When Neighbours are NOT good friends

We have our very own soap opera going on in our neighbourhood. About 6 months ago we got new neighbours. They are right next door to us, but its not us directly they are having the feud with.

The mud map above shows the approximate layout (I am no town planner or artist). The black wavy lines is the river, the parallel lines on the left is a major road. We are in a little cul-de-sac that was just a dead-end when the old house subdivided its land and 5 blocks of land were created. The people who bought the 5 blocks, us included, all built within a year of each other. The only one who didn't was Noisy Kids, they were about 5 years later. 

Hippy Neighbour has lived in her house across the road for over 25 years, she is a very sweet, kind lady, who keeps to herself, and has 2 dogs. You have to have dogs where we live, there are a lot of undesirables wandering about, and the houses without dogs get broken into. We have been broken into 3 times, once while we were in the house and asleep. It happened when we didn't have an outside dog.

It has been a happy place to live. Most of us get along, we have parties in the street, know each other, have helped out when needed, rescued dogs when they got out etc. There are a few characters (the latecomers with squeely girls) who are a little prickly, but on the whole its amicable.

Then the new people arrived. Not very friendly as in, we stop to say hello and we get a brush off, or their little puppy gets out and we take it back and there is barely a thanks but a whole lot of yelling at the dog and kids. Little things that tell you they are just not friendly neighbours and that's fine, Mr K and I have got used to living in suburbia now. This is what you get. We get along fine with Hippy Lady, she is warm and chatty, and the Old House people are the same. The Noisy Kids family are luke-warm too, bit weird (that's a whole new story there) but they generally keep to themselves.

About 3 months ago, Mr K gets a phone call from a very distraught Hippy Lady. She has had a visit from the rangers saying there is a complaint about her dogs barking. Its never happened before. Her dogs do bark a bit, but only because she lives on the main road and opposite is a service station that is frequented by some people who think its their local pub. There are often fights and police and of course the dogs are going to bark - that's why we have them.

Hippy Lady confronted the New people, and said that we have been a nice little neighbourhood and we normally just talk to each other if there is an issue instead of rushing off to the Ranger. She was upset, she is a very touchy feely type, but sensible. New Man just was rude and said to keep her dogs quiet.  A few weeks after this, Mr K gets another, more distraught phone call from Hippy Lady. She has had an argument with the New people and a letter from the council. Mr K advises her to just do the best she can about the dogs, and to ignore the New people. She has also found out that the New people have gone to all the houses in the street (except us) and asked them to sign a petition against Hippy lady. None of them did, but she is now furious at New people.

Mr K talks to her for a while, trying to get her to see a lighter side, to not take it as her problem but theirs. Hippy lady lives alone so her dogs are her protectors and company. Mr K suggests she write them a note telling she is doing what she can (she bought a bark buster collar and locks them up when she goes out) and jokingly, to lighten the mood, he said "give them some earplugs."

So she does!!  She writes a long letter (she gave us a copy) and includes some earplugs for the family. You can guess what happened next! Mr K comes home from work and there is an all out fight going on, not physical but verbal, between Hippy lady and New man. Mr K, ever the negotiator steps in and calms them both down, when New Lady gets home, sees the letter and the earplugs and comes ranting and raving out her house to confront Hippy Lady. 

Its calmed down a bit since then, but there are flare ups and these New people are quickly running out of friends. They don't realise that they make as much noise and disturb people too. Their kids are very noisy, he starts up his truck at 6am, he is a compulsive blower-vac user, and we have heard rows that get loud.  They have an alarm that goes off regularly and guess what?  All of us ignore it. That's all part of living in a close neighbourhood. You just have to mutter under your breath (or blog about it like I do) and get on with your life. We can't go about complaining and whining about every little thing that bothers us. 

If New people wanted quiet, they should not have picked a house that was so close to a main road, a train line, a B&B and other houses. I work from home. Yes it can be noisy, but you know what? I either close my window or play music or put in earplugs. If I want perfect quiet I will move to the country! 

I can't see it being a very friendly Christmas party this year, but it will sure be interesting. Stay tuned for further episodes.

Can women have it all and more important, do they want it?

It has been a recurring theme I seem to keep bumping into, one way or another.  I have tried to stay out of it, or at least tried to keep my opinion to myself, but each time I read more or see more, I get more and more distressed. The issue is - can women really have it all? Or maybe, do we WANT it all?

My generation, and downwards, has certainly been told we can and should.  And its almost a travesty if we don't take it and run, after all, our mothers and grandmothers worked long and hard for our so called equality. A lot of it I am very grateful for, being able to work in any job/career I so choose, being financially independent and not reliant on a husband, the pill, having an opinion I can voice.  The list goes on.

