Dogs, cats and interuptions

Cat : "That dogs just a suckhole"

It used to be my kids that would stop me working/reading/crafting/being quiet.  Now its the three amigo's - Tommy the border collie, Minty the Maltese poodle and Tyler the mongrel cat.  I swear they get together and plan this out..

I sit down to write.  It's morning, I have an hour to write before I have to start work.  I have fed all three of them.  I have a coffee.  Mr K is still asleep, the neighbours are quiet.  

And it starts.  Cat starts to meow, loudly like he wants to be fed (I am sure he has developed Alzheimer's).  He comes into my office, jumps on my desk and proceeds to walk across my papers, books, keyboard, behind the monitor.  Me telling him off and his backchat just cause Tommy to rush to my office window, jump up on the window sill, scratch his paws down the fly screen and yip.  

Now I am telling off both the cat and Tommy.  They both think they are self appointed police animals and tell each other off as well.  This starts up the geriatric old girl Minty.  She starts yapping and running about in circles.

My once peaceful, quiet morning is now a cacophony of meow, yap and yip with the occasional well timed bark from the baritone.  This is the point I give up, go outside with them all following and bestow attention.

Just like I used to do when my kids were little and I was studying and they wanted my attention.  

Do I have to wait until the animals leave home until I get my own quiet time, free of interruptions?  Or by then will Mr K be retired and wanting me to find his glasses or make him lunch?

I have 4 blog posts, ones that need to be written carefully and thought about, to finish, and every day this performance goes on!! 

"I tell you, its all lies - silly human, I have been in bed the whole time"

"Don't make me get off the lounge to tell you lot off!"

"I am the good boy, yes I am!"

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.

A hot shower, no Bex and a OK lie down

For people my age, who live in Australia - they would remember the catch-cry of the 1950/60's house wife - what I need is a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down.  There were mothers, in aprons and rollers and hairnets, all up and down this country lamenting this when it all got too much for them.  And I can image that it did get too much - cricket teams of kids, cooking every meal from scratch, cleaning devices that were the neanderthal version of a 'Dyson', husbands that could avoid all this by staying back at work until the kids were in bed - and I am surprised that Bex didn't contain something a little more robust!

The advertising campaign was actually this : "Stressful Day? What you need is a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down" It obviously worked as most mothers took the advice.  I suspect the cup of tea and the lie down did as much, if not more, good as the Bex powder did - it was a combination of asprin, analgesic and caffeine.  I recall the way it was packaged - a white powder, neatly folded up in a little paper envelope.  Not that I know much about drugs, but I have seen the movies, and isn't that how they package cocaine?

By the time it was my turn to be a mother, Bex had long gone.  Ever resourceful, I found a clear liquid called Gin as its replacement.  My mother would come over some afternoons and say she needed some tonic water as it had quinine in it - great to replenish lost salts when you had been sweating (they used this in India during the British Raj era - thus the name Bombay Sapphire Gin).  You can't be as uncultured as to just drink tonic water, it must be taken properly as a Gin and Tonic, with lemon and ice.

We would say 'just the one and then I will start dinner' and sit on the back lawn, watching the boys run about and exhaust themselves (this was a theory, not a fact - little boys never exhaust themselves).  The 'just the one' would go down very quickly, so would become 'awww go on then, one more wont hurt'.  We would drink the second one much slower, that way you could really feel the medicinal effect of wobbly legs and who-the-hell-wants-dinner-anyway.

By the third one, we would call Mr K and my Dad and giggle and shout for them to bring home fish and chips.  The boys would be filthy, and having a ball, and we could not give a flying Bex!

Ahhh, the good ole days.

Canasta - a card game of life

I had this favorite game of cards come back into my life this last week.  I used to play it a lot as a kid and teenager.  Then boys, husbands, kids and Foxtel happened and the game was relegated to camping trips and blackouts.

It's a great game.  Strawb and I are the champions at it.

My son #2 has just taught his girlfriend to play it, and last week we introduced her to the giddy heights of a doubles game.

It got me thinking however, how this game resembles life at times.

Here is my version of life according to the rules of Canasta.

