HAPPINESS IS.......

Happiness is dragging feet down the drive, rounding the corner of the house to find the apple tree full of little green parakeets enjoying the fruit, at least 20 of them.

Happiness is finding art imitating life. Does everyone remember the Simpsons' episode, "Whacking Day"? I was looking at the Tristan Da Cunha Times to see if there was an update on the stranded oil rig I blogged about last year. Instead I came across one of the major events on their calendar, Ratting Day.
The men and boys go out with dogs and mouse traps to hunt.
The women follow later with refreshments.
Prizes are awarded for most tails, 2nd most tails, third most tails and there's a booby prize.
Prizes are awarded at the dance after the hunt.

Unhappiness is moving the furniture to find it doesn't fit and having to move it back.

Unhappiness is cooking a cockroach in your toast.

ABC'S BEST

One of my favourite shows is 'Gardening Australia' and tonight they showed a beautiful garden in Geelong. The owners have ripped out the lawn and re-planted the beds with drought resistant plants. They use grey water and carry buckets to keep everything going. That's not their place above, that's my dream garden. As soon as I win Tattslotto, the grass gets bricked.
I get to keep the fruit trees but all in nice little brick walls so I'll have shade but no grass. My mower man nearly had a fit but he weeds and prunes and I'll be rich enough to make him an offer he can't refuse.

Another show I was glad I didn't miss was the first part of 'Not all Tea and Scones' about the Country Women's Association. Hard working, good cooking, very large ladies, not an anorexic in the bunch. I was impressed by the fact they sang the National Anthem at their meetings and knew all the words. I mightn't share their politics but I admire the hard work they do and I'm looking forward to the next part of their story.

CATAHARI

This is from Ronald Searle's Big Fat Cat Book and is posted here for Brownie. Like her, I love his St. Trinian's school girls especially since I went to an all girls school which was so bad that this was our nickname.

I loved all the films and St. Trinian's is about to be re-filmed with Rupert Everatt as the Headmistress (rumour) but I can't think who they would get to replace George Coles as the bootboy turned bookie. Would it be as good in colour? Some of those old films seemed to be perfect in black and white. Time will tell.

DEAR???????

Dear Goddess, God, Intelligent designer, Creator or the geek operating the controls for the sims game I'm in.

I can understand Sun to make flowers grow.

I can understand rain to give the trees a drink.

But HUMIDITY!!!!!!!

Won't somebody up there think of my hair. I woke up this morning looking like a demented squirrel with its paw stuck in a power outlet.


I can't help sweating the little things, it takes my mind off the important ones like my television finally dying. Thirty-one years of devoted service and it had the nerve to die on me. Thankfully I had a spare which is only half that age and it took the Brick Outhouse 15 minutes to hook it up and get it running through the VCR remote. I was back in business for Veronica Mars.

CARBON CREDITS ANYONE?

This was taken over Yass last night and then the hailstorm hit Canberra. That's as far as I've got with the news today. I hope our Canberra bloggers are unharmed because I know they'll have been out in this to get some great shots.

I have some carbon credits for anyone who needs them. I was doing the ironing today and wondered if I was wasting water putting it in the iron or would I be better spraying it on the clothes, then ironing or going way back to when and sprinkling it on the items and rolling them up for an hour or so like my mum used to. That seemed to much of an effort so I just put the water in the iron but it's a small iron and I haven't got much ironing so there must be some carbon credits there for a big ironer (is that a word?).

I've got this ironing thing right down to practically zero. I hang my dresses up on the bathroom door, smooth down the fabric and leave til dry. Never iron tea towells except for the ones the cat eats off on the lounge room floor. Ironing takes 10 years off anything and as my tablecloths are heirlooms, I don't use them, they don't get dirty, I don't wash them so no ironing. There must be a saving of at least 50 credits there. Nightdresses are for emergencies only and I haven't had any emergencies so there's another 20. No husband, so no business shirts not that I didn't cheat with the Blight's. He was so rotund that I only ironed the fronts, by the time he got to work, he would have ironed the backs himself. That could be a good 200 credits there.

The only things I iron with loving care are my pillowcases, all 600 of them. Kidding, 200. I like ironing them now because they're mine and I don't dribble on them, snot on them or snore on them, like I said, no husband. I don't fold and iron in creases, effort and extra carbon emissions, just smooth them with my hands. Lovely silky soft cotton with pretty flowers and lace and no oily head resting marks. That will have to be minus credits there and I did iron a table cloth but that belongs to last year's carbon credits because that's how long it's been in the bottom of the basket.

I could run this country's carbon credit market without raising a sweat. What do we need John Howard for again?

NEW HOME PAGE

This cloud is called the Morning Glory. It comes to Burketown in Northern Queensland every September and October. It stretches up to 600 miles and moves at speeds of up to 35mph.

Glider pilots love it and call flying in it as cloud surfing.

The Cloud Appreciation Society is now my new home page.

Optusnet has decided to merge with my hotmail and ninemsn to give me a whole new outlook with a new piece of windows rubbish that I probably won't understand. They let me personalise the page, mauve, nice but with the optusnet yellow all through it, it's not exactly peaceful. But to get to this homepage, I have to load the optusnet/ninemsn garbage and sign in, all of which takes forever. I'll keep the hotmail, they send me recipes.

The only good part on the page is the weather but from now on I'll put my head out of the window to see if it's raining as I click on my cloud page.

MY DDDAY

I have a little rant about my mother every now and then otherwise I'd be creeping out in the moonlight strangling small nocturnal animals.

This was my day.

Unscramble the usual scrambled morning phone call.

Fall in shower after shoving can of food into whining cat.

Walk slowly (bum and leg hurting) the 3kms to nut house.

Have fight with sister after telling her not to lose my book. Advice I feel is justified to someone who's thrown out TWO telephones.

She's brought the vacuum cleaner back with the news that it's not sucking up. Sprinkle carpet powder to check theory.

Spend fruitless half hour looking for phillips head screwdriver (nail file doesn't work).

Look in laundry for screwdriver and find water leaking into the washing machine. Turn off taps and power point.

Go through mental map of when I cleaned the sewing room (well....doesn't everyone keep screwdrivers in their sewing room) and bingo! Plastic box, 2nd shelf, near the window.

Undo cleaner which is harder than it sounds because I can't sit on the floor. It needs a new belt.
Can it wait until Thursday, no, cleaning lady comes on Wednesday.

