The art of theft.

I've been reading a book about art theft and very interesting it is. So many paintings gone and so few recovered but I'm not talking about Napoleon's scroungers or Hitler's henchmen, ordinary thieves.

One surprising fact was that very few women are art thieves or we're clever enough not to be caught.

Another is that rarely is a painting stolen to order these days unless it's a specific grouping of subjects.

The news of a theft of a valuable piece of art give the organised art thieves world wide publicity regarding its monetary value.  The paintings are then used as collateral to buy drugs, guns or whatever they want. Some ransoms are still paid by insurance companies but many disappear and are never seen again.  And it's not only paintings.

Jonathon Tokeley-Parry had a neat antiquities smuggling racket going for him in the early 1990s.  He bought artifacts and after dipping them in clear plastic, he painted them to look like cheap gaudy tourist souveniers. Custom officials on the lookout for the real deal didn't catch on.  Tokeley-Parry transported many artifacts including a $1.2 million sculptured head of the Egyptian pharoah Amenhotep 111.  He created a provenance for his stolen goods in the form of the non-existent Thomas Alcock Collection.

His attention to detail included aged labels made by copying old pharmaceutical labels onto rough paper, baking them and finishing the ageing process by daubing them with teabags.

He was eventually caught and tried in England, copping a 3 year sentence.  The Egyptian authorities weren't as lenient, they sentenced him to 15 years hard labour, to be served if he ever set foot in their country again.

Henry Moore's bronze "Reclining Figure" weighed in at 2.7 tons.  On December 15, 2005, a team of thieves driving an old style Austin mini cooper followed by a stolen flatbed truck with a crane, hoisted the 11 foot long sculpture on board and left.  Estimated value in 2006 was 5.2 million dollars.  

In 1997, Gustave Klimt's "Portrait of a woman" was taken from the Galleria Ricci Oddi, Piacenze, Italy.

The gallery was closed for renovation so guards assumed the 60 by 55 cm painting had been put in storage.

The thief had simply climbed onto the roof, opened a skylight and used a fishing line to hook the painting off the wall.  He left the frame on the roof. 

Art theft is a lot harder to pull off these days, from Galleries that is, private homes, small museums or churches are still vulnerable. Remember that next time you can't see a painting for the bullet proof glass or the alarm sensor that goes off if you go 1 cm over an invisible line and don't pick your nose, the cameras are everywhere.  But as values increase stealing art is still worth the risk even if Auction houses have computer listings of everything known to be missing.  Of course war is a great cover for theft, loot from the Iraq war is still surfacing.

One last interesting fact.  The Mona Lisa only became popular after Vincenzo Peruggia lifted it from the Louvre in 1911.  Until the painting was found two years later in Florence, crowds came in greater numbers to stare at the empty space on the wall.

To get this image the astrophotographer waited two years for the sky and clouds to be just right on a clear and moonless night.
At the Piton de l'Eau on Reunion Island, Luc Perrot was lucky.  In the foreground is a water filled volcanic crater and above are hundreds of stars including the central band of our Milky Way Galaxy. 

I needed something beautiful like this after seeing photographs of Aunt Selma today.  Mum's 82, identical sister is the same age, she just looks 100.  I would have passed her on the street and not known who she was and to think, she always said she was the prettier one. So my sisters in blogging, don't smoke, don't lose weight and purge mean thoughts and deeds from your mind or you're going to look 100 when you're only 82.  

The Home was such a pleasure this afternoon, NOT.  The full moon isn't until July 4 so I can only assume they're getting in some practice before the gleaming globe hits the night sky and unlike the image above, it ain't gonna be pretty.

Eva got hit by a truck yesterday. I'd believe it, trucks go through the day room all the time and it would explain the over the top fruitcake performance excelled only by quiet Eddy who, since his fall out of bed, has developed the language of a wharf labourer with a smattering of sheep shearer.  He wandered into the day room in full voice, sat down at the piano, belted the keys and slammed the lid shut.  That didn't take the edge off his mood so he did it several more times while mum and I waited for him to lose his fingers.

The escapee has slowed right down, now in a tub chair and gone into the twilight zone.  We lost Sheila last week and old Joe fell out of bed and lost his eye but he didn't mind, it was the one he couldn't see out of.

And the gold fish died.  I think Aunt Selma looked at it and turned it to stone.  Now I am a caring person but my care tank is running on empty tonight.  No doubt I look 90.  I'll look a 100 if the homeless are still homeless when he gets home.

