It's Too Late Baby

My husband moved out today.

I knew it was happening. Hell, I'd spent the weekend packing boxes and hefting large items of furniture into the garage.

But all the same, he moved out today.

Coming home from work, the house is bare bones furnished with attendant dust bunnies and spider webs festooned across hitherto unseen wall spaces. The desolation of an imprint on the carpet, stark, dust clogged, indelible. Something has been taken from this place.

I have been here before. I have been here by choice and by circumstance. I have hefted and lugged before; I have planned, rationalised and adapted. I am a survivor. I am a survivor through Grace.

But that was then and this is today. All those experiences do not lessen the grief of this one. Do not lessen the feeling of isolation. Do not salve the burn of failure, the grief of loss. The visceral excision of a part of my life which, although flawed, had been stable.

I really thought this one would work.

Happy Easter From Lake Boga: Victoria

I had hoped to head this post with a photo of me relaxing in a calorie induced haze, surrounded by yachts (well, dinghies) and gazing onto a peaceful lake but unfortunately, even with the wonders of smart phone technology, there are apparently limits to my blogging capabilities away from my computer. If any of you are familiar with the Blogger app, perhaps you could let me know if there's something I am missing.

Meanwhile, in the time honoured tradition of camping, I spent yesterday in the nearest town purchasing much needed equipment which you don't know you 'need' until you get there. Number one was a water container. Having spent the first day filling two litre bottles from the tap every time I wanted to wipe down the table, it has proved a worthwhile purchase and could, I suppose, be filled with punch at a pinch, for The BA's upcoming 18th birthday.

Second was a lightweight folding table on which I have installed my two burner gas stove (my pride and joy). I used the folding plastic four seater picnic table on the first night and my back is still recovering. I also picked up a toaster for the gas stove ( I am sure I used to have one of these, but on our marriage, Himself , in a rush of manly chivalry, took over all the camping gear, specifically storage of said gear, with the result that I spent yesterday replacing all the things he couldn't find!) and a nifty little silicon coated baking tray thing which you can BBQ meat on.

We had better go camping again real soon !!!!!

You know, forget couples counselling. All prospective married couples should go camping together before they tie the knot. You learn a lot about someone when you're camping .

Take me for instance; I am a self confessed control freak and although hardly what you would call pristine, favour a well ordered campsite. I spend time selecting the best site, deciding which way to orient the tent, placing the table and chairs and Eskies out of the sun. I like a well executed tent with a good distance between fly and inner walls, well stretched guy ropes and a taut skin. Himself on the other hand.......

Of course this is where I would usually insert a picture.

Suffice to say that Himself's answer to anything is 'but we're camping!!!!!!' This covers lack of correct food, clothing and cooking utensils. It even covers incorrect tent assembly. The last time Himself went camping was 2007 when a huge storm hit The Coorong and gusts of up to 90kmph left his tent with a broken pole and missing several guy ropes. As we emptied 5 year old sand out of the remaining pole pieces and attempted to insert the dome pole, held together with gaffer tape, through its sleeve, I couldn't help but wonder whether a trip like this would have affected my rapid acceptance of Himself's marriage proposal all those years ago....

Oh look, I did manage to insert a photo !

Yes! I am Your Average, Irate Consumer!!

I do not like this new blogger interface. (Except for how you can move the photos around after you've uploaded them!)

[ No, actually, after having tried to move the f*****s around, I also hate that. (I have now deleted them and will try again).]

And what is worse, this is the second time I have had to deal with this in three weeks.  You see, over at facebook, they introduced a new format called the 'timeline'.   
Have these people never heard of the old adage, 'if it ain't broke'?? ????                                                                                                                                              image credit

What piece of puerile market research suggested that your average, linearly thinking Joe needed their facebook profile page to be split up into a weird sideways alignment which forces you to jump, visually, from one side of the screen to another? I mean...my MOTHER reads facebook!!!! We have only just got her ON there! And now these bastards come along and make it completely confusing for her to look at!!!!!!

Grrrrrrrr *steam*..........

And what TOTALLY p****s me off about the whole thing is that you innocently press the button that says 'TRY' the new timeline and voila! You are STUCK with the b******!!!!!!!!!!
I think these d*** brains that sit about on their spotty behinds thinking about new ways to make themselves useful, might like to review the concept of CHOICE!!!!

And to make matters worse I have fallen for the same trick over here at blogger. 'Try the new interface' they spruiked! No mention of the fact that if you don't like it there is no button that says 'revert to previous'!!!!!

I gotta say, you f******* young leopards who hold our social networking life in your hands....you really need to take a good look at yourselves. I mean, I know flexibility is an asset, but come on, how many people really deal with change that well? Let's face it, the whole psyche of the human species cries out for consistency and security. What makes you think that your friggin 'area of expertise' is an exception??????????

Here's a 'heads up': give me more functionality, but leave the original functionality in the same effing place!!!!!!!!!!! I mean...what EXACTLY are you achieving by shuffling it all around?

*le puff le pant le phew*

So now, enough of that. I am afraid I will be struggling with this new interface for some time so please bear with me. To be honest, I don't even like the look of the new blog 'skin'. I'm sure that with the help of my talented husband I could probably edit the size of everything to make the proportions more aesthetic but really, when does he have that time??

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, cigar ash is still falling.



 Here is my beautiful new balcony setting, given to me by my beloved Sister on her recent visit to Aus. How pretty is that?









