Wednesday, October 31, 2007
A good old festival is Samhain. All the good breeding animals are mated, bonfires are lit and feasting, great feasting. Well it was back in the good old dark days before the killjoy religion got to it. So we had a few sacrifices, it was all good fun except if you were the chosen one. We had to assure the fertility for next year. Nice to see some celebrations endured, villagers were still dancing round a fire on the Bronze Age burial mound at Fortingall until early last century.
The Scots had a good custom. They would mark white stones to represent the revellers which were then thrown into the Halloween fire. They had to be retrieved later or evil was supposed to befall the person who could not find their stone. At another place the stones went into the ashes of the fire and left until morning. If they were displaced it spelt doom for the owner of the stone.
It's still a time for prophetic dreaming. Will I win Tattslotto, will the rodent finally be ratsacked, the face of my future husband (better than dreaming about the face of my past husband), what's the saddle cloth number of the Cup winner?
I'm still in favour of this custom. To denote a future love, hazelnuts would be given the name of a possible lover and placed in front of the fire. The lass would then recite, if you love me, pop and fly, and if you hate me burn and die. The first nut to pop would be the girls' likely suitor. There's a few nuts I'd like to see burn and die.
No need to carve a pumpkin into a lantern to ward off evil spirits, they turned up the minute the election was announced, a real trick or treat. My decorations are already up, the cockroach is in the bathroom (still) and the Halloween huntsman is swinging on the loungeroom curtains. Now that could be a fun game for midnight, I'll introduce them to each other.
Fun times but even better now.......... hmmmmmmmmmm candy, chocolate, gingerbread coated children. Oops got then and now mixed up for a moment.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Dr. Oliver Curry is a theorist at the evolutionary London School of Economics.
He thinks that the human race will one day split into separate species, an attractive, intelligent ruling elite and an underclass of dim-witted, ugly goblin-like creatures.
(Didn't H.G. Wells do a story like this)
Dr. Curry says these humans will be between 183cm and 214 cm tall and live up to 120 years.
(J.W. Howard lives to be 120, nah wrong height)
Physical features will be driven by indicators of health, youth and fertility that men and women have evolved to look for in potential mates.
Dr. Curry says men will have symmetrical facial features, deeper voices and bigger penises (gay boys rejoice).
While women will all have glossy hair, smooth hairless skin, large eyes and pert breasts.
(He's obviously a horny 14 year old trapped in an economist's body)
After checking that this wasn't April 1st, I can only say that whatever Dr. Curry is smoking should be available for all.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
250g good quality dark cooking chocolate, roughly chopped
125g butter, cubed
80g castor sugar
80g self-raising flour
1 tbsp Grand Marnier
100g Lindt Orange Chocolate, roughly chopped
Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C.
Melt the dark cooking chocolate and butter together, mix them and
allow it to cool slightly.
In a large bowl beat the eggs and castor sugar with an electric mixer
until just combine, then add the flour and chocolate/butter mixture.
Beat for five minutes or until it's thick and pale.
Add teh Grand Marnier and beat it for one more minute then fold in the
chopped orange chocolate using a metal spoon.
Spread the mixture in a 7in x 10 in lined baking tray and bake for
40 to 45 minutes or until a skewer inserted in the centre comes out clean.
Let it cool completely before cutting it into squares and storing them in an airtight container.
Now this is delicious but the only trouble is getting all the ingredients together, that is at the same time under one kitchen roof before I eat/drink half/all of them.
Storing them in an airtight container does not work where I am concerned. An underground bunker behind two steel doors with a path littered with landmines would slow me down but not by much.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Other shoppers are revolting. Shoppers travelling on buses are revolting especially the one who hacked up a lung behind my right ear. Especially the other two who discussed in very loud voices how many of their budgies had died over the last five years. One was on her way to buy another feathered sacrifice, in my opinion they both should have had their licence to own anything living revoked. A good thing she hadn't already bought it or the lunghacker would have germed to death.
I was ready for the usual problems with the trolley but today I got one that moved smoothly with the wheels doing everything asked of them. I didn't ask them to go sideways and fall down the crack where the lift doors open. Lift, heave, swear and run into the little old lady in the wheelchair. "No problem, dear," she says. "You're having the same kind of day I am. Do you see the bruises on my neck?" Good Lord, she looked like someone who'd been hanging around in a Clint Eastwood movie. "I tripped this morning and strangled myself with my dressing gown belt." Dum de dum dah!! I was just about to check my "what would Jane Marple do?" wristband when I caught the eye of the chair wheeler. Instantly I recognised those eyes, we were kindred souls. Another member of the Victorian Order of Spinster Daughters and Chair Wheelers. That "God only knows what she really did" look was better than a Masonic handshake.
