Visit Qld, don't stay

I just adore this dress and this colour, it's me, totally me.

Now that we've had the eye candy, I'll tell you about my sister who is becoming quite the Queenslander, in other words, dumb, cuckoo, twit, bogan even.

She rang last week and wanted to know if I'd been to the solicitor yet, no, not until I work out what has to be changed.  She wanted me to put a note in my will saying that she did not want a funeral when she passed. You do get this, my will, her non funeral. I told her to go to the Post Office and buy a will form and do it herself.  Not only that but she wants her ashes sprinkled in the creek she played in at Ferntree Gully.  By this time I'd lost the will to live let alone sprinkle bloody ashes. Is she getting someone to bring them down from Qld or posting them? Am I supposed to get someone with a car to go there since I don't drive and doesn't she remember she has a son. I may have another 20 or 30 years before I have to worry and I won't be thinking about her getting to the big beyond before me. The only reason I'm going to my solicitor is that bit about being sound of mind and he can testify it for this week at least. The body is falling apart but it's the sound of mind bit you have to get right.  I can just see her will now, no funeral, ashes to be scattered and I leave my collection of genuine Queensland worn out rubber thongs to my sister.

Sister in Yeppoon

If you embiggen this it will be huge but I had to try 3 different downloads until I could get it on Blogger.
My sister rang this morning, it was 9 o'clock Qld time and 10 in Melbourne, 40 degrees in Yeppoon and 15 degrees here which is why I was still in bed. I was cheeping like a budgie from asthma, frightened the postie when I opened the door, cough and bashed my forehead on the door frame.
Anyway back to the photo, it's a baby bat, the orange thing is the bat dummy to calm it down. She said not as many birds are coming for feed and they're picking up the bats in the back yard and taking them to the animal hospital.
Summer in Melbourne and 15 degrees and I'm freezing so the fire is on, kill me.

The way the world is now, I doubt that it will be here by the end of December so I ate my Christmas chocolates last night.
I hate cricket.
I hate reality shows.
I hate Christmas ads showing mountains of food that people can't afford.

I'll have to go looking for cute cat pictures or a breakdown is round the corner.

I wish spring would make up its mind, cold or warm

A very good saying especially for someone with a volcanic temper and a wicked back hander with a geologist's pick.

This morning I was woken up by the cat who roared into my ear while staring at my eyes. No kibble since Sunday but it's being delivered this morning, I've told him that several times. It's not like he couldn't live off his fat until Christmas but a cat of habit demands that all bowls be filled, for snacking, all day, every day.  He took his own photo the other night trying to knock the camera out of my hand so as soon as I remember how to do it, I'll post it here.

Still no computer chair, no table up either.  I can't even get the table parts out of the box and couldn't move the chair box.  I need an all round handy man and yes Highriser I am looking at you.  You'll even get paid. I need new taps in the bathroom and a handheld shower spray. Put up the chair, put up the table, put the passage door back up. I found out the hard way that does take two people.  Plus an hour or two at the big green shed, I need a cheap chandelier, a light for the kitchen since one fluro globe is going and I put the pantry light on so I won't set fire to the tea towell, again.  Steel hand rails at the back steps, hand rail in the shower but I might need an expert for those. I'm sure there are several more things on the list.  It doesn't need to be done in one day but if you are passing the house, please come and put my chair together. 

I'm thinking of shutting down my Facebook.  Daughter in law is shutting hers down so I won't be able to get any more photos of my girls. I never have liked Facebook, it just didn't make sense to me. I am looking into Instagram as long as I don't have to use mine, I still shake when I take a photo.

I will get around to answering all comments but I haven't been the best. I'm waiting for Karma to do its work.
Bank scam is working overtime so be careful. Their mistake was in telling me $2000 was taking from my credit card which is not an amount I'll ever see again on any credit card. He recovered quickly and said it was my debit card and the amount was $20. I told him to give it up and find someone who wasn't a poor pensioner.

I'm not that poor that I couldn't pay a handyman though.

More trouble.

Unbelievable Monday.

I rang to make the appointment at the main Cemetary and they have no record of me owning the family grave.  

Apparently  there was a new mob take over and papers have gone missing.

Fortunately or unfortunately I only have my handwritten letters (no computer then) for the relo's to copy out and no Stat Dec anywhere.  That was in July 2000 when I found out ownership could be transferred to another member of the family.

I can't bury mother until it's sorted.

I can't close the bank accounts because Centrelink hasn't confirmed the last payment is legal.

The Death Certificate hasn't arrrived.

I have a nervous twitch in one eye that just won't stop.