Call cab, grab ATM card, check fridge before she can get in with "Can you......."

Get new belt, spot cleaner for carpet, pay phone bill, trek to opposite end of Westfield to Bi-Lo.
Too many good specials to leave so buy another green bag.

Bypass custard tarts because I left mother getting a jam sandwich for lunch.

Buy a fresh rolled apricot and macadamia chicken roast because she couldn't remember how to cook the frozen one.

Joy, two taxis at the rank. First one is the driver who brought me here so he gets a tip for remembering where to take me home.

Mother trundles into kitchen to make the jam sandwich I left her making an hour ago.

Check pills after hysterical phone call late Friday night.

Ring Chemist. Pill boy is new and mother confused him. He was to hand her the new docette, she was to hand him the outdated one. A simple operation that ended with her keeping the old one and him taking back the new one. I understand his confusion.

New docette will arrive tonight so I have to stay and check it.

Halfway through unscrewing vacuum, I am called to the kitchen to crawl in the pantry and retrieve the frypan lid. I finally get it out with the broom which is how she got it so far in there in the first place so she tells me.

Mother says she's tired and goes to sleep.....again.

Back to vacuum, trying to remember knack in getting new belt on. Swears, a lot. Right, put it around the roller first then take roller and belt to the steel thingy. Put roller back in its slots while pinning machine to the carpet with both feet. Screw the whole lot back together......again.

Sprinkle carpet with powder to check sucking up is working.

Carpet powder is missing, retrieve from mother's walker, sprinkle and sucking up is fine.

Feed cat - hers.

Feed mother.

Ring cab which arrives at the same time as Brick Outhouse. Take cab in preference to folding into a VW.

Feed whining cat - mine.

Feed me. I have been gone eight hours.

DOGS, WHALES 'N CRAP

Whales are big and notoriously difficult to study in depth. With the Atlantic Right Whale population down to 350, researchers are trying to determine what is happening with their reproduction. In 1999 there were only four new calves in the population and only one in 2000 rising to 19 in 2006 but still not enough to ensure their survival. The causes of low birthrate can be anything from pollution by hormone disruptors, detergents or antifouling agents and one way they could be tested was by collecting whale faeces. From faeces researchers could determine sex, genotypes and hormone levels but find whale crap in an ocean isn't easy.

Cue the dogs.

When the state of Washington banned hound hunting, the dogs were retrained to look for endangered species, ie. look for faeces then track them, but it was found that air sniffing dogs trained for explosives and narcotics were better. Detector dogs now help conserve animals from the Rocky Mountains to Brazil. The National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration provided a grant to see if the sniffer dogs could work at sea specifically in collecting whale crap.
It worked beautifully, the dogs sniffing out one load an hour compared to humans collecting one or two per day.

Fargo is a star, a 6 year old Rottweiler with an impressive resume. He was trained as a drug sniffer specialising in cocaine before moving to wildlife research. He has looked for bears, sniffed out illegal elephant tusks and spent time in the Mojave looking for desert tortoises. He then transferred to sea work with the whale researchers near the Bay of Fundy on the Canadian coast. His only problem was sea sickness. He wore an orange life vest and stood on the bow of the ship ready to catch a scent at anything up to a nautical mile. Humans have to get closer to smell the heady aroma of oil, crushed crustaceans and the sourness of whale.

Cue the Crap.

The colour of the booty changes with the seasons and the prey. In Spring, it's bright red from the diet of fat-rich copepods. An Orca's crap, if you want to know, is more snotty green brown and just as aromatic. The sample is divided and posted to various laboratories for testing of marine biotoxins, protozoan parasites, hormone levels, DNA which can be matched to individual whales and fat levels for nutritional value. One of the tests showed paralytic shellfish poisoning, caused by eating shellfish contaminated with toxic algae. Dolmic acid from diatoms can cause seizures and coma and hundreds of Sea Lions have died in the Pacific from this. Then there are the protozoan parasites, Giardia and Cryptosporidium which the whales could be picking up from human and animal waste dumped in the oceans near large cities along the coast. Orcas, for instance, have the highest PCB levels ever recorded in any mammal.

While the whale research goes on, Fargo has move back to the Mojave Desert to locate bats.

Next time you see a 2 year old peeing in the shallows, don't sweat it, there are bigger things out there.

PHASE NO. 57

That's what it feels like.

Vicious old harriden has given way to nice daffy old lady.

Daffy old lady with a five minute short term memory who rings at 8.15 at night to find out what time it is, morning or night because she's been asleep.

We have the pills fixed, almost. She takes half in the morning, half at night with no in-betweens to confuse her.

I'm not sure how much pain she would be in without the morphine but she is noticing pain under the shoulder and down the left arm. She can't hold a pen or write with her left hand, that hurts.

The morning phone calls are more like they used to be. I can hold a conversation with her even if it's the same one I had the day before. She is laughing again, something that's been missing for a while.

She's still like a CD with a scratch and her brain jumps a track, my mind reading skills are improving. When she says 'you know' I usually do.

But it's hard to wind down. I'm still expecting the tongue lashing every time the phone rings. Sis assures me that this won't happen again. The more she forgets, the happier she becomes. Unfortunately I'm not forgetting, not until this mood goes on for another week or so.

She hasn't forgotten to be pissed off about Aunt Selma, that could go on forever.

"THE EARTH WILL PAY FOR THIS"

I just loved this. It brought back memories of having to bath four cats. It was during my 'no dangerous chemicals for cats and kids stage' when I decided to use herbs to rid the animals of fleas, er, just the cats not the kids.

First catch all the cats and cage them. Boil up the herbs, rosemary was one that I remember and let them cool but not cold. Then pick out the cat most likely to rip your arms to shreds and that's the first in the tub. If we left that one to last, fear was magnified to terminator strength and we had no hope of avoiding lethal injuries.

It was one to hold and one to wash and both to scream abuse when the claws got moving. Then it was a big fluffy towell, usually mine and the cat was handed to one of the kids to dry it off while the next victim went in the bath. After they were all washed, I used the hair dryer to finish off the fur. I wasn't stupid, I made the kids hold the cats for this. The combing out of dead fleas was supposed to be next but the herbs weren't up to killing off the industrial strength vermin this lot used to pick up.

It wasn't long before the spot on the back of the neck lotion came on the market and I didn't care how much it cost (it was plenty). We flea bombed the house, the cats, the dogs and the kids. Flea free at last, then the kids brought home lice.

