The package has arrived!

Coming in at 7lbs, 9oz is my second great granddaughter, Riley Kaye and held by her gorgeous sister Clio.  I like babies when they are sound asleep, it's the waking time that does me in.

Ear worms, nuisance, eye worms, hilarious

You pest, Highriser, you really started something with those T-shirts. Everywhere I looked I would find something that would look great on a shirt for you.  The one above would be from your long past drag days.

But much further down the track (R would agree) this one would just be right.
Actually it could be the bloggers motto from the early days, we're too old and lazy to be psycho these days.

Better to leave the weirdness to politicians.  We're going back to the early days with bushrangers trying to run the country and run with the money. What would you do if a Parliamentarian walked up to you and said, "I'll look after your purse/wallet, you can trust me."  You kick them in the kneecaps and run a mile.
That would be nasty on a T-shirt, Clive in speedos with his hand in the Treasury.

Now I have to go and look for the cat. Jimmy forgot about the cat and brought his dog in the yard and being curious he followed him into the house and spotted the cat's breakfast, didn't see the cat behind him.  The cat is terrified of dogs but so protective of his food that he fluffed up like a giant balloon and started growling. Apparently the dog, a timid Coolee (?) is terrified of cats and couldn't move what with the growling and hissing of the giant snowball.  The dog was picked up and taken out, the cat took one look at the empty plates and stormed off to the sewing room.  That was 3 hours ago, I think he's lost himself.

Down to the last magazine holder and I'll have two shelves empty.  These come from the 70s and what were we thinking about with fashion! Horrible big clunky shoes, almost impossible to walk in and definitely the skinny age of clothes.  There was only one way to hide a big everything, Caftans. I had several, still have two to use as patterns. Forget the shoes, I don't think I'd have the energy to lift my feet from the ground.
No matter how many memories of the glory days of youth, some things should be left in the past.  That includes photos of first boyfriends, I found one and my dear, those unfortunate ears.  I have torn up every letter and photo but there's always one lurking around to question one's taste in men and he was wearing platform shoes and flares but I suppose they kept him from flying off in wild weather.

Another hill to climb

Tomorrow he would have been 48 and wouldn't have needed that beard to look older.  All he wanted was to work in the bush, look after trees and keep the forests intact.  He's holding his eldest daughter here, Laura, who is due to give birth in the next few days to his second grandchild.
I remember his laugh. 

Mum's waited a long time to have another birthday with him.  
 

I'm missing Autumn

I was putting a few pictures in folders last night and forgot to change back to the desktop background I had.  When I switched on this morning my head went round in  circles and I pulled back in the chair.  It had to have been taken from a helicopter and it felt so real I felt I was almost out of the door into the sea. Memo to self, do not take helicopter ride, anywhere.
It didn't help that I felt dizzy and my throat is sore and I am tired again. I was getting better and had been out walking but a letter from Department of Human Resourses dropped me down again.  I have to pay back the nearly $1000 which they said was not part of mum's estate. Please nobody tell me to fight for it, I haven't the energy and the Catch 22 is that I have to pay up first then fight to get it back.  I paid and drew a line in the sand over the whole affair. I had promised myself I would not be told to do anything I didn't want to, unless there's 'egging' a politician involved. I could be talked into a dozen Xtra large right between Dutton's eyes, I might even take them out of the carton.
I'm not telling the others, nephew needs every cent he has and my sister would want to fight the DHR rather than pay her share.  But I felt myself sliding down the hill again so another day off from dragging furniture and definitely no moving the oven to clean underneath so I could take photos to show the store.
The stove is attached to the gas by an extension hose so I can move it around to clean underneath, great idea until I was suddenly fat and old.  
Now we get to the big question.  What comes first, buy the new stove, same as the last, or buy the plumber to give me a quote to do the gas bit. This new generation just throws everything out so will the plumber know what to do with the fittings I have?  Remember the nice new phones that Telstra gave me? They're still sitting in the box because my other phones had different plugs and it will cost me money for the free phones for a technician to fix up all the different fittings.
I do remember the days when you could walk into the Gas and Fuel shop, pay the bill, order a new stove and a gas fitter came with it. See I was gearing myself up to do this when the letter came and I couldn't be bothered putting on the list of 'do this now', podiatrist, eye test, hair cut, find out about the heart scan, find somewhere that sells bed bases and takes the old one away. 

Maybe it is me but there seems to be too many people to argue with these days. The taxi driver went on and on about electric cars and how he'd be forced to get rid of his precious car.  I politely said it would be years and years before anything happened and off he went again.  I went back this time, told him to remembered when cars became common, the government didn't make everyone rush out and shot their horse and burn the buggy. He didn't get a tip after he told me I needed a new walker. 

