Night Tales

night tales

3:13 am

Mr FD: Tell me everything you know about giraffes.

FD: Giraffes? Am I still sleep? Giraffes have very long necks and very long tongues that are purple?

Mr FD: Tell me about  their necks. How many bones do you think they have in their necks?

FD: Who does pop quizzes at 3 in the morning?  They have lots?

Mr FD : Actually they have about the same number as you do, the bones are just very large. And their hearts? Tell me about their hearts.

FD: The heart must be very strong to pump the blood up their necks to their brains?

Mr FD: Correct! There was no mistaking the pride in his voice for his pupil. The values in their circulatory system regulates the flow of the blood so that it doesn’t rush back down their necks too fast, or soon.

FD: Of course.

Mr FD: That is enough facts about giraffes for now.

3:18 am Mr FD rolls over and falls happily to sleep. FD does not.


5:30 am.

Augie Dog, who had previously been lying quietly by the bed, starts to become restless. FD draws the short end of the dog straw and rises to take Augie outside.

Standing at the open door, the frosty winter air hitting my face, I look out, worshipping the tall gum trees in our garden. Augie, behind me, appears hesitant to go outside. I turn to entreat him to go outside to “toilet”.

Augie looks up at me, as though he has just seen me for the first time.  If a dog can recoil in horror, Augie does; for his expression if he had been an Aussie male would have been accompanied by the words “f**king, bloody, hell!” This was accompanied by my beloved pet sitting back on his hind quarters and performing a half spin backwards across the floor. He did not venture outside.

Returning to the bedroom, I glanced in the mirror. My hair was standing vertically upright, like short, grey soldiers on parade; the eyelid over my artificial eye only partially open. Even with no eye glasses, I knew what Augie had been communicating.



The authoritative male television newsreader’s voice reported, “…and this is Pope Francis’ first overseas trip since his latest encyclical…”

FD, in the kitchen : I had an encyclical once…

Mr FD from the next room : …but the wheels fell off it!

We’ve been married a very long time.

where is the fairness in this?

While the honeymooning Mr and Mrs Daughter2 were in New Zealand waking to morning snow and doing this:


I spent the day in my PJs, rising only to eat and put another load of laundry on, before cooking this:

Nice as it was, I think the honeymooning Mr and Mrs FD (keep up, remember the Bridegroom took the Bride’s Flamingo Dancer surname) are having more fun than the Senior Mr and Mrs FD.

Let it be said though, that I would never do the white water power boat thing. Snow yes, power boat, no.

Recipe link here.

A modern wife’s guide to life : first catch your husband

When I was a child, my Dad raised chickens and would butcher them for our Sunday dinner. It was not an activity anyone wanted to join in. I came across an article on butchering chickens and I couldn’t help “tweaking” it a little. Here it is:

butcher woman

Butchering Husbands: Tips from the Trenches

Eve: I tie a rope to each of the husband’s feet and hang him upside down. He calms down immediately. Them I use a sharp knife to make one deep slit across the side of the neck. The blood drains quickly. I heat a pot of water to around 160-170 degrees. If it’s too hot, the skin will tear. I dunk the whole husband in the hot water for about 30 seconds. Use a fork to get the lungs out. They are the hardest part of the husband to remove.


Mary: I like to wrap mine tightly in a towel and hold them until they are really calm. I think it is an incredibly important thing to do yourself. It gives you a real connection to your kill and the freedom that is looming.


Adele: I think most importantly, don’t stress and don’t panic, it’s important to stay calm to do the job correctly and to keep the husband calm before the deed is done. Be grateful and respectful; this husband is giving his life so that you can be free, end that life in the most respectful way possible. We always hold the husband until he is calm and say thank you for your leaving. Know that you gave the husband the best life and death possible, and most other husbands haven’t had it so good. Logistically, watch all the YouTube videos on it that you can before you start, they’ll make you more comfortable and knowledgeable. If at all possible, find someone who knows what they’re doing and can show you the ropes. Have everything you need set up before you even bring the husband over, including pre-heated water for scalding. We always do it outside, it’s a smelly process.


Jocelyn: Just a sensible word of advice – don’t ever bury dead husbands on your property. You’ll invite police. If you are not going to eat them or feed them to your animals, take them to the edge of your town for disposal.

butcher 2


Fiona: The best and most humane way we found: Once you grab them, turn them upside down. Not only do they calm down, but they get faint after awhile. Tie the feet together, and hang them from a post. Since they are groggy at this point, the killing is not too traumatic for them (or you) — slit their throat, making the cut up and down, not across the throat.