ELLESMERE ISLAND

The first image above is of the Ayles Ice Shelf, Ellesmere Island, Canada in 2005 before the break-up of the ice shelf. The image directly below is the ice shelf as a new ice island 66.4km2.
The ice shelves in Antarctica and Greenland are fed by glaciers but the Ayles Shelf was made of compacted thickened sea ice approximately 4,500 years old.*

According to Dr. Luke Copland from the University of Ottawa's Laboratory for Cryospheric Research, almost 90 per cent of the Ellesmere Island Ice Shelves have calved and floated away since 1900. There is now insufficient new ice formation to replace what's been lost.
The calving of the shelf only took an hour and was captured in images by the MODIS satellite. As with the "Loose Tooth" in Antarctica, there were low frequency seismic recordings during the break-away.

It's believed a combination of unusually warm air temperatures, long term regional warming, high offshore and alongshore winds (opening up ice free water), record low sea ice conditions and the loss of a semi permanent landfast sea ice fringe all contributed to the event. Dr. Copland thinks that blaming human-caused global warming is premature but doesn't rule it out.

As at January 2007, the Ayles Ice Island is frozen in the sea ice of north eastern Ellesmere Island. If it breaks free in the Arctic Summer and reaches the Beaufort Sea, its size could cause problems for shipping and oil platforms.

*An ice island is floating ice which has broken away from an Arctic Ice Shelf. An iceberg is a piece of ice which has broken away from a glacier.

Ellesmere Island rang a bell when I was looking at the ice shelf images so I took to rummaging around in the foot high stack of papers on my desk and found this. It's a satellite image of the Borup Fiord Pass with its huge glaciers. The yellow dot marks a sulfur spring seeping up through the ice.

In June 2006, Stephen Grasby of the Geologic Survey of Canada led a team to observe these sulfur springs to compare them with possible sites on Jupiter's moon Europa. These sulfur rich springs are teeming with microbes and while it's not the same as Europa, it's close enough to provide a testing site for remote sensing and exploration techniques in the same way the Antarctic dry valleys provided testing conditions for Mars. (the report can be found at The Planetary Society's weblog)

See, I'm not all pretty boys and donuts and anybody in Melbourne tonight will know why I'm posting about Arctic and ice shelves.

ANOTHER BEAUTY

Wrong, it's not another bloke, it's a frog. It's been preserved in amber ala Jurassic Park (that ala should have an accent on the a and I'm surprised blogger hasn't done it for me, slackers).

The tree frog appears to belong to the genus Craugastor and is only one centimeter long.

The amber could be as old as 25 million years since it was recovered from earthern deposits dating back to the Oligocene Epoch. According to researchers, they would love to try to extract DNA from the frog but the specimen is too valuable.

HELIX

This is the eye of the Helix Nebula. The image is from the Spitzer Space Telescope and is about 700 light years from Earth. NASA Scientists think the red haze around the dead star is from the dust of colliding comets, the cosmic survivors of a sunlike star that became a white dwarf.
Helix is a good name but I would have called it Godzilla's Eye.

I'LL HAVE MY COFFEE HOT

A fellow blogger is in raptures over her new coffee espresso machine not unlike this one. Very shiny but a lot of work for a cup of coffee in the morning.

I prefer mine served on a balconey by a willing slave. The coffee can be luke-warm but he's not.

In his other hand he's holding the croissants. Perhaps he should have put more clothes on, he could take a chill in the morning air, perhaps not.

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

In my last post I mentioned that my copy of "The Sea Around Us" was falling apart. The view above of the Ninety Mile Beach in Gippsland, Victoria is the reason. My sister and I used to take the train to my cousins and we would all go to this beach.

We would spend all day walking along the beach, to the beach, home from the beach. We hardly ever saw anyone. On one side of the sand dunes, it would be so scorching hot, we'd be jumping from grass hummock to hummock. On the sea side, the wind would be blowing a gale. It's the only place in the world where you can get 3rd degree sunburn and frostbite at the same time.

We never swam here. You could see the rips from the top of the dunes so we would spend the morning digging the biggest hole in the wet sand then dig a channel for the sea to flood into our private pool. We almost drowned our youngest cousin by putting him in a hole and watching the tide come in. A couple of Nuns out for an evening stroll made us take him out. I make no apologies, the kid was one of the worst whingers ever born and it was a consensus decision by all concerned. Thanks to the do-gooders we spent the next week dragging his stroller up and down sand dunes.

It was the perfect place to sit and watch the waves roll in. I used to try and pick which were local and which had rolled in from New Zealand. We used to listen to the weather report every night and pray for storms. Cornish wreakers had nothing on us when we heard the wind come up and the surf get louder. The pickings weren't much but our imaginations were. An old boot had us looking for the body. Dead sea creatures were subjected to rudimentary necropsies. The biggest storm we ever experienced left the shoreline littered with all sorts of gemstones which I learned later had probably been dredged up from the off-shore oil and gas explorations.

Only kids would know why we would take an hour to drag home a piece of driftwood to sit on when the holiday shack had plenty of chairs. Sometimes my aunt would turn up with lunch but mostly she stayed away and left us alone. I suppose she thought we'd all stay together and be safe but we would get bored and wander off to do something that interested one and not the others. That was one problem with the beach, you could walk for miles forgetting that the wind was at your back until you turned for home.

I haven't been back, too much development and too many people now. I'd never get away with singing off-key into the wind.

ANOTHER WOMAN OF SCIENCE

Rachel Carson was an American zoologist and marine biologist. In 1936 she became only the second woman to be hired by the, then, U.S. Bureau of Fisheries for a full time professional position, as a junior aquatic biologist.

She was 29 years old and caring for an aging mother, the next year her older sister died and she became responsible for her two nieces.

She became Chief Editor of Publications with the re-named Fish and Wildlife Service in 1949. As well as her work for this agency, she was writing for herself and "The Sea around Us" was published. It stayed on the New York Times bestseller list for 86 weeks (I still have my falling apart soft cover later edition). It won the 1952 National Book Award and was made into a documentary film that won an oscar.

She then began writing full time and at the death of one of her nieces, took responsibility for the 5 year old orphan son as well as continuing to care for her 90 year old mother. She moved to the countryside and began to research pesticides especially DDT which led to her writing her most famous book, "Silent Spring". She used the book to highlight wildlife mortality with the over-use of pesticides like dieldrin, toxaphene and heptachlor also linking these to human cancers.