1. Canasta may be played with 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6 players but is best fun played with four persons as a partnership game.  
• Yep, just like life.  2 players is the most stable game, 3 can be fun, 4 as partners comes with a lot more rules, and 5 & 6 players just gets messy.  
2. Canasta is played with two decks of 54 cards or a total of 108 cards including 4 jokers
• We all have to play life with the same deck of cards, but sometimes its fun to play with the jokers
3. The dealer shuffles, cuts and deals the cards face down, clockwise beginning with the player to the dealer's left
• Like life, we get dealt the cards in a set order.  We can't change the cards we get dealt - this isn't poker - and so we must be clever with what we have.
4. Each player gets 11 cards in a game with 4 or more players, 15 for 2 players or 13 for 3.
• The lesson here is that you get more with when you only play with 2 people, but a threesome could be a good compromise.
5. The goal of Canasta is to obtain the most points by melding, or creating sets out of one’s cards. 
• Isn't this what life is?  Gathering the most you can before you die!
6. When it is your turn, you may draw the top card from the stock and put it into your hand without showing anyone.
• Pays to keep some things to yourself - the element of surprise is always good.
7. Also, remember that in Canasta, both jokers and deuces (twos) are wild cards. A set consisting entirely of wild cards is not valid.
• Lesson here is not to play with just the wild boys.  They are OK for a bit of fun, but you can't settle down with them.
8. The hand ends as soon as a player goes out. You can only go out if your side has melded at least one Canasta.
• Going out is the whole purpose of the game.  Just ask any teenager!
9. In a partnership situation, you may ask the other partner "May I go out?". If the partner answers "no" then this is binding and you may not go out and if the partner answers "yes" then you may. However, it is important to note that consulting your partner is not compulsory and you may go out without asking your partner.
• Enough said ;-)
10. The game also ends if the stock pile runs out of cards.
• Sad but true - when life has run out of cards for you, the game is over.
11. You can freeze the pack to slow the game down
• Cold shoulders, freezing out players - all has a similar effect.
12. Good strategy involves knowing what to keep and what to discard.
• So glad I found the good cards early on in the game, its a hard game knowing what to keep and what to discard.  Ask any dating agency.
13. You score extra points if you can go out with a concealed canasta
• Probably only score the points with fellow players, not your partner.
14. A player who has accidentally drawn an extra card must discard it in a future turn without drawing a new one.
• Especially if you are playing a partnership game.

Happy Birthday Son #1

He turned 26 today.  My little boy!  We are taking him and his beautiful, gorgeous girlfriend to dinner tonight, but this was his gift from his mum. 

He is growing a beard as he is on campaign for the next few months (election) and they work long, hard hours - no time for shaving and grooming. 

So very proud of my boy/s (both of them) - he is such a fine, upstanding, young man with a generous spirit and amazing sense of community.  He even shared his apple pie!

Happy Birthday Darling.

Hi Ho Hi Ho Its back to work we Go

Day 2 back in the saddle (oh I wish I was a jillaroo and my office was on the back of a horse) and it feels like the last 11 days never happened.  Like a big blurry nightmare dream!

Well apart from the following evidence:

• The beautiful Potting Bench (pics to follow) my darling Dad made for me that is still sitting on the front veranda with Mr K's tools on top (sorry Dad)
• Red and white table cloths, placemats and napkins washed but un-ironed all over my craft room, fighting for room with left-over wrapping paper, gift tags and ribbons.
• Half a very boozy Christmas cake in a tin on the dresser that I try hard to resist eating for breakfast (seems there is an unwritten rule that Christmas cake for breakfast is ok when you are 2-3 days past the Big Day, but after that you are just a greedy slob - kinda like the speedo's or undies debate)
• Getting to play with my very big surprise gift from Mr K - a zoom and fish eye lens
• Bowls of Quality Street still strategically placed around the house, taunting me, teasing me.
• A giant ham on the bone still taking up valuable fridge space when I need that for salads and fruit.
• 17 beach towels all scattered around the pool (well actually I am exaggerating there.  I washed them all today and folded them and put them back in the towel basket ready for the next guests to all pop over with bathers but no towels!)
• A bottle of Hendricks Gin, hidden in my secret stash, a much prized present from son #1
• Pants that I wore a month ago feeling rather snug, and more alarming, they were stretch!
• Odd things I need to find homes for - lovely gifts, but they need a home

May all my fellow Bloggers, Readers, Family and Friends have their dreams come true in 2013. 

And remember if they don't .... A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor!

OK, OK!!. I will put up the Christmas Tree Today!

Feeling so much like the Christmas Grinch, I look green! (Now I know that our vision of Dr Seuss's character has been tainted by Disney, the original Grinch was a pen and ink drawing with red hat and red eyes, which, when I think of it, I resemble much more)

It's not that I don't like Christmas, I do, I just don't like how quickly it goes from 55 shopping days til Christmas to oh-crap-I-haven't-done-a thing-and-its-now-less-than-2-weeks-til-the-big-day.

Not one single present has been purchased, so I have declared we are having a 'homemade' Christmas.  So far I have made one bottle of Chili infused oil. 

We have the staff party here this Saturday. I have bought paper plates and plastic cups.  The fact that I am catering for 25 people should have me in a mild panic at least, but I am too tired to care.