Taxi drivers

Taxi drivers have taken quite a beating over the last week, thankfully none of them were my regular drivers around Cheltenham and Mentone.  We must be more placid here.  Yesterday though I was witness to a very rude display to a driver.  Freezing cold, raining cats and dogs so I was pleased to see a line of taxis when I came out of Southland on my way to see mother.
A taxi pulls up, the mother with child in front of me takes a step forward as the driver gets out to help her with parcels.  She takes one look at him and says she'll take the next cab and walks away.
He looks bewildered then asks me if I want a ride.  I'm in the seat like a shot and ready to go. He's a regular driver and asks if I'm going home or going to the Home and asks if I have a problem with him as a driver.  Are you kidding, the man knows exactly where to take me without instructions and not the long way round, knows I hate a right hand turn out of Argus Street into Warrigul Road, stops right at my drive so I have no trouble getting out and is always polite. 
I don't know what nationality he was or is, he had a sort of 4 day beard growth, short hair, no body odour, cab smelt okay so I don't know what the woman's problem was but I think she was very rude.

It has been a monster of a week. My feet are still getting warm and I've only been out to see mother twice.  Usually the Home is too hot but not this week. She's still enjoying the iPad and the staff keep downloading more games for her but angry birds is about all she can cope with although there is some penguin game that's supposed to be fun. And glory be, Fergusson Plarre is open for business again and a custard tart disappeared from the bag faster than lightning. She said lunch was horrible, the tart was welcome and don't forget to bring more.

So I left with the third taxi driver for the day.  He waited patiently while I negotiated his new fangled high off the ground cab.  Instead of being able to just pull my feet in, there is some sort of ledge so I have to lift the feet in.  Difficult when carrying two bags and levering the lardarse onto the seat. Another nice bloke who knew the area and I had no problems with him.  Mind you I wouldn't take the job if it was the last one on earth.

All the circles, round and round

So June, 17, 2012, one of those circles in the image above, just pick one and touch it anywhere. The beginning and end is the same. June 17, 2000 or June 17, 2012 because I'm back exactly where I started. 
I am stressed, weight is back to what it was then, family is irritating me but I haven't seen the ex for 6 years so that is one big good news tick.
June 17, 2000 and I was two weeks into the great freedom of no marriage.  I read constantly in the advice columns that the parties of a disintegrating marriage should see a councellor to make sure they have tried every means to save it and then there are no recriminations.  Yeah, well he skipped all that by just leaving and waltzing into the arms of his blonde.  Karma bites as she is frequently waltzed out of the RSL by the bouncers and poured into his car.  Bwahahahaha.

I was fat, just getting used to walking on two brand new knees, getting over feeling sorry for my ex best friend who had an affair with my ex, (I mean how desperate did she have to be to go with him), and stressed that it might all be a dream and he would come back.  I lost 20 kilos in pure happiness.
That 20 kilos is now back and haunting me.  Not just the stress eating, the expectant family will know if they have a place next week, but the trying to eat 3 very small meals so I can eat 3 very small snacks during the day to regulate the sugar levels.  It isn't working.  And the pills, in 2000, I was taking two in the morning for anxiety and two at night for arthritis, now it's a constant stream of pills and vitamins.  I wake up, reach for the glass and pill, take blood test, take pills for sugar before eating, take vitamins while eating.  Blood pressure pills and more vitamins at night with food. Do I feel better, damned if I know.
I'm still fat, I'm still falling over, I'm still carrying the family around on my back. I'm still looking for that lost freedom of 2000.  I'm heading for another birthday, another fat birthday with no cake.  And I'm thinking, at my age can I afford to sit quietly for a month and just breathe with relief at the silence of a house with just me in it?
That's before I start stripping the wallpaper off the front room, painting the walls and 4 cupboards. To do that I have to unload a bookcase and move a big cupboard full of material so I can get to the walls.  Moving all the sewing and jewellery and craft back in there before I start cleaning the rest of the house.  Moving all the boxes out of the hallway and Feng Shui'ing that space.  I can just spy an empty bookcase over the packed mess, much like peering into a Pharoah's tomb and seeing wondrous things.
A lot of the furniture is moving with the lodger, I will have space.  I will vacuum without needing a contortionist's training. I have already begun the culling of the unwanted or unneeded and I'm being viscious about it.  I just would like that visciousness to include the culling of unwanted blubber around the bumlegsboobs but leave the face alone, I've seen my sister and she's just lost weight but it missed the hips but not the neck. She looks like she's just put on a necklace of dried river beds.