The book was published in 1962 to a predictable outcry. She had threats of lawsuits and was derided as an hysterical woman who would see the earth returned to the dark ages. The chemical industries, (Monsanto, Velsicol, American Cyanamid) the Agriculture Department and some media went on the attack. This was despite her repeatedly saying she was not calling for a complete ban or withdrawal of helpful pesticides, just a more responsible attitude to use and an awareness of the impact of earth ecosystems.

Halfway through the writing of the book she was diagnosed with breast cancer and she died in 1964 at age 56. She didn't live to see the banning of DDT in the U.S. in 1972.

The Rachel Carson Prize was founded in Stavanger, Norway in 1991 and is awarded to women who have made a contribution in the field of environmental sciences.

Criticism of her work never stopped as developing countries battled infectious diseases nearly eradicated by DDT. But it was the indiscriminate spraying that she disagreed with. Research now shows how quickly pests become resistant. In 2006 research done on the larvae of anopheles gambiae shows they can survive outside puddles sprayed with insecticide, in the moist or wet mud several metres from the sprayed area.

In 2002 Ronald Bailey reviewed "Silent Spring" and concluded that the classic had not aged well. You can read it at http://www.reason.com/news/show/34823.html He does a nice hatchet job but I think he misses the point that science doesn't stand still and this was an amazing book for the age. It pointed the way down a road that has many side streets and it doesn't diminish her work in any way.

One of those attacking chemical companies is still making headlines, Monsanto is pushing genetically modified crops and making the pesticides to spray them.

VE HAF WAYS

Blogger certainly does, like locking me out of creating posts until I signed up for Beta.

If I have lost one full stop or comma, I'm coming after them.

It had better be idiot proof.

"labels for this post" That's easy mine come under froth, bubble and utter crap.

Not changing the layout, black doesn't show the dirt.

Okay, tits crossed and let's post.

PRETTY

This is the Island of Sark in the English Channel. It's three and a half miles long and one and a half miles wide. The map's boring.

This is much better. The Island of Sark joined to Little Sark. Property ownership is based on a feudal system whereby the Island is leased from the Crown by the Siegneur - King of Sark - and is divided into forty portions, one of which is the Seigneurie - King's Palace.

It has no cars. There are no roads, just dirt tracks and short cuts across fields for the transport which is horse, bicycle, tractor or public transport, which is horse and cart.

There is a prison which can hold two people and you can still be hanged for stealing cattle. There are local gemstones including amethysts which can be found on the beaches.

If you visit Little Sark, there are the remains of the copper and silver mines, called The Pot. The Gouliet Caves are massive and extremely beautiful but it's not advised that you wander off as people have disappeared in the network of caves.

LOST:MY MARBLES

I had to go out and shop for my Mummy today. I've filled the freezer with food and written it on paper and pinned it to the freezer door.

Yesterday she told the Brick Outhouse that the reason there was no food was that $50 worth of meat was stolen from her supermarket delivery truck on Thursday.

He rang me, frothing at the mouth that someone would do that to an old lady.

I almost made it through Sunday without my blood pressure dangerously near stroke level.

On Thursday, the store misplaced two pork butterfly steaks worth $9.58 for which I will get a credit next time I place an order.

Today I had to call the doctor to see if we could put her tablets into morning and evening lots instead of through the day. He's away on 5 weeks leave so I talk to substitute doctor and it sounds a lot like talking to my Mother. There is a letter in her file about breast cancer and it has her name on it but it's not her hence the confusion.

More confusion when I try to change all the medication with the chemist tomorrow. I also found out that the capsules she told me were for cholesterol are actually mild anti-depressants. I'm going through every tablet and capsule she takes and finding out what each one is for.

Memo to family.....do not listen to Mother.

On a much happier note. The Muriels are pregnant after three and a half years of trying. Let's hope it won't take as long for them to be able to have a marriage ceremony with all the trappings.

Take that Howard and up yours Ruddock.

THIS AIN'T RAMSEY STREET

Well if it was some fictitious street in some fictitious neighbourhood then I would have Henry on one side and someone equally as delicious on the other.

Instead I have been blessed with a controlling nag on one side and a pain in the arse on the other.

Controlling nag comes in this afternoon wanting to know if I've heard a duck quacking at night. It's keeping her awake so naturally she's hunting it down. Quickly hiding my trusty duck hunter quacker maker, I tell her no. Deprived of a witness to this nocturnal Daffy, she decides to have a go at my tree on the fence line.

Given it is not the most beautiful of trees but it was free and it's a battler in summer and winter, I don't mind it. I mean anything that grows in this garden without food and water is a survivor and should be given a medal not insults about its ragged shaggy mangy branches. I like its leaves that look like a deranged Rasta after a particularly good smoke.

I think this was the real reason for the visit. She's re-doing her garden, Yuccas and cactus and my monster is peering over her fence. I've already cut down two trees on the fence to please her although I wouldn't have if I hadn't wanted to and cut down the pine tree to please the arsehole on the other side so this one's staying.

My Feng Shui book says I should put up mirrors to deflect negative energies away from the house. If I deflected her negative energy I'd have enough mirrors up to guide the space shuttle back to earth. Whining bitch has been this way ever since I first met her. I've watched every woman in the street fight with her but never bothered myself. I learnt long ago that punching marshmallows gets you nowhere.

I allow her to remain superior in her own mind, anything that small should be cared for. Besides she's older than me and in nature's way should die first. I'm sorry the cat's too old to climb the fence and piss on her Yuccas.

JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE FRONT

This is brilliant, a aerial view of Uluru. I've never thought of how it would look from the air and it's very different from the cute guy I clicked to upload. It has been that kind of weekend staggering over into Monday.

I've had to put up with a visit from the Blight which meant tidying up everything just to prove I don't need another him to look after me. He still managed to give the place a once over as thought he still owned it. Now I can officially call him a little twit. He's shrunk or should that be diminished. He was wearing shoes, I wasn't but I still found myself looking at his forehead and I've never been as tall as him. It must be the weight of all that money sitting on his shoulders. he's going to be a little old man, hahahahaha, what a hoot, all that money and he's never going to be anything other than a fat wizened up little twit (you can be both).

