U is for United

Today's insightful wisdom is brought to you by one of my favourite philosophers, the Legendary John Cougar Mellencamp, who famously said:

Everybody has got the choice between hotdogs and hamburgers.
Everyone of us has got to choose
Between right and wrong
And giving up
Or holding on.

*****

While some people I know are mystified that I would plaster my life on Facebook, telling the world all my secrets, I find it works as therapy.
When I say, "I'm having a bad day." or "I feel like a failure." my Facebook friends will fill up a page with love and support. Some might see that as a cry for attention.... well, yes, it is.

My friends are all genuine people. There is no teen angst going on here, no showing-off or trying to get some boy to show an interest.
When I cry for help, it's because I need it.
Even when I can't say what the problem is, my friends rally round. They lift my heart when it feels to heavy for me to lift myself.

They say delicious things, they remind me that all is not lost, they make me laugh, and sometimes cry a little.

And they do it with the written word. They take the time to type out a response, and if you think that's easy, you don't have predictive text on your phone.

There is great power in the written word. Seeing something in black and white is concrete. Comfort expressed on paper (or a screen) lasts a very long time.

*****

Sometime in life we all need a friend to help us. We can't always do it ourselves.

Maybe we need someone to help us hold on, or to catch us when we fall.

Or maybe you will get the chance to BE that friend.

Never ever underestimate the worth of a kind word or gesture when someone you know is in trouble.

T is for THANKFUL

There's a character in a book (one of the Otherland books by Tad Williams) where a guy has a music chip in his head so he can listen to music all day long presumably without damaging his eardrums.

I would so do that if I could. (this guy turns out to be a pyschopathic killer but I'm pretty sure the music is incidental - however, best look into that further before surgery)

I feel like there should be a soundtrack to my life.
I have songs for everything -- not just wedding and funeral songs, everyone has those, right? but songs for parties and songs for driving and songs for cleaning and songs for sad.
I have the song picked out for my husband in case he carks it. (please God, not this century).

I have ringtones for people on my phone (Fabio's is the Superman theme song) and songs for people on Facebook (in my head, since Facebook has so far failed spectacularly to arrange ringtones).

So you get that music means something to me, it's not just background noise but rather, I connect with it in my spirit. It calms me down or lifts me up, just like it probably does for you, too.

This morning, one of my Facebook friends asked for good news, cos she wasn't seeing any on the tv or in the papers, so people have been telling little snippets of things that make you smile. It's really lovely.
Many of those things are tiny, maybe easy to skip over if you're in a bad mood or busy. But the truth is, there's usually good news around us all day, every day -- it's just that we don't see it.
I am trying (with varying degrees of success) to see the good instead of the gloomy, and it helps a bit with those depressed days I have during my cycle.

For me, one of the surest ways to start looking for the little things is to play THIS SONG while I'm driving. I sing at the top of my lungs and I look around me and I see.

Today, I saw a mum and a dad walking the kids to school, holding hands and talking and laughing. How good is that?

 I saw kids running into the schoolyard greeting friends they haven't seen for two weeks.

 I saw builders working on two houses that we've been driving past twice a day since the lots were empty. The roof is going on both houses and I smiled to myself, thinking how excited the owners must be feeling now.

 I saw people checking the new plants by the side of the highway, out in the sunshine amongst the bees (and mosquitoes), instead of cooped up in an office somewhere.

 I saw magpies and cute little songbirds hopping around looking for breakfast.

 I saw people walking their dogs and a guy mowing his lawn.

 None of this is earth-shattering stuff. It's just people (and birds) going about their daily business, small doings in a big world.

But to me, it's also a beautiful world.





PS listen to the song.

s is for sneering

What is it with sneery people, anyway? what the fuck is wrong with them?

Let me tell you a little story. It's kind of pathetic. Brace yourself.

One time, we had to go to Kalgoorlie for some reason, and Fabio had to go do some boring Man Shit, so I asked him to drop me and the kids at Harvey Norman. (Kalgoorlie is not filled with cheap,  family friendly activities).

So we wandered around looking at furniture I couldn't buy, and enjoying the pretty doona covers and bedroom settings, as you do when you live in the middle of Fuck-All in a hideous little house -- and we happened across a particularly loud red and blue doona cover.

Small child asked, "Do you like that one, Mum?"
"Ugh, no," I said. "That's terrible."

Behind me, Sneery SmartArse was out shopping with his friends, obviously a couple, although he was on his own, for reasons which will become obvious at any moment.