My first Christmas cake I made in November got eaten.  I have boiled the fruit for the next one 10 days ago and it has sat on the stove, waiting to be cooked in the oven.  I can't smell or taste anything at the moment so I am not sure if its gone off yet.  I am hoping the copious amounts of Grand Marnier in the mix is preserving it.

The Christmas tree is still in the shed.  Its in a dust covered box, up high on the shelf.  The very thought of getting it down, dusting it off, putting it up, finding the lights, decorating it - is enough to make me forget the whole palaver.  I liked it when the boys were still living at home and their girlfriends would come and put up the tree for me.

The house needs a good, deep clean.  Pity that.  It might be lucky to get a lick and a spit. 

Braved the shops on Sunday - ha!  Who says we don't need Sunday trading?  It was carnage.  So we came home with nothing after walking out of 3 stores when we saw the queues at the checkout.  Went again last night, thinking it would be quieter.  Well, there were not as many people true, but the calibre of the ones there, the ugly language and delinquent kids more than made up for it.

The only good part is we have 11 days away from work, my parents are coming up to stay, I will get time to relax and chat with my sons - yep, we forget, its all just about family and some down time.

Tim Winton - you Rock!!

I feel like my child has just won the honour awards at school.  I am bursting with pride!

Yeah, a bit weird of an analogy, but stay with me here.

My all time, ever, favourite author, Tim Winton, took out #1 place in the ABC's First Tuesday Bookclub's 10 Aussie books to read before you die, with Cloudstreet.  Number One!!  Out of all the amazing books in this country, the public chose Cloudstreet as their favourite.

ABC First Tuesday Bookclub

I have read every book Tim has ever written, buy all his books as first edition hardbacks plus a paperback when it comes out so I can lend it to people.  Some of my hardbacks are signed by Tim himself - confess that I am a bit of a groupie and go to book readings or signings by him.

Although, the last time I went to a reading (for The Turning) I didn't line up and ask him to sign my book.  He just looked so sad, so out of place, wanting to be away from people and this book selling machine.  He looked like he wanted to be on a beach, or at his kitchen table, writing.  So I went home, and gave him a gift of personal space.

I have loved every single book he has ever written, but my favourite is his latest Breath.  My sons love his books too, something that is tough to do - get boys to read.  I still remember Son#1 hopping about, getting me to read That Eye the Sky after he had read it and wanting to talk to me about it.  Lucky it was a short book, I devoured it in half a day, then Son and I sat and talked and talked.  Now that is something!

I love Tim's style, his (seemingly) easy writing manner, as you read, you feel like you are talking to an old friend.  I get the same feeling of place every time I read his books - I am about 15, everything is exciting.  We go camping on the beach, way down South, with my family, my best friend is there too.  We escape the adults, and at night walk down to the beach where there are some boys with a campfire.  They look a little rough, older, surfies, our hearts race, but we try and be brave/cool.  We sit with them, we talk, they are smoking pot and hand us some, we shake our heads.  I look into the fire, there is a delicious electricity around us, a thrill to be had, yet we don't know why... yet.

This is where Tim's writing always takes me.  On the precipice of discovery, a teenage girl about to fall into the most exciting time of her life.  Fear, mixed with sexual tension and a sense of emerging power.  I wish I had better words to make this scene of time and place come alive.  It will be a good writing exercise I think!

If you haven't already, go discover Tim's work.

What I learnt this weekend

As the silly season gets a good grip on our lives, we are pulled from social event to social event, in ever increasing frequency.  This weekend we were out Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights.  All good fun and worth the effort, but also tiring.  So what did I learn this week?

• Grumpy really does start at 50.  Uncle J turned 50 on Friday.  In true form, he didn't want to do anything but smoke his cigar, drink and moan about the world.  Being his special day, we indulged him, but when he started to say that Shakespeare was a pretentious twat, I drew the line.

• I never knew I was so passionate about Shakespeare (I am not really, but it is fun to bicker and argue with cranky, middle aged men)

• Sheep poo doesn't feel so nice squished between your toes.  I was helping Son#1 with a little garden project, and we had emptied a bag of sheep poo on this garden bed a few weeks before.  It was now wet and breaking down nicely.  I had stupidly not worn suitable shoes for digging in (I thought we were just going to do the fun bit, like shopping for plants at this stage) so had to wade in barefoot.  It was all very Bohemian.

• Watching a lone bagpiper play a traditional song moves me to tears.  We went to watch Son#2 girlfriend play in her brass band (she is a very talented trombone player).  It was held at the Salvation Army hall in the city and it was a huge crowd.  The theme was very British, and very moving.

• We have now renamed our little part of the world Bas Vegas.  Mr K spent the entire afternoon putting up blue lights around the pool.  Its all very Flamingo 1950.