A visit to Mummy was the icing on the cake. As usual I stopped at the bakery for coffee and yes, I had a donut but I didn't have two. I'm improving. What I did have was a sneeze so grabbed the tissue from inside the bra, usual place since it will never fall to the ground. Also pulled out a cockroach. Now it wasn't inside the bra when I put it on, I'm not that dopey so it must have been in the kleenex box. I tell you somewhere in space is an orbiting 'roach. It's 2kms to the bakery so it's been warming itself on my ample boob for 2kms and I never felt a twitch. All clothes will be inspected from now on.

At least there is one bright spot on the horizon. I'm meeting up with a Brownie tomorrow and much hilarity will be heard from Surrey Hills. We both talk so much we'll probably have to use one of those timers that chess players have, to get equal mouth time.

A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION

This is a ridiculous time of the night/morning to be posting but the Smirnoff Black hasn't had the desired effect and I'm not passed out cold.

I just remembered the sliding door was still open to the world of weird sex stalkers and marauding possums so I went to close it. Really to put the security system in place which happens to be a bloody big iron bar that leaves exactly 5 inches of open space for the cat to wander in and out.

I put my foot in the laundry basket, in the dark. Well doesn't everyone leave a laundry basket in the lounge room? Yes, I did hurt my foot, thanks for asking and I hurt it standing on the packet of pegs in the bottom.

It's been three years since I last bought a packet of pegs and they're good pegs and they cost a lot and I've just remembered I've left dresses hanging on the line. They'll be okay unless the wind picks up then it's 'Hello Oz' or 'My Life Before The Mast' as the Hills takes off.

Now PEGS, the very important question. Does one leave pegs on the line or does one take pegs off the line and put them in a dinky little basket? Personally I believe in tough love and leave the blighters (sorry been watching spitfires on ABC) to the weather. My friend takes them off and pops them into a custom made calico bag with 'PEGS' on the outside in cute fabric.
She probably has pegs inherited from her Grandmother, she takes that much care with them.

The only problem with the 'leave them where they peg' is that I have a line full of dead 'uns. It's a bit like a country fence strung with dead crows. Some skeletons have been there since before plastic ones were invented. I like the continuity of history.

I'm also too lazy to get them off the line.

ELEPHANT IN THE FAMILY

I'm trying to ignore the elephant in the family. NOT my weight although I'm ignoring that as well and that stupid biggest loser is starting again. Hate it with a passion I usually reserve for pavlova with cream and crushed raspberries. Now the elephant which is my Mother and who I have been trying not to post anything about. The elephant which is driving me crazy (which or who? which one, Dodgy?)

She shut the cat between the screen door and the front door. The cat's fat, the space isn't. The Brick Outhouse was not amused when he got home. The cat didn't leave his side all night. In fact she slept on his socks so the only thing that was injured was her sense of smell.

She rang me this morning to ask if she could put her shoes in the dishwasher to clean them. I have become an accomplished mindreader in the last year and told her she couldn't put them in the washing machine either. Can't keep a good elephant down, she washed them in the sink and hung them out to dry on the balustrade. If you ever get the chance to buy shares in Homeped Shoes, grab it. A tank could roll on those shoes, let alone my Mother. Along with cockroaches and John Howard, add Homeypeds to the nuclear war survivors.

She was surprised to find out today was February 1. Her calendar is defective, it hasn't finished January yet.

She's lost her TV guide again so she's going to ring me at 6 every night until she gets a new one on Sunday.

She is not deaf so there's no need to raise my voice to screaming pitch every time she rings.

APOLOGIES FOR THE BORINGNESS

I've been filing the first six months postings of this blog.

I find that quite reasonable as I don't trust anything electronic, look at Beta and that fiasco.

I was a lot happier then and it's a good thing I have a blog or I would have forgotten that.

Mother troubles will disappear happiness in a blink.

Yesterday she said I was overdosing her with pills and when was the funeral.

But if the blog is boring my commentors are not.

I have been blest with the best eccentric mob to be seen in blogland.

I love you all and I think that the blog commentor awards should be initiated in 2007.

MYSTERY SOLVED

I can't remember what I was doing when Camilla was trotted out wearing her first tiara and I missed all the gossip about where it came from but it looked familiar to me. Now at last I've found it.
Queen Mary had it made for the Delhi Durbar when she found out she couldn't take the crown jewells with her to India. It's shown below with a row of very large pear shaped emeralds. Around her neck below a circlet of diamonds, she's wearing the necklace of cabochon emeralds which was given to Diana, who astonished everyone by wearing around her forehead. Below that is a favourite necklace of Queen Elizabeth 11, also emeralds and diamonds with an emerald drop and a marquise diamond cut from the Cullinan.



This is the same tiara but the emeralds have been removed. Unfortunately the photo is not very clear but in the front of the tiara, another two stones cut from the Cullinan diamond are mounted. These were later removed and made into a brooch which the Queen always referred to as 'Granny's chips'. This tiara was last seen on the Queen during her trip to South Africa in 1947. It was on loan from Queen Mary.
As I've said before, wearing a corset had its advantages, one could wear an enormous amount of serious bling before falling on one's face.

ELEGANCE

From 1882, a two piece trained light Taupe silk crepe and satin two-tone dinner gown with golden silk taffeta trim and train.
The intricate folds at the back of the train are kept in place by a series of tapes which the lady's maid would have tied to create the waterfall effect.

This is the underneath of the train showing the stitched dust ruffle since cleaning as we know it didn't exist. The lace ruffle would have been removed as it got dirty but since this was a special occasion gown it would gone straight from the house into the waiting carriage.
It might not be rocket science but look at the construction of the bodice inside. The pleats and darts in place and beautifully lined. It would have been worn over a whaleboned corset. A lady would have also had small silk pads sewn under the arms of the sleeves to soak up any sweat or more delicately, dewy perspiration, to leave the garment unmarked.

No galloping around in this, no showing the girly bits getting out of the carriage a la Brittany or showing the superhold panties a la Katie Cruise. You couldn't help but be a lady wearing this but knowing me I'd have the soup in the ruffles before you could say elegance.

I LOVE A NEW WORD

This is a meteorite and it's covered in regmaglypts, which means thumbprints and I have to be able to work that word into someone's insult at some stage of my life.

Regmaglypts are caused by dynamic air pressure and selective erosion by material melting off the surface of the meteorite on its passage through the atmosphere. A pattern like fingers over wet clay is frequently observed.

SUNDAY NEWS

I only get the paper on Sunday and there’s not much in it for a laugh except today there was a pile of gold.