Next week's temperatures are all in the high 20s, Autumn weather, dragging furniture weather, painting weather and please,feeling better weather. 

Centrelink exists so people have something to hate more than Politicians!

This day cost me $1000, $280 for me to stand there holding the box until everything was ready except I ended up to ill to leave the house.  The girls from the Pioneer Cemetary came to the house and collected mother and sent photos of the work but I didn't get the money back. 

It looks very grubby but then I hadn't been there since the bushfire came through and it needs a good polish. I have silk roses for the new flowers but I need a bag of cement. I put the roses and cement in cut down lemonade bottles and they stay in place.  The raggy ones there were some my sister put in after the fire.  Only two rows were hit by the branches from the enormous pine tree that went up in flames and ours was one. The trouble is now that I need the walker, you can see the red brick path isn't walker friendly.
My grandmother was buried here in 1928 and that big sand patch has been there that long, a 6 coffin plot I believe. My father went there in 1994 and they'd just put another filling of sand over the cracked plot, 2019 and another fresh load has just gone in.  Twenty-five years of filling that ground and it's still disappearing. It's a worry and I walk well away from it.
Anyway the sun was shining and my parents were together on St. Valentine's Day.

Now my mother died on the 17th December, 2018 and the internment was January 14, 2019.  On March 4th, I received a letter from Centrelink to tell me that I had taken money that was not mine. This after all the trouble I had to close the estate, including going to Centrelink to fill in forms and show cards and certificates and asking about the pension payment which was still in the bank. Now a single pensioner is entitled to one extra payment to help with funeral expenses and this is what I thought had been put into her bank account but to make sure I left it alone for two more payment dates, it wasn't taken out and nothing put in.  The girl at Centrelink said it probably was the bereavement payment and if it wasn't taken out at the next due date then close the account and the estate.  The official at the bank agreed so everything was split 3 ways and my sister drove me crazy wanting to know how long before she had the money.  
Then comes this letter, the department is going through everything to make sure if I was entitled to this $916 or not. Doc Marvin said to write down every date I could remember dealing with Centrelink and remember what they'd told me about keeping that money.  Fine, except this was when I really went from huffing and puffing thinking it was something I was allergic to but actually really coughing and hacking sick.  The letter also told me to do nothing and another letter would arrive after investigation, the date is now April 4th and I have to keep $1000 in my bank just in case.  I've missed the sales and the chance to get rid of my old oven with mouse, another letter to remind me to have the gas heater checked, $200, ignore and my walker is starting to fall apart.
I only mention this after reading an article in the paper this morning after a mother was sent a letter saying she owed money for a child she didn't have, a child was sitting with her ready to go to school. Apparently someone hadn't ticked a box on a form, the debt collectors were set on her and she got nowhere until a letter to her local member fixed it. I've taken that on board but no doubt I'll get a letter right in the middle of the election fight.
 