• Don't mess with a proven pastry recipe.  If I do say so myself, I make a pretty good apple pie.  My mum makes one to rival it.  I have her recipe, but like all offspring, we try and make it better, make it our own.  Over the years I have tweaked, and changed and perfected my own recipe.  Except yesterday, when I was asked to bring an apple pie to a Thanksgiving dinner, I decided to experiment with my pastry.  Fail.  Back to the original.

• When you put out your rubbish for bring-out-your-dead collection, and a lot of it is good stuff that you hope other people will take - it will rain like it hasn't done in months and ruin the stuff you have kept dry and safe.

Well that's about all the lessons I can stand for one week.  The week coming up looks like a doozy too. 

What did you learn this week?

Red Bull - Another wild ride

I was watching the Gruen Planet the other night, a debate on whether the stunt pulled by Felix Baumgartner, who dropped 39km out of the sky, was a very elaborate advertising campaign or sponsored science. It made me recall a time when my own sons, aged 5 and 7, acted recklessly  - all because of red bull.

My darling Strawb, single, footloose, a career girl - she was not married nor did she have any children.  Not even a dog, some fish maybe, but essentially, at this time in her life, she had no warm-blooded living being to care for.  I had come up to the city to visit her and get a taste of what city life and being single was like - except, I had my sons in tow. 

Strawb took me out for a day’s shopping and lunching in Fremantle and my wide eyed, country boys loved it.  They adore their Aunty Strawb, according to them she is way cooler than me.  After this incident, I am not sure I agree.  I was having a lovely time browsing the shops, except as all mothers know; enjoying shopping with children is a different experience to enjoying it without children.  Strawb, who was nursing a bit of liquid indulgence from the night before, was in need of rehydrating and took the boys off to get a drink while I had 30mins to power shop.

I met them sitting on a bench in the mall - both sons grinning and clutching a can of Red Bull each!!  If they had had a beer in their hand I don’t think I would have been as shocked.  Strawb, I said, what on earth were you thinking?  Huh? she says, confused.  The boys said nothing, adoring looks aimed at Aunty Strawb - but I could see the liquid making its way into their bloodstream - the fallout was coming.  Mean and horrible mother that I am, I took the cans off them both, feeling sick as I realised both cans were empty.

Strawb was a bit put out by my reaction, until I explained to her what was in Red Bull and how this is like LSD to a child!  She laughed.  I told her she could have them both, for the rest of the day, alone.  Then she could tell me how funny it was.  She sobered up at this point, after seeing the boys, now with Red Bull running in their veins, jumping from bench to bench along the mall.  The trip was coming.

Our only option now, was to take them somewhere far away from civilisation and with lots and lots of open space.  We quickly walked them to a park and let them run off the worst of it.

We still laugh at this, especially now that my sons are young men and go out on benders sometimes and need a pick me up the next day. I also look for my revenge but Strawb and her husband chose not to have children - I reckon it’s because she doesn’t want me getting even.  And I am too much of an animal lover to spike her dogs drinking bowl with red bull. (would be funny however!)

I told her I was writing about this incident and she corrected me on one crucial fact. She said it was the boys who told her to buy the Red Bull, she had never even heard of it, so she had no idea of its potential in the wrong hands. The little so and so's had pulled the beanie over her eyes!

So Master C and Master A - the gig is up and Aunty Strawb says you need to make amends for your wicked ways and setting her up like that - by buying her a drink called Sucked In - Red Bull and Gin - served with dinner and remorse.

 

In the interests of public health Red Bull contains:

caffeine ,

taurine,

glucuronolactone,

B-group vitamins,

sucrose,

glucose

The equivalent to 17 cocktail frankfurts, 2 glasses of red cordial, a pack of fairy floss and 5 showbags to a child

"I need to go to Bunnings"

"I need to go to Bunnings*" is a term that evokes a rainbow of emotions in this house.  It's generally uttered about a quarter the way into one of Mr K's projects,  usually the project I have been cajoling him to do for an eternity.  He just gets started ... and then it happens..

"I need to go to Bunnings"

The responses can be any/all of those below:

• Oh good, I need to go too
• Oh, how long will you be?
• Really?  I thought you only went yesterday and had all you needed?
• What could you possibly need now? 

