Saturday, December 30, 2006
The geriatric pillock of a cat had a 'Grande Mal' seizure which could be a brain tumour or heat stress. The heat stress is unlikely since he hadn't moved off the feather cushion in six hours. He slept it off in the garden, came in and stared at his empty dish, which I immediately rushed to fill and is now sound asleep behind the couch. He was going to sleep under the side table but gave me a look that clearly said there's cat piss here and went behind the couch. He may not have another one so it's wait and see time.
Mother. "What's your sister's phone number? I've forgotten it and I can't remember what pills I have to take at 7 o'clock."
Me. "What's wrong with me telling you about the pills?"
Mother. "You're not here."
Me. "Are you holding the pill docette?"
Mother. "Yes, I'm not an idiot."
Me. "Are you on the row that says Saturday?"
Mother. "Is today Saturday?"
Me. "Find the two pills marked 'tea' and take them."
Mother. "Do I take them before or after tea?"
Me. "You've had tea, take the bloody pills."
Mother. "How do you know? You don't know everything."
Me. "I was talking to sis when you rang, I know you've had tea."
Mother. "Are you two talking about me behind my back?"
Me. "Take the pills."
Mother. "I take the two pills marked tea and today's Saturday. See there's nothing wrong with me."
Between her and the cat.............
The cat has just had a convulsive fit that had him throwing himself all around the room. Almost as though someone had him on a string. He peed everywhere and cried but he's now lying by the open door but I think a one way trip to the vet is coming up. I can't have him in pain and he's going on 19 but with the hard life he's had, it's more like 29.
We are in the process of setting up respite care for Mum. Today she was reasonable and if it was in place she probably would have agreed. Two days from now she'll turn around and refuse all help. It's been that kind of Christmas. Another reason I haven't posted because it's been too painful to put into words, respite care or nursing home and she's not rational enough to make her own decisions so it's going to be kicking and yelling all the way.
I still have my bottle of Jacob's Creek and I think New Year's Eve will be the right time to hit it.
2007 can't be as rough as this year has been.
The only good bit of news was our beloved Prime Minister saying that he would be glad to have a nuclear reactor in his backyard, so saving us thinking about that problem. Of course, he thinks that the whole of Australia is his backyard so we still might have a problem.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Holly with its thorns was revered as a Christmas decoration for its supposed protection against witches and the forces of evil. Ivy and mistletoe were also thought to have protective powers. Folklore has it that a cutting of mistletoe hung in a baby's cradle would keep a child safe from Fairies.
Plum pudding came in for the protective powers too. Sitrring the pudding is supposed to make peace between squabbling children and adults.
The Yule log is the least followed of the old traditions. It was supposed to burn for the 12 days of Christmas and deter any witches who were abroad on Christmas Eve. Another Yule log tradition was to sprinkle it with brandy before it was lit, a libation for the old Gods who slept in the log. In the Victorian era, a chocolate cake made in the form of a log and sprinkled with sugar to represent snow was placed on the Christmas table in lieu of the burning log.
The Robin is always associated with the Yule log as it was believed to have first carried fire to the Earth. In the process the Robin singed its breast and it remains red to this day. To counter the old legend, religion stuck its nose in and the Robin was said to have plucked a thorn from Christ's crown accidentally pricking its breast and staining it forever. To the Victorians the Christmas tree wasn't complete without ornaments of Robins.
The Christmas Angel was supposed to wander the World on Christmas Eve searching for cold hearts to melt with love. In a room where the Christmas tree stood, a window was always left open a little for the angel to look in and see the angel ornament on the tree.
I'm not religious about Christmas but I love the old myths and traditions even if they have been incorporated into the "Child's" birthday. I hope they're never rejected for political correctness as we've lost too much of the old ways already. This year though we have a chance to check out a tradition I found last December. Link, it's up to you to check Ipod and see if he kneels at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve to celebrate the "Child's" birth.
It looks like a pretty busy Christmas Eve, witches roaming the countryside, Angels snooping, reindeers flying and cows dropping everywhere.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Aawwww aren't they cute. It's a family of poof penguins and that's exactly what it says in the online Christmas Shop. I did go all Christmassy and buy two tiny reindeer from the $2 shop and I called them Rudy and Dolf. I couldn't afford the penguins but one day I'll be rich and watch me shop.
I'm always kind to little old ladies at this time of year, just in case I'm entertaining an angel without knowing it. Westfield was full of them today although it might have been getting out of Melbourne's bushfire smoke. So when I was held up by a lol in Safeway, I politely waited for her to get moving. Since she could hardly see over the trolley, I felt a kickstart would have done some damage. I waited and waited and wondered if she was ill but no, this old girl who looked about 105 was TEXTING on her flip up camera phone. She was going like the clappers. I can't text that fast. Good thing I didn't hit her, she was probably texting Santa about the nice fat lady behind her.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Please Santa, send me a digital camera so I can stuff up twice as many photos twice as fast as I do now. I did photograph this once before but it was too sparkly but I noticed it came out very well in the mirror behind. What does well as an accident is a bit hard to do intentionally but I tried. It didn't help that sis was pissed and was standing on a stool and had the shakes and threatening to kick me if I photographed her double chin. So I forgot to turn the lights off and shut the blinds but I'm not doing it again.