I asked for an independent setting as I did not want to share my morning coffee/bacon and eggs with Himself and his cigars. Indeed, after several years of cleaning up the mess, I have drawn a line across the balcony :-)








So imagine my confusion , and horror, as I espied this blemish on my 'beloved' last Sunday!!

WHAT IS THAT????? I toyed briefly with the idea of mud splatter or caulking compound.

Pah!! On closer inspection, the root of the evil was clear!! An ash burn!!!!!!!!

For those of you who know our balcony, you may wonder how Ash Man and his foul accoutrements got near enough to my beautiful chairs to complete this accursed desecration! I will tell you in six words. 'The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo'.

My dear friend Blondie recently lent me the entire Swedish trilogy, assuring  me that it needed to be seen before we sullied our cinematic sensibilities with Daniel Craig et al. Now, Himself and I have few movie choices in common, his tastes tending toward explosions and gangsters and mine towards tap dancing, humour, romance, cinematography, plot and character development so the idea of a film we could both enjoy was panacea indeed. The scene was set: no children, a hot Adelaide night and the opportunity to enjoy something together.
Unfortunately Himself, being the nicotine addict that he is, cannot go more than 30 minutes without a hit so he retired to the balcony behind the lounge room, from whence he could watch the movie and smoke in peace. Except that it is the section of balcony which contains my chairs and table!

Not happy!!

So, incendiary graffiti aside, what did we think of the movie? Well, we both loved the first one. Indeed, Himself was keen to watch the second straight away! We deferred until the following night and then were royally disappointed by 'The Girl Who Played With fire'. I had loved the second book and  looked forward to the cinematic rendition but was quite disappointed by the lacklustre adaptation. With school on the horizon I retired, disappointed, while Himself went straight to the third film and watched it on his big screen computer until all hours, well away from my precious balcony furniture (just saying)!!!

Surprisingly he loved it and so I am looking forward to the third installment, once my frantic clawing for control over the  beginning of the school year is over.

I am not sure how to repair the offensive cigar burn in my cushion. The sad truth is that if I do nothing, some bastard spider will probably decide to nest in there, so, short of turning the thing over, I am faced with the inevitable cushion reconstruction project.

Excellent :-(

The Inheritance To Do List

On the sad but not unexpected demise of Himself's Fairy Godmother (she was 94), we have come into a little money. Here is what we would like to do with it....

The Back Garden

• replace retaining wall

• add useable terraces

• repair/replace damaged paving around the pool

• replace and re-site all pool 'workings'

• replace/repair guttering

The Inside of The House

• replace flooring to study, front room, hall, stairs and possibly entrance hall.

• install gas heating to front room and study

• install a flue over the cook top

• replace lighting in kitchen adding bench lighting

• replace lighting in study and front room.

Here is what we have done so far:





Yes that is another boat in the background.
You can award me my halo or print 'Welcome' across my forehead anytime you like now.
You choose.

Valentine's Afterthought

After posting last night I realised that I had totally missed Valentines Day; which is not unusual in our house. My husband does not really 'do' anniversaries. It's not that he doesn't care, it's just that he doesn't see the point. When we were first married I made an effort to make anniversaries and Valentine's Day, special. I bought cards, real and virtual; I left gifts; I made special dinners.

After two years of being greeted by a gentle, bemused gratitude, I decided not to knock myself out. Not surprisingly he didn't even notice. He will wax lyrical on how the whole affair is a plot by the greeting card, florist and chocolate companies to prey on the insecurities of the average couple. If I bother to remind him.

We have discussed this on occasion. I am not overly devastated. Himself gives me a pretty fair smattering of 'words of affirmation', 'acts of service' and 'physical touch'. I'm pretty secure in the fact that I am loved. After 'acts of service' I probably lean more towards the 'gifts and surprises' than he does but they are usually pretty practical gifts and there is a Venn Diagram crossover between 'gifts' and 'acts of service' when buying the gift means you have relieved him of the torment of visiting the shopping mall. For any reason:

Me: Look! I bought you a 20kg tub of chlorine for the pool!
Him: Awesome!!!!!!!!!

But, just occasionally, when others parade their red roses, romantic cards and surprise date nights about on Valentine's Day, I feel a little wan.

So, when I find that my husband has placed two rose buds from the garden in a hand painted bottle by my bed, on Valentine's Day, I feel strangely touched.

They didn't stay buds for long but that is exactly as it should be.

Of Paper and Pills

I managed to write this on Thursday but didn't finish it until tonight:
********************************************************************
Ducking in this morning because Himself has done something nasty to his knee/leg and has asked me to take him to the doctors (It MUST be bad!). So I've had to bunk off work for a few lessons which has given me an opportunity to look st some blogs and to tell you quickly about my Year 10 lesson the other day.

I have given up on my Year 10s
(Exam Question: Here is some data on the number of fish eaten by Selma the Seal each day over a 60 day period. Is this data discrete or continuous?
Answer: continuous. Cos she just keeps eating.)

After 50% of them failed their mid year exam outright,
("let's look at this positively," said a colleague,"50% of them passed."
"No," I replied,"...48% passed and the other 2 % were borderline!")
I have decided to run a Stage 1 SACE Numeracy unit for this semester. It is a very practical series of tasks based on real life situations such as renting a house, running a car and paying off a loan.

The first task involves creating a spreadsheet to model the repaying of a loan. Once the formulae are entered you can change the interest rate, size and number of repayments in order to see what effect it has on the overall cost of the loan. The class have actually been pretty engaged in the task. I have no idea how much they have learned but they have been industriously entering numbers into the speadsheet so......fingers crossed!