"OOOH!: he said, loudly, adopting a Dickhead-pretending-to-be-gay voice, "That's TERRIBLE! OOOOH and THAT'S TERRIBLE!! and so is that! and THAT!! AND THAT!!!!"

Why?

Because he was (is) a Sneery Person.

That one brief moment crushed me then, and still does whenever I think of it.

I grew up with these idiots and I allowed them to make me feel inferior. I second-guessed myself and I stopped doing things I loved because they weren't 'cool'.

Now I wonder what the hell I let them do that to me for?
Because they're idiots. They do not deserve that much space in my head.

Now, I have to say, people still sneer at me today. They might pretend they don't, but I know. I am not as stupid, or as deaf, as they might hope.

And I am trying not to care, because I like me a whole lot better than I like them.

I will not let them win.

r is for re-boot

My husband just bought me a new laptop; the old one was dying and refused to start without some help in the mornings (much like myself).

My old lappie was about 6 -- and ran on Vista -- meaning that I've not only had to contend with swapping all my stuff over from Old Faithful to New Unknown, I've also had to battle a new OS -- the dreaded Windows 8.

Add in that we bought a new printer, too -- one that prints WIRELESSLY -- and you'll see that I have had my head turned inside out with all the New Learnings and Figuring Outs.

For a while, each new task meant that I had to work out a bunch of other things as well, and it took me so long just to do each small thing (like, to add desktop shortcuts to my favourite websites took about 2 hours. Not. Even. Kidding.)

However, I'm on the downhill slope now YAY

and I'm not completely driven mad.

Q is for quibble and quarrel

Today, I made a boo-boo. I am cranky, probably hormonal, and I should have stayed off the internet.

Or at least, NOT engaged in on-line 'discussions'. Particularly, those involving politics or the demonisation of Gina Rinehart.

But no.

Today, I acted like this was my first ever day on the internet, and I'd never come across trolls before.

I argued my point, and only served to prove the maxim

arguing with an idiot on the internet only proves there are two idiots.

I ended up apologising, at which point the troll said, "Oh, I'm bored now, bye bye." thus proving

a) yes, troll

and b) I wasted an hour of my morning.


I am desperately hoping not to compound the issue tomorrow. Might look at funny cat videos instead.

I can't tell if it's her or me.

I am sitting at my computer when my 8 year old daughter stomps past.

KLOMP! KLOMP! KLOMP! KLOMP! KLOMP!

Here is the conversation that ensued.

me: "Are you angry?"

8 yo : "YES!"

me: "Why?"

8 yo: "Because (my brother) is being MEAN TO ME!!!!!!!!" (this is some sort of criminal offence)

me: "What is he doing?"

8 yo: "He's not letting me DO WHAT I WANT TO DO!!!!!!!!!" (also a criminal offence)

me: "Well, what did you want to do?"

8 yo: "I want to play that my imaginary friend is in my body; and he is FORCING HER OUT!!!!"

So. Is my 11 year old son an exorcist? is my daughter an drama queen? am I slowly going crazy here?

love me like a zombie man

Last night, Fabio and I were watching The Walking Dead, which is a TV series about zombies.

In one scene, one poor man was trying to gather the courage to shoot his zombied wife, and he just couldn't do it.

I asked Fabio:
"If I got zombified, would you shoot me in the head?"

His reply? "Right between the eyes."

me: thankyou.

Fabio: My pleasure, babe.

Then we looked at each other and roared laughing.

Now that's romance, folks.

lest we forget

Tonight, I'm making a traditional roast lamb with veg and rosemary, and a rice pudding for dessert, just like Nana used to make. It's the most Australian meal I can think of, and I wonder how many of our soldiers dreamed of a similar meal while they lay in their trenches and field tents?

Christmas and Easter are lots of fun, true, but if Australians have a holy day, this is it. ANZAC Day. The day we remember.

In the heartbeat that follows the first two notes of the Last Post, a true Aussies' skin is humped up in goosebumps, as we recall the boys who lost their lives and limbs fighting wars in far-away lands.

We remember their shining faces, their innocence and joy, their enthusiasm for the fight -- and the letters and telegrams that came with news that crushed their families.

We remember the children growing up with no dad, wives growing tired with no husband, mothers growing older with no sons. We remember the sacrifice made by mothers and fathers and wives, knowing their boys might be lost overseas, never to lie in the good red earth of their homeland.