When your body says you're sick, LISTEN

Gorgeous vase by Jay Strongwater but I don't like the colour, picky but one in the palest pink would suit me more.  And that's as far as I got for this post and now on the 1st of April I feel like blogging again.  I was so ill I couldn't leave the house for 4 weeks and Doc Marvin came 3 times.  I don't think I've ever coughed so much in my life and the squeaking, wheezing and whistling in my chest drove me crazy.
I couldn't even go to the Cemetary to bury Mum's ashes but the girls came and picked up the box and sent photographs. I really wanted that day as it was 14th February, St. Valentine's Day and it was a beautiful sunny day for mum and dad to be re-united.  After that I really fell in a heap.  Lying down to sleep was near impossible so I slept wherever I could.  It wasn't unusual to wake up with a cup of tea still in one hand and a sandwich in the other or a lemonade icy pole, lovely cold icy pole.
For the first week I was on Solone to get the fluid out of my lungs.  Pharmacy could have put a warning on the box not to take the first ones at night. Up, down, up, down, and everytime I sat up, cough cough cough, pee and repeat.  I ended up putting a couple of towells at the edge of the bed because I'm not that good at cross legs and cough while standing up. It was a bacterial infection in the lungs and lingered on although I didn't feel really sick just so tired I couldn't think or remember what day it was.
The Bear was worried until he worked out I was okay to feed him and then he got sneaky. I'd be heading for the back door to shut it and he would shoot out knowing I couldn't follow but I can't blame him as it was one of those horrible hot weeks.  Karma got him in the end.  Whatever time I woke up, the cough would start so I'd be up for pills and a cuppa, turn on the news after filling his dish.  No Bear appeared and after an hour I really worried. I vaguely remember hearing a faint miouw but I slipped into sleep, so it wasn't a screaming, raging cat fight.  So sick mummy staggered round the yard, went out to check the street for a body, nothing.  Nephew rang to see if I wanted anything and was straight over to look for the precious.  As his car pulled up, the precious strolled out of my bedroom where he'd been hiding and threw his paws round Steve''s leg. You could almost hear the sobbing story of what had happened to him during the night. Never mind me! He had one huge hole in his ear and one large scratch on his shoulder, nothing else except PTSD.
It doesn't end there.  I couldn't figure what was floating around the apple tree until it hit the concrete.  I went out with a stick to poke at it and so help me it was the black fluffy end of a possum's tail, bitten straight through. I'm still trying to work out who got to who first. No wonder he wouldn't come out of the wardrobe and the hole in the ear won't come together to heal, too big and I have threatened to put his registration tag in it.
I must thank "Paws and Whiskers" pet shop who delivered his kibble when I was too ill to go out.
Last week I was well enough to go and get litres of blood taken, a chest X-ray and a CT scan of my heart.  They gave me a dvd of the scan but the Doc is taking a well-earned holiday so I'll see him eventually.  The X-ray showed the heart was the right size but the CT scan was needed to show the tissue or whatever was around it. He said my sugar was up but what can you do when living on lemonade icy poles.
Mum's stuff is still in a pile in the lounge but I am gradually getting it down. My things are going as well, I'm doing that Japanese Lady's method of throwing out, you look at ornament, book or whatever and say, "do you make me happy?" and if it's no then it's gone.  So instead of space I have two huge boxes full of unhappiness.  Next up is the Queen Ann crystal cabinet, going into the sewing room which will involve a bit of shuffling in there but honestly I can't stand the cigarette smell, 40 years of cigarette smoke have been embedded in the wood.
I plan to put quilting fabric in it as fabric can be washed and I can put huge bowls of potpourrie in the cabinet.
I even found a box of Christmas presents that I didn't send two Christmases ago. Not my fault, always there was a crisis near Christmas. Highriser, your present is next only because it's been sitting on the table for so long, the box has faded and looks like an op shop re-gift.
I hope it's not so long before I blog again.
  

More trouble.

Unbelievable Monday.

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

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

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

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

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

The Death Certificate hasn't arrrived.

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

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

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

I'm really going to have to start drinking.

Its not finished yet and she's still in the wardrobe.

First a lolcat. If I tried to do this with my cat the room would be trashed and as for a num-num spoon, he does have one absolute essential. He won't drink water if it's not in his blue 'Frozen' bowl with Olav on the bottom.

We have been promised a thunderstorm tonight and cool rain tomorrow.  I walked to the shop for coffee and a paper at 8.30 and it was like walking in hot sun at midday. Not a cloud in the sky and thank goodness for the one person in the street who has a low fence where I can gather my resources for the last part of the trek.  I have not been a sporty type since I could stand on my own two feet and 70 years on I haven't changed. On top of my greatest invention list is the tv remote control, without that I'd probably break a leg getting to the turn off button every time a poncy politician hits the screen.

I am still waiting for Centrelink to send a letter telling me the last payment is mine and that will pay for the grave plaque. Next week I'll make an appointment with one cemetary to organize the other cemetary for the interment and since I'll be the one bringing mum I can suit myself as to what time.  I can photograph the grave at the same time for the stonemason. This is why I refuse to rush into things these days.  It's important to bury her but the plaque can wait a bit longer and so can my sister.

She can't understand why everything isn't finished yet. She must be desperate, she gave me her bank account number, put in money asap.  I'll run around in the stinking heat while you paddle in the pool in 28 degrees with a sea breeze. They haven't even had any flood waters or rain and I was really hoping for a crocodile in the pool.  

And as hot as it is I'm glad I'm not in Chicago.  For the last few years  I have encouraged Elephant's Child to go out in the freezing weather in Canberra and blow soap bubbles to freeze them.  She had a good success last year but Chicago is the place. I watched the news as bubbles were blown and froze in mid-air in gorgeous patterns. I  also watched buckets of water thrown and frozen before it hit the ground. A complete waste unless a politician was standing right in front of the bucket. 

I think I'll gather my strength and fix some ice coffee, and I'll have one for all of you as well.
 

I think I see a small light in the distance

Bright looking lot weren't we.  I've been going through dvds looking for photos of the family grave and came across this which I'm sure I used on a post about the last GrogBlog.  Since most of us in the early blogging days used a fake face and name, taking photos was very naughty and plus none of use had mobile phones that sneakily took photos, it was hard to get away with it.  I do remember Annie O'Dyne publishing one photo shot in a darkened pub of a publicity shy blogger who then gave her such vicious comments we were all shocked. I mean from what I can remember the place was so dark he could have been a cabbage on a stick.  GrogBlogs were fun if you could find the latest hole in the wall, alley,
side street, where we gathered and the usual instructions were to follow the raucous laughter.  Then the Appocalypse arrived in the form of FarceBook and the laughter moved on.  This photo made me laugh and then I found a folder full of LOLcats and laughed more.

