The Case Of The Missing Trousers

"What have you done with my belt and jeans?!" read the unexpected text during this morning's church service. Feeling quite self righteous, for a change,  I was quick to reply: "I haven't touched them!" According to Himself, I am frequently guilty of deliberately hiding his clothes. Usually they are in the washing basket (placed there by me...Himself doesn't know how the lid works...) or drying on the back of some piece of furniture in the Chinese laundry that is our house in winter. Always, they have been 'missing for months' and he has' looked everywhere' for them but in this case I knew for sure that I hadn't been anywhere near them.                               
               
I knew this because I have been, once more, absorbed by the annual sewing frenzy that is The Musical. For the past four days I have done little other than sew, think about sewing or buy items for sewing with. Laundry was not even on my radar. So it was with a clear conscience that I arrived home from church to find Himself huffing and puffing about the amount of time he had spent looking for his missing jeans and belt and how they had 'vanished off the planet'. Possibly eaten by the laundry basket? Being a helpful wife I naturally followed him around the house (which I noticed he had actually gone some way to tidying! Perhaps he should lose clothes more often?) clucking sympathetically and exclaiming in conciliatory tones every time he indicated a new place he had (unsuccessfully) searched. In the end, we were both stumped. The jeans had indeed seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.

Shortly thereafter I opened my wardrobe to hang up my coat and a grey raincoat fell out on my head. This surprised me for two reasons: firstly it fell on my head and secondly, I had not worn this raincoat for over 20 years. At a visceral level I knew this had something to do with the mysterious disappearance of Himself's trousers although I could not immediately determine the link.

Searching frantically through the last 12 hours, I tried to recall an event which would result in a raincoat suddenly launching itself from the upper reaches of my cupboard. After all, it was usually found in one of my 'dressing up bags', the ones I keep tucked away on the top shelf; the ones containing decades worth of odd or unusual items of clothing, which had looked sensational or at least striking in 1979-89-99, but whose short lived fashion flame had long since expired; the ones containing odds and ends of props and shoes and the occasional 'basic' item which might come in handy for a musical at some point; items such as all the BA's old school shirts (because a white shirt is always useful)...

WHITE SHIRTS!!!!!!

With a flash bordering on brilliance I saw what had happened. Looking upwards to see the contents of the bags spilling out over the shelf, my hypothesis was confirmed. Now all I needed was the final, vital piece of hard evidence.

(I have been watching a bit of Poirot lately, did I mention?)

"Himself," I bellowed," I think I know where your trousers are!"
He came stomping down the hallway to find me step ladder deep in dress ups, intently hauling random items off the top shelf. "Remember when the BA was looking for a white shirt last night, to wear for her catering gig? Well......"
The missing trousers (and belt) came flying out of the back of the shelf where the BA had carelessly shoved them the previous evening, along with the contents of the the three bags she had emptied out on my bedroom floor.

Well, if he WILL leave his trousers on the floor..........

All this talk of missing trousers reminded me of the brilliant Jonathan Miller sketch which reduced me to tears as an 11 year old and which I present for you now via the wonders of the internet. Do yourself a favour and marvel at understated British humour at its best.

The Heat Death of the Universe: Jonathan Miller 1962

What Are They Teaching Kids Nowadays?

 I was down in one of the Junior Primary classrooms the other day when the alphabet chart caught my eye. I called across to the teacher.
"Hey! What's going on with your cactus here??? What's that supposed to be teaching kids????"

The teacher took several moments to gaze at it in puzzlement before she 'clicked' and guffawed.
OK. So maybe it's just me.
"Really," I admonished,"And in a lovely school like this."
"Ha!" she retorted, "That's nothing. Have you seen the weird cow on our door???? The Teacher's Aide put it up and I haven't had the heart to take it down."
I had to admit that I hadn't really looked closely at the door cow so I went back for another squizz.

Disturbing. Seriously disturbing. And anatomically incorrect. Do illustrators not check these things??

Have an udderly nice day folks.

You Know My Methods Watson!

As I savoured the last minutes of my 'lie-in' this morning, I heard Himself exploding at the other end of the house.
"BL***Y CATS!!!!!!"........
There-in followed the thump of feet up the corridor. His enraged visage popped around the door jamb, the steam fairly issuing from his ears.
"You know those sausages we left out on the counter last night (I know, I know....don't say anything....)? Well the BL***Y cats have EATEN THE LOT! There were about TEN of them!!!!!!"

I processed this information.

