Bad hair life

I must be feeling a little snarky. Actually, I know that I am feeling snarky. Too much social media lately, mainly because I am brain exhausted and seeking to veg out and social media is a mindless filler. Well, most of the time, sometimes there is incredible information on Facebook or whatever and that is what keeps me checking in.

The snarky bit relates to those stupid memes where some dead celebrity os credited with saying someone deep and meaningful which is just not true. Also, the memes where it is declared that pain makes us a better person or appreciate the good times. Bollocks. Pain is neither character building or life enhancing. It just hurts and hopefully we survive it and get on with the rest of our life. Pain is not destiny.

Thursday afternoon, while the hairdresser was cutting my hair, she disappeared for a few minutes. She had cut her finger trimming the previous client’s hair and the band aid was inadequate for the stream os blood. The fresh band aid was soon stained with blood, but she kept on snipping. Lovely. I felt sorry for her, but, well you know, it was my hair!

My doctor is still fine tuning my blood pressure medication. Actually, I think he has lost the plot, but time will prove that to him. I have to monitor my blood pressure twice a day, at home. The sheet of paper I was using filled, so one night I grabbed the first thing I found on my bedside table – a tissue box. Do you think I need to transcribe it before my next visit? I just used the last tissue, so they could file the empty box.

Oh, the other thing that I am testy about, is the number of people pushing iPad apps for children, small children. Literacy and numeracy do not grow from an app. Children need good old fashioned play and adults reading to them, and that gives them the best start in the world. Conversation with their parents, experiences in the real world; not an app pushing a duck around a screen. Technology is why our kids have lost literacy skills. Don’t fall for it, people. Rise up and reclaim your child’s creativity!

Flying to Perth on Saturday for a play date with Peppercorn. My sister asked last Sunday if I had packed my suitcase! I beg your pardon? It is a six day visit to my daughter, who owns a washing machine, in a city. How much packing do I need? It is not an African safari with Dr. Livingstone. No, I am not a trial packer.

Son has completed his second master’s degree and this week is trialling with an IT company in the city. It appears that in I.T you don’t interview for jobs, so much as work with them for a couple of days. I don’t know which is more pressure – a interview or a  trial. SIL though had to have a series of interviews and a psych test, which had to be repeated because the software malfunctioned for his recent new position. That is cruel. Anyway, send the white light people that Son gets a full time position (and it doesn’t get outsourced to India!). Mr FD and I would really like to be empty nesters; though I think Son can work form home a couple of days a week with this position!. The other days are smack bang in the central business district, so maybe he will need country down time!

The last thing on my snark list for today is that I need to get my drivers permit renewed. Last time I could do a tick and flick online, reuse the existing photo. Okay, it showed dark hair and I am now grey but it is me, damn it. This time, because I have one sighted eye, I have to go to an optometrist and a doctor for eye tests. I have had one eye since 1976 and I have never had to do this much before. Why now? Money grab I guess, and as the optometrist will bill my medical insurance and the doctor the government, one can see how health costs are blowing out. Of course I could “pretend” no eye issues, but then if I had an accident I hate to think of the legal mess I would be in. So, two days of my precious holidays taken up with jumping through hoops for the nanny state.

Well, unloading on you has been most therapeutic; thank you. Just one question, are you feeling snark now? Snarkiness loves company, even introverted snarks.

 

sugar, cabbages and rabbit tales

It’s just after midnight, and I have tried sleeping, but I think I have ingested too much sugar this Easter and now it won’t let me brain rest. So, now it is Easter Monday and here I am, sitting in my bed, probably talking to myself.

I have probably told you this a long time ago, but I was actually born on an Easter Monday, and every decade or so I celebrate a birthday on an Easter Monday again (but not this year). My mother always said the Easter Bunny brought me and they found me under a cabbage leaf in the vegetable garden. I don’t know if my mother ever read Peter Rabbit, but I sense some appropriation in her tale!. I have to admit, I fell for the story for many years, and loved it even when I knew it was the birds and bees who brought babies and not rabbits.