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow and panicked because there was no time in the morning, idiot me, I don't have to have one in the morning to rush down to the Home for the afternoon.

I have an appointment on Thursday for the Cemetary to sort out the missing paperwork and thanks to my hoarding I still have the receipts for the grave and the plaques from 1996.

I'm really going to have to start drinking.

Ring ring from Yeppoon

Such a lot of wisdom in that.  Communication is important except when it's a cold caller for some rubbish or a sister who's communication comes across like a soggy biscuit dropped in a cup of tea. The most infuriating thing that can happen, dropping the Teddy biscuit in a cup of tea.

This is usually me on the phone listening or trying to talk to my sister.  It's definitely me at least two hours after I put down the phone trying to calm myself.

She rings to tell  me it's shining brightly on the coast and it's raining in Melbourne. Biatch, I'm in Melbourne and don't know it's raining. (crazy stage)
She's off to the pub, booked a table and half price lunch to watch The Cup. I wondered to mother the other day if wrinkle face was still cementing with make up before she left the house.  Apparently only if she's going to the pub as there is a little problem with the muggy heat and she has to sit in front of a fan for half an hour to set her face or everything runs down her neck. (insane stage)
She won't be betting too much after all she on a pension now.  This from someone who would back horses in Toowomba at midnight cross-eyed from too many Fosters (psycho stage).

Haven't rung Mum, is she still with us? (psycho stage with desire to face slap hard).

Funny how I keep getting these calls though, I'm sure I don't have a sister.

I suddenly feel older.

My youngest Granddaughter

just announced her

Engagement.

Four Generations

Great Great Grandmother, great grandmother, mother, granddaughter and little Clio the fairy child.

Anorexics will be fainting at this photo but all girls should be told over and over again, it's not the body that counts, it's strength of will, the fight in the heart and these four have the strength to move mountains and I hope we have passed it down to Miss Clio.

It's in the genes, my side of the pool.

I don't get a photo very often so even if it's a lousy iPhone one, I'm happy and more so since the email arrived on what would have been my son's 42nd birthday.  He would have been so proud of his daughters.  Granddaughter on the left had just turned 18 and GD on the right turned 20 in February.  

Damn virus.

I am sick of running eyes, clogged up running nose, sneezes that could power a jet engine, coughing up bits of lung and headaches. 

Mind you I have developed a rapid response reflex with my thigh muscles when I feel a sneeze coming on otherwise it would be Depends time.

The damn virus has entrenched itself like the stinking bit of malware that is still hiding in a rootkit in the middle of the computer. I keep killing off bits of it so the malware tells me but it must regenerate overnight, much like this rotten cold.

This is the first time I've been able to sit at the computer without wanting to fall off the chair. Actually my chair by the fire is the place where I've done most of my sleeping and coughing.

The little mother finally left hospital today and the BOH has gone over to stay with her.  They kept the baby in because he wasn't feeding well but he's got the hang of it now. I'm waiting on photos to post of something that is only 43 centimetres long and my computer monitor is longer than that. I can't remember them being so small.

Anyway there seems to be some movement on the house front, thank goodness.

Poor me, I can't go to see mother until I feel this virus is gone, about two months should do it.

I still say Werther's Original toffees are the best for the throat followed by Fisherman's Friend.  And if you do buy the FF, read the packet because now they have a ziplock top, found that out after hacking at it with the scissors at the wrong end.

And just to liven things up, the new smartmeter is in and I can't understand a word of the instructions.  The gum tree across the street has busted up the watermains again and this time the stupid Council should take it down.  It's the third time it's happened but they keep insisting it's a tree of note and is on the register. The electricity choppers keep taking out the centre away from the lines but it just means the branches are growing across the road my way and across the inground pool the other way.  A bit of common sense would be nice but we are dealing with the local council here.

It's like trying to deal with a virus, you get nowhere fast.

Memory

When Mum hit the nursing home, she was lucky to remember what day it was but two years on and she is almost entirely with it. Almost, it's been handy having her short term memory fritzed since I can tell her the same thing every visit but her long term memory has sharpened.

I bought her a book of the history of Mentone published by the Historical Society and I've been told the most amazing things about the family which I've never heard before. Just flicking through the photos has jogged memories to the surface and Brindisi Street where the nursing home is now, has been a busy street since the 1900s.

From out of nowhere she told us a story about our father. There's not much that stops my sister in her tracks but this did. He worked at the pre-fab building factory at Holmesglen and we think this must have been in 1955 since a lot of the work was building the Olympic village for the '56 games.