The AFL has put forward a proposal that membership of a football club would gain migrant points on their citizenship test. Campbell Rose said that for people to integrate into our society they have to understand the fabric of our community and learn the principles of how Australians lived.

How sweet to think that football could do that. Let’s hope that any future citizens haven’t read about the sex romps, marital break-ups, drunken fights, drunk driving charges and hoon behaviour on interstate flights.

There have been reports that David Beckham has been taking lessons to lower the pitch of his squeaky voice and is studying method acting. Sniggers, loud guffaws and oh, stop my sides are hurting. Good luck to the squirrel hiding inside the Beckham suit.

One in five marriages and relationship breakdowns are being caused by internet sex and affairs. Relationships can develop more quickly due to lowered inhibitions, absent physical cues and details, and the ease of exchanging information.

So I’m on the net telling some bloke that I’m 5 foot 11 inches tall, natural red hair (okay that one’s true) boobs that would put Pamela Anderson to shame but the rest of me looks like Elle and I’ve got the sexual appetite of Alexis Carrington and then I’m going to believe the description the bloke gives me. It pains me to say so but some women are dumb enough to do this.

Good news though, with some Melbourne councils backing same-sex unions. The Melbourne Council is establishing a relationship register to allow gay and lesbian couples to publicly declare their partnerships with town hall ceremonies. Australian Family Association’s Angela Conway said the gay unions plans were particularly annoying, much like her Christian good self. I expected an outburst from Bill Muehlenberg but he was on another page having a go at Muslim students.

La Trobe University has male and female washrooms for muslims only. This is so they can do their ritual washing before prayers as in, washing feet. Something they would do in the other washrooms, using the sinks which led to complaints by non-muslim students. It’s a service provided at most other universities in line with providing chaplains from the major Christian denominations and a Christian Chapel. Very sensible, so shut up Bill, you should be happy that any university student believes in God at all.

A WOMAN OF SCIENCE

If anyone thinks of deep ocean explorers, the name Robert Ballard immediately comes to mind because of his discovery of the Titanic. (an accident, he was really on a secret mission to find another country's downed submarine).

Dr. Sylvia Earle received her Bachelor of Science degree in 1955 at Florida State University, followed by her Master's degree in botany in 1956 at Duke University. She won scholarships and supported herself by working in college laboratories. Her Master's dissertation was a detailed study of algae in the Gulf of Mexico. She has collected more than 20,000 samples and continues to do so. Her collection shows the changes in algae as their habitat has changed over a period of fifty years.

She married after completing her Master's but still continued her research work on scientific expeditions round the world. She had to balance family and work even descending 100 feet below the sea in the submersible Deep Diver when she was four months pregnant. In later years some of her children worked with her at her company, Deep Ocean Engineering.

In 1966 she received her PhD from Duke University. Her dissertation "Phaeophyta of the Eastern Gulf of Mexico" was unique in being a long and detailed first-hand study of aquatic plant life as she was one of the first researchers to use SCUBA gear to aid in her work. In 1981 Dr. Earle and her former husband, Graham Hawkes, a British-born engineer recognised the limitations of scuba diving. They founded Deep Ocean Technology, Inc. and Deep Ocean Engineering, Inc. They designed and built a submersible called Deep Rover which is still operating today.

In 1970 she led the first team of women to participate in the Tektite project. The scientists lived for weeks at a time in an enclosed habitat fifty feet down on the ocean floor just off the Virgin Islands. This all women group was known as Tektite 11 because to quote Dr. Earle, "The people in charge just couldn't cope with the idea of men and women living together underwater."

After this expedition Dr. Earle went to the Galapagos Islands, the waters off Panama, China, Bahamas and the Indian Ocean. It was in the 1970s when she began to collaborate with undersea photographer, Al Giddings. The record of their voyages following the sperm whales from Hawaii, New Zealand, Australia, Sth Africa, Bermuda and Alaska became the documentary film, "Gentle Giants of the Pacific".


The image above is a JIM suit, a pressurised one-atmosphere armoured suit. Sylvia Earle was carried by a submersible down to a depth of 1,250 feet in the ocean off the island of Oahu. In a suit like this she walked across the ocean floor at a depth where no-one had ever been before. The only thing connecting her to the submersible was a communication line.

She's an expert on the ecological impact of oil spills, leading research trips to report on the burning of the Kuwaiti oil fields during the Gulf War. She also advised on oil spills from the Exxon Valdez and Mega Borg.

In 1990 she was the first woman to serve as chief scientist of the National Oceanographic and Atmosperic Administration. Time magazine named her their first "Hero for the Planet" in 1998.
She's explorer-in-residence at the National Geographic Society. She regards the oceans an an important and essential environmental habitat and would like to see changes implemented especially for deep ocean exploration. Of the world's five deep-sea manned submersibles, those that dive to 20,000 feet or more, the US has only one. Her company is working on one to reach 36,000 feet. She influenced the Clinton administration's decision to double the US National Marine Sanctuaries budget. She is still continuing to plan deep ocean expeditions.

I have only written about a small part of her life, I've left out the academic and administration appointments, the lecture tours and the committment to educating humans that underwater research is important to the health of the planet.

When women are good at science they're very very good.

THE SILVER THAW

I can lose hours browsing through the National Geographic photo archives and this one caught my eye. It was taken in Newfoundland by Sam Abell who is one of my favourite photographers.

The plant stems have an icy glaze on them which is caused by freezing rain. The Newfoundlanders call this the silver thaw.

BUS!

Crossing with the lights at a busy intersection can be hairy.

Waiting to cross can be even hairier.

Very large bus which had to be going above the speed limit hit a bump in the road.

I took two or three or even four steps back.

Some part of the speeding bus gouged two tracks along the road surface.

I got showered with sparks. I could smell burning and checked my dress.

About 60 seconds later, a cop car stops at the lights. 60 seconds too bloody late.

A BAD BAD THING

I don't usually do links if I can help it because I find I learn better if I write it in my own words but this article 'The trouble with troubled teen programs. How the "boot camp" industry tortures and kills kids' has to be read to be believed. http://www.reason.com/news/show/117088.html

Now I understand how Guantanamo Bay or the Abu Ghraib incidents could happen.

How can a country that makes a profitable industry from beating and abusing its children claim any moral high ground against any other country?

I'd be happy for any passing American to leave a comment about this.

It recalls the worst of the religious children's homes in Australia of the last century. It shouldn't be happening now in a supposedly free society and I hope it isn't happening here.