I don't care if I'm fat, I'm as healthy as I'll every be, I'm going grey but I'm really pissed at how fast time is flashing past. I remember everything about June 17, 2000 like it was yesterday. Just don't ask me what happened yesterday.

What was that famous line about removing a priest?

"Obviously you've got to make sure that there are appropriate safeguards taken, but look I think it's very important that we do expand, appropriately, coal mining in Queensland.



"We can't let a green veto stop these projects which are vital for our future prosperity."


Mr. Abbott said this about The Great Barrier Reef.  We should all listen to him because he is in Parliament and wants to be Prime Minister.  And if this is what he thinks as Opposition Leader, imagine what His Creepiness will do if he ever gets his jaws into real power.
 
 
The reef contains:



1,500 species of fish


411 types of hard coral


one-third of the world’s soft corals


134 species of sharks and rays


six of the world’s seven species of threatened marine turtles


more than 30 species of marine mammals, including the vulnerable dugong.


The Royal Navy used to keelhaul miscreants, that is tie rope around them and haul them along the barnacle encrusted hull of the ship and so removing most of the skin and flesh.  So let's put a modern spin on this tried and trusted punishment.  We hang Mr. Opposition by his feet from a small plane and reef haul him the entire length, making sure we take appropriate safeguards for the reef. I mean those ears alone could wipe out several miles of precious coral.
 
Yes, I am in a filthy mood and yes, I detest this man.

The Drifting River meme

1. You're taking a three month holiday, no expenses spared, do you cruise the oceans or fly the skies?



I charter the Queen Mary11. I will have the luxury suites on the upper deck and all my blog mates get the rest of the ship. I order the Captain to cruise the coastlines of Australia (including Tassie) and New Zealand.


2. If you could ask God for one world-wide miracle, what would it be?


Turn the Arms and munitions dealers on the sex and drug traders, all out war with no collateral damage.


3. Would you choose sky diving or deep sea diving? (why?)


Deep sea diving with James Cameron. Well it's a no brainer isn't it? Would you stand around happy knowing I was hurtling towards earth with only a flimsy parachute on my back? It'd be the dinosaurs all over again.


4. Would you choose having your wishes granted or having the power to grant wishes?


Neither, people would hate you either way and who am I to do a goddess out of a job.


5. If you could pick a song to be a world anthem, what would it be?


Just "Imagine"


6. Do you dream in black and white or colour?


Vivid colour and widescreen, fortunately not 3-D.


7. Three-course meals or one-pot dinners?


I can't eat a 3 course meal, it's either entree and pudding or main. When I'm alone, it's everything in the one pot, eat with a fork but don't forget the linen napkin, I do have class.


8. Do you menu plan, shop for two weeks worth of ingredients, then serve up toast and jam for dinner?


Of course not, toast and jam is for afters. After the donuts, spring rolls and anything else I can cram in the microwave.


9. Do you dye your hair a totally different colour from what nature intended?


Dye is such an ugly word. One enhances one's natural colour or the colour one would have had if one had been given a choice.


10. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose?


What, move away from Godsowncountry, at least the bit that Gina doesn't own, sorry rent.


11. Do you change your home decor to suit the seasons or do you just leave things as they are year in year out?


If something doesn't stick out like a sore thumb then it's decor'd to perfection. I move nothing, it disturbs the dust bunnies.

Never mind the Sun and Venus.

So I missed the block spot crossing the Sun but I can look at this image for a lot longer and without going blind.  It is a special moon called the Full Strawberry Moon and the Algonquin tribes knew it meant a time to gather ripening strawberries or the Rose Moon in Europe.  In this photo the moon is rising over the Absaroka Mountain Range, Cody, Wyoming.  Copyright to Mack Frost.

As is usual when there is no blogging from the witchy, it means a crappy week or a fall, in this case, both.  Now who would have thought with all my padding in front that I would actually stumble and fall flat on my backside. I really mean stumble, from the lounge door right across the hall until I hit ground zero and imploded about a zillion fat cells.  There must have been some shock since I bum walked all the way to the lounge to crawl up onto a chair when I was two minutes nearer to my bed but then I was facing away from the bedroom and one tends to go in the direction the feet are facing.
And being in nightdress and dressing gown, it took longer than necessary until I thought of taking off the dressing gown.  I hauled myself up on the nearest chair and managed to cut across  four fingers on a sharp edge of a plastic bag containing the drapes still waiting to be put up as soon as the curtain rod is put up.  Not bothering now that the BOH is hopefully moving out, soon or very soon or he will end up a commuting father.
So I'm hurting in several places including the toes on the left foot, right knee and sliced fingers.
Just don't mention the bum.