But there is a growing concern, both by myself and others, that telling women they can have it all, and then expecting them to do so, is having a detrimental effect. On their health, mental and physical, their happiness, their future.

I worry for these young women, I really do.  I worry that the choices they have been expected to make are not fair.  They put aside the one thing they can't change, and that's their biological clock.  So many are going to uni, getting a great job, building a career, finding a husband (or not) and then, after this checklist is ticked off, they look to a family.  A child.  But by this time, they are well into their 30's and 40's and time is against them. It's not so easy to fall pregnant, or stay pregnant.  Their body is winding down its fertile phase. A lot miss the boat.  Will they, as old women, resent this?  Will they feel betrayed by women singing the virtues of having it all? 

Our bodies are designed to have children in our 20's.  That's biology. How can we argue with that? I have a lot more to say, and will need to corral these thoughts into a coherent argument. It will make a good essay subject, but for now, I thought it may be a good thought provoker for my bloggers.

What are your thoughts?


A story about a 38 yr old women wanting a child.

I watched Q&A this week - I normally have to walk away from the TV Monday nights as I yell at it (the TV, not Monday) too much.

But this was worth watching and very interesting - women talking about this very subject.

ABC IView - Q&A

When Fantasy meets Reality

Pinterest for women is like a man looking at pictures of a playboy bunny and thinking that would be nice!

You look at pretty pictures of tables set in fields, or apple orchards, with linen cloths and dainty china, tiers of little cupcakes, scones and neatly cut sandwiches.  A string of pastel bunting, billowy swags of tulle, wooden table with paper lanterns strung above.

You get an idea.  What if I have a garden party for my friends?  We could all dress in floral, cotton dress's, be carefree and wallow away an entire afternoon, laughing lightly and sipping pink champagne.    I could take the dining table out onto the lawn.  I could quickly sew up some chair covers in calico and tie a pastel pink ribbon to the back, pop in some dried roses.  Cut out triangles of scrap material and string them together.  It will mean a trip to Spotlight, but it wont cost much.

You have a few 'trio's' but need a few more.  You start to watch Ebay for Royal Albert and Royal Doulton.  A few parcels arrive, you think they are a bargain at $35 a set.  You buy a silver sugar dish and polish it.  On holidays you find a pure white linen tablecloth and eight matching napkins.  The shop lady (who was twice your age, well almost) says they will take a lot of ironing.  You laugh, a little too gaily  that you love to iron.  

You attend high teas at a few places, just to get ideas of what food to serve.  You make up a menu, write it out in long hand calligraphy on sepia paper. You make invitations the same way and hand deliver them.  Sunday.  1pm.  4 weeks from now.

You let a week go by, plenty of time, it's just afternoon tea.  Three weeks to go,  you panic.  Four weeks seemed plenty of time when you planed this, but then you make the 'to do' list. It seems endless.

It's real now.  You have to follow through.  You start by going to buy material.  The natural calico ends up costing you $120 for 8 chairs.  The tulle another $40.  The parcel of material sits on the dining table for a week before you have a chance to sew it.  The chair covers are harder than they look.  You make 3, then have a go at the prettier bunting.  By 10pm Sunday night you have made 2 metres, you are pretty pleased with yourself.

The next weekend you find a perfect silver tea set in a second hand store.  You are delighted.  You rush home and spend the next 4 hours polishing it, plus all the little silver cake forks your Grandmother left to you. You now have enough fine china trios for your eight guests.  You wash them all by hand, drying them carefully.  It takes you ages, but you tell yourself that to slow down is a good thing.  The rest of the house is a shambles and don't even think of going into the laundry!

You go online and find a site that sells everything party.  You buy cupcake cases, striped straws, pastel icing, sprinkles, paper lanterns, sugared almonds, candles.  It costs $124 but you tell yourself you will have these things for years.

There is a week to go.  The garden is still a mess.  You haven't picked up the dog poo for a week now and the lawn needed mowing a month ago.  There are dead patches mixed with eye-high grass.  The roses need a good prune, and cooch has invaded the flower beds.  You work like a navvy in the garden, and cajole your husband to help by offering favours you know you will be too tired to grant.  You rush to Bunnings and buy 'potted colour' at exorbitant prices.

The weekend of the garden party.  Saturday.  You want to make everything from scratch, the old fashioned way.  A shopping trip with a toilet roll for a shopping list, which includes a visit to the kitchen shop to get specialised tart trays and a 3 tiered platter.  You get home, exhausted and not at all feeling like cooking.  You poach chicken breasts in tarragon to make sandwiches.  You make cupcake batter and set out 2 dozen pink pokerdot cupcake cases (you want to send everyone home from the party with their own, beautifully decorated cupcake to remind them how wonderful you are). 