I had to put this up since I had a run in with one who was quite comfy in the towell I was about to put in the washing machine.  Yes, it has been some time since I bothered about washing but I ran out of nighties. I have worn nighties since the first fall when I was without a stitch of clothing and had to drag myself to the lingerie drawer and all I could grab was some old rag with one sleeve missing.  I loved LOLcats but now it's all ads and clickbaits or youtubes.

I will be off to the Home (shudder) tomorrow to pick up my mother's Medicare and Pension cards and any other official papers that I think should have been sent to me after she died.  I have to do this before Thursday when another payment goes into her bank account.  I will be telling Centrelink just whose fault it is, you Mercy Health not for profit bull shitters. I will say Happy Birthday to the last one left of the ten year mob but if she start bawling, I'll be off. I know my brain has been running in 'stupid' mode but I really did think that if a resident died in a nursing home, they should have let Centrelink know.  I checked the list and one I missed was the Electoral Comm.  Mum was really wild when she was not asked if she wanted to vote in the last state election, Mercy Health make the decision for her, wrong move as her brain was still running at that stage and she gave them what for.  I think I also have to notify the tax office because she does have a tax number and getting that was a nightmare.

There'll be time when she goes......

No there won't because the after dying stuff goes on and on and on. Money was put into Mum's account again last week and that light bulb blinks. Who informs Centrelink of a person who has died in the care of a nursing home, me, Power of attorny and next of kin or Mercy Health admin?  I had 6 tabs open on the MyGov web page and still couldn't find the answer and there are several options for a funeral payment and only one would fit our situation, which is a single pension payment but I thought that had already been paid into the bank account.

Apparently the chain of command is, Doctor's Certificate stating cause of death which lets the funeral minions take charge and they inform Births, Marriages and Deaths and sooner or later a Certificate will arrive with a note telling me to have someone with me when I open it as it might distress me only if it's 3 months from now and Centrelink is still putting money in the account.  
The death is magically flittered over to Centrelink and they send me a letter probably abusing me for not letting them know.

I don't need it for the Cemetary since I have Mum sitting in the wardrobe. I do have to make an appointment with them to sign papers to have a hole dug. An official stands by and for $450 watches the 2nd official digger dig the hole. They only have hole digging on Thursdays and Sundays and if a mob turns up I have to pay for the extras but it will be Thursday and only me.  The Monumental Mason is across the road from the Cemetary and I can walk there and order the bronze plaque which slides in next to my father's.  That's after I go to the Pioneer Cemetary and take a photo of the plaque to get the size right.
That starts at $900 depending on how many words are to go on it.  Heaven help me if the nag above doesn't get the last word. 
Look up Pioneer Cemetary at Cheltenham, it has some famous people there and very interesting to walk around.

So not having a reason to close down the bank accounts is a good thing.

I have the silk flowers to go in the lovely urn but not cement to put the flowers in lemonade bottles. My genius, when they get tatty I just take out the bottles, throw them away and make up another lot of lovely flowers. The roses lasted 8 years until the bush fire went through and our plot was the unlucky one to get frizzled.  Official funeral expenses, taxi to Bunnings, bag of cement, taxi home.
Fix flowers, taxi to cemetary, plant and taxi home. I think I'll go and have another look for photos so I can cut out one step. Photos are everywhere included a load I brought back from the Home.

Death Certificate will not upset me, someone walking into the house and asking why don't I just get a company to some in and do the cleaning up, upsets me. That's my Mother's junk and I have to go through it, especially when I find a birthday card from two years ago, for me, and she was upset when she couldn't find it so made another one. It's a tradition for a Victorian Spinster Daughter to go through and burn any thing that would trash a dear Mama's reputation, Queen Victoria's daughter practically re-wrote her diaries and Princess Margaret had a bonfire of the Queen Mum's letters but all I found were notes for me to buy this and that.














 

If I have to speak to one more robot......

Mother on the  (my) left and twin sister on the right.  If I never have to speak to her again I'll be happy after her ringing me on Christmas morning to demand that her eulogy be read out since she couldn't come because of illness. I gathered from that comment that she intended to stand up and blither on with her usual load of BS.  Sister and I had fights about allowing people to speak but I don't agree with letting people who aren't used to speaking to a crowd get up and waffle on.  I wanted what mum asked me for and she got it.