To which Mr K will reply any/all of the following

• OK, you can come, but we need to leave NOW, no time to change and brush your hair
• I wont be long.  (oh this is the biggest fib this side of the black stump)
• I did go yesterday, but have found that I need a different screw/drillbit/glue/you-name-it
• Well, (and you need to sit down for this one) I have to cut the thingummy at a precise angle and the saw I have doesn't do what I need.  I need to buy a new Wizz-Bang-Saw, but I can use this for lots of other things that need doing.  (It's worth noting at this point that Mr K has a tool shed filled with every conceivable tool that were bought in just this way.).  I will just go to Bunnings and price them. (hahah yeah right)

Here is a typical Bunnings experience with Mr K.  (grab a coffee, get comfortable, this may take a while) We have to firstly clear out the back of the ute, so that there is room for all the 'stuff'.  It's normally filled with things like Jerry cans, tool kits, an esky, camping chairs, drop sheets ... that all end up on my front porch and remain there for weeks on end.  Then we have to let the dog down gently as he LOVES the ute but cant go to Bunnings. 

Once we arrive, there is always a lot of the in-and-out word used while Mr K tries to park right near the front door despite the fact the car park is ALWAYS full.  I don't know why he even bothers to try to park so close, just accept we will have to walk a little bit, get warmed up for the three miles we will walk inside the shop.  I get out of the ute, stressed, embarrassed and usually very carefully, as he would have parked so close to the other car I have one inch to squeeze out.

I ask him if he has a list?  He looks at me strangely.  He replies that he only needs a few things, no need for a list, it's all in his head.  I have a choice as this juncture -

1. I can go off to the garden section and potter about or
2. I can go with him, keep him focused, help him to find things that are in his head, give up that idea, and go off to the garden section and potter about.

I used to try gently encouraging him to hurry up by saying the longer I am in the garden section, the more things I buy - but he doesn't care and I have now run out of things to buy! So after I have read every plant label, looked at the different water fountains, checked out all the variations in paving stones, gone to the loo, sat in each outdoor setting, played with the secateurs, got a drink, gone to the loo again - I go looking for him. 

He will be still in the screws aisle, with a contemplative look on his face.  I enthusiastically ask if he is ready? (knowing full well he won't be).  He says he had to go to the tool section to get a drill bit that would match the screws and now he can't get the right screw to fit the size of the drill bit and will need to go back to the tool section to get another drill bit ..... aaahhhhh get me the hell out of this!

And this is only the first thing he needs.  I decide that at this point I need to get him moving and on track and I have run out of things to look at, besides the paint section. We go to get pool salt.  He reads every label, wonders if he can't get it 50cents cheaper at the pool shop, wonders how many bags he needs, then remembers that he did buy a few bags last time and where did he put them?  OK. So we don't need salt?  What next?  He says he needs a washer.  We head towards the plumbing section.  On the way he sees an air compressor on display.  He decides he might need one of these one day.  He stops to read the box.

I groan and go and look at the paint colours. 

Two hours later, we finally leave.  Of course we have to stop for a sausage sizzle - we both need the sustenance.

Maybe you think I am exaggerating or overreacting?

My sons will be testimony to this your Honour, as would my Dad.

My sons - they have recently been doing up a house of their own.  Mr K has been asked (reluctantly) to accompany them to help select what they need for their job.  They know they will enter a time warp and lose a few hours.  Many times I have received text messages from the distressed lads, asking if they will ever get out of there.  I assure them they will, but the world will be a different place when they do.

My Dad - he is a real worker and a real lets-just-get-on-with-the-job man.  If he comes over to help do a project, and the first part is a trip to Bunnings - he looks at me to help, he nails Mr K down and they write a list, he tells Mr K that they need to get in and get out as 'times a wasting'.  I get a distressed phone call from Dad after an hour - I tell him to go find a comfortable chair and a drink as he has a long way to go yet.

Of course, Mr K will deny all this, hurt that we all think this of him ... but the facts are the facts.


*  For those who are not from the West, Bunnings is like Masters - which we have just got here on the West Coast as well, and we all in live in fear the day Mr K says, " I need to go to Masters".

The Story of the Cuckoo Clock

This is my cuckoo clock.  Its probably one of my favorite things in the whole house.  But its also one of the things that makes me very sad - so its a very bittersweet thing indeed.

This particular clock, I purchased in Lucerne - when I say I purchased it, what I really mean is that I chose it and my ever wonderful parents paid for it.  It was in 2008 whilst on a European holiday with my mum and dad (which they also paid for ... yes, I am exceptionally spoilt!)  I had planned on this purchase, and although the Cuckoo Clock is traditionally German, I had to buy this in Switzerland for a very good reason.  I had it boxed up and sent home to Australia, except for the two weights, they would have cost a fortune to post, so poor Dad had to carry them in his hand luggage!

The design is an exact replica of a clock my Grandparents had, and this is where the sad story comes into play.  When I was a little girl, I loved my Grandads cuckoo clock.  I recall vividly, asking Grandad to make the little bird come out of its hole and 'cuckoo, cuckoo'.  I never tired of it (like I am sure Granddad did) and he patiently wound the clock hands around to make the little bird pop out.  It's one of the only interactions I recall as a small girl with Grandad, he was not a man who liked little children very much, in fact his two favorite sayings were 'Silence is Golden' (I SO know what he is talking about NOW!) and 'Children should be Seen and not Heard'.  So to have this gruff man be so sweet and kind to me when he made the cuckoo pop out is a treasured memory.