Firstly, it was unlikely that there were ten left over, but I decided to let that anomaly pass.
"Well,  surely they wouldn't have eaten all 10? Surely No 2 Son might have come home late and had some?"
"There was one left out on the counter!!! No 2 Son wouldn't have done that!!!" Himself roared.
"To be fair, he might have if he was....ummm....indisposed."
The thunderclap clanged shut and Himself humphed, set his jaw and stalked back down the hallway muttering under his breath:
"Bl***y cats. You can all go and live outside. Waste of bl***y space all of them. Bl***y cats. Mutter mutter mutter. Animals don't belong in the house! Mutter mutter etc"

Slightly perturbed, and concerned for the safety of the cats if nothing else, I levered myself out of my prone postion and wrapped myself in a dressing gown. As I pattered down the corridor towards the kitchen I tried to analyse the situation in my mind. Firstly, Pippin doesn't eat real meat, raw or cooked. He rather likes the idea of raw meat and hangs about my feet if I'm cooking (he's way too savvy to hang about Himself's feet!) but if I toss him a sliver of raw chicken, or open a tin of tuna when the dry cat food has run out, he looks at me in confusion. Surely that jelly like stuff cannot be the source of that delicious odour? He paws at it and walks off in disgust. So the culprit was unlikely to be Pippin.

Now Mortisha leans a little more towards whole foods. She is our mega hunter, bell and all, and frequently brings home a mouse or a bird. Mind you, she never eats the whole thing. We are frequently dodging a mouse head or pile of disembowelled, slightly sticky feathers in the laundry, or outside the bedroom door; highly dangerous whilst barefoot first thing in the morning! The thought of her scoffing ten whole sausages (or even the more likely count of 6) seemed highly unlikely.

Now, Lily. Lily is a wild card given her feral beginnings. She has been known to get up on a bench, she certainly enjoys a bit of raw meat, but she too never finishes the whole mouse and if truth be known, she's often out at night.

By the time I reached the kitchen I was feeling less and less convinced that the cats were to blame. This feeling was confirmed as Pippin dashed in, squalling and rubbing up against me, ready for food.

"Sweet heart, I really don't think the cats could have demolished all of those sausages," I said as I surveyed the lone sausage which had obviously been dragged across the bench. "For one thing Pippin is waaay too hungry to have pigged out on sausages last night." I glanced around at the scene of the crime.
"Oh, and also," I said, my eye lighting on a large, nearly empty glass bowl nearby,
"I really don't think they would have eaten the salad!"

We have yet to catch up with No 2 Son to confirm my suspicions. Nevertheless, the cats get to live indoors a bit longer :-)

52 Weeks of Me: Memories

I didn't know where I was going with this theme and, after a thumpingly full weekend and a few earth shattering events in our personal (and business life), I just took some pictures. And even though this one is not flattering, or glamorous, and shows me in all my middle aged imperfection, I can show it to you because at the end of the day, it's who I am.

I also quite like the expression on my face because it's related to the story of the day. Here's what happened.

Every morning I drive through the back streets of our local suburbs, dodging main road traffic. One long, wide street leads down towards the forecourt of a reasonably 'well to do' private Catholic school and sweeps past it in a ninety degree elbow. As I approach it every morning, my mind full of the day to come, the details of houses, fences and gardens slip past me, blurred by the never-ending 'journalist vs politician' banter and traffic news on the the radio. It is only when there is some change to the routine landscape, something which jars my vision, that my conscious mind even registers its surroundings.

What exactly is that strange black and white shape up in the forecourt ahead?

From a distance, some sort of white column emerges, topped by a squashed black mass
(bahahaha...pardon the pun :-D).
I vaguely remember seeing something standing in that courtyard on previous mornings. Certainly not this incongruous shape though. Was it a rubbish bin? No, surely not. Mind you, evidently, something once regular and routine has been remodelled; perhaps by passing vandals? If it was a rubbish bin, the black top certainly doesn't seem to be rubbish bin shaped anymore...
What exactly have they done to that..........whatever it is.......... that I am accustomed to seeing there?
As I draw closer, the shape seems to resolve itself in my field of vision although my brain struggles to process it. Suddenly, a light bulb goes off in my sleep tousled cerebellum!

It's Lent! And this is a Catholic school.

Now, if you are one of those for whom the above two sentences mean nothing, let me enlighten you.

The season of Lent precedes the celebration of Easter in the traditional christian communion. A forty day period which recalls the time Jesus spent fasting in the 'wild', Lent is traditionally a period of mourning, self deprivation and reflection.

("Have a chocolate mate?" "Nah thanks, given it up for Lent.")