It goes on and on.  I have been on the phone for nearly 3 hours with bank, Home and Pharmacy and in the finish I had the choice of paying the Pharmacy or going through ebanking looking for a payment I'm sure I paid and he has just charged me again.  I'm too brain dead after wanting to strangle the pious little creep from Mercy Health who said naturally the direct debits stopped as soon as they were notified of death.  Well it would have been nice had they sent me a letter and set it all out.  I think I have paid for everything now but I should have put what I paid into my bank account and then put that into Visa because if can't take that out, see brain dead.  Pension this week and I will put that where the visa money should be.  Can't use anything yet until I get death certificate and will which I think I have and I suppose I have to pay for that and I forgot the Cemetary stuff.  They charge to dig a hole.  I'm going to bed to sleep.















 

It's a quarter to three and no-one's in the place except you and me

And you weren't talking anymore.  Mum died at 2 a.m. Monday morning and I went straight down well not quite straight, I made a detour to put my teeth in, check the knickers and no one could see my nightdress under the dress.
What were the odds of getting a regular driver, one who had driven me for the last 10 years. He said he'd keep an ear out for a call from Brindisi and come to pick me up which he did.
Now there's a story that when someone close dies, they always leave a message to say they reached the other side safely.  I have curtains in the kitchen on a sliding rod to fit any window, never moved in l0 years until last night when I found the sliding rod had slid out completely and half the curtains were on the floor, good one Mum.  I didn't see the huge spider web until the morning, that'll get a spray later.
I think I had about an hour's sleep with the cat cuddling mummy until the phone rang. My sister trying to manage things from Yeppoon, no one is ever going to tell me what to do ever again.
Back to the Home again and packed up enough clothes and rubbish to outfit a cruise on the Titanic. One of the rules is that residents are not to have scissors, Mother had 15 pairs hidden in various places.  I ended with 7 bags, 2 large and heavy and the others smaller but still heavy since I packed her photographs in between the clothes.  I thoroughly object to bringing her teeth home but the funeral joint might need them.
I've left the wheelchair there after making sure they wouldn't send it to the tip but would use it for someone else.  And another 35 CDs and 25 DVDs.
According to my sister my place is such a tip, another load of junk wouldn't matter. Bitch.
Nephew will ring in the morning to pick up the junk and me. He is devastated, for the last week he's called in every night, held her hand and patted her head then left.
River, your pies are well hidden until Christmas, they smell delicious.
I still have people to ring but I needed a break.  Why do people want me to cry about a death I'm happy with.  I've watched her struggle to breathe for the last two weeks and now she's calm and in no pain.  The only crying I'll do is if I go to punch my sister and hurt my arthritic hand.
And I found out she had an admirer, a gentleman caller every Monday which I never knew about. He came in this morning, totally shocked and asked if I minded him coming to the funeral, not in the slightest. Who knew, she had secrets.
Readers of this blog might remember the hysteria about putting up the Christmas lights all over the damn house, damn I hated those bloody lights.  Well all the way to the Home and it was dark but as we passed house after house, lights flickered on and off.  Don't care I'm still not putting any up on this house.

I'd rather do this to the cat and treat the shredded arms later. It will give me something to do while I think about new curtains and punching my sister.
 
 

Still hanging in there

There is a Palliative team coming on Monday to install a little morphine machine somewhere on Mother.  She has morphine when she needs it but it's another jab, clothes have to be moved, sheets and pillows then all has to be put back just right so it's not a quick thing.
I go down about 1, after lunch when everything is more or less done and I'm not in the way but the RN says she loves the way she settles down when I walk in the door. I don't take a book but have several magazines, reading a book seems to say I'm here but don't bother me but I can show her pretty pictures in a magazine and she enjoys that. She drops off to sleep after a while but still can't breathe very well especially when some twit puts the wrong size tube on the oxygen machine or turns it off completely when reaching for another bell.  They don't get away with much, I've been there too long.
She's now finding it hard to swallow food and I had a stoush with an officious little bimbo who insisted on shoving food into her as though she was a starving baby bird.  The bimbo learned to listen when she found herself on the end of a projectile vomit.
I've been taking little things home with me and she gave most of her craft cards to her sister when she came last week.  And speaking of cards, I found one large one in 3 envelopes, she'd written on the front, in spidery writing, 'don't ever lose this' and when I finally opened the 3rd envelope I found a beautiful card.  Thank you Annie O'Dyne, she loved that card so much she resisted the urge to cut it up and re-use it. 
Weekends are always dreary at the Home so I'm having breakfast, feeding the cat and watching the news and no doubt will fall asleep in the chair and wake up in time to head out.
The cat is not speaking to me, how dare I leave him alone for weeks. So he gets an extra can of food before I leave.  I thought I might have lost him last night.  We had one wild clap of thunder which felt right over the house, all the lights went and I grabbed the big torch.  I looked for the cat and he was flat on the floor like a Bear rug and not moving. As soon as he saw the light he was up on my knee and stayed there until all the lights came back.  And then I got a look that said 'what did you do that for?' I'm glad cats can't talk, I couldn't stand the guilt.
Another update at some stage. Doc Marvin, gem, an absolute gem. I'm sorry I can't share him with the bloggers who need a doctor like him. 
 