Anyway, on Wednesday we reached the end of the lesson and I decided I would like to see the results of their efforts. With 5 minutes to go I said,
"OK everyone, put your name onto the spreadsheet and print it out for me."

There are 23 people in the class. There were 4 pages to each spreadsheet. There was one printer.

I cannot begin to describe the chaos which ensued.

I don't think I really understood the magnitude of my mistake until one of the girls came to me with three sheets of paper.
"Mrs A, this is all I can find of my assignment."
"But what happened to the other sheet? Can you not find it?
"Mrs A have you SEEN the mess over there?"

Note to self: create a system drop folder for electronic collection of future assignments;
pay for a tree to be planted to replace the ream of paper we wasted in multiple print outs of random pages of unidentifiable spreadsheets.

Live and learn.

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

Update: Himself has a torn cartilage in his knee. I suspect this was sustained during the climb to take these photos, although the symptoms did not set in for a few days.

In the usual way of men he has been dealing poorly with pain. He has been instructed to take 50mg of Voltarin (anti-inflammatory) every 8 hours as well as 500mg of paracetamol, a task which he is somehow finding difficult to manage. On Friday night he came to bed at his usual time of 2am and very quickly began to thrash about, moaning.

Me: What's the matter?
Him: Auurgh. The pain! It's really full tilt. I can't lie any way that's comfortable.
Me: How long since you took your last painkillers?
Him: Ummmmmmmmmm (sheepishly)......I had one at 2pm this afternoon.......
Me: WHAT? You should have had one hours ago!
Him: I know, but it wasn't hurting before.
Me: I don't suppose you thought to bring the tablets to bed with you?
Him: Ummmmmmmmmm
Me: (flings herself out of bed into the 2 degree air temperature, gets dressing gown and stomps off down the relatively long hallway to find the tablets, snorting impatiently.)

We had a discussion the next morning about the timing of his tablets. It was agreed that he needed to take them well before he came to bed in order to give them time to 'kick in' and enable him to rest comfortably.

Last night circa 2am:
Him: Moan, aarrrgh, moan, can't get comfortable etc etc
Me: You took your tablets didn't you?
Him: Yes, I took them 15 minutes ago.
Me: FIFTEEN MINUTES???? I thought we agreed you would take them 8 hourly and give them time to take effect before you came to bed???
Him: Well it wasn't hurting and I wanted to leave it as long as possible so I could get some sleep.
Me: fumes silently
Him: Moan, aarrrgh, moan, can't get comfortable etc etc Moan, aarrrgh, moan, can't get comfortable etc etc Moan, aarrrgh, moan, can't get comfortable etc etc
Him: (after another 5 minutes of this) I think I might need another tablet.
Me: What? How many did you take?
Him: Er, well, one.
Me: WHAT???????? The doctor TOLD you to take two!
Him: Well, yes but I am trying not to take too many and.....
Me: Please tell me that you brought the tablets to the bedroom, just in case.
Him: Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Me:ARGH!(flings herself out of bed into the -2 degree air temperature, gets dressing gown etcetcetc)

Honestly. Exactly what had changed about his condition which would have lead him to believe he required less medication?? The knee is swollen for pete's sake! There are now pills stashed in the bedside drawers >:-(

I swear if men had babies, epidurals would be a sacrament.

image credit

Major Upheaval

This title seems to apply to so much in my world at the moment; parents, home, school, pets, children....

Let me start with the sale of Mum and Dad's 'holiday' house: the reallocation of furniture, the assimilation of furniture, the selling of furniture on ebay, the sorting of trash and treasure, the garage clean out......

Ma and Pa have been coming to visit us here for the last 7 years, staying at their nicely appointed holiday house in the suburbs. For the 8 months a year that they live in the UK, the house stands empty or is looked after by family friends. It earns them nothing and costs them money. This year they decided to sell it.

Fortunately it sold quickly, conditional upon sale of the buyer's property. Due to Mum and Dad's imminent departure to the UK, the date for completion was set for the 16th of April. We had less than two months to empty the house of an accumulated 7 years of furniture and life 'trappings'.

I became ebayer extraordinaire selling chairs, beds, wall units, and the like, to clear the house. Of course, I 'bagsyed' the best of what they were giving away; a fridge, a washing machine, some outdoor furniture (we had none), a set of modern dark wood entertainment units and coffee tables (similar to left) and a double bed for the Baby Angel. Once No1 Son had been cajoled into making time to empty the garage of his accumulated junk, decisions had to be made around the placement of new furniture.

Now, when we first bought our house in 2005, we were blending two families with all the attendant baggage and sentiment which that entails. Consequently, I agreed to let Himself furnish the front room with his old, sentimental furniture; notably an extremely worn and dated cream leather 3 piece suite and a battered sideboard, built by his father, which now has broken doors and dated handles. Himself had always promised that he would renovate the sideboard and clean up and repair the lounge suite but, sadly, this has never happened and so when the opportunity to replace some of the offending articles appeared, I began to formulate my plans.

I firstly convinced No2 Son that he needed another storage unit in his bedroom to prevent all that mess on the floor (cos why else would there be mess on the floor....right? :-D). I suggested the sideboard would be an appropriate item.
I then, single handedly, pushed the sideboard out through three rooms, onto the back verandah. The room was clear for the arrival of new furniture.

Once the removalists had done the deed I sat, on the old leather sofa, and planned my next move. I had a number of options in mind by the time Himself came home from work and I had toyed with placement of various items. In my fiddling I had placed the coffee table unit on top of the entertainment unit and put together two side tables to form a coffee table. Himself surveyed the chaos and noticed the same thing I had.

