sliding into happy every after

What a difference a few months make.

We have been graced with a Grandson, Petit Garcon, a brother to Petite Fille, who is now 4 years of age. Our second granddaughter, Peppercorn, is about to celebrate her second birthday. I know it sounds corny, but they have changed our lives in wonderful ways we never imagined. A little ego boost to have someone call your name with delight whenever they see you, too! Unconditional love is priceless. Well, unconditional love as long as there is the possibility of a little surprise in Grandma’s bag!

Ending the year as semi-retired, with no plans for full time work in my foreseeable future. I have had some health issues, body and mind, and now I am need time to recover my health and to mend. Maybe, next year I will do some cover teaching, just day cover, not contract work, but my primary plan is to slow down, smell the eucalyptus and spend more time with our family.

When I started writing my blog, originally on Vox, I was approaching fifty, and our three children were still living at home. Now I am approaching sixty in 2018, with two married daughters, and three grandchildren. I changed careers, moved from the city to the country, and gained Augie Dog after a life of cats. Amazing where the journey of 10 years takes us…

 

Oh my, you did, didn’t you?

Well, America, you certainly did it. How could you do this to all of us?

 

I have always laughed at those preppers with their millions cans of beans and bottled water, but I am starting to feel like I should start putting my shoulder to the shovel to dig a fall-out shelter into the side of our hill. One thing for sure, I have promised myself to stop following the political media and much of the news for my own health and sanity.

 

I just can’t believe it – Trump? Really, that was the best you could do?

 

Ever since Bush2 dragged Australia into his global fights I have argued for Australia to stop following so meek and mildly into every American bully fest. The time is overdue for us to cut some ties now. Australia needs to stop trying to punch above its weight on America’s soiled coat tails.

 

Perhaps young middle class women don’t realise how hard the fight was to get them the freedom they trashed yesterday by voting for Trump. We, mothers, have failed to instil in our daughters how easy privileges and rights can be taken away.

 

My argument has been for a while now, that there has been too much change in our generations and many people just can’t keep up with the momentum. They are frightened and exhausted. A demigod who promises a return to what they think were “the good old times” is a salve to their dispirited world view.

 

I just can’t believe all this is happening

 

 

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

My mother has always been one for a good adage. “Better an old man’s darling, than a young man’s fool” came forth when both my sister and I married men almost a decade older than we were; though neither groom probably considered themselves old. “Go to the doctor and you will get sick” is another one; not so much for the germs you might pick up in the doctor’s waiting room, but for the other ills they find along the way.

I experienced that first hand this week. Investigations for the root cause of blood pressure issues resulted in some incidental findings. Incidental was the doctor’s choice of adjective. I prefer mind numbing, or while not immediately catastrophic, certainly has me contemplating that my goal to live to 102 might be a wee bit optimistic.

Drama Queen that I am, I feel like a ticking time bomb! The doctor mustn’t think so however, as he has sent me off for more tests with instructions not to return to his office for eight weeks! So, I am trying to refrain from lurching through the day, clutching my chest moaning, my heart, my heart! Though it isn’t likely in the short term I have asked Minerva, my erstwhile Library aide, that should I clutch anything between chest and stomach before collapsing to the floor, to be so kind as to not ask the front desk to phone for an ambulance, but to dial triple zero directly. She has solemnly agreed, though I suspect there may be days when my behaviour may influence her to walk very slowly towards the phone to make that call!

Now I am on enough tablets to make me rattle like a child’s shaker toy. I have to take a half tablet of this or that, every day, then every second day, but at the same time take a half of something new, but only on the days I am not taking another tablet. I am sure there are instructions to stand on the west side of the hill, wait for the sun to be at a 30 percent angle to my right foot and to twirl twice before taking a quarter of some pill.

I am feeling old and very mortal. I have taken to wearing purple.