In addition to this self righteous, self-deprivation, many traditional Catholic churches practise the veiling of statues and icons during the Lenten period, as a reminder of........ (*thinks*)..............
(OK, I'm not actually sure what it's supposed to remind you of; maybe a symbolic 'entering of the grave' in order that the Resurrection be even more impressive? Who knows?)
 (and anyone who does is welcome to fill us in by leaving a comment btw!)

Anyway, as I approached this convoluted and perplexing shape in the front courtyard of 'Quite Well Off Catholic School', I had the kind of revelation that leaves you going:
'ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh' (sigh of revelation)
and then
'PFFFFFFFTTTTTT   BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH'
(shriek of hysterical laughter as you really think about it).

They had covered the statue with a garbage bag!
BA-HAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH
I mean! WHAT were they thinking???????

Well, to be honest, I really don't care what they were thinking cause it gave me such a laugh that I reflected on it for several days afterwards, at those moments when only a laugh will do.

Here I am, minutes later, back in the car, still snickering.
For better or worse BA, this is your mother, and of these things memories are made.

Join Corey as she tracks 52 Weeks Of Me over on her site. Or better still, join in!


image credit

The Dedicated Follower of Fashion.

My husband is a creative man. In the sartorial arena, he leans towards the carefree, unselfconscious attire of the obsessive artist and I often have to remind him that there is a fine line between 'creative' and 'slob' and he is dangerously close to it!!

The thing is he puts on clothes he likes. He puts them on again and again and again. And because he likes them so much, he also mows the lawn whilst wearing them, cleans the pool and puts the chlorine in. Now, I do not know if any of you are familiar with the net effect of chlorine on clothing? It bleaches it. And then it weakens the fibres sufficiently for holes to appear. Himself is totally oblivious to this process.

I have done a lot of mending since we married, in deference to his love of certain garments. I have sewn denim inserts into the backside of a particular pair of jeans. I have gritted my teeth as he appears in public in tattered old T Shirts. On Friday I had had enough. I pulled two holey T shirts and a pair of jeans out of his 'stash' and committed them to the bin. And not just ANY bin...the outside wheelie bin. Up the back of the garden!

So imagine my dawning horror as I came to give him a cuddle last night, as he sat at his computer.

********************************************************************************
Me: Hang on.....(examines the fabric beneath her embrace)....I THREW THIS OUT!!!!!
Him: I KNOW!!!! I had to get it OUT of the BIN!!!!!
Me: You got it out of the bin????????? That is disgusting!
Him: Well you shouldn't have put it in there. It's a perfectly good T shirt for around the house!!!!
Me: aaaaaaaaaauuuuuugggggggghhhhhhhhh

What am I supposed to do with him???????

Today In The Kitchen

I'm baking. This in itself is unusual. I'm baking a banana cake, which, I am told, will freeze well. In true Baby Boomer fashion it uses up bananas which will go off while I am away and I have a cake in the freezer for 'ron'. (Later-ron)

Except that I need bi-carb. Only a teaspoon. But there is no familiar blue and white box in the baking shelf.

Rats.

I examine the recipe. Can I substitute anything? No. I'm already using self raising flour.

Rats. I have to go to the supermarket for this most standard of store cupboard ingredients. Who can have used up the last of it? Who else bakes around here? Not Himself, that's for sure. He's a salads and curry man.

"*mutter mutter irritation* BA!! I have to go to the supermarket for some bicarb, do you need anything?"
"Wa? Ummmmnah..I donthinkso. What are you going for?"
"Bicarb, for the banana cake."

I stump off up the corridor to collect handbag and keys and, in typical Arizaphale fashion, become distracted by the pile of buttons on the coffee table. Hah! I'll take up the two buttons off the BA's new three button (supposedly) dress and find a suitable mate for them while I'm at the shops.

I stump back past the kitchen again and decide to cover up the baking ingredients while I'm gone. But wait. What is this on the benchtop? Could it be a blue and white box of bicarb????

Now I wonder where that came from?

B. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!??
(silence)
"BA? WHERE DID THIS BICARB COME FROM??"

"errr.....I was using it to take off my fake tan."

Of course she was.

There was a bare teaspoon left for the recipe.

Result! Except that now she doesn't get her button.

Crafty Tuesday: A Birthday Present To Me

My lovely Aunt/Godmother in the UK sent me some money for my birthday. I love birthday money because you can be totally self indulgent with it. I would normally have talked myself out of buying this as it is 'non-essential' but, because it was birthday money, I was able to spoil myself.

This book totally cracks me up



This is the first one that got to me.


Bwahahahahah!
This one was a close second!


But there was more!



This one is a jam jar cover, covered with bugs!!


And how much would I love to send these out for Christmas this year???