You bake and ice and decorate.  Piping bags were never your friend.  At 7pm your husband casually wanders in and wants to know whats for dinner.  You snap at him, 'fucking cupcakes!'  At 8.30pm you are eating Maccers from the kitchen bench as you stir custard.

By 11pm you are exhausted, you have been in the kitchen all day.  You feel a little panicked that you haven't yet cleaned the house or scrubbed the toilet.    But you go to bed satisfied that you have made all the cupcakes, have made the filling for the three sandwiches - smoked salmon mouse, chicken and celery in creme freche and cucumber and sour-cream  there are 10 individual chocolate mouses in shot glasses (2 extra as you broke your deal with the husband and this may get you off the hook), miniature lemon meringue pies, fruit custard pies - you even made the tiny pastry cases and glazed the strawberries with apricot jam.  You sleep, but not well - a to do list for tomorrow running through your head.

Midnight.  You wake with fright as you just remembered that you left the fruit custard tarts to cool on the bench and they have custard in them and need to go in the fridge.  You debate if they will be ok, have visions of your lovely lady guests with food poisoning, and get out of bed to find a container they can be stored in and wedge a place in your overflowing fridge.  Its 2am before you finally get to sleep.

8.30am.  You have slept in!  You start yelling at your husband to stop being a lazy bastard and help you.  You make him clean the toilet while you start cutting crusts off two loaves of white and wholemeal bread. He comes back 2 minutes later and says he is done.  You know damn well it wont be done properly and have to do it yourself.  You hate him.  You tell him so.  He takes off to the shed.

You know your hair needs washing, but no time now. You need to get the table set.  Your sister-in-law phones you and asks if you need some help?  You try and keep the panic out of your voice as you casually say no love, all under control, I just want you to come and enjoy yourself.  

You have to go and apologise to your husband, you need him to help you move the dining table onto the lawn.  He helpfully asks if you cant just use the outdoor table?  No you say through clenched and stubborn jaw - the vision is for an extravagant dining table on the lawn.  It's the whole POINT!  He just silently carries one end as you struggle and heave it past door frames.  You take a chunk of plaster out of the wall.  You swear.  He disappears into his shed again.

The linen table cloth, that has been ironed once, still looks like its been slept on by the dog.  You set up the ironing board and try and fix it.  The bloody old bitch at the shop was right.  You hate her too.  You reason that when its covered in plates, glasses, napkins and food, and you have sprinkled rose petals all over you wont notice the wrinkles.  You are wrong.

It's now 11.30am.  The table is set.  It looks pretty.  Now to move all the chairs outside and cover with the calico.  You don't dare ask the husband, you can hear him hitting something pretty hard in his shed.  The covers are fiddly, the bows on the back even more so.  You only got around to making 6 covers, too bad!  You think to hell with dried roses.  

The 2 metres of bunting only goes on one side of the fence.  You had visions of it all the way round.  It looks a bit naff.  The paper lanterns keep falling down from where you have strung them.  It's 12.45 and you still are not showered or dressed and you have scones to make and pots of tea to prepare.  You stuff the very expensive tulle back into your laundry.

You just get in the shower and you hear the door bell.  Shit.  You husband comes to the rescue and starts telling your 8 lady friends what a bad mood you are in, and laughs that you will need a lot of champagne to calm you down.  You get out of the shower, still half wet and throw on the floral dress, that you just remembered you needed to iron. Makeup and hair are forgotten.

Damn them all for being on time  and damn your husband for not taking them straight out into the garden.  Now all the ladies are assembled in your kitchen, which looks like a teenagers bedroom, you look like a bedraggled,  crumpled teenager to suit.  Smile.  Open a bottle of pink champagne and get them to follow you out to the garden.

The oos and ahhs at your elegant, garden, Pinterestque table setting don't take away the exhaustion and despair you are feeling.  You gulp down your champers and fill up the glass again.  A kind friend follows you into the kitchen so you mercilessly put her to work arranging food onto platters.  She asks a million questions of how you want the cakes placed, which platter for the sandwiches, do you want the scones on the top tier or the bottom.  You don't freaking care anymore because the scones are burning.  

It all goes off pretty well considering   The ladies have a great time, you are glad however when it all ends earlier than you fantasied about.  Your husband ventures out of his shed when he hears you have got drunk.  He flirts with your friends, and tells them stories about how much of a bitch you have been preparing for this day and you don't care.  Only your sister-in-law stays to help clean up. You feel bad.  Every Royal Doulton, every silver fork, every crystal platter has to be washed by hand. You can't do it in the dishwasher.  You tell her you will do it all tomorrow.  She tries to insist she will help.  You get cross and tell her to go the hell home.

There is lipstick on most of the linen napkins and pink icing and rose petal stains on the tablecloth. They never come out.