No, really I have. Purple is a colour I have not worn very much since the 1970s, when I was oh so glamourous, but a couple of weeks ago, I purchased a purple tunic. I wear it with black leggings, and every time I do I receive compliments. One gentleman colleague told me I was looking exceptionally lovely in my purple and I giggled like a sixteen-year-old. I didn’t think I was capable of such frippery. Didn’t matter that the colleague is gay, I was all a flutter.

Speaking of colour, the doctor’s office has fire engine red walls. This week’s visit was my second visit, accompanied by Mr FD. Mr FD sat in the office at least 90 minutes this week, reading on his ipad, while I was poked and prodded. Later, I said, that I thought red was a poor choice for a medical office (blood and phobias etc.). Mr FD looked very puzzled and said, “Red? There was a red wall?” More than one, actually.

Obviously, the purple is lost on him.

The I don’t need it, I don’t want it, get out of my face revolution

Maybe it’s just me but I need to ask: is anyone else not only tired of, truly exhausted by the sheer numbers of people trying to make money from every facet of our lives?

So many so called health gurus, education experts, lifestyle experts… Even people writing books to show us how to show our kids how to use Lego once they are tired of their kit style. Can’t we downsize for ourselves? Can’t we create and innovate for ourselves?

What is happening to us?

Today, I feel like one of those characters in those predictable Hollywood movies where in one day, a man has to face a job loss, wife leaving, kids moving away, car repossessed, locked out of all bank accounts and savings and he just goes mental and rejects society.

Today, I want to go mountain woman and reject capitalistic consumerism and this society that just wants to make money out of every aspect of my daily existence.

I don’t need anyone to tell me how to do anything or everything. I can do it for myself, and I don’t need to make myself poor making another person rich.

none so deaf, none so blind

We have a friend, well, actually he is Mr FD’s friend from university days, so he is an “old friend” in many ways. Over the years we have maintained the exchange of Christmas greetings and occasional visits. Now Mr FD and Friend are semi-retired and have more time to use social media and exchange media.

An issue has arisen in that friend, a baby boomer as we all are, has a very binary world focus. This was highlighted recently when on a recent current events panel program on television, a man asked a question about tax cuts and then had to suffer the arrows of the public media as his private life was trashed. He asked one very respectful question to a politician and the hounds went for his throat. Friend was one of the hounds.

It seems that the if you fail in anyway, you must be punished. Everyone must be held responsible for who they are and what they do. It doesn’t matter if you are mentally ill, intellectually impaired, been mentally and physically abused, a member of the Stolen Generation, or any of the myriad other issues that work against children from the minute they are conceived.

Once, Mr FD and I probably would have held a similar opinion, but through the years, education and life experiences we have completely walked away from such a binary paradigm. If generations of your family have been used and abused, if you have been born with foetal alcohol syndrome, if you grew up in abuse and violence, extreme family dysfunction and poverty, can it really be expected that you are going to make all the right decisions in life not to end up on welfare, homeless or with a substance abuse problem?

I am not saying that a murderer shouldn’t be imprisoned. I am asking that a wider lens than black and white be applied. Friend cannot entertain the position we hold and has taken to writing long editorial type sermons on social media casting against our personal views. We have taken the steps of blocking him, sadly.

Mr FD doesn’t have a large number of friends, but he has decided to part from this particular friend, for he finds his opinions and behaviour abhorrent. Obviously friend always had these views but due to the small amount of contact we were able to overlook or tolerate his views through politeness, but now that he airs them daily on social media, and within the inner friendship group, his racist, narrow minded mindset is fully revealed.

If you sit by and say, or do nothing, are you not saying that prejudice is all right? Does it not reinforce postures that destroy individuals and divides society? As I explain to my students if you stand by and do nothing, then you are part of the problem too.

Mr FD has told friend why he can no longer sanction his views, and of course friend then had to make some very personal attacks on Mr FD, even suggesting that Mr FD has severe mental issues (and we all know only I can say that!). Friend just can’t tolerate the idea that someone may not think he is the fountain of all knowledge and that his edicts are incontestable.