"We could move the TV over here and put it onto this entertainment unit and then we would be able to connect up the surround sound speaker system which has been lying dormant for 5 years!"
"So you don't mind the coffee table on top there?"
"Nahhh. I think it gives the unit a good shape."
"I need to take the legs off, I was just looking at it up there I..."
"Naaaaah. Don't worry, I can use that little space for something useful."

Against my better judgment I decided to let him put it all together and make a decision afterwards. If anything needed to be changed, then surely it could be?

After a lot of hefting, heaving and connecting of cables I was called in for an opinion.
Me: What's that thing?
Himself: That's the sub woofer. It's the thing which makes the floor rumble when there's a car chase.
Me: It's as ugly as sin and it sticks out like dogs b****.
Himself: Ah yes, but it makes aaaaallll the difference when there's an explosion in the movie.
Me: *insert a look which would wither a significant portion of the Amazon rain forest.*
Himself: No, really, you'll see, it will be worth it.
Me; OK well, could we find somewhere less obtrusive to put it?

To his credit (he really is a good stick after all), he found a more discrete spot to tuck away the mammoth boom box and continued to merrily plug everything in.

What happened next is difficult to delineate although I do remember having just come back into the room. Out of nowhere the floor began to vibrate and massive bass feedback seemed to emenate from all around us.

Me: Himself! You can't have that on so loud at this time of night! You'll wake the neighbours!!

At this, Himself looked panicked and guilty and hastily flicked off every switch in the vicinity.
To our surprise the noise continued and then intensified! We looked at each other for several seconds before I bellowed 'What the h*** is that!?' At this point the whole house was shaking.
"I think it's an earthquake," he gasped and we raced, logically, out onto the balcony to see if we could see any other reason for the continuing vibration. At this point, everything subsided and we were left looking at each other, slightly breathless and white faced.

We were still unsure as to what had actually happened. After checking on the BA, who sleepily thought someone had rolled the wheelie bins down our driveway, Himself went to check downstairs and I ran out into the back garden to see if the retaining wall had collapsed! A few quick phone calls confirmed that we had not been alone in our experience.
"I think we've had an earthquake," said our neighbour.
"But we're in ADELAIDE, I exclaimed, we don't have earthquakes in Adelaide!"
"Well," she said, introducing an idea which I was to hear repeated over the following week,
"we are on a faultline you know......"

An Invite To Coffee and Chat

I can't believe I was lucky enough to jag the amazing JoLyn as a partner in Team Up Thursday. Not only is she an amazing photographer with an eye for beauty but she is a mover and shaker! After a cool post reminiscent of a blog carnival, she has decided to put together a weekly Blog Cafe. The idea is that a variety of bloggers will host the cafe and decide upon on the 'venue', 'food' and topic of conversation. The first post will be at 12.01 on Monday wherever the host is in the world. The attendees will call by whenever it's convenient and have their cup of coffee and chat then. :-) Hopefully people will call by more than once and the conversation will bounce back and forwards.

Check out this post to see JoLyn's much more emotive explanation and also a few basic rules of blog etiquette.

I'm hoping to host the cafe in the next few months so stay tuned and I hope a few of you will join in and perhaps meet some kindred spirits or be challenged in some (positive) way.

Cos hey, there's nothing we like better than a chat right?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Which reminds me of a conversation I had with my mother and Himself recently.

Someone had mentioned that the women in our family are all good talkers. Whilst resembling that remark I was also quick to point out that I can sit for hours in the same room as Himself and never utter a word. I am very proud of the way I am able to let my husband 'get on with' his work and don't feel the need to talk at him constantly.

"Yes well, that's only because you're talking to the entire WORLD on your blog and facebook!!!!" Himself was quick to point out.

Hmmmmmmmmm. He may have a point there :-D

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.

Gender Differences: Lesson 3: Easter Picnics

Girls:

Pore over cookbooks the day before and select delicious recipes for potato salad and meatloaf. Pack the car with blankets, chairs, hampers and chilled wine. Make arrangements to meet wonderful friends and bring beloved parents.

Notice a grassy spot overhung with willows and surrounded by other groups of happy picnickers with the additional bonus of available car parks. Grit your teeth as you are driven past this spot.

Set up blankets and chairs in a secluded location and proceed to lay out the delightful and varied efforts of your culinary labour. Serve your beloved family and share with wonderful friends. Sit back and enjoy a glass of wine on a perfect day (not too hot, not too cold) with delightful company and conversation, cute kids and a walk in the bush. Joyfully spot the occasional emu/rabbit/kangaroo/freight train or squirrel depending on your interest and level of delusion.

Boys:

Reluctantly agree to attend. Hide confusion and disappointment when you realise that Girls want to have a 'Tailgate Picnic Feast' (TM) rather than a barbie. Reluctantly place all items, determined by Girls to be essential, into the car. Pack all items you deem essential into the car.
Complain about the amount of stuff being transported.

Arrive at park. Drive past a grassy spot overhung with willows and surrounded by other groups of happy picnickers with the additional bonus of available car parks. Too many people. Fail to notice Girls' disappointment.

Locate a quiet, out of the way place with no other people around (in order that you can commune with nature) and ensure it has more prickles and high weeds than any other similar location. Unload essential items.Gratefully accept some namby pamby food from wife, wonder why there is v little meat in the meatloaf and commence bluetooth connection for next phase of the Great Ocean Challenge Thingy >:-(

Realise you cannot get an internet connection in this secluded, natural location.