You and your husband have cupcakes for dinner, you were too drunk to give them out to the ladies as they left.  The kitchen stays like this til morning.

Nope.  The fantasy never lives up to the reality.  Any playboy reading man will tell you that.


Footnote : Pinterest did not have any pictures of the reality ... I wonder why?

Markets, Germs and healthy?

Went to the Subi markets this Sunday.  It was humid, noisy, crowded and well, not very pleasant. Perhaps it's just me, I have become a bit of a recluse of late.  One thing struck me, and I am probably very slow in this, I know my Mum would have cottoned on, is how unhygienic open food in this environment can be.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I am no clean freak, I don't mind 'clean' dirt, I can tolerate camping and flies quite happily.  I will eat food and share it with my horse/dog/child.  I don't sterilise my kitchen.

But.  I do have an aversion to 'people' germs.  So back to the markets.  All this fruit and vege, on open display, hundreds of people poking and pinching and prodding it while they make their selection.  Fine for things like potatoes that will get peeled, or a rock-melon   I bought grapes and plums, they looked delicious, and I sat with friends and we picked at them.  

But they weren't washed and I wonder how many hands touched them.  What germs those hands had on them.

Is this why I have had a stomach upset for days now?  

Then there was the open containers of rice, nuts, grains.  People stood over them, scooping out contents into bags.  One sneeze and there are body fluids in droplets all over the exposed food.  The thing I wondered, after years of hell with them, was weevils?  This place was a hot bed for the little critters.

I will still drop my bread on the floor at home and claim the 15 second rule, I will still eat yogurt that is 5 days over its use-by date, but I will always just wonder about open food at markets.  If there was ever a epidemic, some super virus, then these are the places they would spread.  

One more reason to grow my own!

People Watching

People watching is, surprisingly, one of my favourite pastimes.  This is surprising as I am quite an introvert and really like my own company rather than be with people.  But this is the point - when I watch I am not being.  I am in another world, a voyeur, a fly on the wall, what they call in writing terms 'omnipresent' which is also a bit god like.  And like a god I find I get very judgmental of people and what I see.  I don't do a lot of smiting tho.  No, I just write it all down.

I make assumptions based on what they wear, how they talk, their action. I make up their stories - but isn't that what writing fiction is all about?  Here are a few notes from my day out in Freo:

• Older women, cargos, airwalker shoes, floppy hat, wanders into the restaurant  uses the loo and then walks out.  Bit cheeky, although I don't blame her, the public loos are disgusting .... and whats with that?  When you have to do a quick tinkle and you are out in public and have no choice but use a public loo (that always stink and you just want to pee and get out) and you use those thigh muscles to hover over the seat without touching and very proud of yourself, when the wee goes on and on and on.  Your muscles get wobbly, you grit your teeth, you become your own personal trainer and say (to yourself, to say it out loud would just be weird) ..come on, you can do it, just hold on a little longer, feel the burn ... and still the trickle goes on.  You try and recall what you have drunk since the last one, so you can gauge how much liquid is actually in your bladder, you come to the conclusion that it was just a cup of coffee and surely you have peed that out by now ... and oh god how much longer, your thigh muscles are burning now, you start to speculate just how dirty that toilet seat really is, discount that and keep your pose.  Finally, you think you have emptied your bladder, and then the pathetic little trickle starts, too much to blot with some loo paper, but annoying and painful in your present state.  Too bad you think, as you grab wads of toilet paper ... at last you can stand up .. except you cant ... your thigh muscles have locked in place and you are stuck, poised over a dirty loo seat.  Or is that just me?
• 
  
• A chubby mother, carrying a chubby child.  Her dress, or skirt or some kind of material is wrapped around her body, covering most bits except her thighs, bum and boobs.  A young man, father/boyfriend/husband trails behind her pushing an empty, expensive pram.  Later I see them - he has gone into a t-shirt shop (Metallica t-shirt anyone?) while she stands in the doorway, boob even more exposed and popped into the plump and content child's mouth.  I am a bit perplexed by this scene, I applaud her for breast feeding her baby but I wish she had arranged the wrap-around haute couture a little more discretely.  But  I am guessing they are a couple not on the hipster scale, but right at home in boganville.
• 
  
• A foreign speaking (French?) skinny, deadlocked, bike rider in the central square, like a child is aimlessly cycling about, round and round, not even going anywhere.  Does he not work?  He looks about 30-35.  Even a tourist would be doing something more productive.  He reminds me of a bored 7 year old.  There seems to be an awful lot of men and women this age doing not much at all.  Does nobody work anymore?

See, its very hard not to be judgmental!   A few stories for me there.