We had a delightful day with my sister and her daughter’s family, at sister’s home. Petite Fille and her parents were with us as well. Petite Fille is not allowed sugar but was permitted a few “treats” today. She was amazed, and even enjoyed an ice cream cone. She kept saying she was hungry, but she only wanted a treat. Grandma made sure she got her treat – it is Easter after all and if a Grandmother can’t conspire with a granddaughter, well, what is the use of being a grandparent? Her Daddy was in a state of anxiety at the sugar dose, but her mother turned a blind eye. She knows a child has to join in and not be restricted all the time. Easter over, and back to her healthy diet. Grandma will behave too!

Thinking back, I think the last time we had a large extended family Easter was the year my mother became ill and sadly had to be placed in care. If does make it a little sad to gather when we all sense the absence of family.

My sister has a large photograph os her husband BIL who died a couple of years ago, and sitting at her dining teacher, he looked down upon us. I kept thinking, damn you should be here too – and my dear Dad, as well as poor old Mum, who lives in her confused world of dementia. The cycle of life indeed.

I wrote about 1200 words of my story yesterday, but now I think I will delete a chunk of it – too pedestrian. I don’t view it as a waste, as it helped me to develop a couple of characters, and I am forming an idea on how to make the story more edgy, so all has been worthwhile. It’s a process, as is everything creative. Well, life is in general, isn’t it – a process?

The sugar doesn’t appear to have worn off, as yet, so I foresee a sleep in on my horizon, if the dog and our granddaughter allow it.

Maybe a cup of tea in the meantime?

yesterday was yesterday and today is today, but this was definitely Saturday

Saturday morning I was planning an early morning walk, but Mr FD, when taking Augie Dog outside for a dawn bathroom visit, spied a mongrel dog on our land. I didn’t fancy walking with a stick to ward off wild, stray dogs, so skipped the walk.

Impressive effort even if I do say so myself, and of course I do!

I did walk to the kitchen and created a superb breakfast for myself. My intentions were to follow breakfast with a little writing but after my gluttonous self-indulgence, all I wanted to do was sit and digest somewhere comfortable.

The little guy. Bottomly Mallard, whom I created while musing on my afternoon drive home, is slowly taking shaped. I knew he was small, hairy and ugly, but couldn’t quite get a sense of place for him. Then, one of my writing students suggested that Bottomly should be a domovoi, a house spirit. Now I know Bottomly intimately, right down to the apple seed sprouting behind his right ear! It helps to workshop things sometimes.

Maybe, I should workshop my entire life?

 

Character copyright full rights reserved  2016

 

fish sticks and evilosity

A student of Torres Strait Islander descent was explaining to the assembly that each Torres Strait family is given a totem. A totem is a natural element that they must respect and care for in their culture. Her family, she shared, were given the shark as their totem.

All I could think was that she had better not eat fish fingers (fish sticks) then, as they are reputed to be really shark fish.

I know, evil. I am evil.

 

Easter, teeth, trump and the anti-christ.

Breathing space, today, Good Friday and the first day of two weeks of term break. Assignments have been marked, so nothing hanging over my head; though I will do some work over the break as I am covering a colleague’s ICT class while he is on four weeks long service leave and need to refresh my knowledge of coding, and I want to prepare a few library projects for the start of term. Not a busman’s holiday; a teacher librarian’s holiday!

Major catastrophe in Petite Fille’s world last weekend when she face planted into the end of her bed and pushed a front tooth back. The screams of pain were horrendous we were told, but Mr FD and I asleep at the other end of the house slept through the whole drama.  Real wood doors! When I arose, her Mummy, Daughter 1 was trying to find a dentist open on a Sunday morning. Eventually they found one about an hour and a half drive from our Village, but it was worth it as he deemed the damage was less than feared.