Mother is fading

Mother is neither here nor there.  She's seeing people in her room and she knows they're not real. I was helpful and told her not all angels wear wings for a welcoming.  She is worried about me being all on my own if she dies and she asked for my permission to die.
I told her it was her journey not mine but she was terrified to let go so now she feels she has half of herself here and the other half is somewhere else.  Her voice is like a whisper and she shakes.  She feels better if she wakes up and I'm there because I am real.
After 4 hours of travelling, shopping, sitting and talking last Friday, I sat down to take off my shoes and woke up 2 hours later with one shoe on and the other still in my hand.

The only thing to do today to relax was wander through Pinterest, spend money and dye the snow white out of my hair.  I now have my expensive Christmas chocolates, Champagne and cake.

Isn't that cat bed fabulous in the window?  The IceBear is making do with my office chair and a feather cushion by the back door where he can watch birds with making an effort.
If I was dumb enough to make a window bed for him I would be the one lifting the lump up. I'd need a bigger window or a smaller cat.

And just when I'm de-cluttering, I spot this Christmas deco idea.  I had little glass salt and pepper shakers for the bottoms and the silver tops would be the hats which would be great if they weren't down in the Op Shop where someone else is using this idea. 
I couldn't find baubles in the colour I wanted until I was de-cluttering the make up drawer and found a bottle of Avon non shiny Cranberry nail polish.  Worked a treat, one small bottle did two coats and I'm now to the stage of clear polish for snow sprinkles in a pattern. I'm sick of de-cluttering tv programmes where the house ends up looking like a shed just looking for a barn dance. At the moment I can walk through the lounge as long as I stick to the un cluttered tracks and the cat. I am firmly convince you cannot de-hoard a born hoarder.  I might have lost the snowmen but I have a divine red bauble.

Please 2.6 million dollars for Christmas isn't asking too much, is it?

Mine, mine, mine!

The inside plan

Any house can have a staircase but a divided staircase, that's just class.

Since my current shack is too small for a Hippo fountain bird bath and this has just come on the market, I'm thinking of moving.  It's not Toorak and not that old but is just 15 minutes away.  My mother and I watched it being built and loved it but Dad would never slow down enough for us to have a really good look.
I love the stair case but looking over the plan I'm sure I could put in a lift for one somewhere. 
I hate the thought that some creepy developer would pull it down and build townhouses for gnomes over the block.
To have a good look, nick over to Domain and get houses for sale in Cheltenham and make up your own mind about the decor.  It does not look over rooftops but across the road is the parkland retreat for the Nuns of both denominations. 

Mick the Mower would be in heaven with the money he'd make from those lawns.
I'm still trying to decide which bedroom would be the library but I think I'll have to go for the bow window music room.  Floor to ceiling books and one of those ladders on wheels to reach. Downstairs, I must have one wall of glass to show my China dolls or my crystal glass collection (rude noise to Highriser).  
I know I'd lose weight, look how far away the tv room is from the kitchen, I'd need a maid who'd hand me a plate, tell me that's all I'm getting and that she's hidden the sweeties somewhere in the mansion.  Up and down those stairs, weight gone and me as well, written on my tombstone, Chocolate does kill.  The IceBear could have his own room with kitty toys and en suite kitty litter. He's not good with directions, I might lose him for a week or two.

I hope the photos don't come out with copyright all over them, after all I'm giving the realtor free advertising.

It's crawling towards Christmas.

First of the Christmas "I want" list.  Glass baubles, big deal you say but these are special. Remember Mt. Saint Helen having a tantrum that did more damage than Trump in a China shop?  It was really last century, lord I feel old.  So, baubles, blobs of glass spun into glittery things and not just for Christmas.  I am looking at one above the computer, I love it because it looks like that photo of Earth taken from Space.  I have another hanging from the chandelier in the bedroom, plain glass with seagulls flying etched around it. Another in the Entrance Lobby (watching too much "escape to the country") which is burgundy and I managed to find burgundy drops in another shop, matches the rosewood furniture. Yes, my Lobby has furniture.  Going round the corner to the toilet with the lop-sided sign, thank you, useless ex, I have hanging from the ceiling my Universe. I put them up one Christmas and found out it was good Feng Shui if they swayed in the breeze and sent the bad Chi on its way.  No lead crystal here just the most fragile of coloured glass, matt gold balls and mirrored baubles.  The stars on the ceiling used to glow in the dark but they super nova'd over the years and I can't climb the ladder to lever them off.