The main bus along there was the Ventura, still is, and there was an awful accident where a truck tore along the side of the bus, ripping it open. According to my mother, at least 7 people died. The men from the factory came down to help. There was a small girl with her leg trapped underneath a seat and my father, having driven buses for the past few years, knew all he needed was a screwdriver. One of the blokes had a work bag but wouldn't give him the tools and I don't know what Dad did, but he got a screwdriver. He had the seat off the little girl and she was out in no time. So, knowing Mum's memory, why do I believe this? Because my father instead of giving the bloke back his screwdriver, threw it at him. Now that is my father.

I asked her why she had never told us this and she said it never occurred to her to tell us. That's what it was like in our day, you didn't tell kids anything. It explains a lot about why the old boy used to get hysterical if we were five minutes late from the bus or train. And the first time I went out with friends in a car, there was a crash just around the corner from the house. Mum told me then that he nearly wrecked the house for fear it was me. When sister and I went on a cruise, he raced to the cabin to count the life jackets and it was all downhill from there. We had a cabin too far down to have a porthole so he raged in anxiety for the whole 14 days we were gone. The day we docked, my mother looked exhausted because he'd been at the wharf since the early morning to make sure the ship didn't turn turtle 5 seconds from home.

We didn't tell him about the sewerage problems on board or the fact that they had to keep the engines running in every port we went to since they weren't sure they could restart them but he did ask questions when it caught fire on its way home to Greece. He was too polite to ask questions about why I came out of customs carrying a large wooden spear and supporting a drunken yob while my sister carried his suitcase. He should really have said something then, I married the drunk.

My Birthday present

A photograph of my youngest granddaughter

on her way to the school formal.

Still in mourning.

I spent an hour yesterday putting all the dark coloured wool to the bottom of the basket so I wouldn't keep saying hello to it.
Deep mourning is still being observed and I feel I should be putting on a black veil and breaking out the jet jewellery.
How bad is he? He hasn't cared that the beloved Ute is still parked in the street during school holidays and possums are peeing on it from the paperbark tree.
At least he's inherited the maternal genes, the paternal side would have taken her out for a .22 picnic. He never had the farming genes. If they said roast for Sunday, he'd go and let the chooks out.
I think it's my fault that I raised two SNAGS. Now if I could just get him married off to a girl who loves him as much as that cat did.

Goodbye Precious

The Vet took this photo this morning before the scan and X-ray revealed the pancreatic cancer which had metastasized into the lungs. She wasn't in pain but would have been in a few days as she struggled to breathe.
We, or should I say I, made the decision and she wasn't brought out of that cosy sleep on the table.
Her "daddy" is a blubbering wreck who's just told me the best part of his day was coming home to play with her.
Last night she sat on my knee until after midnight as we watched another Stargate marathon.
He came home about 1 a.m. but the light was still on when I woke about 3. He was wrapped in his doona, sleeping on the lounge floor, his head on one pillow and the cat on the other with her paw on his face.
I paid the account, collected the carrier and watched the receptionist cry because she was such a sweet cat and went out to the sobbing father in the carpark.

Heritage, it's all in the genes

Well, I'm not one to boast but you can take your Elles, your Noamis, your Megans and your Hawkins, I have the best of them all.

The youngest granddaughter at sixteen. A mixture of wonder and horror, she has a learner's permit, that's the horror part. She wants to study drama, her first option but she has options all the way down to working at Woolworths if everything else fails. Of course, she intends to work her way to the top of Woolworths. I took her shopping, what a dream. She turned down the 50% off at the $200 shop in favour of the Salvo's across the road where she stunned in a black cleavage busting, 3 tiered beaded chiffon. A bargain at $12 with another little check number that was so tight, I insisted she sit down and breath in it before I'd buy it. A visit to the great grandmother at the home topped off with a visit to her facebook page and her 1000 photographs.

The eldest dressed for the school formal. The dress was a little more pinkish than this blue but she filled it very well. She also did a kind thing, asked a boy to take her that the other girls laughed at, of course it might have helped that he was no danger to her current boyfriend but a nice gesture anyway.

My two best gems, beyond price.

He made it through.

He's still groggy and sister said a very sweet voiced nurse answered his phone for him.
The funny thing is, I've been conscious of a hospital smell around the house all day and unless you've been in hospital I can't describe it. Call me silly but I think my son has been with me all day.

The cat is in serious decline. Daddy's car is here but daddy is not. She's barely eaten and is still on my bed. Looks like I'll have to waft a can of the expensive food under her nose. I can't remember if I blogged that he asked me for a set of steps at the foot of the bed because the fat little object can't climb on the high bed.