We remember those who came home, weary and heartsick at the things they had seen and done.

We remember those wounded and the nurses and medicos who cared for them, we remember the pilots and sailors and mechanics and drivers and officers and cooks. We remember them all.

The only time you will ever see an Australian crowd quiet and respectful, is at an ANZAC Day service. The weight of all those years, all those young men, all that blood -- we feel it.
Each year, as the number of diggers grows ever smaller, the crowd grows ever larger, swelled by those who proudly march for uncles and fathers and grandfathers.

Our soldiers are the true heroes of this nations' heart.

And we will remember them.

P is for.....

politics.

I'm on the Other Side from most bloggers. I'm one of those weirdos who believe in conservatism, in free markets, in small governments, in more personal accountability, in more opportunities, and less interference.

I believe that you should be able to speak your mind freely, provided you are not breaking any of the already existent laws prohibiting hate speech, racism, or sexism; that if others take offense, that is sad, but a small price to pay for the freedom to speak my mind.

I believe that if you want to ride a bike (as an adult) without wearing a helmet, then you should be allowed to. That if you want to smoke (or produce cigarettes) you should be allowed to do so without interference from politicians, UNTIL such time as it is unlawful to do so.

I believe that if you want to start a small business, you should be given every opportunity to do so. If you fail, you fail, and should not be bailed out, but if you succeed, then you should be rewarded for your time, your resources, your sacrifice.

I believe that charity begins at home; that if people are able to pay their own bills and look after themselves first, they will have money left over to help take care of others; that if we use government to enforce charity, then people will expect government to do it all.

I believe in Australians taking care of the vulnerable in THIS country first, and those in need overseas second.

I believe in rewarding hard work, and making opportunity for greatness to flourish, but not in propping up the arts with tax-payers money.

I believe in allowing those who need a sanctuary to come here, but not in opening our borders to anyone with a boat.

I believe in punishment to suit the crime; that criminals should be punished, and their victims recompensed.

I believe that if a woman manages to become Prime Minister, she should be congratulated for a job well done, not lauded for merely being a woman. If she has to keep screaming about how hard it is to be a woman in politics, she doesn't have the balls to lead this country in a time of real crisis.

I believe Australia is still the Lucky Country. But I believe it has been let down badly, by a very bad government. And my hope is that all that will change on September 14th.

while shopping....

* two people commented on my T-shirt.



This led to animated discussions over 10 and 11. No-one mentioned 9. Sorry, Chris.



* the guy in the deli at Woollies was wearing a name-badge that said KILLER.

When I blinked, it said KALEB.

I'll be watching him closely.

* a cute little girl with her hair in blonde pigtails skipped up the footpath, chattering to herself. Everyone smiled, and got out of her way.

* a lady hopped out of her car, singing happily. Everyone smiled.

* a bloke in the checkout disputed his change (I think he was right) and was so rude, he made the checkout chick cry.

The disputed amount of change? five cents.

What a hero.

* at the lights, the car in front of me, and the car beside me, both stalled when the lights went green. Within a heartbeat, people were beeping horns and shouting. I'm so glad it wasn't me.

O -- the guilt

The Princess woke up this morning, sooky and complaining. (this is not a completely foreign start to the day for her.)

She said she felt unwell. I checked. Slight temp, possibly imagination. She said she had a headache. No way I could check that, so I gave her Panadol and sent her to school.

Of course, now she has a higher temp, and she's flushed, with a headache AND a sore 'neck', and a bit of a cough. She should have been in bed today, not spreading her cold to all her classmates.

Guilt. I has it.

not for sissies. (N)

Over the last few years, my 'stuff' has really started to pack it in.

I've had to upgrade my glasses, because I was making that face my dad makes when he's trying to read something. You know the one.

My hips are knackered, my knees are buggered. I can't hear half the stuff my kids say, and my hands hurt by the end of the day.

Growing older is tough.

how to read in bed

1. First things first, clear the space. Remove the phone, the iPhone (stop looking so shocked. You won't die), the tv, the laptop, and the kids.
Make the bed, so the sheets are smooth and the doona fluffy. Pile up pillows and head-rests into a kind of mountain.

2. Assemble the necessities. A good book (or preferably, a big pile of them), a cup of tea,



a book-seat if you have one, some good lighting, and your glasses if you need them.
Some munchies if you MUST. (these tend to get very comfortable in bed, and settle on your stomach and butt, refusing to budge, so be careful.)