Make hurried apologies and drive off in a cloud of dust 'looking for a high spot'; search fruitlessly for an hour; decide to go home and make the connection leaving family stranded in the National Park and carrying numbers of essential items in the car with you (eg tissues/handbags). Return an hour and a half later and wonder why the car is packed and everyone ready to leave within 10 minutes of your arrival.

Make sheepish apologies to Girls for three days afterwards.

Where Oh Where Can My BFF Be?

I caught up with The Bestie on Wednesday, for the first time in about three weeks. That kind of happens when your BFF meets Mr Right and starts a production company with him; and edits his pilot for a TV show; and 'techs' for his recent Fringe Show and accepts his proposal of marriage.

What? Did I forget to tell you the Bestie is getting married????? Why do you think she hasn't been blogging lately? Oh well, yes, there is all that theatre/film stuff too.

Nevertheless it was great to catch up and toss about wedding ideas. Beach? Park? Parachute? nothing will surprise me. They are lining up the BA to walk Q (the dog) down to the .....er.....altar? ......with the ring. Yup. Ring bearing dog. What do you expect? He's theatrical!!!!! (The man, not the dog, although, come to think of it....)

So they're talking November, romance and guest appearances by comedians, opera singers and swing bands. I spent some time doodling dress designs for the Bestie, altering them as she clarified ideas. She's thinking of a 'theme' rather than your traditional 'everybody matching' thing. She also feels that her other BF, The Diva, and I have such differing body types that we will be doing well if our dresses are simply the same colour!

Mind you, if the whole parachute thing materialises I am going to have to say no to the matron of honour role, no matter HOW pretty the dress is.

Best Shot Monday: A Plethora of Outings III: Victor Harbour

I am not sure why I feel this is my Best Shot this week. It's taken from the top of a horse drawn tram, crossing The Causeway from Granite Island to Victor Harbour. I guess I like the composition with the causeway stretching off into the distance and the mainland laid out across the horizon. We were suffering from the rather overcast day, but I still kinda like it.


This was yet another of the numerous family outings we have been involved with lately. VictorHarbour is a seaside town on the south coast of SA which nestles a small island within the safety of its sweeping bay. The island has long been the habitat of a colony of Fairy Penguins (although I believe they are now called 'Little Penguins' rather than 'fairy' for fear of upsetting the gay community.... I don't think I've ever heard anything SO ridiculous)I managed to captured this baby waiting patiently for its parents to return with food.


The day started badly when Himself's car broke down halfway to the coast. It's about an hour drive and he had the good fortune to stop just outside a small town so I was able to drive back and pick up some oil. Apparently in this day and age your car will not allow you to cook the engine like it did in the old days; the onboard computer shuts everything down and you simply stop until you can remedy the problem. Thank goodnes it was so simple I hear you say.Yes, well. That would work very well if the human factor was not involved. Particularly the male, 'will not be told' human factor.

On my return I held the funnel whilst Himself added oil to the engine. After a litre or so he checked the dipstick and found that the oil was only just registering. Grumbling mightily he proceeded to pour with abandon.

Me: Er, don't you think you ought to check the levels before you put too much more in.
Himself: *grunt*
Me: No, really, just check it, it's easier to put more in than take it out...
Himself: It was barely even registering before, it's going to need all of this.
Me: But it wouldn't hurt to check, I mean, you don't want to overfill it...
Himself *annoyed grunt*
Me: resigned sigh

The car still didn't start but we attributed that to a need to 'reset' somehow and called the RAA.
I loaded the troops into my poor little car and we struggled off to Victor to meet the parent body who had arrived ahead of us. After the obligatory hot dogs, chips and souvenir hunt at the kiosk we walked The Causeway to the Island and proceeded to explore.
During this pleasant, if cold and windy (check out Small Boy in the above photo) venture I received several more calls from Himself, still nursing his stranded vehicle.

Call 1
Himself: Well, it started once the RAA guy got here and he just told me off for letting the oil get
so low!
Me: No comment. Are you on your way then?
Himself: Yes, I'll be with you shortly.

Call 2 (15 minutes later)
Himself: Uhhhhh, the car's starting to sound rough again and the oil light's back on. I'm going to
stop.
Me: OK. How come the oil light's on again? It must be the oil pump or something.
Himself: Errr no, it's just oil related.
Me: What do you mean 'oil related'?
Himself: Nevermind, I'm pulling over now. I'll call you in a minute.

Call 3 (30 minutes later....allowing me time to 'forget' our previous conversation perhaps?)
Himself: OK It's cooled down and I'm going again but I'm going to head back to Adelaide.
Me: That sounds like a good idea. I still don't get why the oil light is coming on....
Himself: Well it might be because I ^%&^%&^&^%&^%$#%@# .
Me: Sorry? You're breaking up....because you what???
Himself: (covering mouth with hand) ) I *(**&^*&&^$^%#%#ed it.....
Me: Did you say you OVERFILLED it???????????????????????????????

I have been a very good wife since then and not mentioned this once. Even though we have to wait until Weds to have it serviced cos the Jeep Service Centres are all booked up and even though we have to HIRE a second car to get us on our NEXT excursion!!!! I have only once said 'I told you so.' Unless this counts for twice. :-D


Nevertheless, Himself has had to pay for his crime by taking 3 hours to complete a 1 hour drive back to Adelaide and missing out on a lovely trip with the kids. Here is the lovely beast that pulls the historic tram.

