow’s ear into a silk purse, whichever view you wish to take, and our tummies so full of food, that we all tumbled into bed and slept the afternoon away. I was heavily into a dream about mind control when I woke at 5pm!
Mr FD and the realtor are making noises about a repeat next week. I may be doing a little more than just humming a few bars by then.
Even I couldn’t think this one up!
Man assaults wife with ostrich egg
A New Zealand man who assaulted his wife with an ostrich egg after her pet pig ran amok has been jailed for six months, according to local press reports.
Phillip Russell lost his temper when he discovered the pig had damaged his power saw.
He verbally abused his wife, spat at her, then grabbed an ostrich egg from the kitchen table and hurled it at her.
Reports said Russell, 46, had repeatedly asked his wife to keep the pet pig under control as it had damaged their home, a neighbour’s house and council property, but she insisted it should be given free rein.
The ostrich egg, the largest type of egg produced by any living bird species, caused bruising to the chest of Russell’s wife, the report said.