And the bed is high. His mate came round last night and put 3 planks under the chipboard and in the way of all men, measured up just a tad wrong. The planks stand out about 3 inches which was enough to cripple me several times over today. My doc's going to take one look at the bruises tomorrow and want blood tests.

So from a low sofa bed barely off the floor, he now has a penthouse lounge. Planks, chipboard, 6 inch high density mattress, 2 inch sofa bed mattress with a doona on top and all fixed down with a fitted sheet so tight I think I could bounce a coin off it. I'm sure he won't mind that the sheet is mint green with pale pink roses and the doona cover is pale turquoise with pink butterflies.

A trunk is at the bottom of the bed for the cat. All his clothes are in a basket on a stand so no bending. And a chair for his mate to sit and have a beer with him. TV, light, DVD viewer, mechanical grabber all within reach.

And thanks to the paternal side of the family for all their help, every non bit of it.

Operation Quasimodo away.

I woke at 10 to 5 and turned all the alarms off except the phone because I'd never used that as an alarm, very neat.


He had stabbing pains behind the eyeballs, bent nearly double with his nose to the ground as he staggered out to the car. I've been told that for a 6 a.m. arrival sometimes it's straight to the theatre so I hope, although if it's later they might keep him Friday night since we've already had to pay for that night.


I settle back ready to have a cuppa and the phone rings. Sister asking where the hospital is and I had to go through every piece of paper I had until I found the address then look up the Melways. I could have printed out a bloody map yesterday.

Save me Mavis!

Moving fast

BrickOutHouse had the appointment with Spinal surgeon this morning.
MRI and blood tests this afternoon.
Operation next Wednesday.

Tomorrow I fix up chipboard for sofabed and buy a mattress at Clark Rubber.

Sunday I have nervous breakdown.

But I might be okay enough to post on the wedding show which I was smart enough to tape and can watch for the laughs and there were plenty.

If you don't hear from me, I have my head under a rock hiding from reality.

I'm not in a good mood

Just when everything seems to be going well, it all hits the fan again.

Two oldies dropped off the twig over the weekend, one being Gordy so Bingo is not going to be quite the same. Little Edna went too but the family gave mum her tray on wheels so now instead of the girls carrying all her craft stuff from room to room, they can wheel it. It doesn't seem to worry mum, she's too busy thinking of the outing to the Cranbourne gardens on the 22nd.

And the BrickOutHouse is in trouble with his health. The chiropractor put back the two vertebrae that were out but there is a problem with his hip, leg bones and toes joints all down the left leg. So blood tests yesterday and a catscan on Thursday. He is hunched over like an old man and in real pain but the cortisone might help that and finding out exactly what is wrong will help a lot more.

I'm not his mother but I did bring him up until he went to high school so I still worry. He shouldered his share of the nightmare four years with mum and he hasn't really had enough downtime to put it in perspective. If he's got an early appointment, he camps out on the sofa bed with the cat and sleeps like a log. I had more medical drama with him over the years than I did with my own kid and I never stop worrying about him because like all men, he's as stubborn as a mule about seeing a doctor until he's got one foot in the grave.

I was meant to be thin, beautiful, rich with no kids but instead I was born worrying about what was ahead of me. Perhaps it was better in the old days when the family ran into the double figures and no-one could keep track of who was ill or injured until they were on the way back to health.

A bit of a blow last night.

"It was a dark and stormy night", and it went until this morning. I could hear things dropping and being blown around but I didn't bother going out.
The cat insisted on going out but after one whisker twitch in the door way decided that the kitty litter would do for the night.
I'm looking at brilliant blue sky at the moment but that wind is chill.
I wouldn't have even heard the storm if the cat hadn't kept waking me with a paw to the face.
The BrickOutHouse had been staying so he could get to the Chiro early before work.
This was the cat's idea of Heaven, cuddled up to its daddy like the old days.
But it's the weekend so he's back with the girlfriend and the bed is empty.
So I'm getting told that daddy isn't home and there's a storm and where's the warm body I've been curling up to.
After waking me up, she'd stomp off my bed and go to the other room and wait.
She's still in there, waiting.
I'm sleep deprived.

Gobsmacked, flabbergasted and fuming

Mummy boasting to Aunt Patty about beautiful grand daughter.

Aunt Patty boasting not so much since her lot have a collective IQ of about 20.

Aunt Patty says, "It's never bothered J that her grandchildren are coloured."

Coloured?

Irish, Sri Lankan, Scots, English, Dutch, French, German, American genes have gone to making up my United Nations grand daughters and I wouldn't have cared if they were purple with yellow spots and green feet.

Fucking coloured!!!

Aunt Patty is getting a white sheet and a flaming cross for Christmas.