Here's the gang enjoying the view.
(Dad, Dad! I know you have been here 1 000 000 times before with all your geology students but for heavens sake try to look interested.)
Here's how close we seemed to be to the edge.



And here's an alternate mode of transport available on the beach. See how Ginger is enjoying the proximity of the next camel!!!


For more photographic fun check out Best Shot Monday at Tracey's place.

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Himself: Could you do a voice over for me?

It's midnight.

I can't really say no as he sat up until 3.45am with me the other morning doing a slide presentation for church :-(

He's a sweetheart.

All About My Man Meme

Jessie over at Just Jessie (and all her boys) has tagged me for a meme. This one's called

All About My Man....

1. Who is your man? Himself

2. How long have you been together? 2.5 years

3. How long dated? about 5 minutes....

4. How old is your man? Four years older than me.

5. Who eats more? Where does this question come from??????

Oh. Him. Unquestionably.

6. Who said “I love you” first? Him. He makes up his mind fast.

7. Who is taller? Him of course. Everyone's taller than me.

8. Who sings better? HAHAHAHHAHAHA. Me. Himself doesn't sing. Ever.

9. Who is smarter? I am smart enough not to answer this one.

10. Whose temper is worse? His. Although when I lose it I really lose it.

11. Who does the laundry? Me. Why do you want to know? You got some whites you need doing??

12. Who takes out the garbage? Theoretically Him or No2 Son. But really Me.

13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Depends which way you're looking at the bed. Anyway. We both sleep on the right sides. If we swapped it would be wrong.

14. Who pays the bills? Me.

15. Who is better with the computer? Depends on the application. Anything to do with photos and graphics? Him. Anything else? (especially filling in online forms) Me.

16. Who mows the lawn? Him.

17. Who cooks dinner? 80% Him. 20% Me. I hate cooking.

18. Who drives when you are together? Him. He loves to drive. Mind you he got me to teach No 2 Son. Hmmm. How does THAT work?????

19. Who pays when you go out? He likes to.

20. Who is most stubborn? I stubbornly refuse to answer this. OK Him. No Me. No...oh who cares?

21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong? Why, do you have to do that?

22. Whose parents do you see the most? No-brainer. His are dead.

23. Who kissed who first? Well, some might say Adam and Eve started the whole business but I like to think here was a nice caveman and cavewoman somewhere who were experimenting with the whole 'how can we make this reproducing thing more entertaining..'.

24. Who asked who out? Oh. Are we still talking about Us? I think it was Him.

25. Who proposed? Him. I was on my way to the shop so I said yes quickly cause it's tough getting a car park on Saturdays.

26. Who is more sensitive? Well....he has a lot of allergies.....

27. Who has more friends? That they still talk to.......? Me.

28. Who has more siblings? Snap. Two apiece.

29. Who wears the pants in the family? We both prefer kilts.

.......................................

Is that it?

But you missed the most important question!!!!

30. How did you meet? On the internet! Met and married within 6 months.
Best snap decision I ever made.

So now, to tag some poor unsuspecting types................

How about Christina, Maggie, Katie, Melody and Natalie ?? Oh and feel free to join in if you feel the urge. Leave a comment to let us know!!

Truthy Weirdness

Two things to post tonight, a Truthiness photo (what am I thinking??????) and a meme.

Now is it just me but do many people exhibit a similar expression when taking their own photo, especially without makeup?????

I have not bothered to do ANYTHING to this photo as a) it is not worth it and b) we are supposed to be being truthy. Thanks for this prompt Tracy.

Good grief, when did those lines get so deep? Do NOT view this photo large folks. I repeat do NOT....

And now for Melody. The Seven Weird Things meme. I have done this in another guise as a Seven Random Things meme but to make it weird was challenging.

Me: Can you think of 7 weird things about me?
Himself: Why would I want to do that?
Me: It's for a meme...
Himself: Well, you married me for one, that was pretty weird.
Me: (outraged) Not at all!!!!! I'd do it all over again. No, I want something reeeally weird.
Himself: Well, you snore like a man.
Me: (protesting) Only when I'm drunk!
Himself: What's your point?
Me: No really......I need 7 things
Himself: Well actually...you're not that weird.
Me: So...I'm boring?
Himself: (snorts) No. You're just not......(searches for a better word, fails to find one) weird.

So now...Seven Weird Things About Me

1. I met my husband through an internet dating service and married him within 6 months.
With all its ups and downs, still one of my better decisions.

2. I snore like a man. I also laugh like a man and if it was within my earthly powers I would also p*** like a man as it would be SO much easier, especially when camping.

3. I can sleep anywhere. I mean anywhere. I frequently sleep under my desk or in an alcove in my office...on the floor. Last year I slept at lunchtime on the sofas in the staff room...in full view of all staff (that was before I had an alcove). Well, it was lunchtime. My boss once thought I was dead when he came upon me asleep under my desk. I might point out I was on my own time at that point. One of my students made me a sign saying 'Sleeping Beauty within'. She made it when I was asleep and stuck it on my office door. I still have it :-)

4. I eat peanut butter out of the jar. On a spoon.

5. I eat the tails of prawns. I draw the line at heads.

6. I am generally half an hour late for everything. Except when its reeeally important, then I am only 5 minutes late. This can be crucial when catching a plane.

7. I do not think this is weird but my family says it is. I like to read all the information on all the plaques at the museum. Why else are they there?????????


Phew. That was harder than I thought it would be!