Happy Crafty Tuesday everyone. I haven't actually made anything since the infamous 'formal dress' episode, but I thought you might get a laugh out of these.....click over to Carrie to see what everyone else has to share.

Would You Believe....?

School is always good for a laugh when you work with Special Needs kids. We have a Downs' Syndrome girl at school, in year 8, who is at that difficult stage where she has discovered BOYS but, thankfully, doesn't quite know what to do with them. Naturally, she fixates on one and follows him around at lunchtime. It does not take very long for this to deteriorate into 'kiss chasey', with said boy and his mates hiding in the toilets and Emma (not her real name) lying in wait for them as they emerge. It's a bit like what we all did when we were 9 or 10 except they are 13 and 14.

What?
You mean you didn't do that? It was just me?
Oh well....

Anyway, there she is lurking outside the toilets and there's much hilarity from the boys inside, until one of them decides to hold his friend so that Emma can get to him. Now I don't know if you're aware, but Downs' Syndrome kids can be really strong and when Emma gets hold of you it is quite an effort to disengage. In all the wrestling and so forth that ensued, Boy 1's jumper was ripped, Boy 2 (the holder) got roughly jostled into a wall and Boy 3 hurt Emma's hand when he tried to pull her off Boy 1.
The whole lot of them ended up in the Office of the Head of Student Welfare having to explain themselves.
Part of my role is to debrief Emma after these situations and make sure she understands what is appropriate and acceptable behaviour so that she will be able to operate successfully in society. When she came cheerfully up to my office the next morning I had to sit her down for a chat.
"So Emma, can you tell me about what happened yesterday?"
(thinks hard)"Ummmm, yes, I got a lot of 'good's in my diary"
"Yes, that's wonderful that you were good in class Em but what about lunchtime? Did anything happen at lunchtime yesterday?"
(I am now about to get a lesson in asking euphemistic questions of people with intellectual disabilities.)
"Nothing happened yesterday."
"OK Em, when I ask you if anything happened yesterday, I actually know what happened but I just want you to tell me about it. Tell me about what went wrong at lunchtime yesterday. Why did you get into trouble?"
Emma's face fell, not into a canvas of remorse but rather into a Hieronymus Bosch-like darkened oil painting of deviation. I could almost see the cogs turning. 'How do I get out of this?'
"Well.." she started," John Smith was hurting my hand."
"Yes, Emma, but he was pulling your hand off Tom wasn't he?"
"Yes. But I never touched Tom's jumper. He was being nasty to me."
"I see. But you did touch Tom's jumper didn't you Em because that's how it got ripped."
(Eyes dart sideways, cogs turn.)
"Yes. But Tom was hurting my feelings. He mumblemumblemumble..."
Like many people with Downs', Emma's speech is sometimes hard to understand, but I thought I had heard her correctly.
"What did Tom do Emma?" I asked with some incredulity.
"Tom Brown killed my grandfather." she announced. And then for good measure:
"With a GUN."

Sometimes it's very hard to keep a straight face in this job.

Tales From The Chalkface II

Oh! I forgot to tell you the one other funny thing that happened the other day: The Baby Angel and I have been visiting schools, in an attempt to select a replacement for the Alma Mater, and we came into one well known Adelaide girls' school through a rear entrance and found ourselves lost in the labyrinth. A pretty, flushed young face was hurrying purposefully past us and I hailed her:
"Can you direct us to Reception?" I asked cheerfully. She looked immediately anxious and, after biting her lip briefly in thought, indicated a direction with her right hand.
"Turn left," she said," and then go on past kind of...well..some...buildings...they're...red..and I think there's....um...there's a pile of rocks and that's it."
The BA and I thanked her in amusement and followed her hand directions to turn 'left'. We wandered on for a bit through the rabbit warren of classrooms and walkways becoming less sure as we went. Stopping, we looked around us.

"I guess we have to look for the pile of rocks," I mused. The BA looked doubtful.
"What does she mean, a 'pile of rocks'?" she frowned.
"Well, I guess some kind of sculpture or something?" We wandered on for a bit until we came upon something a little like this.

Without the grass.

"The dyslexics always find you mum, don't they?"

Keeping Myself Amused

In a constant state of worry over my teen and my inability to write about it lest it be viewed and my penchant for broadcast exposed, I have resorted to funny photos.
This is Pippin, about to take out someone's eye over the complete and utter humiliation involved in being a boy cat in a girl's bedroom. If you look closely at his upper lip you can see the slight scar on the right which is where he keeps getting his lip caught on his lower tooth. I must try and get a picture; it is terrifying to behold (and kind of funny). This next shot is my all time favourite anniversary card. I couldn't actually give it to anybody, but it just cracks me up looking at it!