My point is, that no matter our age, or what stage of life, we need to reflect on our values and acknowledge that just because we were friends with someone one, doesn’t mean we will always remain so. I think it is important to know our values, to stand by them and to live our lives accordingly. I also refuse to give up hope that one day friend will experience empathy for those who have the harder road in life.

a new cycle

The view from our deck by day

This weekend we got an exercise bike. It’s not new; in fact it is second hand, unwanted when its owner went overseas. We have placed it outside on our deck, for the moment. I did circle it for an hour or two, as I am not an exerciser – as I joke, my idea of exercise is moving from one end of the couch to the other!

I was out trying out the cycle this evening. The weather is unseasonably warm, and the evening was just lovely, not too cold, no insects. Our house is on the side of a hill and overlooks the Village and the entire valley, to the ranges in the distance. It was evening and the street lights were twinkling like stars and it was just magical.

Augie Dog was outside with me, standing at the far end of the deck. Son came out and was of the opinion that Augie was watching a wallaby somewhere in our garden that we could see. He was certainly standing very quiet and still the entire time I cycled.

It was just perfection, and I felt so happy, cycling and enjoying the moment. It was a very, very nice end to my weekend.

I just hope I can walk in the morning!

Bored by that view? Then try this one!

I waz cheated, I tell youze

Thursday was a quite a pleasant day. I spent most of the day with Petite Fille playing Peppa Pig, Duplo, Doctors, and reading a mountain of books to her. It was a good day, until my son-in-law, Petite Fille’s father, came home and told me my Thursday was in fact everyone else’s Friday.

I didn’t believe him to the point that I found my mobile phone and checked the day and date. I didn’t fully believe it then either. Okay, I was on vacation, and I had been suffering with a cold, and I had been home bound child caring, but how did I get cheated out of a whole day?

Where was I when I was living that day? I was cheated out of a day of vacation! So instead of having three days until I had to return to work, I had merely two.

Talk about a pissed off individual… thy name was Flamingo Dancer!

 

pish pash another day

A cold has befuddled me the last couple of days. What is it about colds that we feel this primal urge to identify just where the virus might have originated from to infect us? Mr FD almost always picks up cold when he takes plane trips, and I was on a plane three days prior to the sore throat starting. My money is on the inbred who stood in line ahead of Mr FD and I at the voting booth and made sure she turned around and couched directly at us every time she had a throat tickle.

Mr FD and I would, almost in unison, take a step backwards every time she coughed, but there was only so much distance that that we could keep between us and the diseased one (ever heard of putting your hand over your mouth, you silly cow!) and still maintain the progression of the waiting line.

And the damn election has resulted in no clear winner, and maybe a minority government. We always seem to live in electoral areas that are totally opposite to the way we vote, so it is merely an exercise in democracy for us when we vote; as we have no expectation that our candidate will win. Ever hopeful.

Last night, I must have overdosed on Berocca because I experienced one of those moments when I felt overwhelming anticipation of good health on the morrow and made plans to match. You know when you have sooked around for a couple days feeling ill, and then have a kumbaya moment of promising The Big Whatever that you will clean up your act and get healthy, really healthy.

So, lying in bed, I made plans to knead bread and leave to rise on the window sill and  to run a 10 kilometre marathon at dawn, before returning home to forage for nuts and berries in the bush land for a healthy natural breakfast with the bread I baked. Then I was going to garden, clean out my closets and knit a tent before morning tea.

Of course the first weak link in my plan was that I stayed awake until after 1am catching up on programs I had missed while away last week. The weather was windy and the wind chill factor made it quite uncomfortable so that nixed the marathon. I didn’t even walk to the mailbox to check the mail, it can wait until tomorrow.

I did clean the ash from around the fireplace, always a thrill. Speaking of thrills, a new washing machine was delivered last week. Just before we made our tree change 3 and on half years ago, Daughter2 and I selected a new washing machine that turned out to have a major production fault. The make has been bursting into flames and burning homes down all over the country. We were offered a fix early on, which we accepted, but a couple weeks ago the manufacturer rang to offer a new machine. Mr FD had the sense to accept on the spot. So, my holiday thrill has been working out the different aspect of using the washing machine. Oh it’s all fun at the Flamingo Dancer Manor!