Barbara: It does take a while to get used to it, and be good at it.


Sarah: Boil the water beforehand and don’t kill too many at once. You don’t want it too take more than hour before the first husband hits the ice. I just use a large pair of kitchen shears for the initial strike. I remove the skins, hair and all.


Deliah: Make your first chop be your last.


(If this was your original blog post, thank you for being a good sport. And just think about all the extra traffic you have gained through my plagiarism!)

sweet dreams are not made of this

Ah the soft midnight murmurings of the marital bed…

Mr FD: “Have you ever noticed how much James Caviezel looks like Paul Kennedy?”

FD: “Who and Who?” It’s 2.30 in the morning and I had been asleep for a couple of hours.

Mr FD: “James Caviezel, the actor and Paul Kennedy, the ABC journalist.”

FD: “Don’t know the actor…now go back to sleep.”

Minutes later…

Mr FD : “You have to admit though that James Caviezel looks more like James Caviezel than Paul Kennedy does, and Paul Kennedy looks more like Paul Kennedy than James Caviezel does.”

A pause, then… “I suppose if you extend that out to its end point, you could say that James Caviezel and Paul Kennedy look nothing alike.”



miracles of miracles

I have survived Mr FD’s wisdom teeth removal! His fate is still undecided.

The procedure seems to have gone well, though the anaesthetist informed Mr FD post surgery that they had trouble placing some tube down his throat, and that he would be writing a letter for Mr FD to hand to any future anaesthetist. All very odd as this is not the first surgery Mr FD has endured, but the first such comment. Mr FD does have a scrap and a stitch inside his cheek and we will be asking questions on his follow up visit, but that mystery aside he is progressing well. Miserably uncomfortable, but irritating enough.

The sight of my husband of 37 years drinking his tea from our granddaughter’s sippy cup due to swollen lips the first night was a little worrying I must say. It was too vivid a reminder of what may lay ahead – I have already acknowledged that he will be a burden and pain in the royal derrière when he ages a little more, I didn’t need the message driven into my brain with a pile driver!

The other lingering image is of Mr FD lying back in his favourite chair with ice packs swaddling his face, but as he had pulled off the ice pack ribbons to tie them around his head, he was using his CPAP mask and straps to hold them into position. Necessity and invention I guess!

Oh and this was the lovely brunch I enjoyed while Mr FD was in surgery…



Chuffed all around


Mr FD’s full time job seems to have become maintaining his health in recent months with visits to the optometrist, pediatrist, physiotherapist, family doctor, dentist and now periodontist. Getting old is a full time job! It is also a growing expense due to major design faults with the human body – maybe The Big Whatever should have rested for a day before undertaking the construction of humans!

I arrived home with my post conference glow to be greeted with the fact that at the age of 64 Mr FD’s four wisdom teeth need to removed – on Tuesday. I guess the wisdom never functioned so what is the need to keep them anyway.

So, from Thursday night to today we have been in high gear in preparation for “the procedure”. It is taking place in Toowoomba which is some thirty or forty minutes drive from The Village, with a lot of road work in between. As I work 40 minutes in the opposite direction from The Village, it necessitates me taking a Family Care Day to drive and care, well, drive, at least. Then I get to spend five or six hours in a city which was home for 25 years but with which we now have no contact. See the inconvenience I am suffering?

Then there was the shopping list to the pharmacy for ice packs, pain killers, nausea medication, cotton pads and the list goes on. We had a complete list from the periodontist and I thought it would be a case of handing it over and paying for a shopping bag of goodies, but the pharmacy assistant had to second and third guess and confuse herself over every item on the list. I think she was somewhat perplexed in serving a person (Mr FD excluded) with any level of critical thinking and so had to argue every point.

I wanted to say, “excuse me, but I actually have a level of intelligence” with perhaps the addition of “more than the usual locals around here” but one must be politically correct, and so I had to work REALLY HARD on keeping my voice calm and jammer polite replies, but we must have been close to an hour in the damn pharmacy before we were able to obtain what was exactly on our list.  Not to self, take a cut lunch and a thermos on next outing to pharmacy.

There was a poor woman in the pharmacy waiting for a script who looked like a suppurating wound from head to toe, and while she was distressing to look upon I can only imagine what a misery her life must be. She adopted Mr FD and I however, in-between the pharmacy assistant appearing and disappearing on her fool’s errands, and tried to tell us her story. She wanted to tell the entire store her story, which may have been good therapy for her, but most of us had our own issues – I mean I had to lead a wisdom tooth suffering Mr FD around as he malfunctioned on pain medication.