But the best bit is inside.... bwahahahahahahaha!

Oh well, at least I am still laughing.

I have been sewing for a the school dance troupe too but I will keep that photo until Tuesday so I can finally participate in Crafty Tuesday again. Today I'm off to help Bestie paint a wall as her back does not permit her to do such things anymore.

Yesterday I met a 12 year old autistic boy who may be coming to our school next year. He was hilarious! Active, high maintenance, but such a delight. He greeted me by my first name as he could read it off my badge and then greeted the Principal the same way! It was hysterical. He informed me that many people read names off badges, that's why people wear them. The Principal kindly informed him that 'Mr T' would be more appropriate.

In the end I had to take him on a 'tour' around the school so the principal could get the parents alone to talk. There was no way he wasn't going to be involved in any discussions! As we toured the school he became more and more excited by all the facilities. His hands flapped, he bent over and straightened up again, he jumped up and down with whoops of delight. When I opened the door to the gym he raced across the empty floor like a young calf loosed from the race at a rodeo. He stopped halfway across and turned back to me with an ear to ear grin.
"I really like this school!" he beamed.

He did have a penchant for sticking his face right up against the windows of the classrooms we passed but he jumped back suddenly as he realised the children within were staring at him.
"They're all looking at me," he said with some alarm.
"Well, they're just surprised to see you," I explained.
"They looked very surprised," he said with mild concern, "I could see by their faces they were surprised."
"Well, they don't usually have people looking at them through the windows and they don't know you."
I could see him processing this.
Wait, they could see me too?
For the autistic mind there is only his point of view. It had not occurred to him as he observed the classes that they could observe him right back! I loved watching him take on this new understanding and modify his behaviour accordingly. I don't know if he will come to our school, but I think he would be an amazing blessing to the community. He was so joyful and enthusiastic. There's nothing like an autistic person to teach you about yourself.

Is It Just Me?

Or does this book cover and title bother you?

I spotted it in our school library the other day. The same school library which does not allow books containing swearing, magic or Harry Potter ! Oh well, I guess double entendre is less harmful than bad language and books that lead straight to your neighbourhood coven on sign up day.

:-)

On A Lighter Note: The Extinction of Dinosaurs

Nan Chin Says: Analyse THIS

I had to share this! (Hope you don't mind Nan Chin)

Nan Chin was my housemate in the UK and is now the amazing mother of two delightful (and cute) Taiwanese/French children. Gaston is 4........his mood graph is the white one; and Rosalie is 21 months...she's the green line!

Nan Chin is also a scientist.
:-)

Never Work With Dogs or Kids

The scene is church last Sunday morning. I am doing my twice monthly 'Kidspot' in the service. The reading for the week was about the Hebrews worshipping a golden calf and forgetting about God. I had decided to run my little interactive segment as a mock 'game show'.

Me: Good morning everyone! Welcome to 'Decisions, Decisions' the exciting game show where you get to win great prizes depending on the decision you make! Now firstly I need a contestant.....Ah yes, young man, and what is you name?

James: James

Me: Alright James, are you ready to play? Well then, here is your dilemma:
You are trapped an airtight bank vault.
With you in this vault, you may have one of two objects: Object A is a mobile phone; a very expensive mobile phone with internet connectivity and a qwerty keyboard, or you could have Object B which is a Mystery Box! Now here is Object B; you can hold the box if you like and get a feel for what might be in there....

(James 'hefts' the obviously empty box)

Me: Alright James. What's it going to be, the mobile phone or the mystery box to help you
escape from the locked bank vault????? I'll give you five seconds thinking time....

Well, James didn't need any thinking time. He practically ate the microphone as he replied without hesitation:

James: The mobile phone!
Me: Ah hah! And WHY would you choose the mobile phone?
James: Because I could log onto the internet, create a web page and let people know I needed rescuing!

....was NOT the answer I was expecting! What ever happened to phoning the police?????????

*************************************************************************************

For those of you who are interested in the 'point' of my little scenario, the mobile phone was of course the wrong choice........because it was broken! Expensive, impressive to look at but useless. The empty box on the other hand held fresh air which you would need to sustain you for those last 30 secs as the fire brigade were cutting through the door with their oxy torches :-D. Can't be seen but meets your needs.
And if you can't see the connection to the golden calf in that you're going to have to come to Kidszone to find out!