No tags from me but happy to read any weird fact from any of you if you'd like to join in!!!!

Arachnaphobia

This one is totally for you Brittany.

Last night I snuck off to bed a little later than Himself and had to feel my way around in the dark looking for the alarm clock which needed resetting. (no, it didn't go off this morning...why does that always happen when you set the alarm in the dark?)

Anyway, after stumbling about a bit, getting the clock sorted (supposedly) I snuggled down and gave that big sigh you give when you finally make it to bed and its where you would rather spend the next day than getting up and going to work. After a few seconds I felt a tickle on my arm, under the covers. Scratching and brushing at it I encountered more substance than I would normally feel from a piece of hair, thread or fluff. Panic sets in, I snatch and claw at the offending tickle, waking Himself up in the process.

"What on earth is the matter?"
"There's something in the bed...I think it was crawly."
"Was it on your side?"
"Yes.."
"Good."
"Can I please turn on the light and check what's happened to it?" (actually this was not so much a question as a warning that I was about to blind him)

Initial investigations seemed clear and then I threw back the covers and, crumpled in between the sideboard (we have a waterbed) and the mattress, was the crushed body of a daddy long legs spider!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And quite a big one!!! I felt no pity. I felt no remorse. I felt only REVULSION and the sickening knowledge that moments ago it had been crawling on my ARM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am still shivering with the thought. Himself helpfully suggested that I had probably brought it to bed with me as they do not normally head under the covers. A comforting thought.... NOT. I managed to flick it out of the bed and then performed a thorough search for any of its mates.
It could have been worse I suppose. It could have been a house spider. (big, black and ugly...nassssty bite)

Himself went back to sleep to the steady rhythm of my convulsions of disgust. (shudder of horror)

Banner Update

After my rejection of his first design, Himself put together a completely different concept which I love!! Except for the font.
A: Why is this font all messy.
H: Well, it represents freedom and creativity. It's kind of 'out there'.

(He often talks like this)
A: It looks kind of manic.
H: What's your point?
A: Alright, so I'm a bit manic, but look at all the little dots...like ink splotches...I would NEVER do ink splotches....I'm too anally retentive...

After this exchange I went to my computer and starting looking at fonts. I was after something whimsical and perhaps a little 'forgetful', after all where DID I put that flaming sword? I was trying various handwriting styles when Himself came past and snorted with disgust.

A: What? You don't like these? I'm just trying things out.
H: The font is a design element. It is part of the overall picture, if I change the font I start all over again with a new design concept.
A: But I LIKE the background and the image...its just the messy font which doesn't feel like me. It's too....disturbed
H: It's got attitude, like your blog.
A: (mildly outraged)What do you mean my blog has attitude?
H: I've read some of it....it definitely has attitude.
A: (minor panic...which bits has he read?) Really?
H: Yes, and if I change the font I change the whole design....or you can go find another designer.

Now you see, this is the problem with professionals. They don't like to listen to their clients. Anyway, I tried all the usual wife things, sitting on his lap, asking how much he loved me....but he remained intractable. However, something must have hit his sentimental nerve because the following morning I had a new email with a new version and a new font. As I had requested, it was free flowing handwriting with NO splotches and dots.

I didn't like it.

He was right. The font was an element of the design. He even did a version where he took the dots out for me....and I didn't like it. He was right. It took away from the overall design.

I guess that's why he's a designer.

So, now to figure out how to load the banner. Any ideas. I've looked at the HTML page and my head started to explode.

The Crazy Coaster or 'How Not To Survive the Show'

Baby Angel and I took our life in our hands at the Royal Show on Friday night. If you saw my Best Shot Monday post you will know that she has done this ride before and she was most insistent that the two of us do it together. This is one of those commercial shots they take as you are dropping almost vertically down the most intense part of the slope. There is so much I like about this shot.

Check out the BA and I hanging onto each other's hands.
Check out the cultural difference between the manner in which we deal with the excitement and that of our lovely co-riders next to us!
Could I get my mouth open any wider??? (don't answer that)

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

The Show has become an annual torture for our family due to my husband's complete and utter hatred of all places crowded and of Shows in particular.

Now, to be fair, it is a colossal waste of money, a consumerised hell hole, a pageant of rip-off and frenzy BUT- the kids love it. We did as kids. It is a part of childhood!
Who as a child did not get lost at the Show? Who did not spend hours trying to work out which over priced, rubbish filled Show Bag to buy? Who has not thrown up on a ride...or been the laughing stock of their friendship group by refusing to go on ANY rides? Who has not eaten dagwood dogs, bought kewpie dolls or held the pink and green dyed newly born chicks in the poultry house? (Why DID they dye those chicks pink and green?????)

But Himself cannot bear it. Cannot. Bear. It.

This is a man who hates the local shopping mall because he claims women deliberately stick out their elbows to prevent him passing in a crowd. At Christmas he waits until late night Christmas Eve and does it all in one hit to 'get it over with'. He has been known to phone me (inside the mall) from the carpark outside to let me know he's had enough and has had to go out for air.
On Friday night he finally admitted that the crowds give him panic attacks.

But each year, his Small Boy wants to go to the Show and he wants to go with his Dad.