My new information for the week was that if a tooth is pushed back more than 3mm or interferes with the bite, the dentist will remove it. Petite Fille’s was less than 3mm. Her gum turned black and blue, and her face was bruised around her mouth and she barely ate for a day or two, but is now declaring it “a little better”.

One issue that upset D1 was that when she rang the Children’s Health Line, that they appeared to be taking data as though she was a child beater rather than a distressed Mum. They also did nothing to assist her in finding a dentist or any medical help. We have access to the internet and strong information skills so solved our own problem, but a lot of other people would have been left feeling isolated and anxious to say the least. Sometimes, the government is such an ass.

Governments being asses just made me think of Trump and the horror of the world having to deal with such a bully. My hopes are with the democrats in that they can mobilise more people to vote in November and nip the Trump Terror in the bud. I have heard the word anti-christ used in the same sentence as the word Trump more than once lately.

Oh, that might have been me.

Flamingo Files

Watching the romance of American Republicans and Donald Trump reminds me of the times when our daughters would be dating someone we knew were totally wrong for them, but were equally aware that we could do nothing except help pick up the pieces when it was over. A slow motion train wreck.

Son in law dropped D1 off to a ladies party on one side of the city, then dropped our Son off at a Bachelor’s party on the other side of the city. After they all had left home I discovered that both D1 and Son had left their phones at homes, so I had to play phone tag as D1 and Son phoned home of borrowed phones to coordinate pick up times with SIL, who drove back and forth across the city. I opened a bottle of white.

HE Who Never Shuts Up at work has resigned as his Daddy got him a new job – he realised that he was expected to do actually work each day. I wonder if he senses we are all pretending to be sad that he is leaving. Everyone is silently dancing in the aisles.

Been overdosing on The House of Cards. It’s like watching the evil brother of The West Wing and I love it.

I just ate the last of the cookies and cream ice-cream and didn’t share it with Mr FD. I was the one who spent the day with 3 year old Petite Fille while her mother (D1) partied, and her father drove across the city playing chauffeur. Some things Grannies earn.

Did anyone tell Jerry Hall that Rupert Murdoch’s mother lived to be 103? I hope Jerry doesn’t plan on a short wait for the inheritance. His kids must be glad that at least with this wife their shouldn’t be any more kids to add to the will. Yes, cynical is my second name.

I have a sinus headache. Has anyone ever died of a sinus headache? Could I die from a sinus headache? I am going to die from a sinus headache aren’t I? Remember me.

Do we really have to have an opinion about everything today?

Teachers aren’t allowed to staple students heads are they?

Apparently some kid solved the Rubik’s cube in 4.9 seconds. I haven’t been able to solve it in 40 years, even with the cheat sheet. Damn kids these days, got to ruin everything.

It’s autumn but autumn doesn’t appear to know that. It was 33C today. I want some chill. I need to chill out. This hot, summer gig has grown old.

And I have already had two colds this summer. I hate summer colds. Everyone treats to as though you are some freak of nature, getting a cold in summer. Like I chose it or something. I suspect that I am going to continue catching cold germs as long as Petite Fille is in the house as she is on two week cold rotation herself. I am too old for this.

Nine days of term one left. Yay. Then right after the Easter weekend I am flying to Western Australia to spend time with Peppercorn who is three months old already! She started swimming lessons this week. She is three months old. She cried half way through but I think that is a pretty good effort for 12 weeks on earth! We are giving the Rio Olympics a miss, but Tokyo 2020, be there or be square! Oh hang on, I think you have to be 16 years old to be eligible for the Olympics. Yeah, well, we will get back to you.

I had to make a swimming pool for Petite Fille this afternoon. We made it out of two purple shawls. It was a hard landing, but damn it looked good. Especially as one shawl had embroidered flowers . Tres belle.

Why does the first two thirds of the toothpaste tube disappear in two weeks and the last third take three months to use?

My son in law purchased under arm deodorant for me today. Have we now crossed some boundary that we don’t want to know about? He’s a good son in law but perhaps now I have to kill him.