In Praise of Contact Lenses

I wandered around the house, biting my bottom lip in confusion. Where had I put my glasses? I checked the usual spots, retraced my steps in my head. I'd been up to the pool for a swim...perhaps I 'd taken them off there? Braving the blast furnace that greeted me as I swung open the back screen, I scampered up the grey stone stairs to the pool area, unwilling to pause or even glance around as radiated heat assaulted me from every surface. I reached the relative safety of the market umbrella over the rickety wooden picnic table and peered through the sudden shadow with my less than efficient eyesight, patting the warm wooden surface for good measure.

No glasses.


Sighing, I glanced back towards the house. Something in the bottom of the pool caught my attention. Leaves? No. There was something both vaguely familiar and disturbing about the shape.

Can't see it? Look closely.



Please tell me I did not dive into the pool wearing my glasses.

OK. Don't bother.

The tricky bit of course was getting them out. You see apart from the diving in thing, I don't put my head under the water. I know; stupid, illogical, whatever! I can do it with diving goggles on but even then I can't get all the way down to the bottom of the deep end and stay there long enough to grab something. I have tried on numerous occasions but after one or two strokes I explode upwards in an explosion of silver bubbles and emerge with a tortured gasp for air.

My family find it quite amusing. Ask Himself about the time I tried to scrub the sides of the pool whilst wearing a snorkel.

Anyway. I got them out with the long handled leaf scooper thing. And collected a few of those leaf babies while I was there!

I am nothing if not resourceful.

Yesterday In Year 9 Maths Class...........

There's a single stifled giggle from across the classroom, which quickly becomes less stifled and is rapidly joined by others. I glance up from the co-ordinate geometry I am explaining in time to see several red faced pupils, a couple of desks over, looking my way and choking back guffaws.

They are too far away to be the actual source of this hysteria so my super-fast, patented teacher eyes flick down at the speed of an eyelash to take in the 'usual suspect' perched innocently on his chair, right next to me. At about the level of my butt.

Now, had this little angel been bent forward, intent on his probability revision, he would be nowhere near my butt.........but........

"What's going on Luke (not his real name)," I enquire sweetly; voice laced with honeyed venom.
His long lashed, wide eyed mock innocent baby blues look brazenly up into mine. This kid is going for the Oscar.
"Why nothing, Mrs A! I'm just doing my maths."

The stifled mirth around me cracks the dam wall and spills over into fully fledged belly laughs.

This is not good.

As any teacher knows, when you are up against it like this, it is best to work with the humour. Think fast; what has probably been happening? My bent over posture would mean he was pretty close to my butt. Was he making gestures? Sticking something on it? No I would have felt that. Gestures maybe..... I take a chance.

Straightening up I glance down at my rear end and then fix him with a death adder smile.

"Well, Luke, all I can say is I'm glad someone is still interested in my arse after all
these years."

His beetroot red flush was gratifying to behold.

The deafening roar of laughter from the rest of his classmates was the icing on the cake.

Who said teaching secondary doesn't have its moments?


Post-Script: Some judicious questioning of his mates, later, leads me to believe that what he was actually doing was taking photos of my butt with his mobile phone! Well, whatever floats your boat I guess!!!

In Which I Deliberately Thwart My Husband

Himself: My trackies have been in the laundry abyss for four weeks now! I have been completely
unable to find them.

Me: There is no way they have been missing for four weeks...two maybe...have you checked the..?

Himself: I've checked EVERYWHERE!!! I've even been through the laundry basket. They have
completely DISAPPEARED!!

Me: Alright, I will look for them but I can guarantee you they have NOT disappeared and they haven't been 'missing' for four weeks. Now, let's have a look here (opens a drawer) no? ok well how about here? (no luck) They're bound to be here somewhere.

Himself: Ah HAH! Ah HAH! You SEE? I TOLD you they were nowhere to be found!!! I've looked in all those places.

Me: (giving up on all the drawers/shelves etc and starting on the laundry hamper) Well, I haven't been deliberately hiding them, they're bound to be here...

Himself: (triumphantly) FOUR weeks! That's how long they've been missing! I haven't seen them in FOUR weeks.

Me: (starting to lose my good humour) Well, I washed last weekend so they couldn't have been missing all that long, unless they are hanging out in the family room....

(I start to march off down the hall to check the usual location for drying things indoors in the wet weather)

Himself: (hot on my heels) I've actually LOOKED down here and I couldn't find anything.*

Me: (gets to room; looks briefly around;takes trackies off the back of a chair. The first chair in the room. Not hidden by anything. Says nothing)

Himself: (momentarily stunned) Well they must have been there for four weeks....

Me: One. At the most.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

*Note: this in itself is something of a miracle. Piles of Himself's neatly folded laundry have been known to sit down in the family room for weeks while he squeals for clean underwear.

Clouded By The Mists of Time...and mood enhancing substances.

My husband isn't talking to me.