I haven't heard from mother probably reading her iPad or playing angry birds.  One of the nurses downloaded the game from his iPhone and showed her how to play. She's handling the iPad so well she's reading two books at the same time, depending on her mood.  She gets bored playing Temple Run, zombie apes do nothing for her.  But she's found out how to use the camera by taking photographs of herself and deleting the bad ones.  Who'd have thought I'd be writing about the old girl and Internet technology at her age.

A titillating titbit.

Now this is rooly serious, no laughing matter snigger  (putting on straight face).

Sperm get lost on their way.  Got your attention.....

About 300 million sperm get released by a man during sex (I could make a horror movie out of that) but only a few dozen reach the egg.

Why?

Because sperm have a terrible sense of direction, according to the latest fertility research.
Scientitsts have tracked sperm movement (what do you mean how?  They all have little GPS attached) and found that sperm struggle to turn sharp corners (Que?) and frequently crash into walls and each other.

"Sharp corners", I was sure it was a straight road to Paradise.  "Frequently crash into walls and each other" , oh yeah, well didn't we women always know that Happy Hour at the pub and hooning was inbuilt.

Next thing is live commentary, "Are we there yet?  Are we there yet?  Are we there yet?  Are we there yet? Watch that sharp cor.......oh crap.

Bwahahahahhahaha.  Men and their boys.

I'm not violent but someone hide the shovel.

This image is from Finnish Lapland, you know the reindeers, snow, snow and more snow interspersed with ice and snow.  It comes down so hard and long that the trees start looking like this, straight out of that Ice World of StarWars, alien giants.  I think they dumped a young James T. Kirk on an ice world so snow and ice equals punishment, on the other hand, Hawaii is for lovely people like me, all sweetness and light.  Finnish Lapland is for family members who are giving me the irrits and for once it isn't my mother.

Thank the blessed IT goddess who invented iPads and zombie games.  It's keeping her amused in between read Pride and Prejudice, page l40 now.  It can catch you out if you aren't careful. Sister was playing with the icons, (something she said mother would never master) and she took her own photo, bwaahahahhahahha.  Up close and personal with her wrinkles, nose hair and no chin. I did her a favour and put it in the garbage bin along with mine, grey hair, wrinkles and 3 chins.

Friday is June and then it's 8 weeks until himbo and dimbo welcome the bambimbo.  If my sister says one more time that everything will work out, just wait and see then I will have to commit fratricide or should that be imbecilacide?  That sounds like something that would work on Abbott.
Back to sister who thinks dimbo's parents should build them a granny flat in their large backyard.....in EIGHT BLOODY WEEKS!!!!!!!  They need to get away from parents, aunts and grannies and start living their own lives.

Which brings me to shovel bashing old blokes who think dole bludgers should be sent to WA to get jobs in the mines.  Nephew is not on the dole for a start.  I really went off trying to tell this idiot how much it cost to get to WA, to live there, to even get a home there, never mind trying to get their families there (don't believe all you see in those mining ads) and then get a job interview hopefully to then get a job.  I hope the old fool watched the news last night to see how many Victorians suddenly lost their jobs yesterday.  Pardon the rant, I don't usually do Politics and stuff but according to ACA and 7.30, dole bludgers go to Byron Bay and live off maryjane and bananas and too much of one or the other causes street fights.  So frustrating dealing with idiots.

Elephant's Child, be a dear and nick over to Parl House and belt Abbott with a shovel, we'll all feel so much better. Come to think of it give one to Hockey, a passing blow to Rudd and mild slap to Jules to get her game up.  Honestly watching Canberra is like watching 6 trainwrecks going to happen and trying to decide which one would be the most fun.

And I need my $250 carbon tax money, I overspent on chocolate  tranquilizers.

Save me, I'm drowning.

This is me contemplating a family massacre if only I could get away with it.
The BOH came home with smile and I'm thinking, they've finallly found a house, unit, tent, anything to live in.
A smile can generate such hope.
And then he says he's bought a bike to ride to work to save money and lose weight!!
It's the middle of fecking winter, okay not quite, just feels like it, it's pouring rain outside and the wind chill would do Everest justice.
His mother thinks it's a grand idea because he is getting a bit big.  He isn't living with her and she's not going to worry about greasy roads and oncoming traffic and he hasn't ridden a bike since he was 16. 
Why didn't he just hire an exercise bike, put it in the carport where he could ride for a couple of hours in the freezing wind but not worry about actually setting wheel upon road?
Because that would be easy and safe.
I haven't seen the bike yet, he hasn't ridden to work yet but he has a helmet.