I also loved the smell of the clock.  Grandad smoked a pipe and I have always loved the smell of tobacco (as opposed to cigarettes).  His house always smelt manly and warm and inviting.  As a teenager and young adult, I saw a new side to my Grandad, when he moved to live in a flat on my parents farm, there too was his cuckoo clock.  Grandma by this stage, was in a home, sadly she had a severe stroke very young and needed high care.  This is where I re-connected to this man, he became a good friend then, and I saw him love and take time with my own sons in a way he had never done with us grand kids as children.  Old age had softened him. I would watch with love, as he showed my little lads the very same as he had done to me, the cuckoo coming out of its hole to tell us the time.  My boys had the same delight on their faces as I must have done.

The clock was purchased by Grandma and Granddad on their honeymoon in Switzerland.  It was 1936, so its not a particularly old clock, and was not a overly expensive one either.

When my Granddad died in 1993, he left me the cuckoo clock.  It was sad to have found him as an adult to have lost him again so soon, so this clock became a symbol of that relationship.  I loved having it in my house, truly treasured it.  It still had his smell and I could still imagine his gnarled fingers winding the hands forward to make it 'cuckoo'.  Mr K however did not share the love, he hates ticking clocks and hated even more the little cuckoo coming out to announce the time (he used to lock the little birds door at night). 

When we moved to our new house, the clock was not working very well and I decided to have it serviced by a local clock maker in Guildford.  He was reputable, long time clock maker, with a little shop in the village, along side all the antique shops and tearooms.  The clock man need to have a part that had worn down, re-manufactured, so it took a number of months to have the repairs done.  Every few weeks I would call him to see if it was ready yet, and one day, when I called, the number said it was disconnected.  A little shocked, I got in the car and went down to the shop, to find it all closed up and emptied.  My heart sank, I panicked and cried and tried every thing I could to find where the clock man had gone!  After months of trying, I gave up and realised my beloved cuckoo clock had gone, it was not just a clock I had lost (or had stolen if you want to view it that way) but a deep connection to my Grandparents.  It took me a long time to get over that, and if I am honest, I still feel very sad about it.

That's why I had to buy a new clock when I went to Switzerland.  I decided to start a new tradition and carry with it this story.  Every time someone comments on my clock, I tell them this story - that way it stays alive!  Not sure what bad karma a wicked clock maker would bring upon himself for this deed, but I can imagine it would be a lifetime of out of time clocks!  Or being pecked by a cuckoo!  I hope it went to a loving home.

The weekend of almost normal

We are so enjoying our renovated house, that bizarrely, we both have renewed energy and desire to 'potter' about.  I am just blown away how such a relatively (albeit hard slog) small amount of work has changed out mood and attitude so completely.  I knew it would make me feel better, and lift me from the depression I have been under for a long time, but I didn't think Mr K was under the same heavy weight.

As we each have our own area's to play now, we spent the Saturday morning emptying the boxes stored in the carport.  I had a great time as a lot of the boxes were things I packed up when we painted the lounge/dining/kitchen in 2010.  All my beautiful green and white transferwear plates and cups were unpacked and displayed on the dresser.  My Irish pottery, my lovely green and white striped jugs (these are old jugs from NSW, an Aussie take on the blue and white Cornishwear).  I was like a kid at Christmas, the scary thing was that I kept unearthing treasures that I had completely forgotten I owned.  Which gave me a niggling thought - if I don't remember these things, then I didn't miss them, and do I really need them?  I silenced this thought with a rekindling of my love of them and now the rooster and hen sit atop my dresser, my Lilliput Lanes are on display (I never forgot I had these, they have been an old and valued love). 

However, I did get my ruthless hat on and if I really did not like the item, if it was damaged, or just did not fit, then it went into the give away box.  The hardest things to deal with are those that have been given to you as gifts, but you are not sure you like or that they fit with my style.  I know people give me things from their heart, but sometimes they just don't work.  I am keeping these things but stored away for another time and place - perhaps they will work better then.  So if you are reading this and you don't see gifts displayed, please know that I love the thought, but the reality may not be right for now.  I do still have them, as I treasure the sentiment, but they are not on display in this house.

Mr K too had a very productive time.  He was even (wait for this!) seen with not only a vacuum cleaner, but cleaning clothes as well.  And if that isn't too shocking, how about this - he labelled, with a label maker, all his drawers!  His new desk is certainly making him Mr Clean and Organised. 