I didn't believe him you see. I scoffed at his memory; a cardinal crime.

He claimed that when he was at school, they had dances, formal dances, which went until 2am. Apparently there were two bands and the younger students were sent home after the first band.....but really! 2 am???? What teacher would stay at a school dance til 2am????
His retort was that they had 'very good bands'.

So, my anally retentive antenna is out (ooo-eer). All you Adelaideloodians, does anyone remember the boys' school on South Terrace having formals that went until 2 in the morning????????? Puh-lease. Does anyone remember ANY of the private schools having formals that went beyond mid-night? Granted, his era was slightly before mine, but surely things were not 'free-er' in his day than mine????? We are talking 1973-4 bythe way.

At my old school (soon to be the Baby Angel's school) we had very strict policies about our few dances. I have posted about it before: letters to leave early, stay inside the building, no patent leather shoes*...that sort of thing.

Now when we got to uni; that was a different matter! The infamous O Ball where many a fresher saw their first sunrise, was renowned. Prosh Week, the Law School Pub Crawl, all these were debauched affaires with no boundaries as by that time we were all technically 'adults'; but school dances? Til 2am????????????

I think not.

However, I am happy to be proven wrong. Do some research guys and gals; Prof J?
Cash Mc Buck? Headbang? Kindergarten Friend? Middle Sis? (she always knew where the good parties were)...........

Seriously.

2am??????


* Apparently patent leather shoes enabled boys to see your underwear reflected on their highly polished surface.

Its A Hard Knock Life For Us!

It is over.

Months and months of planning and rehearsal culminating in a brief week of furious activity and four performances.

Throughout this glorious week I wore a number of hats. I was still responsible for costumes and, in particular, finishing the infamous Annie 'red dress' but I was also stage manager which meant I 'ran' the show from a position in the wings, co-ordinating the lights, spots, sound, orchestra and backstage crews. A perfect job for a control freak :-D



We moved into the theatre last Monday in a process known as 'bumping in'. It is well named. It is rarely a smooth process. There was a truck and several trips back and forwards to bring all the sets, props and costumes from the school. There was a trailer and another trip to bring instruments. There was the whole 'costume rack falling over on the way and all costumes falling onto the floor of the truck and losing their labels' to deal with. There was the problem with the staircases.


These monoliths, our main set, were produced for us by the Tech Department at school. They had been fitted with carpet squares underneath so that they sat flush with the ground and slid along the polished floor of our rehearsal room. Of course, as the best laid plans of mice and men flew frantically awry, we discovered that the stage in the theatre had been painted with a slightly textured paint to prevent actors slipping. Unfortunately, this also applied to staircases. There was some intense consultation and experimentation. It was evident that we would need double the number of crew members to move these things in anything close to an acceptable time frame for set changes. Quick rethink. Trolley trucks were provided and with much groaning and sweating the ends of the stairs were hefted aboard. Still too slow. And too noisy! Eventually the Tech boys were brought in from school and fitted both sets of stairs with multiple castors. They no longer sat flush to the ground but at least we could move them.

There was also the problem with the dressing rooms. Two were provided, one for men and one for women. They were of approximately the same size. In our production there were approximately 40 girls and 6 boys. I made a snap decision; the girls were spread between the two woefully inadequate dressing rooms

and the boys were relegated to the loading dock at the back of the stage.



The strange looking table in the foreground here is the mic table. We used 10 radio mics which were swapped between cast members as they came and went from the stage. This grid formation was essential for keeping things under control.

Tuesday was the Tech rehearsal, a tedious process involving; setting lights, practicing set changes and running sound cues. Microphone levels needed to be checked and the orchestra practised with fold back. Our young cast were remarkably patient and co-operative and our backstage crew phenomonally organised and committed. If a little inexperienced.

I asked the prop girls if they had prepared the props table with labels for each item (rather like the grid for the mikes). "Sure," they reassured me and indicated a table marked with two strips of masking tape. One said 'orphanage' and one said 'mansion'.

Me: OK, that's a good start but it's a little bit vague.

Crew: What do you mean?

Me: Weeeeell, you would be better off dividing the table up into a grid and giving each prop a particular space and a label.

Crew: But we are the only ones taking things off, we'll know where they are and where they go.

Me: Uh-huh but in the excitement of the live run you're gonna find that you are working under huge pressure and things will just get put down where-ever. It all looks simple there now, but if I took one item away, would you know which item it was? You should be able to look at your table and know immediately if anything is missing. If you have a space for everything, the gaps will be obvious.

Crew: Hmmm (unconvinced)

Me: Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on this one. Just trust me.