Here's another image from the Haarbergs from 9,000 feet above Iceland.  We could do a "What is it?", no?  Well the big white bit at the bottom is Langjkull glacier and the rest are small melt water streams. Please for full greatness, do the clicky thing.  I have a wide screen monitor so I turned the image clockwise and it makes a fabulous desktop wallpaper.

I'm back from a visit to the Home.  The Accreditation people said they had to take down the photo of the escapee from the front of the door for his privacy but they were able to leave one on the inside of the door.  Didn't do much good today when he was literally plastered to the glass door with two people inside wanting out and two outside wanting in.  The guy outside with me was a newby and didn't know not to open the door, fortunately people inside could see the photo.  I knocked on the admin window and it took three people to peel him off the door and cart him off to the office.  New guy said why didn't they put a notice on the outside as well. 

Mother extremely happy with iPad, keeps her off the phone to me.

Our big blue Earth.

Jack Cook from Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution and Howard Perlman of USGS made this image of Earth without its water covering. The oceans cover about 70% of the surface but they're shallow compared to the Earth's radius.



That blue spot is made up of all the water and is about 700 kms in radius, less than half the radius of our moon. It doesn't show water that may be trapped beneath the surface and research is still in progress to find out how this much water came to be on Earth in the first place.
 
Spooky!

Engage Warp Drive.

This image was taken by the husband and wife team of Erlend and Orsolya Haarberg at the hot springs of Hveravellir, Iceland. The pink object is not the starship Enterprise but a lenticular cloud and to find out more go to our favourite cloud site and enjoy.  The Harbeergs travelled all over Iceland and on a clear day took to the sky to photograph the land from above, sights we'd never get to see.  When I'm lost for words, I'll post their photographs instead.


Mothers' Day, freezing, stayed in bed and considered myself lucky to find a tin of fruit pastilles, the kind that are covered in cornflour so everyone knows what you've been eating.


Today I saw my mother, never see her on Mothers Day, besides freezing.  My brand new taxi card would not work so I had to pay full price.  Earlier on my Myki wouldn't work, again.  So now two more phone calls to moronic companies who can't keep their software working or get it to work.


Mother, on the other hand, is finding it easy to use her new iPad.  It came with 6 free books and she's up to page 126 of Pride and Prejudice so I won't have to worry about topping up with books immediately.  She finds it better than the mobile phone because of the size and she can't break the buttons off because of the touch screen.  She did ask why parts of it were cloudy and hard to read so I pulled out a hanky and wiped the fingerprints off the screen.


I've mentioned the Home's escapee before but today it was my turn for the vicious little creep's attack.  He threatened me but I don't have a witness because both of the other residents are slightly a lot deaf.  They could see him at the back of me but couldn't hear and neither did they see him shove a plastic plate to my neck.  Then he walked around in front to my mother and I thought if he touches her, I'll deck him but she's used to handling him and I could see his eyes change as Ma talked quietly to him.  I didn't move when he was near me, you can't, any aggressive move makes him worse.  I did report it but not on paper but I am the fourth person he's gone for lately.  At least I wasn't physically grabbed but the others have been.  I'll be seeing the DON at the end of the week and telling her what happened.  None of the old ducks should have to watch their backs when he's around and my mother shouldn't have to the one in the front line fending off his aggressiveness when the others can't.


Happy Elephant's Child who loves the cold, a minus five degrees in Canberra this morning. Please don't move south, I couldn't handle a minus anything.

I loved the ABC's programme of The Diamond Queen.  Need I mention the jools?  But I was impressed by the younger mob, even Beatrice and Eugenie.  William and Harry speak straight, plain English without the uppercrust plum stuck in their throat that Daddy Wales is cursed with. Edward, I liked as well but "air miles Andy" looks and sounds like a buffoon.  I think we can give cudos here for the Duchess of York who has done most of the upbringing of his daughters even if it does look at times as though they can't hold their booze like daddy.