TAXI!

I usually love my taxi drivers but I've ridden with two this week that shouldn't be on the roads. Well, they can but just not with me in the car.

Sunday's twit couldn't have found his way out of Baghdad with a squadron of tanks. He didn't trust my Melway Map to Upwey but opened his Melway to check that my Melway was right. That's the way he drove, two maps on his lap and his eyes on the map.

Driver home was much better. He even suffered the Big M drive through for pissed sister who needed fries and coke.

Today's little dear was car blind. There were no other cars on the road except his taxi. It's fortunate that I saw the bus coming straight for us. It's fortunate that the other car turning in front of us saw the taxi and stopped. This guy didn't see them, he was shocked to find other people using his road. I always give a tip however small and I figured this driver could put it towards his pre-paid funeral plan.

I (sorry didn't some blogger or other say one shouldn't put 'I' in blog postings, wanker) walked out to the ATM to collect my inadequate welfare bludge to find a little old lady already there. How many times have I said I am a little old lady magnet? She has a shopping trolley in which she is carrying her oxygen bottle which is connected to her nose. She's about 3'6" and looked like a passing burp would knock her flat. She removes from the machine $800 and I know this, why? Because she stood there and counted it. A three year old hoon could have mugged her.
I gently suggested that perhaps next time she could go into the bank and have the girls give her the money even if they do charge $2 or whatever. She said perhaps I was right since it was hard to hold the oxygen and count at the same time.

I swear when I get old, I'm walking out into the desert straight into the sunset unless I come across the Todd River and drown first. (It has water, it rained there today)

IT'S ONLY THE HEAT

I can't believe it's only a few weeks since I was bitching about the freezing cold. I didn't order stinking hot, just warm would have done. It brought it home to me last night how much we owe to the firefighters who have been going non-stop in heat like this. If Howard had any sense he'd make the CFA Australians of the Year because they deserve it. Not only putting out fires but dealing with the injured animals they come across.

Speaking of animals, I have had some strange goings on at night in the trees outside my window. Call me crazy but it sounds like bats. I don't know of any birds that fly at two in the morning and besides it doesn't sound like bird flight. It's a glidey floomp sound accompanied by icky squeaks (could I write scripts or what) that don't sound like birds. Have I ventured out to see the nocturnals? Bite yer bum, I'm no Indianna Jones and I have enough with the huntsman invasion and the cockroaches.

I'm not sure about the cockroaches, well I know what two species of roach looks like but the two I poured out of the bucket yesterday were not familiar. When we had the air conditioner installed they usually put the outflow into the stormwater but I decided that we could use the water on the garden so it collects in a bucket. So do various insects and I hope they just come from the outside and drown, not through the pipes in the wall. The thought that there might be some thriving metropolis between the plaster and the bricks doesn't help me sleep at night.

I could have preserved the bodies but I don't think I really want to know what they are. The blowflies and mozzies have been thin on the ground so far. No earwigs or cicadas but the ants are getting ready for world domination. Not sure what the spiders are thriving on but they are bigger than last year and I didn't need to look up last night and see one walking across the ceiling. That was after I put my glasses on, before I could just make out a moving blur. I had to wait until it was not over the bed before the capture attempt. I hope my watching him made him embarrassed because he took 20 minutes of stalking to find out it was an empty spider thread floating in the breeze not the insect he thought it was.

Don't you just love Summer. When's Autumn?

PAYBACK

"If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older." Tom Stoppard.

Well the two children and one grandchild of a certain old lady stopped carrying their childhood today. We have paid for our day out on Sunday. When we weren't around she started on the Brick Outhouse and for the first time in his life, with his Grandmother, he stood his ground and gave as good as he got.

In one of those peculiar coincidences, we all gave it back today. From now on we look after her welfare but we're not taking insults or manipulation. The children have grown up.

Speaking of children, one of the loveliest sights of Sunday were the Dads carrying their offspring.
From babies to toddlers, they never left them and it wasn't just babysitting duty, these fathers, mostly older, were really enjoying the company of the little ones.

We might be conditioned by biology to reproduce when we're young but there's a lot to be said for mature age parents.

TODAY I.....

Found out that I still hate cheap gin but love Bombay Sapphire over a twist of lemon and loads of ice.

Found out I love the silence of gum trees.

Found out that one day of gin and silence isn't enough.

AAAAAAAAAAAARGH

That feels much better. I've been at the cuckoo's nest all day.

I get home, make a nice greek salad to eat in front of the ABC's National Trust house program.

Mother calls from the nest.

"Can you see what I'm doing with the video? It's rewinding and I can't stop it."

"I'm three kilometres away."

"well just tell me what to do." (the temptation, the temptation)

I am mentally in her bedroom, guiding fingers to buttons and getting her fingers off the remote.

"I've got all that but the DVD isn't coming through."

"You just got me to turn off the video and the TV. You didn't say you wanted a DVD to play."

"Get the remote, turn on the power button, the green one in the left hand corner. Push the round button to return to DVD play. Press the play button on the machine, the one with the triangle pointing towards the wall."

"It's playing white lines round and round."

"you've put it back to Video. Undo all the fingering you just did. Have you got a DVD in the machine?"

"Of course, I'm not stupid, just a minute while I check. DVD is in the little square slot thingy."

"Press play, triangle points to the wall."

"Playing now." Clunk goes phone.

I'm seriously thinking of phoning the Vet Clinic to see if I can do a deal with the cat and Mother.
(stupid blogger left this out or maybe I'm getting 'mother disease') All this was not said gently but in a steadily rising crescendo much like Phil Spectre's 'Wall of Noise" so the next time I see one of those disaster movies where the cook/flight attendent/somebody's cat is at the controls of a 747 and there is no shouting from the control tower, a boot is being thrown at the screen.

BACK FROM THE CUCKOO'S NEST

Did you know that in place of flyspray you can spray a blowfly with Spray Starch?

This is so it can't fly around and annoy you.

The idea being that its wings stiffen up and it can only lie around dying of starvation.

You also don't have Old Timer's or dementia if you can still read.

So if you catch your Mother writing herself little notes like.....the black square thing is a video and the round flat thing is a DVD......then she's only a little nutty because her memory is shot.

She is living proof that a person can survive on apricot jam and toast.

Such are the things my Mother taught me and that's just today.