A Day in Freo bags me 4 books and a new journal

I needed a day to myself, to get my head clear, write, read and walk.  It was a bit of a bleak time at work last week, and the long weekend did not completely clear the decks.  I felt cheated of three days off work, that I could have been writing, spent with a panic-attack hangover caused by the job.  So I took a 'sickie' today.  And I have never felt better.

Mr K had an all day conference in the second city of Freo.  We got up early, left early and after an hour and a bloody three quarters, arrived at our destination.  Sure made me feel like I had gone away on a holiday, I wanted my in-flight meal and drink.  As the crow flies it is less than 20kms, we had traveled about 25 as we are not crows.  This took us 1.45hrs.  Eat your heart out West Sydney!

It was early for Freo, 9am.  Not many people were up and about, stark contrast to Perth CBD where 9am is practically lunchtime.  First stop for me was one of the two Elizabeth's Bookshops - a treasure trove of pre-loved books (or maybe some were only one night stands) stacked on floor to ceiling bookshelves, on the floor, on tables in every nook and cranny.  There is a vague organisation, but the fun part is trawling for a treasure.  Found one book here - 

Breakfast next.  Not feeling very brave or bohemian, and the fact that a lot of the hipper places looked closed, I went for the safe and sure Dome Coffee.  With a foccacia, pineapple juice, skinny cap, newspaper, journal and book, before me I had a little private chuckle at the sheer indulgence of it all.  Took me an hour and a half to eat breakfast.

A walk drew me to the second purveyor of books, New Edition. A tall elegant building housing a book shop and a cafe, and bizarrely, as only Freo can do, at the back of the bookstore, a hippy dress/bead/incense shop.  It was bizarre, as the book shop was rather posh, a bit Sydney.  I found two treasures here -

I will do some book reviews on all these at a later date. Anyone have a cold/flu/plague that they can come and sneeze on me so I can stay in bed and read for a few days?

Spent the next  hours just walking, observing, absorbing.  Found the public library and did a bit of reading which inspired me to sit down to write for a while.  Wasn't really hungry by 1pm but felt compelled to leave the library after it got overrun by kids, people with too few shoes and too much (matted) hair and a permeating sound of furious clacking on keyboards on the public computers.  

On 'the strip' I found most eatery's had now opened, again going to for the known, I chose Benny's - a quiet table up the back with a book, journal and Caesar salad.  Does it get any better than this!  I moved on when the staff seemed to be moving tables around me, perhaps I had outstayed my welcome.  Another stroll back to the library, the kids should have gone home for naps by now, and the shoe-less, matted hair lot surely cant concentrate that long.

Found yet another bookshop, Dymocks, and of course another book -

Nice little haul.  A good days gathering.  I spent the rest of the afternoon, waiting for Mr K in the library until I was joined at the writing table by the Bachelor Of the Year - a man whose body and clothes looked (and sadly, for me, and every person within 100 metres, smelt) like they had never seen soap, let alone water.  He wore three hats, each grubbier than the next, and .. get this ... HE tied a handkerchief, well grey rag, over this nose/mouth.  Was he being kind to me as he hadn't brushed his teeth that decade, or was it me who smelt?  Guess its all a matter of perspective!

Moved into the fresh air, and had a very nice and critical time writing about the comings and goings of Freo.

Day rating : 8/10

Screaming children in public places

Did anyone else see this news article?

Is this Fair or Not?

I know I am an older mother, and I don't have littlies anymore, but I would be interested to hear what others thought?

I personally hate hearing screaming kids in the shopping centres.  It drives me nuts, and all I want to do is get the hell out of there.  The areas are large and echoey and the noise is horrendous.  I know the Mums/Dads don't hear it as sensitivity as others but surely they know that their kids are making a racket?  And I am not talking about a crying baby here, I am talking  about kids who are capable of knowing better, kids who should have been taught to use inside voices and that when they are out, to behave.

Why is it ok for a small minority of little children to create such a noise and disturb so many, and we all have to smile and put up with it?  I know parenting is hard and continuous, but don't we have a responsibility to teach children how and when to behave?

Yes, I had kids.  Yes, I took them shopping.  Yes, they were normal and had days where I could have killed them.  But no, I did not tolerate them screaming and throwing tantrums in public places.  I used parenting skills to either diffuse the tantrum, or if too late, removed them from a public place so we did not disturb other peoples right to a quiet time.  I did not ignore it.  I did  not make other people part of my problem.  When we got home, I would take the time to explain why that behavior was not appropriate - including evoking empathy and how it wasn't fair that other people were disturbed.  I would have also told them  that unless we can behave well when out, then we won't be able to go out again.  Consequences for our actions.

It's not hard to take the screaming child outside, or back to your car, and apply whatever discipline is appropriate.  Yes, their shopping day is ruined, but then its their kid.  Why should everyone else around them have their shopping day disturbed too?  