I have at last finished my night time reading of The Three Emperors, a weighty tome that tells the behind the public view of George V, Wilhelm of Germany and Nicholas of Russia.  Willly was a handy bogeyman for the British and American public to blame for the First World War but he lost control of his throne and country the moment the Generals declared war.  George lived the rest of his life with the guilt of not saving the Czar and his family.  But what struck me most was the fact that all three were uneducated and unfit to govern a country let alone reign supreme although George didn't have the power the other two did. Bedtime reading now is the relationships between 3 queens and their daughters,  Catherine of Aragon/England, Marie Antoinette of Austria/France and Victoria of England/Germany.  I try not to read anything exciting before sleep otherwise I don't, I can't put down a mystery thriller so I read those outside the bedroom.  

Well, I think I've mouthed off enough to give Lord Rochester a run for his money and I need food and the last pastille, raspberry. 

The Great Full Moon of nothing

In case you've been in a cave somewhere, it was the big supermoon weekend with the moon closest to the earth for yonks but I decided to put up a photo of the great cat goddess instead.
The moon didn't do me any good at all.

Mother started on new tablets for nerve pain and managed to get 8 of the 10 minor side effects in 24 hours.  So on Saturday, I'm at the computer with landline for the Home on one side and mobile for sister at work on the other.  On Sunday I could barely move for the stiffness in all the joints, tension just a day of tension and not a hidden chocolate bar in the house.  Of course, the old girl has come through again, the only damage was a mobile phone without credits because she kept trying to call me and couldn't remember where the buttons were.

So, in a foul mood, Monday is get credits for the phone day and put up with the crazies from the full moon. That's not a myth either. I decided that I would take my time, it's time I didn't rush around for her but take it slowly for me.  That didn't happen either.  It goes like this, suddenly in the middle of LOLcats, I look at the time, late and take it slowly but not this late.  Grab underwear, put on bras but decide to go to the loo and put knickers on after.  Sit on loo, decide to put knickers on while I'm there since I had them in my hands.  Can't do it, take off slippers first, one foot in knickers and picture falls off the wall, shattering glass in all directions.  Dilema, where to put slipperless feet while pulling up knickers or check knickerless bum for splinters.  No problem there since that side had the very large shards of glass which would have sliced bum right off.

Knickers half way up and BOH arrives home.  Asks if I'm all right, must have heard me swearing like a sailor tangled in a ratline and when I say yes but shut your eyes, I have no clothes on, he leaves.
I'm bleeding and he leaves when I just wanted to hop to the bedroom for a dressing gown.  When I call him later, he thought I was just joking. MEN!!!!!  Do you know how hard it is to hold a mirror and torch in one hand while fishing for glass with the other?  Damn hard.  I did find the tiny slice of glass and it must have been the tiniest piece of the entire smash and it slipped out of my fingers on to the rug.  Whack a bandage on the foot and then use the torch to find the sliver before I stand on it again.  Mission accomplished.  It was tiny and shining a torch along the floor is the only way to find glass or a dropped diamond, your lesson for the day.  I was now so late I had to leave the blood on the carpet until I got home but I did sweep up the glass while remembering Bruce Willis picking great lumps of glass out of his feet in 'Die Hard'.

Now according to my stars, the full moon was to usher in great changes in my housing situation, bollocks, one broken picture frame does not a change make.  BOH and dimbo still looking for a place to live.  I had hopes that he might do better by himself until I unpacked his kitbag still loaded with dead socks from Australia Day trip to Albury.  Underneath the kitbag was 3 layers of dead socks and jocks prior to Australia Day trip.  I only looked because he actually brought out a basket of laundry and put in on the washing machine and I knew he must have had more crap than that.

I threw the kitbag on the bed, emptied it, folded up the sleeping bag to put back and wondered what to do with the Crocodile Dundee size knife in lovely carry sheath.  I left it on the bed and checked if there were any more dead clothes in the kitbag, no, just car parts he'd collected and forgotten were there.  So he didn't know the knife/machete was in the bag, couldn't remember where he'd put it and had no idea there were car parts in the zip pouch either.  I guess he was too busy playing with the furry black foot long spider he'd bought on the internet. He thought it was smaller. It's neat, you hang it on the door handle, it sits on the floor, you clap your hands and the bloody thing shoots up the hanging string, spidey legs spinning and green eyes flashing.  He hasn't forgotten where that is.

I repeat, when this child arrives, I am an interested onlooker.  The child has grandparents and I'm not them, thank the great Cat Goddess.

Lyrid Meteor over Crater Lake.