For the next four days I will be entrusted with the care of Petite Fille, while her parents move their goods and chattels back to their city home. Petite Fille has recently started ballet lessons, so we shall no doubt pas de deux about the kitchen until I hurt some random body part.

I refuse to think about work next week, except I obviously am. Sigh.

batter up

Some poor surfer guy has died after being mauled by a shark, and the usual platitude one hears “oh but at least he died doing what he loved!” has been uttered again. As if!

Do you really think he is standing outside the pearly gates, thanking the Big Whatever for cutting his life short by at least 7 decades but at least letting him go while do something he really enjoyed? Do you think he enjoyed the moment the shark ate his leg? I am not thinking his last thoughts were that he was really glad he got out of bed that morning and went down to the water.

Mr FD used to have this annoying habit when he heard some old person died he would say “Well, at least he had a good innings.” I beg your pardon? I let it go by for a decade or two, but one day I turned to Mr FD and I said that if he didn’t stop saying that pathetic and inadequate phrase that I would make sure that the day he is told his days are numbered that I was going to pat him on the hand and utter “well, you’ve had a good innings, dear” Now push off.

Then I added that I would feed him to the dog.

Now his stock comment is “Oh dear, that is too young to die.”

He is obviously hoping I don’t kill anytime soon.

A week in the life of a teacher librarian

The conference was great, well, elements were great, others were hoohum, as all conferences are, but on the whole I found much to ponder and reflect upon.

The first day I was like a honey pot around which a couple of colleagues form other schools swarmed around. Possessing a magnetic personality can be such a burden at times. The second day I was solo all day, as we followed different conference streams, and these days I prefer that.

Brisbane Queensland

Brisbane Queensland

Brisbane Queensland

My motel room with its city views was a room overlooking a building site, on a bust inner city road. The footpath to the motel was blocked and so I had to walk a block out of my way to circumvent the building site to reach the motel at the end of the day which impressed me not, but I broke the budget and ordered a glass of wine along with my room service dinner.

city views!

The next morning, suitcase in hand I decided not to walk back to the convention centre and so asked for a taxi. A very polite driver who almost drove us in front of a bus and then in his haste almost reversed over a woman walking across the motel drive way. The short drive was less eventful but did feel longer than it should have!

Day Two started in the ballroom

My major grump was about the little things that can make a conference less of a positive experience – not enough food at some breaks,  a lack of seats to sit upon when eating, and surfaces to rest a glass or cup during a meal too. The food was all finger or fork food, but as you had to leave the food area with drink and food, if you couldn’t claim one of the few standing tables or rare seats well then you were in for a juggling act. I twittered my annoyance at having to sit on the floor, more than once.

might be a floor seat, but damn my shoes look great

I am becoming more and more angry about the lack of creativity and innovation in my school, and if I had the flexibility might consider branching into something new, but I am in my late fifties now, and the main bread winner and so I am rather constrained in my possibilities. It’s bubbling around in my consciousness now, the need to create and innovate is growing, and so I may just increase my environment scanning. I’ve never been afraid of career change, but I am realistic that being in my last fifties, well, in Australia that means possibilities are not plentiful. Ageism is alive and flourishing sadly.

Garbed in her trusty scarf and socks, Flamingo Dancer goes forth to fight ignorance and information overload everywhere!

On the home front, Daughter 1 celebrated a birthday and Petite Fille and I baked a chocolate cherry cake. It was delicious even if I do say so myself.

Peppercorn goes to ground!

Peppercorn, who turns six months this coming week is crawling! That baby can certainly work a rug, and loves nothing better than to roll and crawl about the floor. I think she gets very frustrated by the constraints of her baby body! She reminds me of her mother as a baby so much – very determined and already setting her own achievement goals. I miss them dreadfully since they returned to home.

Another three or four weeks until Petite Fille and her parents will return to their own home, renovations complete. I guess life will return to normal, though I am not sure I will recognise normal anymore!