They grumbled and made faces but they did what they were asked (a blessed change from my normal classes).

I asked them about it again after the run and they looked at me like I was stupid to suggest it could occur any other way!

On Tuesday, 'Annie' once again asked me if her red dress was ready. Once again I answered 'no'.
That night I went home to complete it. OK, actually I went home to cut it out first! The problem was that patterns suitable for adapting to make the 'red dress' were in sizes 2yrs-8yrs. Our Annie was a very well developed 15. I had managed to work with one of our more talented staff members to draft a pattern for the red dress but it was all guesswork. On Tuesday night I crashed onto the sofa for a few hours before waking at 1am and starting to cut and sew. When the BA got up at 6am, I was still there. The machine had decided to play up and was constantly jamming. Trying to sew two veeeeery long gathering lines for the sleeves was proving impossible and anyway, I needed to know whether what I had done so far actually fitted the girl in question.

I went into the theatre on Wednesday having worked through from 1am. The dress was still not finished. Once in the theatre I had to stop sewing and start stage managing. Annie wore her dress that afternoon for dress rehearsal complete with pins and no sleeves. I took it home Wednesday night and tried to finish it but my exhaustion defeated me. I got up at 7am and took the unfinished monstrosity into the theatre to complete. The machine continued to play up and the final stitches were put into the dress in the interval before it was worn on stage. Nothing like cutting it fine.You can see the offending, incomplete article in the mirror in this shot.

And so the show got underway.

This is my favourite story.
My lighting 'boys' were two very sweet seventh graders . They had been shown how the desk worked and which buttons to press and we had explained that I 'called' the cues for them to execute. As we worked through the dress rehearsals and the first two live performances, there were a few hiccups in the timing of the lights. Some were my fault but some just seemed to be a general slowness in response from the lighting room. But come on, they are only year sevens!

There was one cue in particular which we had consistently messed up. At the end of the cabinet scene where FDR and his cronies are all singing 'Tomorrow' we had consistently blacked them out too early. By the third performance I was determined to get the timing right. I held off, I called the 'stand-by', I watched intently....and to my horror, the lighting boys blacked the stage out with NO CUE FROM ME!!!!!!!! The cabinet once again finished singing in the dark and after my string of invectives I determined to find out how this had gone wrong.

I fronted my little lighting friends.

Me: So what happened with that black out?
Boy 1: Well, I gave a hand signal to Him and he thought I meant something else so he just 'went'.
Me: hang on........what do you mean you gave a hand signal to him and he 'went'....??????????????
Boy 2: (guilelessly) Well we decided to share the job so in one half he wears the headset and I press the buttons and in the other half I wear the headset and HE presses the buttons!

My carefully timed lighting cues were being passed from one set of ears across the room to another set before being implemented.
No wonder my cues were slow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Did you never think of sharing the job by ONE of you wearing the headset AND pressing the buttons in the first act and the other doing it in the second??????????
Boys: Er...no.
Me: Well that is what we will be doing for the last show!

And the lighting was perfect.

SOOC Saturday: The Telephone

Did I mention I was involved with The School Musical? Well, next week we are 'in the theatre' and the pressure and job list is mounting. One of my responsibilities is to acquire props, preferably in keeping with the period of the show; in this case The Depression, circa 1933. We needed a telephone. Well, I knew exactly where to go. The BA's best friend's father is a phone-o-phile. I just knew that he would have exactly the right phone for the period. And I mean exactly!

Me: Please say no if you don't feel comfortable about this, but I was wondering if you would be able to lend us a period phone for the musical. Just a for a week. We'll take really good care of it.

Him: Hmmm. What period?

Me: 1930s, Depression.

Him: Australian or American?

Me: Well American but it doesn't really ma-

Him: Wall phone, table phone or desk phone?

Me: Errr... desk...

Him: Operator connected or dial phone?

Me: (thinks: what???????) ...ummmm, I'm not sure.....I'll have to check the script...

Him: I think I can help but I must tell you that these phones are not museum pieces, they're historical pieces but they're not in mint condition.

Me: Really, it's not a problem..

Him: hmm yes, well, they are made of bakelite which becomes more brittle with age so they can break easily if dropped.

Me: I can assure you, our stage hands are the most delightful, sensible kids(this is true). They will take really good care of it.

Him: Alright then, come and pick it up tomorrow.

When I arrived the next night, this gorgeous old phone was waiting for me along with a few apologies ("I've changed the handset to a more easily replaceable one if it breaks so it's not actually completely authentic") and a print out of a similar model being sold on ebay.

The model on ebay went for US$1325.00

So, no pressure there.

Later that day, by email, he also helpfully included dialling instructions.

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