A lovely view of Crater Lake, a nested caldera in Oregan, USA.  A few nights ago there was no sunset or moonglow to interrupt viewing of the Lyrid Meteor Shower which showed as many as 30 meteors streaking across the sky from various locations

From almost the same vantage point a composite of nine exposures combined to show our Galaxy and a bright Lyrid Meteor streaking across the sky. The image is copyright to Brad Goldpaint.

Other meteor showers this year include the Perseids in mid-August and the Leonids in mid-November, both expected to also dodge the glare of a bright Moon in 2012.

Fata Morgana

This optical illusion known as a Fata Morgana makes strange shapes or a false wall of water appear above a watery horizon. When conditions are right, light reflecting off of cold water will be bent by an unusual layer of warm air above to arrive at the observer from several different angles. One hundred years ago, such a Fata Morgana mirage might have obscured real icebergs from the clear view of crew onboard the Titanic.
Additional evidence for this distortion hypothesis arises from the nearby vessel SS Californian which reported sightings consistent with Fata Morgana mirages. Read more about the SS Californian and the mystery of why she didn't come to the aid of the Titanic.
The above Fata Morgana mirage was taken off the US Pacific coast in 2008.

Look  at this Fata Morgana in greater detail.  The site also gives a very good explanation for the phenomenom.

Doing some housework

And we start with the important work, finishing off the jewellery that's been sitting patiently in boxes. The photography isn't great but at least I've figured out how to make the images smaller.  The big stone is Rhodochroisite so I decided to keep the beads as neutral as possible. 

 I thought these would be easy, just thread the beads on, close the clip and I'm done. No such luck, I had these beads off the chain so many times until the balance was right, my fingers were complaining.  It's not until it's picked up that any odd bead stands out like a sore thumb. The large stone here is Carnelian.

 This is silverplated and the central stone is a large cubic zirconia originally from an Avon necklace but the chain was so fine I was forever cutting it out of my hair when taking it off. It looks better here.

This is only one of four bracelets that I finished.  The dark beads are dichroic and shimmer from green to purple to black.  The only thing about these bead bracelets is getting the size right and even this one with so many beads, falls off my wrist.  The backside is large, the wrist is dainty.  I also made another necklace but I could not get it to photograph it without the sparkles flaring. It's central pendant is a jewell covered ladybird with beads of pale blue and turquoise.  The other monster thing about the necklaces, the clips (not the bracelet) close like shark teeth on a boogie board.  I have come home and slept in one rather than attempt to open the clip and strangle my self.
Next in line are my new hair combs.  The old hands are struggling to twist wire onto combs these days so when I bought the green brooch in an online sale, it seemed a perfect comb shape so I pinned it to fabric over cardboard then stitched around to make it more stable.  I could have removed the pin but I might go mad one day and ditch the long red hair and I'd still have a brooch.  It looked and felt so great, I went back and bought three more, well, the sale was still on or I might have thought twice but I didn't.  So I have a pink one at the top, a pale purple, green and one should always have black in the wardrobe.  I realized then that I was missing a red one so I found a rather nice oval with red stones, on sale, honest.

Awards night.

Liebster is a German word that translates to; dearest, beloved or in this case favorite. The idea of the Liebster Award is to give it to an up and coming blog with fewer than 200 followers. – in order to create new connections, and bring attention to their wonderful blogs.



Here are the conditions that go along with accepting the award;



1. Thank the Liebster Blog Award presenter on your blog.


2. Link back to the blogger who presented you the award.


3. Copy and paste the Liebster Blog Award on your blog.


4. Present the award to 5 bloggers who have a following 200 or less, who you feel deserve it.


5. Let them know they have been chosen by leaving a comment on their blog.


Thank you Elephant's Child and now for the hard part.


It's amazing how many blogs have disappeared from my list and deserted to Farcebook, even the political blog L.P. has shut up shop. 


My first award is for Miss Ann O'Dyne.  I can't link to her because she's in seclusion due to the League of Trolls making her blog life miserable. From the first time we met and almost wrecked a small eatery (broken glasses, tipped over bottles, fights with Lord Sedgwick) we've been blogmates.


Then another blogger who blogs so infrequently that it's always a joy to see a post. Take a bow Brandyman and hug your best beloved and Bear and Mits.


I really couldn't leave out my IT consultant Antikva an artist of note and noted for her injuries. How can I not love someone who falls over more often than I do.


Our Fen who is currently propping up another hospital bed deserves a bucket of love.  Keep writing Fen, reading about another's pain makes me feel so much better. She also has the most beautiful cats.