Americans call these beaded ornament covers but Aussie crafters are a bit up them selves and have taken to calling them chandelier ornaments. I started making them in 2001 so I was first, me, me, me.
When the cover is flat on a table, it's surprising just how big it is. That's the beauty of them, they fit over any size bauble and the shape changes with size. They take concentration which is why I have one half finished on my workbench. Another something I forgot to archive before they were sold or keep for myself.
On a good note, my sister will receive her present two days early this year. I'm still working on the second half of last year's though. Mum doesn't want a present, she says she'll be happy if I stay with her Christmas Day. I think I'm going to get an ulcer from Santa.
Monday, December 18, 2006
The next relo, friend, neighbour or dog in the street that tells me I should have made an effort to get the lights up for Christmas is going to get a doll shoved up the nearest orrifice or strangled with a set of lights. The photo up top is only the window and WWP didn't do it justice as usual. This does not show the four trees covered in bud light nets, the overhead icicles, snowflakes and stars around the carport roof or the flower sprigs in the garden. All of which have to be programmed to twinkle, run, flash and change colour.
Inside this window, where little children love to press their snotty noses which I get to wash off, there are 18 dolls, 1 plush reindeer, 2 Christmas bears, 1 wooden train with 3 carriages, 1 huge wooden boat, 4 knitted elves, 3 knitted dolls, 1 ceramic Christmas tree with lights and about 30 metres of tinsel with assorted Christmas baubles. These all have to be unpacked and repacked.
We had a ramp put in to make walking easier for Mum so you can see how close the kids can get to the window. Well the little dears can piss off and bother someone else this year because this Grinch wouldn't come to the party. I have put her favourites dolls up in the bedroom where she can see them and she's allowed to have the candles with batteries in them since it would be hard even for her to set the house on fire with batteries.
They missed the best sight of Christmas anyway. The Brick Outhouse is driving a VW and watching me trying to get in is almost as good as watching me trying to get out. I managed to twist an artificial knee for pete's sake. It's akin to watching proteins unfold under a microscope. Trust the Germans to make a shoebox on wheels and sell it to a gullible public. The only good thing about it is that the kid can't hoon around in something that sounds like a two-stroke mower.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
After making a comment on Magic and Memoirs blogspot about geomythology, I decided to get the book down and browse through it. This was an effort to keep my brain from going into total meltdown over the last week. Sometimes I would read a sentence without one word going to the control centre which is why I picked a familiar book.
When I read about the Hanau, I went looking for images on the net and couldn't find one so I used my very own which I picked up on some beach somewhere along the Great Ocean Road. I probably intended to use it on the Blight but it was a good specimen so it was added to the collection in the car boot.
The Hanau or "birth stones" are more often found along the coast of Hawaii as boulders of lava rock. They contain small pebbles or grains of sand in rounded cavities. The cavities were bubbles of gas in the hot lava and when the rock cooled, pounded on the beaches by waves and sand, the bubbles opened up and hollowed out. Little pebbles or grains of sand strike the hollow at just the right angle to be wedged in. The Hawaiians thought they were the babies of the rock, hence the name "birth stones".
The baby is the little red pebble and it is firmly wedged in. If the stones are left on the beach long enough, wind and waves can loosen the pebble and it will churn around, enlarging the hollow but still not be able to fall out.
First bit of mood breaking, no croissants.
Second bit of mood breaking, opening the Herald Crumb.
Third bit of mood breaking, being reminded what a load of vile hypocritical Bible bashing members of Parliament we have.
My friends, themuriels, Samantha and Kelly are lesbians. They live in W.A. and they can't have a marriage ceremony, no civil union, not even a partnership registration even though they've been in their relationship, that is committed relationship for 13 years. If I think that stinks, then I think these items in today's paper set up enough pong to wipe out a small town.
On page 8, we have a double spread on poor Brendon Fevola and his marriage break-up. It was a good marriage, it lasted 14 months until he had a touch of the 'Warnes' and left a message on his mobile phone. The message is supposed to have come from Lara Bingle, model and 19 year old dill who has denied everything. He has a daughter, born in July.
On page 17, we have an old favourite back in the news. Wayne Carey has a new love interest and this time it's not the wife of a teammate but it is another model with aspirations to become an actress. Carey and his wife ended their five year marriage six weeks after the birth of their daughter.
Themuriels, being a same sex couple, are going to wreck the institution of marriage by demanding the right to legalise their life in a ceremony before friends and family. This is the word according to Howard the Rodent.