The walls are looking very bare, so the next little mini project is to be putting up the pictures we have and finding other pictures to complete the look. 

Sunday was bleak and wet so the perfect day to stay warm and dry and have son #2 and his girlfriend drop by for lunch.  Mr K's sister was visiting her mum and came bearing home made (she is such a wonderful sweets cook) sponge cake.  I had made a quiche, so it was not a hard task to expand the lunch invite to Ms J and MIL to make six.  Any excuse for me to use my new silver tea set and in no time we had tea and cakes and all things 'high tea'!  Oh the joy of pouring (I played Mother) tea from a beautiful, elegant teapot.  I felt like a Duchess.

Using the dining room like this, made me realise that this room now needs bringing up to scratch.  I will add it to the never-ending list of To Do's.

PS: Sorry for bad photo's - using my phone for the pics, think I need to go back to the camera?

Youth unemployment

I am sorry.  Did I miss something in this news report?

ABC 7.30 Report

I watched this report last night by reporter Heather Ewart.  As a mother I was interested to see what the plight of our youth is, with regards to the employment situation.  Although it does not concern me directly, both my sons have jobs and are studying, it does concern me that we (as a society, not we as in individuals) have created a generation that has bad attitude to working.

I see this all the time in my own business.  We try and employ young people, we like to give them a chance and help their career and guide them.  A huge number of them, when interviewed, have a terrible attitude to work.  They have grown up thinking the world is theirs to take, they don't need to try hard, or make an effort (I can't tell you how many candidates turn up to an interview in a hoodie, or with piercings all over their face, AND this is when they turn up at all!).  It's not like we are running a sweat shop, or even manual labour - we are interviewing them to be a computer technician.

Most have NO people skills, mumble, have done no research about our company, have a vague idea of what the job is, don't like the fact they have to start at the bottom and, in our opinion, are unemployable.  I get the impression that most of them are just going through the motions of applying for a job so they can fulfill their dole requirements.  Where have we failed them?

Of course not ALL youth are like this, we have three working for us now that are wonderful lads. They work hard, are respectful, dress well, and when asked to take the bin out (and yes, we ask everyone, including myself) they don't roll their eyes and sigh and complain.  We work hard with these boys, give them training, older mentors, a career path and emotional support when needed.  They are like our own sons.  My own sons both have very good work ethics, both had partime jobs in high school, both worked while they were at Uni, both now have very promising careers.  They were taught that you start at the bottom and work your way to the top, earning respect not demanding it.  My eldest son started his career in politics by volunteering, lots of unpaid but appreciated work.

So when I saw this young chap on the 7.30 Report lamenting the fact he can't get a job, I felt kinda sad for him.  Until it came to light that he can't find a job as the only one he wants is to be a film director!!  This is what he is studying, and this is his career!  Are you kidding me?  He was shown some manual jobs by a peer, that he declined, he said he was desperate for a job, yet appears on national television wearing a hoodie, tracksuits pants and a bad attitude.  Had he dressed neatly, changed his attitude and said he was willing to try anything, I am sure there would have been employers out there that would have given him a go. What on earth are his career guidance officer, let alone his parents, telling him?

I blame this boys parents, although I don't think they realise what they have done.  It seems so trendy these days to tell your teenagers the same fairytale you told them when they were little.  The princess always gets the handsome prince, the puppy will be saved, the tooth fairy will pay you.  Now they get told they can do anything in the world they want to do, the skies the limit.  If you don't have talent, that's ok, you can put something on YouTube and get 'discovered'.  All very well and touchy-feely, but its not how the world works.  This lad had probably been told that if he wanted to be a film director, then all he had to do was go to college and study to be one.  It was his dream and who are we to tell him otherwise? 

This 'boy' is 19.  A few generations ago, 19 was a man.  With a man's responsibilities.  If the reporter of this story could only find this lad as an example of how bad the youth unemployment is, then I would suggest her story is pretty flimsy. 

My youngest son is a musician.  He is a very good one, was accepted into WAPA (Western Australian Performing Arts) to play Bass.  Its very hard to get in, the musicians then work, and compete, to stay in and complete their degree. He has been there for 5 years now, and in his final year of becoming a music teacher.  Of course, being an artist, he has always dreamed of being a musician, making it big, earning a living from his passion.  And although he is very good, is in a very successful band, even he knows that there is a reality out there.  We would never quash his dreams (and I truly hope one day they do come true for him), but we also have a duty as parents to keep his feet on the ground and teach him how to keep food on his table.