3. Prepare yourself. Take a bath or a shower, apply some pretty lotion, get your nightie on.

4. Climb into bed and get very comfy. I recommend propping yourself up, so that this doesn't happen



however, take your chances if you prefer to read flat on your back.

5. Bliss out.

shut the door

My two-at-home-kids are not yet door-slammers.

My older kids were. One time each. There is a cure.

One I bet my mum wished she had known about, because I was a Champion Door-Slammer. Defiant, loud, deliberate. SLAM.



And Mum had not just me to contend with, but also my two sisters.
There's only 3 years between us all (well 35 months, if you want to get technical) and that must might have been cute when we were little and people used to mistake us for twins and a singlet.
However, when puberty hit, it hit hard. I was a cantankerous and moody bitch, so nothing much has changed there, but the sisters followed closely behind.

To the best of my recollection, one slammed occasionally, the other saw it as a personal challenge when doors remained on their hinges. Just like me. (so proud)

However, no WAY was I going to allow my own kids to slam doors! I devised an Evil Plan.
If they slammed a door, I made them open and close it 10 times quietly.

Instant cure.

Bet you wish you'd thought of that in time to cure me, Mum. XXX

washing

A friend and I were talking about laundries the other day, as you do.

I have a new laundry, albeit a rented one, and it has a ROTARY clothesline (BLISS! alright, RENTED bliss) that stands in it's own patch of very soft, green, grass. There are no trees overhead, so no bird poo on the washing.

I often hear magpies, kookaburras and cows. They are not rented, thankfully -- just a part of the Ambience Package that came with the house.

Granted, the clothesline stands on the edge of a 2 foot drop, so I have to be careful not to blindly follow the washing around the line, but that's a small price to pay for the pleasure I get, hanging the wet washing and bringing in the dry.

Because it is a pleasure. The grass underfoot, the breeze, the sounds of animal life, the smell of sun-dried cotton, all combine to put me in a Happy Place.



It was not always so.

My last laundry (also rented) was an afterthought, jammed into a space between the kitchen and the carport. Still, it was serviceable. The clothesline was not.
It was one of those horrible clacketty things you pull down from the wall (in this case, sometimes literally) and the wires were actually wires.
Forget your plastic-covered, easy-to-clean convenience. This stuff had road grime, birdpoo and cobwebs entrenched in every inch.
As an added bonus, it had snarly frizzy wires that had almost managed to escape, and these would stab me in the fingers or poke holes in the cloth if I allowed my attention to wander.

Unsurprisingly, my dryer got a big workout in that house.

My friend has that same kind of clothesline. (cousins, we think)
And we talked about how we avoid using the laundries and clotheslines if they're ugly or dirty or just plain don't work.

I have a dream laundry in mind if I ever build. It will have bench space for folding, and hanging space for drip-dry. It will have plenty of room to move, and no doors that open over each other.

And I want a clothesline just like the one I have now.

m

M is for

NO I DON'T HAVE A MOBILE.

NO I DON'T WANT A MOBILE.



I'm constantly being harrassed told harrassed by my friends that I should have a mobile.

Well, I do have one, but it's out of charge, out of credit, and I don't know where it is.

Well, I do know where it is, but I'm not getting it.

I hate the bloody things.

For lots of reasons, none of which make any sense to most people.

I don't like it that someone could ring me at any time on it. If I'm out shopping, or enjoying time with my family, or on a date with my husband, or whatever, I don't want phone calls. And I don't want the extra hassle of remembering to turn it off and on, so don't offer that as a solution, please.
There are plenty of times when I just want peace and quiet, to be alone with myself, to think or to just be. I don't need phone calls in the middle of that. It jangles me.

I don't like it that when I'm enjoying time with someone, and their phone rings or dings, EVEN IF they are polite enough not to answer it, their eyes dart to it constantly, and their fingers twitch. You know what that says to me? it says that I am not interesting enough to hold your attention.
Thanks.

You know the worst part about that? my husband does it. I know it's for work. I know it could be a call to say that one of our guys has been hurt or something horrible. BUT. I feel shunted aside. And it spoils the entire outing.





I think I'm pretty good at keeping in touch with people. I have a LANDLINE, which you can call me on at any (normal) hour, and I have Facebook. I don't think I need to attach myself to a phone 24/7.

Here's another thing that absolutely drives me crazy.