If parents are made to remove their screaming child, then maybe they will spend a little more time at home teaching kids to be respectful when they are in public and some self control.

Or, sadly, it could just be that there are certain parents out there that don't give a damn, have no skills when it comes to being a parent and this behavior is something we have to put up with.  I hope not.

Update to Fawlty Hardly Normal

Monday, Mr K came home and asked me if I had made a complaint to HN head office?  Not yet. I haven't been able to actually get to talk to somebody to make a complaint.  I went to their website, looked up the 'contact us' page and was greeted with the usual gate-keeping process of no phone numbers and web-forms.

This frustrates the hell out of me, and I daresay other people too.  It stinks of arrogance, but that's a whole other rant.

I filled out the web-form, with just a request to speak to someone from customer service.  That was all.

I get this reply ...

Feeling very frustrated and as Homer would say "but I am mad now" I went to the HN Facebook page.  I cut and pasted their email reply to me, and just stated that it was rather frustrating.

I get this reply .. (and I can't show you a screen shot because they have removed it!! No bad language, nothing at all nasty, just a cut and paste of their email to me!)

Please advise case number for us to follow-up.

I reply that I would if I had actually got to speak to someone to have a case number.

I left it at that.  End of discussion.  So I thought.

So, back to Mr K coming home.  Turns out he had got a call from the Midland store, our 'dunno' manager who said he had been asked by head office to rectify the situation!

He offered us - a free upgrade to the next model that was in stock, free delivery to our rental home and arranging with the installers to do all this on Friday!

Wow.  I was impressed.  I did not expect any of this, I just wanted to voice my frustration at how their system had failed us.  This offer was beyond my expectations and I was very grateful.  

True to their word, the new unit was installed on Friday, my tenants are happy, I am happy and I hope the customer service dept. feels good.

Thank you Mr Harvey Norman.  

The story of Harvey Norman, an Air-conditioner and Fawlty Towers Installers

I am absolutely furious with Harvey Norman, Midland and IC Cool installers.  We went into their store a week and a bit ago (10th Feb).  Bought an air conditioner for our rental house, as the old one had died.  Paid for it in full, plus the same price again to have it installed!  Was told it was on back-order.   Was told that the installers would take care of everything and we would get a call from them after they did the installation so we could pay for the decommissioning of the old unit, about $185.00.  Filled out a form that had all the details, where it was to be installed, our name and address, our phone numbers, the tenants phone numbers  etc etc.   Great.  That's another job taken care of.  

Get a call today from IC Cool (the installers) to book the job for 7.30am tomorrow morning.  Fabulous, sooner than we thought.  I did point out that we had asked that the tenants to be called direct (gave them both their numbers) so that a mutual time be arranged   Nope, they don't call tenants.  Ok.  I will play the telephone tennis. Call the tenant to see if 7.30am tomorrow morning suits her?  She has to juggle a few things with work, but yes, they want the air con done.  Call back CC Cool to confirm this.  They then say they have to ask me a few questions.  Fine, ask away.  We then discover they have the wrong address, they have our home suburb, not the rental one (despite us telling the sales guy this, and having to SPELL W.a.t.t.l.e to him, and a discussion about how lucky the tenants are getting an air con in their bedroom when my own home doesn't.)  So we gave him enough clues that it was to be done at a location other than our own house.

CC Cool.  "Oh, the place its being installed is not Basso?  Ahhh no, it's as we wrote on the form. Then they can't install tomorrow, we are only doing the Basso area! (At this stage I have said a few words that I was not proud of).  I asked if they have the form we filled out?  No, Harvey Norman keep that, they just send us an email with the details.  Seems they send the email with the wrong details.  I ask why they called the number we were now speaking on when it was clearly marked that Mr K's mobile was the primary contact number?  Of course, they were only send this number.  Not sure why I filled out the form at all.  

Soooo have to call back tenant, tell her so sorry, they can't do this tomorrow, it will have to be Friday instead.  Is that OK?  Yes she says (of course she did, the poor girl, she just wants her air con).  Call back CC Cool to say this Friday is ok with tenant. Then CC Cool asks where is the new unit?  Ummm Harvey Norman should know that?  Don't they arrange that between them?  Apparently not.  Somehow I have to have ESP to know the unit has come into stock, collect it and drop it off to rental house, all before the installer guys get there.  So call HN, ask to speak to manager as sales guy was USELESS. I ask why wasn't I called and told the unit had arrived as apparently I now had to arrange to get it from HN to rental house?  Manager says unit is still on back order.  Huh?  How come the installers rang me?  Don't you guys talk to each other?  

"I dunno" says the Manager.  