The only good thing, two good things really, my blood pressure apparently isn't high enough to cause a stroke (yet) and my weight hasn't soared as much as I thought, only put on one kilogram. Popped into the Bohemian Pastry shop to celebrate. No almond croissants, I had to make do with a coffee iced confection loaded with coffee and chocolate cream. I hate having to make do. One should never disappoint one's stomach.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Which sci-fi crew would you best fit in with? (pics)
created with QuizFarm.com
|You scored as Babylon 5 (Babylon 5) |
The universe is erupting into war and your government picks the wrong side. How much worse could things get? It doesnâ€™t matter, because no matter what you have your friends and you'll do the right thing. In the end that will be all that matters. Now if only the Psi Cops would leave you alone.
I watched all the news services tonight and not one told the public that nurses are still working on the wards and having their pay docked. Just thought I'd put that in.
So sis is stressed but still went over to cook Mummy's tea.
Out the front door, across the footpath, across the road, down the footpath, up the ramp, open the other front door and struggle in........with her red garbage bin on wheels.
Well, she laughed at the cockroach.
Table is moved again.
Going through about 200 audio tapes for the op shop.
Doing the same for trinkets.
Last night all I wanted was an early night, pain killers and a hot shower.
I didn't need the heart attack when a cockroach dropped out of the air vent above the shower and landed on me boobs. Not being one to shower with my glasses on all I could see where feelers and legs. I threw it in the water bucket as it headed south and not even cockroaches go there. Damn thing swam and jumped out. He's still in there somewhere and I hope the silverfish get him.
Pain killers are so nice.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
I don't count sheep and tofu doesn't jump fences so I start my next favourite 'drift' into sleep. I start moving the furniture around mentally, trying to visualise how it would look.
So I tried doing the actual moving today. I'm in pain, real hurting, never mind two Advil let's take four type pain. The blanket box I heaved out into the carport last time I re-arranged the furniture is back in but it's annoying me so it could be back out tomorrow.
One thing that isn't coming back, and it's a shame, is the sideboard. It was made by my mother-in-law's father as his final apprenticeship piece around the turn of last century. The other two pieces were a dressing table and matching wardrobe. The dressing table is still in my bedroom, wardrobe has been reduced to the blanket box. The sideboard could have been restored to pristine condition but my father-in-law didn't let me have it until it was falling apart (selfish bastard). I had one of the doors remade but it wasn't as it should be. It'll end it's life as a gardening cupboard in the carport.
So move the Queen Anne table (dining size with drop sides = heavy) to the wall, after moving the sideboard into the kitchen and moving the table from the kitchen into the dining part. The only good thing about that was giving me enough room to wash the kitchen floor before it all turned around and got put back the way it was. Then I decided to turf the sideboard.
The trick to this moving lark is not to notice it when it's been moved. If it sticks out like the dog's proverbials then it's in the wrong place.
The final score: blanket box is where the sideboard was, table is back in the kitchen but the floor's clean, Queen Anne table is back behind the chair and the chair is still up on bricks which I intend to cover in the same fabric as the chair when I'm not moving the furniture.
Sideboard is in the carport but the drawers are on the lounge room floor because they're full of tapes which I should have put in the walkman last night and I would gone to sleep and not thought of moving furniture.
I'll sleep tonight. I'm already half unconscious.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
It won the 'Gown of the Year' in 1963. It was designed by Lorna White of Hartnell. It was made from 6 yards of French guipure re-embroidered beige lace over 14 yards of silk satin. The skirt flowed from an Empire line bodice.
I still lust after it. It is elegant and timeless or as they say now, Vintage and elegant. It started a love affair with lace and fashion that is still going strong. I can't say the same for the magazine page, it's a little chewed around the edges but we've been together through thick and thin, marriage and divorce. I have a book for favourite dresses and go through it every once in a while and throw out the ones that no longer take my fancy but this is always put away carefully.
Beige is a little too beige for my bargebum so my usual deep burgundy would have to be substituted. I wouldn't want to overwhelm it with jewellery so perhaps just garnet and diamond earrings with a matching ring.