Now these glass balls are heavy and like good glass have ash in the melt, Mt St Helen's ash. How good is that? Shut up, it's terrific to me and I want both of them, I'm greedy.

As usual the Black Dog has been dogging my brain (cute, I'm getting my sense of humour back) and watching mother almost die every week is emotionally draining and physically draining every time I fall over so by the time I sort out the walking mess that is me, days have disappeared.  Falling asleep in the chair is still going on, the cat threw up on my foot and I didn't wake.  I am just not in this world at the moment.  My sister rang again and that always makes me so glad..not.  I think I'll have it written in my Will that if I was too fragile to punch her, I want someone hired to slap her if she goes near my grave. 

That is something else to be done, check the plot, I haven't be there since the bushfire dropped a walloping great fir tree near it.  I need to measure up the plaque for mother and measure where the flowers went up in smoke so I can put the new ones in, she made me promise. I could get a taxi there and walk back but the paths are wonky and I refuse to ring 000 and ask for an ambulance to find the fat lady down in the middle of a cemetary.  I hated to ask nephew since he works 6 days a week and Sunday is all for his little boy but he has promised to make time. I have a feeling that time is short.  

Ring ring from Yeppoon

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

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

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

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

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

Still standing for this month

Well sometimes it is when I feel 100 years old and still crawling down to the Home when I really want to stay at my home and finish Christmas presents and wrap what I already have instead of doing it all by next July.
I didn't get approval, I was given a compliment. An elderly (probably 2 years older than me) said how lovely I looked in my green dress, she just loved green.  The dress is 18 years old and still fits so how come my backside is also 18 years fatter and hasn't busted a seam?  I almost feel guilty about the tub of salted caramel ice-cream that is siren calling me from the back of the freezer.
I have enough guilts from the last few weeks.  I committed double homicide for one, terrified my mother for another by describing the size of the huntsman roaming the ceiling while I was talking to her on the phone.  If he had stayed in the curtains he'd have been safe but it had to roam and then disappear.  He had two choices of landing, the Christmas box or the wool basket and I was not putting my hand in either.  I eventually found him on the floor giving me the evil eye so I left him there.  I came out two days later and he is swinging from the ceiling, dropping lower and lower.  It means I'll have to search for him again but it didn't take long, quite dead and curled up on the carpet. Total surprise because I usually wait until I can catch them in a platic bag and throw them outside to live or die by Magpie.  My fault, huge blowfly came in the back door and he got sprayed, can't stand the memories of backyard dunnies and swarms of blowies.  I assume he floated within range of the huntsman who chomped the free meal and was swinging from the ceiling not in fun but dying agony.  Just to top the guilt when I threw the body out, a magpie ate it and since there is no dead bird in the backyard, I have not committed triple homicide.

I have not fallen over for weeks. 
I haven't been to the pokies.
I have been too busy making out my Christmas list.  It's a long list full of expensive goodies.
I have found the perfect conservatory for my style of house.
I need to win Tattslotto to build it.
My granddaughter and great granddaughter are another year older.
And tomorrow is the anniversary of my Decree Nisi, oh frabjous day.

Now start saving for my Christmas presents, list will be posted soon.

I think I'll have a right bitch today!

Before the bitching, a laugh. I sent this to Antikva and apparently she not only beat the shit out of her but used a 4x4 to do it.  This year the fairy of joy didn't visit me, I got the fairy of crap, the one that carries a forever emptying bucket.

Mother was nearly killed last week but the fairy of longevity saved her...again.
It was serious this time.  She's a large lady...tv programme said it's not our fault, it's in the genes....so she must be put in the wheel chair using a lifting machine which is hard to move at any time let alone when she swinging on the end of it.
The idea is to drop her gently into the wheel chair which is hard to move, I don't even try. I nearly fainted when she ordered it but the 6 grand it cost has been worth it.
The two newbies managed to tip over the lifting machine as Ma hit the chair which also tipped so she was halfway to the floor with two heavy machines ready to land on her.  She screamed for the RN in charge, no joy there, and had to tell them how to get everything back upright. They are supposed to have been trained to use these machines. She managed to sit upright in the wheelchair but she was very shaken, 10 minutes later Doc Marvin came in and got a week's worth of mistakes and pain. He was furious for the same reason I was, her heartbeat is fine but a shock like this can make it go haywire and those two idiots walked out and left her without getting the RN. 
Anyone thinking of a Home for their elders, don't bother with Mercy Health, they're mongrels and worse, pious mongrels.  When mother does go, I intend to paint a moutache on every nun in the ten foot mural opposite her room.

It appears that my granddaughter, mother of that gorgeous tot in the last post has become an anti-vaccine campaigner. Nothing more I can say about that.