ICE COLD

This is a part of the Amery Ice Shelf called the "Loose Tooth" which began breaking away about 10 years ago. The rifts seen above have been opening up and moving steadily at around 4 to 8 metres a day. In 2005, the same rifts were estimated to be rifting at between 2 and 5 metres a day. There hasn't been a major calving from the shelf since 1962-3.

The fracturing is like earthquake activity, variable and spasmodic. One rift lengthened by almost 200 metres over 4 hours. The rift bursts of activity are not directly triggered by either winds or tides but glaciological stress in the ice shelf.

The ice shelves are the floating extensions of the continental ice sheets and moderate the flow of ice into the sea and scientists expect a 30 by 35 kilometre area to break into the sea in the next few years.

Ice Shelf Research scientists left for Antarctica in December 2006 to study the "Loose Tooth" rifting using Global Positioning System units and seismometers to measure movement and to "listen" to the cracking and snapping of the ice shelf as it moves.

This is a long term collaborative project between the Antarctic Climate Ecosystems Co-Operative Research Centre, the University of Tasmania and the Scripps Institution of ocenaography in California.

The Australian Government chipped in with some loose change, $4.6 million.

The same Government is spending over $19 million on its terrorist hotline.

FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD

I've had a nasty shock this week. I weighed myself, got off the scales, checked that Kirsty Allie hadn't jumped on behind me and weighed again. Dear me, the kilos haven't snuck up on me, they've stampeded and galloped over the top of me. Nearly 6kgs in 10 months, add that to the 5kgs of the year before and I'm halfway back to all weight I lost the year before that. Doesn't time fly when adding up the kilos.

I stress eat. I actually do what every New Age Guru says we should all do, when I eat I'm living in the now with every chomp and chew. Food has a tranquilizing effect on me unfortunately it's sweet food that does the job. I'm not a big eater and yes, I know we've heard that from every fat, obese, morbidly obese person in the world but I am a wrong food eater. I'm also a very slow eater. Other people can go through six courses in the same time as I eat an entree and dessert. I usually eat out of one bowl with one fork and the other hand is holding a book and one eye is on the TV. The diet books say this is a no-no, one should concentrate on every mouthful to the exclusion of everything else. At the rate I eat, I'd be comatose.

I have been trying to be good. We didn't even have a Christmas dinner this year. I'm down to no sugar and a drop of milk in tea which doesn't quite make up for two sugars in coffee or the donut with the coffee. Now I have to bypass the bakery on the way to Mum's. If I buy chocolate, it's very dark with almonds which is extremely hard to scoff the lot. I could steamroll through a box of Lindt between two blinks of an eye. As much as I love a crisp apple and a bitey cheddar, nothing rivals Pavlova loaded with cream and fruit as a calmative.

I could never be bulimic. After years of gallbladder trouble and copious bilious upchucks, I couldn't think of anything worse. I could never be anorexic. Not eating is something I could never be proficient at. Compulsive eating is not what I do either. I don't like overeating and feeling stuffed so eating until a loaf of bread is consumed or a 2 litre carton of icecream isn't me.
What I need a a stress-free life, a calm ordered existence with limited access to anything containing sugar....or fat....or chocolate coated.

Must go now, circus is in town, need new dress, must steal tent.

STARTING 2007 AGAIN

This is how 2007 should have started with a frivolous post about who is more delicious. My Welsh stud muffin above or Zoe's Hollywood Hawaiian SNAG below. Wet or dry I don't think we'd knock either of them back. There's my number one resolution for 2007, more pretty men on this blog, preferably undressed but then someone has to think of the children who might wander in so I suppose that I'll have to clothe some of them.

Telstra has fixed the phone lines so now I'm baaaack. I told them it was the possum circus every night but after watching the recycle truck this morning, I'd say that's been doing some damage as well. Anyway I didn't have to pay. Serious blogging can now continue, that's seriously naked men blogging can continue. Give me a week and I'll settle down and maybe do a thinking piece or two but Happy New Year to all for this week.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Not really, it's been utter crap so far. Mama had a massive panic attack yesterday because she went to sleep and lost her glasses. Lucky me, I'm first on the speed dial, unlucky me because there's not a taxi to be had. Luck changes and a neighbour gives me a lift.

I'm still having trouble with the crackling phone and kindly Telstra tested the outside line and joy to me, it's the line inside the house. This will cost me up to and over $100 depending on what has to be done.

If it fixes the crackle and the dial-up connection trouble I'm having then it's worth it. I just won't tell them I'll be paying it off 50 cents a month on the phone bill.

If I don't answer comments or emails blame it on Telstra.

ANOTHER LAST POST

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.

Phone rings......

Me. "Hello."
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.............

LAST POST FOR 2006

It could be the last post for a few days if the dial-up connection doesn't right itself. I'm having trouble getting any pages up with a 'cannot find server' message every time I try. This is all from when I installed IE7 so I'm blaming Microsoft. That's one resolution for 2007, move to firefox when I figure out how to change all the settings for mail etc.

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.

MY CHRISTMAS ANGEL

I've left a small window open for you.

YE OLDE TRADITIONS

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.

TWAS THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

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.

REQUEST

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.

WHAT'S MISSING THIS YEAR

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.

HANAU

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.

A LITTLE CHRISTMAS LUST

I would like

to deck

his halls

with boughs of holly

SIX DAYS ON THE ROAD

Joy to waking up and knowing I'd only have to walk to the shop to get the paper and croissants for breakfast.

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.

PILL CHECK AGAIN

Another UTI and another six days of madness.

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.

TESTING, TESTING

Who was the moron that decided that IE7 was a good idea?

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?

THROW MOMMA FROM THE TRAIN REVISED

My sister has 30 years of nursing experience under her belt, that's hands on experience not University training. No class room teaching can replace years of observation and experience. There is always something new to absorb and add to knowledge. She found this yesterday when talking to the palliative care nurse who has been giving lectures on pain control and personality changes in cancer patients and how to manage these.

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.

THROW MOMMA OFF THE TRAIN

But how to get her on the train first.

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.

WHAT TO DO ABOUT MOTHER

If you've lost a mother and still feel badly about it then don't read any further or you might want to hit me. It's been a nasty two days and I'm still very angry which I have a right to be but shouldn't be because I'm the one with the stroke type headache.

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.

STAR TRAILS

The stars are God's dreams,
thoughts remembered in the silence of the night.
Henry David Thoreau




Supposing you only saw the stars once every year.
Think what you would think.
The wonder of it!
Tasha Tudor and Richard Brown