And I've got about as much chance of having all that as I have of getting married again but if I do it's going to be in this dress.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The necklace I would gladly take for myself. The colour of the dress is my colour, suits my hair to a tee. I even like the dress.
But what possessed her, oh yeah, The Devil, since only he could have dreamed up leggings. Three quarter length leggings and under a party dress no less.
She might just have gotten away with opaque black tights.
Leggings are for exercise class, or walking the dog, or if you're stupid enough to listen to The Devil.
A bummock, on the other hand, is the submerged counterpart of a hummock and one should not do as I did before posting, leave the 'o' out of counterpart. Freudian slip, ahem.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
You may now curtsey to:
Her Exalted Highness Duchess Jennifer the Disappointing of Old Yarkhillshire.
While I was there I also opened a fortune cookie which read:
"Don't you just hate it when even the aubergines are plotting against you?"
And I thought I had to keep a close eye on the snake beans.
I can't even rely on Estate Agents, not when they send a flyer which states:
'Take your pick with this rare opportunity to be the new owner of one, two or both of these quality villas.........'
And neither or all of the two were in walking distance of Old Yarkhillshire and protected from aubergines.
Something I didn't know and now wish I didn't.
Unfortunately this means that fishermen in the US, Europe and the UK (fishermen there can legally take both claws) can de-claw their catch, throw them back into the sea to regenerate the claws, to be caught and de-clawed again in a never ending cycle.
This is considered a sustainable industry.
Bob Elwood and colleagues of Queen's University, Belfast, UK, measured how much de-clawing increased stress and affected the crabs survival.
Crabs with one claw removed showed a greater physiological stress response than crabs allowed to shed a claw naturally. And they were still stressed 24 hours later.
Of 28 crabs that had one claw removed, 5 died.
No crabs died after shedding their claws naturally.
What this news snippet didn't say was where or how the researchers got their data.
On a fishing boat - doubtful. In the laboratory - more likely.
So is it creepy that they de-clawed crabs and watched what happened or should I put this down to a 'Star Trek' moment where the needs of the many (un-de-clawed non stressed crabs) take precedence over the needs of the few (de-clawed stressed outs).
I'm losing the wrinkle marathon and my eyebrows are turning white.
Don't buy expensive wrinkle cream, stick to polyfiller.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Saturday, October 13, 2007
I'm up late because I've just finished watching The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King, which I haven't seen before. A few things hit me while watching.
1. If Kings, Prime Ministers and Presidents still had to lead the troops into battle we'd get a better quality leader or less war.
2. I'm not one for blondes but Orlando Bloom as a platinum elf can stick his pointy little shoes under my bed any time.
3. I'm putting in my vote now for Sir Ian to play Aberforth in the final HP movie.
4. Very distracting to have an ad showing some stripteasing tart showing her wares when 10 seconds before I was revelling about an evil Orc getting sliced and diced.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
If I was a season, I would be Autumn. I would give you crisp mornings, warm afternoons and mellow evenings.
If I was a gem, I would be Opal. Flash and colour, never the same face, never dull, ever changing.
If I was a flower I would be a rose. A climbing rose always reaching for the sun, nectar for bees, the beginning of honey.
If I was music I would be lilting, timeless, on the wind.
If I was light, I would be starlight, distant still, sparkling close, unreachable.
If I was a fabric I would be silk velvet, warm, soft, sensual.
If I was a scent I would be rain on parched ground.
If I was a landscape I would be a riffling stream across worn pebbles, shaded by willows, sheltering life.
If I was God I would start again and make man's first sense......empathy.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Remember that huge old desk I talked about. The one with miles of paper and books which are now in a big box waiting to be sorted.
I moved it today.
I remembered to take the drawers out but forgot to write on the side which order they went back in. Half an hour of my life I won't get back. Take it from me, in old desks, drawers must go in order.
I slid the computer across to its new home and realized I'd boxed in the table it had been sitting on. Wonderwoman hits her stride again and lifts the table over the computer, desk and misses the ceiling light in one smooth movement. Wonderwoman then took a little rest flat on the bed for 20 minutes.
I have so much space. The desk has two slidey things to pull out to rest drinks and food so it doesn't fall in the keyboard.
I've still got to change the contents of the drawers which means *gasp* throwing things out that I haven't used for years.
Did I mention the huge space. It's really big. I've got agoraphobia.
It's lipstick, lipgloss, lipglaze.
It's not LIPPY.
That is a ghastly leftover phrase from the far distant 1950s and as Parisite H would say, "So last century".