I tried to appear sympathetic, and I was, I am guessing that she had a severe skin infection from eczema or dermatitis,  but when she started to complain about how the doctor would no longer allow her to drain her own infection by popping them I just wanted to throw up. I murmured soothingly comments, such as “oh dear, how uncomfortable for you, that must be distressing, and oh my how terrible” hoping my lack of questions or conversational natter would deter her but alas, no.

It came to the point where I was about to throw my arms around the pharmacy assistant and welcome her into my family if she took us to another department, when she actually did, and we were released from our incarceration.

However, not before Mr FD had to share a joke that he had created in the middle of the previous night, with the pharmacy assistant. I figured it was pay back for the suffering she had made me suffer, so I allowed him to roll.

My doctor says I am addicted to fishing. [Pause for the listener to react sympathetically] But it is okay because they are going to give me NEMOtherpay.

Yep, so chuffed was he with his comedic efforts that he had woken me the previous night to share his brilliance. Like I said, she deserved it. No doubt he will share with all on Tuesday prior to surgery. They may increase his pain level in return, but who would argue?

Mr FD stayed ensconced in the car, windows down a crack for ventilation, as I ran through the supermarket scooping up soups, custard, soft fruits, jelly and yoghurt for his invalid needs. Another budget blow out.

He doesn’t know it yet, but I am keeping tally on all my discomfort and efforts in his cause and he will be billed in kind accordingly. No more settling for a meagre cup of tea and a piece of toast when I am attacked by diverticulitis. I expect service with a couple S, man.

Tuesday, he is to be delivered to day surgery by 10am, nil by mouth. I shall depart to a fine restaurant for brunch, and maybe a spot of shopping, but if the weather is fine I shall walk some of the local parks which are beautiful even in the dead of winter, which is yet to arrive. Autumn passed still dressed as summer this year.

Then there will be the drive home, hopefully with a silent and docile pain relieved Mr FD in the evening to face the long first night.

Back to work on Wednesday. I think I will actually be looking forward to it!

a machine that goes ding

The microwave finally died of old age and rust. The final moment was when the plate would no longer rotate and a microwave container melted. For a few weeks we used a tiny microwave that had been stored in the shed since Daughter1 married a man with a superior microwave.

So off to the city on Saturday afternoon in search of a replacement. I had several criteria; Mr FD had one – he wanted it to go ding.

At the store, we zeroed in on our price range, and the exterior finish we wanted, matte silver, to match other large appliances such as the fridge, and then went for the finer details. My way of dealing with this was to look at the buttons or knobs and see if they met my likes or dislikes, then to open the microwave, locate the manual and read the features.

Mr FD’s contribution was to annouce in a loud voice, “I want one that goes ding!” He was distracted for a second or two by a microwave that was bright red and shiny, but he soon returned to “I want one that goes ding!”.

I ignored him, as I went about eliminating, and proving the worth of the favourite, while Mr FD asked for service assistance. One sales assistant  told him that she couldn’t help, even though she was doing nothing as “I am in charge of kitchens overall.” Obviously microwaves are no longer a part of kitchens? I seem to have missed a trend. Another service assistance,  who was leaning against the service end of the microwave section also declined to help us as “I am assisting someone else at the moment.” The nearest people were in the vacuum cleaner section some four metres away. He did call someone who he promised would be able to assist us.

The said assistant was welcomed by Mr FD’s welcome of “I want one that goes ding!” The look on the man’s face clearly said that he thought he had a live ding- a -ling alright. Microwaves all ding at the end of the cycle so he didn’t appear to know where to go with it.

I explained that Mr FD has fallen into the habit of microwaving food and then become so task focussed (forgetful) that he does not retrieve the food. Hours later someone will find it at room temperature inside the microwave. He is obviously really suffering hunger!

“What we want is a microwave with an alarm.”

Oh he knew all about alarms, his own microwave had one. His microwave was not amongst the store’s stock though. Mr FD just kept blubbering “I want one that goes ding” as though his last hopes were evaporating. However, I had already ascertained that my appliance of choice had an alarm that “dinged” after one minute, two minutes and then three minutes if the food was not retrieved.

Yes, dear reader, we got one that dinged, which the ding-a-ling proudly bore home.


kitten play


cat bed

Mr FD was lying in bed with his back to me. I noticed the little roll of extra Mr FD at the back of his neck, and another roll of extra Mr FD down his back.

I gripped a little between my fingers and told Mr FD, “If you were a kitten, your Mummy would have no problems carrying you around in her mouth; except you would drag on the ground.”

“I would attach a little handle to make it easier,” he replied, in no way concerned.