IF YOU'RE DRIVING, AND THE PHONE GOES OFF, DON'T ANSWER IT! Seriously. What is the WORST that could happen if you ignore the call until you get where you're going? if you're concerned that it might be urgent, PULL OVER.



NO PHONE CALL IS WORTH YOUR LIFE, OR SOMEONE ELSES, IN A CAR ACCIDENT.

And the worst part about that?

My husband, who is a fairly sensible bloke in every other way, can't pull over. He fiddles with calls and even reads text messages while driving. I love him to bits but I want to smack him every time he does it. He could kill someone. He could kill himself. For a frigging text message.



So, no, for all intents and purposes, I do not have a mobile. And I won't be getting one.

Location, location, location

Have you seen Game of Thrones yet? It's a series based on George Martin's books, A Song Of Ice and Fire.

We just got season 2 on DVD, and have been trying to watch as much as possible before Fabio goes back to work.

One of the most amazing things about the series is it's attention to detail. The costumes, the hairstyles, the languages (at least one was specifically written for the show)-- and the amazing locations used for filming.
Although some of the scenes are shot in studios, the crew have made location almost another cast member. Much like Lord of the Rings being filmed in New Zealand, the stunning scenery is used to great effect, and it comes as a surprise to realise that some of the exotic locations from the show are actually real places right here on Earth.











It adds believability, when the snow falling on The Nights' Watch is real snow, in a real wilderness.
I think I have to add "visit the Game of Thrones locations' to my Bucket List. Want to come along?

K is for.....

You know the love notes in Baci chocolates? this is my favourite...

"A kiss, when all is said, what is it? 'Tis a secret told to the mouth."

J is for jiggle-no-more....

.... or at least, jiggle-less.

So, since moving house, I've lost weight. Brought on in part, no doubt, by having to get OFF my ass, and do stuff.

I keep catching sight of myself in mirrors (this house is filled with the wretched things) and admiring my new, stream-lined shape.

I feel so much better, and in my eyes, I look better. There is still a jiggle when I walk, but it's not so much like a tsunami threatening to knock me off my feet, and is now like a gentle reminder that I need to NOT have that second TimTam, and I should maybe take the dogs for a walk or do some gardening.

BUT... winter is coming. Let's see how I fare through 4 or 5 months of rain and cold and comfort food.

i is for Ita

There's an interview with Ita in todays' Daily Telegraph.


Hop over and have a quick look. It won't take long.



Ita says that womens' magazines are boring. I agree.

I don't buy any 'womens' magazines' any more. I sometimes pick up a copy of one of the cooking mags, if there's a dish on the cover that grabs my attention.
But the likes of No Idea and the rest have no appeal at all for me, being full of gossip and light-weight fluff. Cleo and Cosmo are too aggressively sexual, and aimed at a demographic I have no desire to be part of.
And craft magazines -- no, thanks.

I want to read about real issues. Real women. And MEN, dammit! Not some 20 year old singer who looks like a girl. (and sings like one)
Why aren't there magazines for women like me, who are interested in something beyond that latest hyped up non-story about Kates' baby, how to give great oral sex, or knit a cardigan, or some fakery palm-reading fortune teller garbage?

What do you think? Do you buy magazines? do you enjoy them? would you like to see something different?

(my husband is politely requested NOT to buy the magazines with articles about how to give great oral sex. Thankyou)

a giggle. And a song.

We just had a long weekend, and spent yesterday at a barbie with friends. I drank a lot of cocktails, and while I'm not hungover (no,really!), I AM very tired. And in need of a giggle.

Thus, I bring you a selection of giggles from my Pinterest board.

You're very welcome.





Worlds' worst hunting dog....








 (this one brought to you indirectly by Allison Tait)
and the song?

H is for hair

I always had an odd relationship with my hair. Most redheads will completely get this.

As a child, I hated it, because of the notoriety it earned me.

I got teased about it endlessly, and some of the nicknames were cute (like Meggsy) but I couldn't see it at the time. I wanted to blend in, not stand out.

{{One of lifes' facts -- redheads don't blend in.}}

I would have cheerfully swapped with a blonde; they seemed to have so much more fun.

As I got older, I began to appreciate it more. Yes, I still got a lot of nasty comments. (do a quick Google search, and you'll find a lot of this sort of stuff...

)

but a lot of people also found it kind of .. well, hot. And when it's washed and straightened, it looks good. And in the last few years, I've really come to love it, and be proud of it.

So it is kind of ironic that it's now turning white.

Clairol, anyone?