"Well if you don't know, who does?" I logically ask

This wakes him up, as apparently he had been sleeping, and he says he will find out and call me back.  I tell him that no, I will hold thanks, you find out and come back to me.  I hear clicking and sighing. 

He says "You there?"  

"Yes"

"Oh, well it looks like its still on back order."

"OK.  Well, when do you expect it in?" (I am deep breathing this)

"I dunno"

So I ask, with gritted teeth, "So if the unit is not in stock and you have no idea when it will be WHY THE HELL ARE THE INSTALLERS CALLING ME TO ARRANGE INSTALLATION OF A FANTASY AIR CONDITIONER?" 

"Uh, I dunno."

My blood pressure is terminal by this stage, but stupid, stupid me keeps up the performance ( by this stage, I really did think Basil Fawlty would come striding into the room, calling for Manuel).  

"So, what should I do now?" I asked  "Call you everyday to see when the unit arrives?  Ask for a full refund and go someplace else where they have actually heard about the phenomenon of customer service? "

"I dunno."

I say goodbye (despite wanting to hangup rudely.  I felt one of us had to show we were grown up) and call Mr K.  I have lost all patience, I am ranting and no good to anyone now.  I do have to call back our dear tenant and break the bad news to her.  I chicken out and sms her instead.

As you were.  Nothing has changed.  I still don't know when your air con will be done.  So very sorry.  Love Basil.

  

Bad news and perspective

Had some pretty crappy news at work today - can't say exactly what, but it impacts us in a way that we really question why we run our own small business.  I was having a rare (and not always welcome) visit to the hairdressers, and was about to have the only bit of the ordeal I like - a treatment and scalp massage - when my phone beeps a message with the bad news.  Nothing I could do but lay back and pretend to be relaxed and enjoying the pampering when my insides were churning and I was hyperventilating!

Took me a few hours, some lamenting and fuming, some heated discussions,  tears - to then see a newspaper of the terrible floods in QLD - again.

Those poor, poor people.  Seeing one couple's story slapped me about with a get -over-the-self-pity crap and made me want to reach out for these fellow small business people.  For the THIRD time their little shop had been flooded.  There they were in mud and water up over their shelves and counter and still with a feint smile on their face and a determined stiff upper lip.  They lost stock, had to clean up the mess, and try and start again.  I know they will lose lots of money, not just for now, but it will take them months and years to catch up.  They were not rich people, just ordinary battlers trying to run their business.

I so admired them.  I so felt for them.  Sure put my news and day into perspective.

Today, I vowed that the next years budget we set aside for donations and charities (usually to PMH or children's sport or make a wish) was going to the flood victims.  

Bright Life - Really? (Warning - Old Age Material)

I am sure you have all seen the brochures.  They sneak into magazines - not Cleo or Style - but Gardening Australia or Patchwork Weekly.  You normally just chuck them out as junk and get on with reading the good stuff like Costa's road verge garden, or how to propagate with Jane.

I was in the loo (sorry, but it had to be done) and one of these brochures must have dropped out of the latest mag.  I had read the mag cover to cover, even all the little adverts in the back, and was in desperate need of reading material.  Here it was - the latest BrightLife catalogue.

I am guessing this is directed at the, ahh, elderly, as every second page had some product to do with incontinence.   Now I know this is not funny, I have had children too, but really ... trying to make it look sexy with these boxer shorts is just, well... you be the judge...

These boxer shorts are designed to look & feel like normal underwear but with a discreet absorbent pad. Features waterproof backing to prevent leakage & staining of clothing. 

Machine washable. (so glad they are, would hate to be dropping these off to the dry cleaners!)

Other clues as to the age demographics of this catalog are :


Pill Organiser Timer

Nothing like planning your day around drugs

Toilet Safety Rail

Not just for the frail, I could see when this would come in handy after a night out!

Ready Relief Bottle

....... or take it discreetly with you for any journey.  (Maybe if it wasn't bright RED, it would be a little more discrete)

If this is what old age is like - being obsessed with liquid expulsion, then I am scared.

So, when I came across this item, I was a little perplexed (or do I just have a really dirty mind?)

Personal Massager

Massage away stress and tension. Deep penetrating massage soothes aching muscles and helps stimulate circulation. For use on neck, shoulders, back – anywhere on your body.  Use at home, work, travelling.

I think I might get one of these and take it into my next work meeting and tell them I have a stiff neck.


Moving on.  

The item that made me laugh so hard (and remember I was in the LOO! so Mr K had every right to ask what the hell I was doing in there) was this one.  The description reads ...

Video Pen

It is so small and unobtrusive that it is perfect for conversations with your ex, vendor meetings, negotiations with salespeople and any situation where a big camera just won't do.