I know for a fact that when we first met and went to the Show with the kids together, about 2 months into our relationship, he was eternally grateful to have someone to share the painful experience with. As time has passed I have learned that it is my job to take the kids into the Showbag Hall (Hell on Earth) while Himself waits outside at the Starbucks equivalent. I try to sort out some kind of plan for the visit which will enable everyone to see what they want to see, give Himself a few breaks and keep the bank balance under control. (the first year we came home with the ugliest 3 ft tall stuffed dog because Small Boy wanted one)

This year we made the mistake of going on a Friday night after a particularly hard week when both of us were knackered. The car park nearly undid us. The police had redirected traffic so that there was only one way in and it was not either of the first two ways we approached the park!! Himself was rope-able. Tyres squealed, language flew and the previously excited and chattering kids in the back were silent and ashen as Dad 'lost his rag'. After enduring this for a few minutes I pointed out that the parking arrangements were not the fault of anyone within the car.

From this inauspicious beginning we struggled to find the carnival mood. Small Boy was overly excited and talking 25 to the dozen in the face of his father's sullen silence, I was overly cheerfully trying to make up for dad's lack of communication and Baby Angel had a face like thunder and kept muttering things like 'over reacting' when she thought only I was in ear shot. I just wish he 'got' the whole point of the exercise. It's about experience and memories. It's about tradition and sharing. Even if what you share is shallow, gaudy and over priced, these are the events that define childhood. The Sharing part!!

We made straight for the food stalls to feed the man. He relaxed a bit with a burger inside him and we managed to make for the Main Arena where the sounds of V8 engines beckoned. (*sigh*)





That's my boys, there; Himself is the one with the cowboy hat and the slumped shoulders



At this point the Baby Angel managed to peel me off and we made for the rides together. The Crazy Coaster was the first experience and it cheered us up no end. We then made for The Mad Mouse, the 40 year old roller coaster in its last year of operation. Thank Goodness. It was funny as we lined up I was filled with memories of my last trip on the Mouse, back in about 1979 I think. I remembered it as breathtaking and exhilarating, full of 90 degree turns whilst peering over an edge...you know the kind of thing. This time around, all I was aware of was the clunking and rattling sensation of the ancient cogs and chains. The Baby Angel loved it. Three words kept running through my head, 'Health and Safety'.......

But we survived and then went on a concerted hunt for costumes and props for the musical. I kid you not! We found punk wigs and el cheapo matching tracksuit tops for a 'Gym' scene. All in all it was a very successful shopping experience. :-)

We made it back to the Main Arena in time to see some lunatic motorcyclists doing somersaults over jumps and to find himself and the Small Boy emerging from the Showbag Hall with the prescribed number of bags......within budget. Excellent result. We stayed for the fireworks and made our way home in a much more cheerful frame of mind than that in which we had arrived. With kids bedded down Himself apologised and explained how much the crowds bothered him and we agreed that there was little point in him going if he was going to spoil it for everyone else.
So it looks like that might be his last year at the Show. I just don't get it. For me its about the kids and how much they enjoy it. Its about the excitement, the wonder, the silliness
.........the Bunnie Ears!!
Oh well. It takes all types and at least at the end of the night Small Boy had had a good time, seen lots of stunt cars, eaten hot dogs, got his show bags and not had a hissy fit.

Result really.

Roll on the Christmas Pageant.

Drip

I had it all figured out this week. I would go out and capture a drip on the tip of a leaf in our garden. It has been raining for weeks, this would be easy!

Hah.

It hasn't rained since Monday.

I toyed with the idea of putting the hose over a pot plant but it was too cold to go out there and mess about with water. Baby Angel in the shower? "Get real Mum!!!!" (I'll take that as a no then)

OK. The ubiquitous dripping tap. I know everyone will do it but hey, its a challenge anyway. Catching a drip is not easy!!

Himself: What are you doing?
Me: Nothing. Well, I'm trying to photograph a drip, but I think I've got the wrong camera.
Himself: I thought you were meant to be marking exams.
Me: errr..........................
Himself: (sigh) exits and returns with own camera

.
Sometimes I really hate him.

For other moist and drippy photos splash over to Tracey's at Picture This.

I Want my Wife Back

These were the plaintive words of my husband tonight as I sent him off to bed before me yet again.

Now I need to put this in context.

My beloved husband is a workaholic, multi media designer and small business owner. Ever since we met he has done a day's work: getting new business, liaising, having meetings etc then come home to the 'night shift' where he does the actual creative stuff. This night shift will regularly go until 2am after which he is able to sleep in until around 8.30am and still get to work between 9 and 9.30am. (he's a boy)

Moi, on the other hand, has to be at work by at least 8.15am and requires at least an hour's preparation time to try on my 3,000 outfits, cake on my 'slap' and get my hair to do something, anything!! Result: I am usually in bed before him. Well before.

This has never posed any problems, for him at least.

At the moment however I am in the throes of marking, writing and modifying exams all on the back of reports. I have developed a pattern of sleeping for several hours after dinner and then getting up near 11.30pm to get stuck in with a fresh mind. Consequently I have been regularly getting to bed at 3am. And yes, still getting up at 6.30am. The effect of this on himself has been quite curious.

He has started going to bed earlier and earlier and moaning bitterly when I do not accompany him! Tonight he retired at 12.30am!! He must be sick! But as he moped off down the hall he was heard to remark that he was going to write to my Boss and tell him that he 'wanted his wife back'. Don't know if anyone else spots the irony in this. Makes me LOL!!!

Must get back to the grindstone, have 2 hours of maths with Year 8 tomorrow arvo and have to think of things to do to occupy them. There is no way they will cope with revision for that whole period. For one thing, last week one of them whinged that they had 'done this before'.
"Yes," I replied," This is revision."
"What's that?" came the puzzled response. Sigh. I do worry.

'Night...or good morning all!