And my last goes overseas to a very funny boi who treasure acorns, Dr Who and Lego.  If I need a laugh and Sedgwick's off his game then this is the blog I run to.  The first thing I aim to do when I win Tattslotto is send him every StarWars lego toy in the inventory.

Damned hard work awarding awards and unlike the Logies, Oscars and Brownlow, I'm not even close to being pissed.

Well, I never!



You know you get to a certain age and think there's not much you don't know about life and stuff in general until you come across an article about flower frogs and don't take much notice until up comes a photograph.  Well, blow me down with a feather, so that's what those holey, spikey doovers that go in the bottom of vases to hold the flowers steady are called.  So I went looking for a few more images and they're in every shape, size, ceramic, glass and metal and some are frogs and some aren't.

I know all you flower people would probably know this but I'm of the silk flower brigade because they only fade not die.  I do have an English original flower frog in the original holder and original stand from the l930s. It's made of glass designed to look like tortoiseshell when the light shines through and was given to me by a friend who had a daughter-in-law 100% worse than mine.  She knew she would throw it out so I was to be its keeper and I still am.  I will always keep it as she was only given 3 weddings gifts and two she entrusted to me.

Flower frog, It really makes it live.



Life at the Home aka The Black Hole of Age

If you want to see life pass by in all its crap and glory, put a parent in a Home.
They don't change, in fact, Mother blossomed like bulb in Spring although I have to admit Autumn is more her style these days. 
Nasty things are happening in that left hand and arm where the cancer is creating havoc on nerves up around the shoulder and neck and who knows where else.
She had me cutting up cards the other day and I am not being dragged back into the days of servitude.
I am investigating an iPad or eReader for when she absolutely cannot hold a book in both hands, like last week.  She was terrified that she would go back to lying in a bed looking at the ceiling, not that she remembers doing that, it's just that we've told her how bad it was.
Phone call this morning and the hand is slightly better. Two fingers are cold, that's the carpel tunnel and two finger are burning hot, that's the Rheumatoid Arthritis, she says, self-diagnosing which is better than knowing the true situation.

It's the changing of the residents which is the entertainment.  I think of Elephant's Child whenever the MS sniveller whines about her lot in life. She's relatively young as against the oldies and could have had a nice unit, carer during the day and nurse on call at night but she prefers not to be independent. She is not liked much.
Opinionated new resident is not well liked either and her opinions are voiced very loudly.  Two of the little old ladies must have at least two wheel chair widths between them or it's like rumble in the jungle with fists flying.
What can I say about the escapee? Well he hates me because I wouldn't let him out the door.  He hides behind the potted palm just waiting for the one person who doesn't read the notice and doesn't shut the door hard and fast. They found him face down in the garden last week. We're not sure if he fell or was digging to freedom.  It still hasn't stopped him from trying to climb the fence or smash the combination lock on the gate with a pot plant. The good news is, he hasn't tried to strangle anyone in weeks.
And now the ladies, elderly, are having to deal with explicit sex lectures from a dear old bloke who barely uttered a word in 6 months. Something has shifted in his brain and he can't be stopped.

And in the midst of all of this is Accreditation time.  A time that is really important for a small home like this as the barracudabigtime Aged Care Health providers are always circling for any that don't make the grade.  This place would be torn down and two stories of tiny rooms at exorbitant prices would be up in no time.  So the nurses are not allowed to be over friendly, no hugs, no pats on the head, no nicknames, not even 'dear' and no loud voices.  Half of the residents can't hear if you talk softly and I'm certainly finding it hard, loud is my middle name.  The best thing about this place is the staff, take away their friendliness and kindness and the heart disappears. 

It's fine for the 'expert' who's been there a mere 3 weeks to say she'd like everyone to have their tea at the tables to be sociable before being put to bed.  It lasted one night. The next day every resident shot off to their room as soon as afternoon tea was finished and demanded to be in bed at 3.  They're in wheel chairs all day, backs hurt, bums hurt and all they want is to be settled and comfy in a bed for tea at 5. You'd have to be blind not to see the concentration waning and the bodies drooping but experiment is the name of the game.

Residents come and go, shuffling off to the big beyond and new ones take their place and the atmosphere changes to a more lively one only to change again in a few months. So if the 'expert' wants to know how things work or don't work, try having a meeting with us poor sods who are there day after day, year after year, on the other side of the bed.

I have no complaints about the staff or the Home, I think they are fabulous and are doing a great job of making the Home a home. They work for crappy wages as well.  Joe Hockey should try doing it for a week.