WTF?  Words fail me.

Joy - The Word

Funny old fashioned word isn't it?  Joy?  Makes me think of Christmas cards on Victorian mantle pieces.  But it also makes me think of a very poignant quote from one of my favorite movies - American Beauty. 


Lester: Christ, Carolyn. When did you become so... joyless?
Carolyn: Joyless? I am not joyless. There happens to be a lot about me that you don't know, Mr. Smarty man. There's plenty of joy in my life.

 

A pivotal scene in the movie, I love it for its contrasts.  This is a movie full of very clever scenes and raw human emotions - AND - it doesn't have a sickly, sweet happy ending like most American movies - Joy!

What made me think of all this?  I was laying in bed this morning, it was 7am, I was awake but as it was Sunday, I was trying to make myself stay there.  My little old dog, Minty, was also awake and wanting to play.  We have this game where she jumps all over me, biting me (she has no teeth so technically she gums me) as I pretend to scream and say 'no'.  The more I do this and try and pull the sheet over me, the more playful she gets.  Its very funny seeing a 14 year old, blind, toothless little dog play like this.  She certainly is full of Joy!  In human years she is 69!

It got me thinking about if my life has become 'joyless' - am I just in a holding pattern until I can retire and escape? Is realising yourself as 'joyless' the tipping point for a midlife crisis? In the movie it is.  I sometimes remind myself of the end part of this scene, the part where she cares more about the Italian silk sofa than the rekindling of their passion - what matters more in the end?

This, to me, is how you lose joy and therefore how you can re-discover it.  Let go of the material things and embrace spontenaity.  Be a little reckless and wild sometimes - spill beer on the couch!!

Just something to ponder.

Telstra as a Dating Agency

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but I can only add pictures from my phone or blog due to Blogger STILL not fixing their known problem about picture icons. 

My lovely Samsung Galaxy 3 died right before Christmas.  Actually, it was the day the world was meant to end, which, clearly it did for my phone.  Off it went to the Telstra shop for a mother board transplant and, so far, it has not rejected its new organ.

When they messaged me, on the phone I got loaned while mine was in the phone hospital, I was very keen to rush in and pick her up.  She had been through a lot and I loved my little phone.

I get to the official Telstra shop in Morley ... and there is a queue of people right out the door!  Oh the injustice!  Mr K assumes that the queue is not meant for people like him so goes and sits at the Tech Desk (this is Telstra, not an i shop so places have names of what they are, it's not a genius corner).  I join the end of the line, out near the chemist and alluringly, the liquor store.  At least I can have drugs and booze while I wait.

As I sigh and roll my eyes and try and glare at the 3 teenage girls behind the counter (who carefully avoid any eye contact with the ever growing line of frustrated people) a man behind me says 'Isn't this just pathetic?'

I am about to agree in a monotone, until I turn around and see the man responsible for the comment.  He is very handsome, with a nice smile, so I make my response much more animated.  I make a funny comment about how 12 year old's are running the world now, and we are all screwed. He laughed. 

For the next 25 minutes, we stood in line, chatting away, inching forward, making mutual observations.  I got to know just about everything I needed to know, stuff that I probably didn't need to know, and passed the time very pleasantly.  Had I not been ..
a) married,
b) had said husband sitting not 10 feet away and
c) not got my phone back yet,
I would have exchanged phone numbers and got him to call me sometime.

So all you single girls, forget the night clubs and rave parties and head off to your local Telstra store and get in line!  You never know what you might find!

PS: As Blogger STILL have not fixed their problem with the picture icon, I can not add the photo of this very handsome man ... sorry!

No Resolutions - Just a Saying

Last year my mantra, or words to live by was "Do Less Better".  It was a very effective way to keep me focused on what mattered and to make me slow down enough to enjoy life.  Everytime I felt rushed or life was overwhelming I would say to myself 'do less better'.  It really worked.

I have been trying to think of one for this year that is as effective.

It's hard, as my mind has been clouded by Mr K and I working on the principals for our business - 3 or 4 key words that we can share with our staff as their words to live at work by.

The three we have so far are :

Simple
Efficient
Accurate

But when it comes to my own personal one, I am a little stumped.  I said I would make 2013 the Year of Writing, but that is not a mantra. 

But then I saw the post-it note on my monitor and it said 'Show, Don't Tell' and I knew that was it.  This is a writing term that makes you use your words to show what you want to say, not spoon feed the reader.  So more description, more visualisartion, more care with every word.

For my blog, this could also mean taking more pictures which will make my photography better.

It also can stand for my life outside writing.  Show the people I love how much I care instead of just telling them.  Show my staff how things should be done, don't tell.  In other words, lead by actions not just words.

So, in this Year Of Writing I will Show not tell.