Do you think it is time I decided what I want to be when I grow up?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

keep the child within…controlled

I just can’t help myself. Any time I walk close to the television and there is a close up of a person on screen I have to take two fingers and pretend that I am inserting into their nostrils; especially if it is a politician or someone pompous.

Every time.

 

That time again

I took my annual morning walk this Sunday morning. I was so energetic I was able to leave the house before anyone else awoke; no small feat with a three year old in the house!

Knowing what doubters my family can be, I made sure I took photographic evidence.

Down Hill Starter!

The Dog that barked on the quiet Sunday morning

The neighbours I usually drive by every morning as they walk.

Obligatory photo of flower growing in harsh conditions as metaphor for life

Not an Australian country scene without an image of barbed wire fencing

Always someone who thinks they are original by altering a sign

White cockatoos on a wire

to golf or not to golf, that is the question – there is a little NO hidden in the middle

more metaphor – the road ahead!

What’s a country town without a scrap metal merchant? XXXX or 4X is the original beer of Queenslanders.

Optical illusion – this is the bottom of the hill and our house is at the top of the hill

Developed deep and abiding interest in neighbour’s seed pod, half way back up the hill. Shade and time to breath!

See you next year!

a day it was, what a days it was

The doctor asked me what sort of week I had lived.

“A little the same, a little bizarre.”

“Sounds like the life of a teacher,” he replied.

He is right. Most days have a similarity to all the other days, but then looking over the week there are always exceptions to each day.

One day it was finding out some senior students were taking video and pictures of staff and putting them online as memes. The serious stuff was finding out that they were also taking pictures of fellow students and photoshopping them into sexual positions. The matter has gone to police. (I think I missed that bullet)

Same day, trying to raise awareness of International Women’s Day, I sent a memo that included a photo of Cleopatra, and a colleague complained that I, “as a fellow feminist”, should not use photos of Cleopatra scantily clad. Have you ever not seen a photo of Cleopatra not scantily clad? To my mind it was the fashion of the time. Body image, I was reminded. Yeah, girls are going to compare themselves to an oil painting of a female who lived thousands of years ago.

“Point” taken, I said, thinking what a western world problem it is, while at the same time women are dying for trying to get an education, or walking down the street to find food for their families.

The next memo will have an African American astronaut in her full neck to foot space gear, that surely won’t bring complaints. Not that anyone should bet on it.

Earlier that day, an ASD student had a melt down kicking furniture, screaming and banging doors as I asked him to do something he didn’t want to do. It’s exhausting for him no doubt, and he wound up being placed in the responsible thinking classroom, but it is also exhausting for his classmates, and for the teacher. I saw him next period, and he was back to his usual behaviour, but I needed a strong coffee and to remind myself not to take it personally.

Then, the doctor tells me my shoulder impingement, yes I have an impingement, how special am I; is due to getting older. I am not ready for getting older. Only the day before I said to son in law, that I had become one of those old people who smells of liniment.

He replied, “I thought  your mouth wash was extra strong.”

Mouth wash, what mouth wash? Do I need mouth wash now too?

Grandma’s special sausages

Petite Fille was walking through our large garden with Grandpa Mr FD and I.  Pausing by the fire pit that the previous owners had built and Grandpa Mr FD explained to Petite Fille what is was.

“That’s a fire pit.”

I should have known better, but I flippantly added to Mr FD, “That’s where I will burn your body.”

My little echo, 3 year old, Petite Fille, “What’s a burn your body? What’s a burn your body?”

“Grandma meant sausages. That’s where we can cook sausages.”

Back in the house I told Petite Fille’s Daddy of my misdemeanour.

“It’s where we cook sausages, isn’t it Petite Fille?”I added as she appeared again.

Daddy mischievously adds, “Shhh that’s a family secret. We don’t tell people about our sausages.”

Poor child doesn’t stand a hope of being normal.