My sister was always forgetting to keep the nephew up to date with shots. I saw what rubella can do let alone measles. He had to stay in a dark room, be carried to the toilet with a blindfold over his eyes because he couldn't take any light at all.  He contracted chicken pox a few years back, head to toe pustules and it was only recognized at the hospital by an elderly nurse, one who'd been through the epidemics.  
And if 'E', his partner is still rummaging through my blog and tells him I've been writing about him, go ahead, flattening you is next on my list to flattening my sister.  This idiot tart , woman has caused the only two screaming matches between the boy I brought up as my own.  I don't hate her, she's just on my invisible persons list.

My sister is another invisible person especially now she's gone to live in the Bogan State.  I rang her about mum, she hasn't bother to ring her and see if she is okay.  Too busy sending me photos of her new living space, couldn't call it a unit (go on 'E' send an email and cause trouble). It has nothing which suits her personality since she apparently left her brain in Melbourne.  Her happy news  when I rang was that she only lost $1.25 off her pension when she moved to Jungle World. I really really want to smack the smugness out of her.
Especially when she tells me to forgive and forget my ex-daughter in law.

I don't see the point in forgiving something that is invisible to me.  An excruciatingly vile, lying dunghill of inhumanity who is now a loving born again Christian.  Rubbish, it's like coating a viper with chocolate, the outside is okay but the poison is still waiting for a bite.  Boy, I'm on a roll today, anybody else want to go on the invisible list.
Pauline Hanson, who wanted to make it illegal to say nasty things about being white.
The Shooters Lobby who want the gun laws watered down. Now there's your worst nightmare, Pauline gets a gun but as long as someone doesn't tell her which end fires, we'll all be safe.
Morrisson, our PM who has just said he was sorry for the abused children who lived in horror.  The same PM who is abusing children living in horror on Nauru, got to love a man with two faces and no brain. I really shouldn't say 'no brain', put him up against Barnaby Joyce and he looks like Einstein.

Ranty post but as Shirley McLaine says in Steel Magnolias, I'm not crazy, I've just been in a bad mood for forty years. 

My gravity is failing

Before I get to the bad bits, feast your eyes on my great granddaughter who's having a quick taste of her birthday cake. 

I seem to have developed the habit of falling over at least once a month. I believe my gravity is failing or should that be getting stronger.  The stupid thing is that I don't just fall, I fall insanely stupidly.  And to make it worse the paramedic who looks the size of my left leg says she was here last year to pick me up off the floor.

The last fall really hurt since I managed to do a twist mid-air and land on my right leg/knee replacement.
This didn't hurt as much since I was already close to the ground but the way I ended up was strictly Marx Bros. in style.  I have an extension that sits on top of the toilet seat for the crunched up knee replacements. I also have a handle on the wall and as I reached for the handle, the seat twizzled and I missed the handle completely.  I hit the floor, bum first, right leg bent and jammed beside the toilet and wall, bum jammed in the corner of the door frame and left leg ended up in the next door bathroom.  Now that's two separate rooms here and thank goodness the toilet door opens outwards. 
Twenty minutes to disentangle myself from toilet and get to the stage where both legs were facing the same direction.  Crawl to the phone but don't ring 000 just yet, there's the crawl to the front door to open it and grab something warm on the way.  Do the ringing bit, explain the fat lady has sung her way to the floor and can't get up. Everything else is fine, nothing broken, I'm warm, I can wait. 
I really hate the fact that I might be using an ambulance that someone really needs but now they have a team just for falls.  Up goes the cushion and I'm standing and walking to my chair.  I get a lecture on my legs about the fluid which could go to my lungs and heart, well jes tart, it's not like I started out to make elephant legs and I can walk.  She then goes into shock at the 240/110
blood pressure.  Of course I know it's stroke material but I was more worried about the other end which was building up explosively so she decided to wait a few minutes and do it on the other arm. They do a heart test which shows a perfect beat so the blood pressure again, it's down 20 but she wants me to go to hospital for tests for stroke. I told her if my mother can't give me a stroke then nothing will. She rings clinician (?) who wants hospital but goes for doctor's appointment in two hours.  
I'm sure Doc is writing a book about how idiots fall. Says my blood pressure has gone right down and was pleased that blood sugar was only 12 when they stabbed my finger which they couldn't stop bleeding. It's always the way, I either can't get blood or bleed to death.  I was pleased to get home and dry toast and tea was all I could get down. Staggered off to bed with precious cat and rang mother to see if I could frighten her to death, almost but she's bloody tough.
So it's now 4 days and my toe is not broken just bruised from where I jammed it in the toilet brush.  
So the fat lady not only sang but managed the splits, pretty good for my age.