Imagine the elegant Audrey Hepburn in an elegant Hubert Givenchy creation.
Can you then see her open her mouth and say, "I gotta fix me lippy. Won't be a tick."
NO! NO! NO!
Repeat after me, "I am going to refresh my lipstick."
Blokes are excused from the exercise but not from using the lippy word.
I will instinctively kill, not maim, but kill if this word is used anywhere near me.
Now for something completely different. Is it 'fly' or 'flies'?
Since men have only one thing to hang out of it, I'm inclined to use the singular but I could be wrong.
Serious discussion is warranted.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
I can turn a queen size mattress with the help of gravity. It's just a matter of heaving it upright and letting it fall without taking the chandelier out of the ceiling. Rotating a queen size mattress on the other hand is not as simple. It would be simple if I had a large bedroom and no cast-iron bed head and bottom then I could just swing it. But life is never simple even for superheroes so the mattress just stuck in the bars half way and at both ends. Why do they have handles on the side and not on the bottom? Half an hour and much swearing later I managed to drag it round to where it should be.
Washing the sheets simple, checking for kleenex automatic, missing one tissue, a given. Falling out the laundry door with a full load was just icing on the cake. I blame my slipper, the door and having to do washing in the first place.
Next on the list was cooking a biscuit slice. It's been a while since I cooked a slice from scratch. I can tell by the brown sugar which is jammed into the jar and set like concrete. I didn't burn the slice but I burnt the chocolate icing, tripped again and broke 4 glasses in the sink when I dropped the pot.
So I have to get new slippers that will last longer and stop cooking and sharpen memory, especially in the morning. Do I tell you or keep that to myself? Nah, youse can deal with the vision. I absentmindedly wandered out to feed the birds this morning, sans clothes and me living under the flight path of every news chopper in Melbourne.
Friday, October 05, 2007
The Teev every night has at least 6 ads or more if I include the ones for the defence forces and I sit here thinking of how far I'm having to stretch an aged pension for my mother. It hasn't helped that the safety net for scripts didn't kick in until a month later than last year so I'm still $254 behind at the pharmacy.
Now I have to put up with the Libs and their revolting racist policies. Where I live there is a large population of Sudanese and they don't bother me at all. I like to see the children walking around and laughing, not worrying about a bullet in the back or losing their parents to dysentery in a refugee camp. And another thing, Andrews, you po-faced walking bag of excrement, my granddaughters are part Sri Lankan and if I ever hear of them being racially harrassed because of your filthy prejudice in the pursuit of re-election, you'll have to lock me away on Nauru because I'll be coming for you.
A bit feisty and snotty this week is the old witch. Mama has decided that being placid and nice is no fun and has put unpleasant back on the menu. She doesn't know what day it is but the woman can sow discord. She lives in an alternate universe where we are insane and she is holding us together by her sheer force of will. My nephew is on the brink of a complete breakdown. I have spent the week staving off depression by banging my head on walls, crying a lot and eating a lot more. Just forget diets and having a life, it's never going to happen. My sister's back on the Vodka, beer just wasn't strong enough.
The situation makes it impossible to think or talk rationally. I must have been giving off very bad vibes every time I saw a little old lady in front of the shopping trolley yesterday. Usually I'm plagued with them but yesterday they seemed to scrurry away like politicians faced with a popularity poll. It was a good move, I was not in the mood to take prisoners.
Okay, breathe in, breathe out. There have been good moments. The hot water is still hot even with the strong winds this week. I found I had $10 in the 50 cent money box. This morning I had two beautiful ducks in the backyard, one eating the bread and the other standing in the makeshift birdbath having a drink. I stood behind the curtains for a long time watching them and it reduced the stress levels to almost zero, almost.
Monday, October 01, 2007
That's beautiful Charlotte Pilgrim-Byrne, 6 days old.
This is my blog which is two years old tomorrow and since that little girl and all the other children of same-sex parents were the reason I started, what better image could I post.
Her mothers have been partners for nearly 15 years and now they're a family but not in the eyes of this prejudiced government and sundry moronic religious groups.
In two years the subject of equality in superannuation, medicare, pharmaceutical safety net and marriage or partnership registration has risen in profile. Various liberal members of Parliament have tried their best to have laws changed. Canberra tried for civil unions but the uberrodent stomped his jackbooted paw on that social justice.
It's my hope that Charlottle's first dance will be at her mothers' wedding.
It's my hope that I'll be blogging photos of that same event.