PS:

I have told my husband that I am quitting my job and going back to uni to follow my dream of being a writer.  I won't take any job that does not employ me to write, in fact I want to be a freelance writer, with a sun filled studio and a book contract.  He will just have to support me, while I wait for my dream job to come along.  I will not accept that I may not be a good enough writer, its my dream and the world owes it to me.  I will live happily ever after and marry the handsome prince (oh wait, I already did that bit ;-)

The End.

You look too young

"To have children that age!"

I was told this three times over this past weekend and at first it made me feel really (and I mean really!) flattered.  At 48, every woman this age is looking to eek out the last of their youth.  And to be told you look young is the ultimate compliment.  Isn't it?

Well it appears my brain says no.  So attuned to being negative about myself, after the initial thrill of the compliment, this is the path my brain took us down. 

Brain: You know why you look too young for a 25 year old son don't you?

Me: Because I inherited good genes from both my parents - they both look (and act) very young for their age?

Brain: Don't be so naive.

Me: ?

Brain: What they are really saying is that you look young because you are, which means you must have had your kids when you were young, which means you are a bad girl!

Me: But I was married when I had my first baby.

Brain: Yeah, they think its because you had to get married.

Me: But I didn't, I actually fell pregnant on my honeymoon.  I was 23.

Brain: They think you were some teenage bride who got married to escape the little country town you lived it.

Me: I lived with my husband for four years before we got married and I went BACK to the little country town, not away from it.  You are just mean Brain.

Brain: Hey, don't shoot the messenger.  I am just telling you what all those nice people really think.

Me: Its not true.  They were being genuinely nice when they said I look young.

Brain: They are nice to you because you are fat and its the only compliment they can pay you.

Me: Shut up Brain, i am going to ignore you now.

My Brain and I don't get along that well, and from the above excerpt you can see why.  I was young when I married and had my first son. Well, young by today's standards.  Back then, in the 80's it was quiet normal, especially in a country town.  Breeding is important in the country!

I will admit it was hard at first, being a mum and watching my footloose friends backpack through Europe, or have careers that they could travel, or go out partying late at night.  But now, at 48, I am an empty-nester, both sins sons have their own place, girlfriends, careers and lives.  Its our turn now, and soon we will have the money to be able to backpack in style in 5, well maybe 4, star hotels and fly business class.  I have a craft room (Son #2 ex room), a reading room (Sons ex activity room) a guest bedroom (Son #1 ex room) and my very own office.  Just a few of the benefits of having your children young!

So Brain, here is a message for you.  The next time some kind person says we look too young to have adult children - you can go take a hike and I will bask in their compliment.

Thank you to those people, it made me smile.

My 40th Birthday with my wonderful boys.  xx

Renovation Day 6

Really good day's work done.  I have the body to prove it.  It aches in every place, even my fingers are sore!  We got a lot done today, and good preparation for tomorrows tasks.  On track to paint walls Saturday.

• Washed ceilings (that's how my shoulders got sore)
• Washed walls (arms and back this time)
• Sanded patches (didn't hurt me as Mr K did this)
• Coated patches and bare plaster with special sealer.
• Masked off light fittings, air con vents, door frames etc
• Mr K sprayed the ceilings - they turned out really well.
• Cleaned up all the spray gun stuff!  Took ages, but then cleaning up rollers and paint brushes takes longer, so I think the spray gun is better.
• Did 4 loads of washing in between jobs
• Folded washing while I cooked dinner
• Sold home gym and dismantled it and carried it out the the lads car.  If we did that everyday we wouldn't need a home gym as we would have bodies like Olympians.
• Washed air con vents in dishwasher - does them a treat and they don't fall apart!
• Crashed and burned on the lounge, body ceased and could not move, even to change the channel on the TV, so had to watch a Top Gear re-run.

Well, my verdict on the paint spray gun is positive.  I did have some doubts about it being a 'gadget' but it has done a very good job and so quick!  It took Mr K only 30 mins (at the most) to paint 3 ceilings.  Very good coverage, and no roller or brush marks.

Tomorrow we will do the door frames with the spray gun, but will paint the walls with roller and brush as the masking off will be too hard for the walls.  The lad who bought the home gym, coincidentally, is a painter (he said he could have done the painting for us as worked off the cost of the gym) said that's the way the professionals do it.  Spray ceilings, doors and door frames and roller the walls. 

I keep thinking we have so much to do, but once the walls are painted, that's it.  We will be done.  Well except for the new carpets, but we wont be doing them.  Then its the fun part, moving the furniture back in and decorating!

Repairing the cracks in the wall.  The mortar had cracked quite badly, so we had to router it out and refill it. Then paint over a sealer.

Masking off the door frames ready to spray.  They have been sanded and cleaned. 

More masking. 
Note how many patches there are on the walls!  The boys won't be getting their bond back!

View from the hallway.  We have decided to replace the solid door here with a glass panelled door.