They might have a chance to get these rights but they'd have to stop being intelligent women and become footballers.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
I am so tired I can't think let alone blog.
I hate Christmas lights.
I might punch Aunt Patty and Aunt Selma for being insensitive no-brain morons.
R.I.P. IE7 and good riddance.
I hate Optusnet or Telstra whichever has disconnected me 5 times in the last hour.
I will return Sunday, hopefully with what's left of my sense of humour.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
I don't need more stress in my life.
It's like hitting the dunny and someone's pinched the seat.
What is with all the tabs and what happened to my 'read mail' button?
Why have I now got three tool bars?
Bars, that's a good idea, cold cold beer. Where was I?
I operate this computer with brain on remote so now I have to re-program myself.
A little button keeps popping up telling me a USB port is malfucktioning. I KNOW THAT dumbarse, it's why I bought a new one last week. It's the printer that fritzed and I refuse to call the centre for Indian relief workers to find out where to get it fixed. It has $70 worth of new ink cartridges in it. It was probably the shock of having to do work so the cartridge scrolling thingy won't move.
After this I'm never going to beta blogging. There's only so much frustration I can take.
Big W has the same printer for $98. A bit over $30 a year for the time I've had this one and it's done about $3000 worth of printing. I never thought I'd be glad it's Christmas. I can legitimately buy myself a present.
How much to send a fritzed printer to India?
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
I've always had trouble with describing my Mother as having the beginnings of dementia because the symptoms were never quite right. We knew about the confusion, mild, for twelve months before the cancer was found. Yesterday the nurse asked if our Mother has had a complete personality change or was it simply an exaggeration of her normal personality.
Bells, whistles, tooting horns and fireworks. This was it, not dementia, although that might come, but an exaggeration of her personality. The controlling, manipulating personality we've always dealt with but which was mitigated by kindness and compassion. Now we can deal with it. Everything that was her before, is now blown up out of proportion by pain and struggle and tinged with bitterness that my Father isn't there to help her.
We'll use the tactics we've always used. She will call me an uncaring bitch to my sister. My sister will tell her she is a controlling bitch and walk out. Mother will ring me to tell me what a cold bitch my sister is and I'll be back in favour. After a few days I'll tell her that my sister is in pain with her back and had a dreadful day with a patient and sympathy will flow. Order restored.
Not that she's not shitty about my not doing anything about Christmas lights but at least this morning I managed to get through to her about not changing anything in the house to keep her there but safely. She probably forgot 10 minutes later but for one moment she saw sense and admitted that it was only for her last Christmas. This might be a small breakthrough in finally letting us, not control her, but control her surroundings so she can stay where she is.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
My sense of humour has deserted me.
My head hurts in pre-stroke mode.
I have chest pains although that could be the unaccustomed bra wearing.
I have either gastric reflux or an ulcer or drinking beer too fast.
I have reasons.
After two months of "I want my Christmas lights, it's the only pleasure I have left!" type whinging, the Brick Outhouse started doing this on Sunday. She drove him so crazy he ran away from home, for the day. By the time I got there Monday, the house could have doubled for an earthquake movie. 16 bloody Christmas dolls, 2 iron stands and 30 sets of fairy lights covered the loungeroom floor with the old bat trying to use a walker through the mess. She then has the cheek to tell me that if he'd asked, she'd have told him not to bother because she was too tired to do the window. Today is Tuesday and I am forgetting how to be nice again. I will not go and put the dolls up. If I have to fix the lights, I am taking a pair of scissors to them and they will end up in teenytiny strips. I would tell her this but I'm not speaking to her. Believe me, she'll now fall over just to spite me.
I hate Christmas lights.
I hate Christmas.
I like Christmas presents. Someone please give me train tickets, short journey should do it.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
I've asked to ex to officiate at the funeral, whenever it is, because if I had to do anything it would be a tap dance on the coffin and a rousing rendition of 'Ding dong the witch is dead'. According to Mother, I have lost the ability to be nice. She's right about that.
She is trying so hard to maintain control over every aspect of her life that anything I do to make her safe in her own home is countermanded. Perhaps getting angry is a way to soften the blow when she does go. If it is, then it's working. I probably won't miss her for about ten years. We are all so stressed at the moment.
How can she accept all the processes of dying if she doesn't know she is. We can't tell her that she is. I don't know if it is the cancer that is making her twisted and bitter by affecting her brain. I just know that the manipulating that goes on to get us to do what she wants, whether it is good for her or not, is wearing us down. It's so different from when my Father had cancer. He knew he was dying and physically he deteriorated but he was mentally alert until the last half hour of his life. But this is mental and physical and trying to explain to people she rings that they must check before they do anything feels like a betrayal.
So throw another serepax down the throat and go back with a pasted on smile tomorrow and make nice. And why do I go, because she will fall down in the shower just to make me feel guilty.