Break out the Bombay.

Nice view courtesy of NASA of the Petermann Glacier flowing across the Greenland Ice Sheet. Where the glacier meets the sea, a 100 square mile island of ice has broken off and is moving towards the Nares Strait between Greenland and Canada.

This ice island could fuse to land, break up into smaller pieces or start moving south into the shipping lanes.

This was the glacier taken during the summer melt season last July. Opinions are divided over whether the breakage has been caused by global warming where the ocean temperatures are rising and warmer currents are undermining the glacier ice at land's end. One bright commenter said that it was natural for the glacier to break up when it stopped resting on the land regardless of the fact that no matter how big the ice cube is, it floats.

This is one of the cracks in the glacier last year. That melt water flowing through is a reason the ice is moving so quickly towards the sea, it's filtering down through minute cracks to the bedrock causing massive lubrication. If the glaciers of the Greenland Ice Sheet keep up the rate of calving for the next two melting seasons, the anniversary cruise marking the 100 years of the Titanic sinking could be a rough ride.

Sleep, perchance to dream

I found it hard to sleep last night, aches from walking, putting foot in a hole in the road, tripping on a wheelchair at the home. All of it designed to hurt already hurting bits.

Go to standby plan and put headphones on and turn on walkman. No red light means batteries are dead. Will I turn on the light and replace and make myself more wide awake? Decide not to do that and toss and turn instead.

I'm dreaming.
I'm chasing rats and mice around the bedroom. But I'm winning, there's only one left but I can't quite catch him. He's quiet then there's a ratty giggle and I'm off again.

I'm waking up.
To the tweeeping of the stupid smoke alarm because the battery has run out. Sounds like the ratty giggle I was dreaming about.
Stagger out without glasses to get the broom and give it a belt. Genius, without glasses I can't see that high in the ceiling to hit the button. Go back to bed and wait for the Chinese tweeeping torture to continue.

First tall person to hit the front door is going up the ladder to replace the battery even if I have to grab a copy of the WatchTower and listen to the twaddle of how Heaven loves me. Damn, mozzed myself now, they'll be here in droves.

I know, send psychic message to BrickOutHouse that I need him although that didn't work Friday night. I could tie a message round the cat's neck and send her off Lassie style. $6 for a 9volt battery added to shopping list. Heaven hates me.

Family First's fruit loop

Wendy Francis, Family First's lead Senate candidate in Queensland, said in a Twitter message yesterday: "Children in homosexual relationships are subject to emotional abuse. Legitimising gay marriage is like legalising child abuse."

It kills me to put this woman's face on my blog but we should all look at it, remember it and never, never vote for its party. Yes, I realize it's Queensland and the sun does funny things to fill empty heads but it did produce Kevvie so I can't really blame the state with the pointy end.

It's bad enough looking at Tony's horrible head and listening to his ramblings, then to have to keep a paper bag handy for whenever Loony Latham appears with his aggressive aggression (there's no passive with Loony) or shut the ears when the old nag from Kooyong decides to forget we've moved forward in political correctness.

But Family First takes the prize for nutjobbery in every area. Silly twittee has removed the comments on twitter but nothing is said without the brain (chortle) being involved in the process in the first place so saying sorry doesn't cut it.

Cat and duck

It's taken me nearly six months to get the cat to go out the back door without being frightened of the magpies. I mean it still makes me open the front door to go through the carport and IN the back door but it does go out the back door as well.

It did until this morning and it could be another six months for the nerves to stop jangling.
Cat goes out the back quite happily, takes a wander round, drinks the filthy birds water when it has pristine water inside and sits down in the sun.

QUARNCXH is the approximate noise the duck makes as it walks up behind the cat. I think it must have been swimming in the pool over the back fence and came over for a bit of a feed.
I don't believe the cat's paws touched ground until it hit the carpet inside the back door. It sat there with its nose pressed to the glass watching the duck which came right up to the door. I thought for a moment it would come right inside since the door was still open but it just picked up an insect on the step and wandered up the yard.

The vile filthy look I got from the cat said volumes about it all being my fault for shoving it out the back door in the first place. Well, who would have thought a duck would land in the yard?
A plane, yes, and no, that plane the other day was over the other side of the airport. On my side they tend to splatt on the golf course.

Looks like it's back to opening the front door again.

I haz hurtz, srsly.

Keyboarding will probably be comprimised, no, fingers are working.
Too much rushing around when I'm tired, not eating (yes it happens) then rushing when I get home because cat wants food, kitty litter cleaned, wants out front door, wants in back door and all before I get my cloak off.
I wouldn't have seen mum if sister had told me she was going but then her visits are usually five minutes long and out the door. Anyway I had the cheque to keep Ma there for another month and more card making stuff so she doesn't notice I'm not around as much.

So about 10 p.m. I'm not feeling so good and head off to bed, 10.30, 11.00, 11.30, midnight, toilet. F*^%& panic attacks. By 2 a.m. I'm all calmed down, warm and ready to sleep and I need a pee. Isn't it always the way?
Don't bother with slippers or dressing gown, quick visit.
Finish, get up, knock toilet roll to the floor and bend down to pick it up.
Both feet slip due to newly cleaned and polished floor. People never put a bright bright light in the toilet when you've only had a pale one, shows every bit of grime and dust and urges a cleaning frenzy. So the feet slip, and because I'm a little (ok, lot) top heavy, gravity takes over and I'm flat out like a lizard drinking.
Fortunately I didn't shut the door or concussion would be added to my hurtz.

So I swear and go into raising the Titanic mode. This consists of kneeling, palms down, and walking feet to upright like insywinsy spider. Slight flaw in the plan, half of me is on tiles, the other half is on carpet. Palms are down, arms straight, ready legs. Crap, slippery floor, toes and calves cramp and Titanic is down again. Lay there for a minute uncramping toes which is a danger sign of spine going into meltdown. Did I mention I hadn't bothered to put the lights on or my glasses? Thought not.

Chair, I need a chair for my arms to pull me up. Closest one is next door in the study. Start dragging myself there, which hurts elbows and shoulders and cramps toes again. Idiot, flip over and bumwalk to chair and if I do that I can reach the light switch and see where the sodding chair is. Even given the padding on my backside, bumwalking hurtz but toes uncramp. Another slight problem, chair is swivel and on wheels. Turn it round til it's just resting against computer table and pray that everything including self doesn't go through the window.

Success, once I get both feet flat on the floor, I can pull the rest of me up. Kneeling on the parts underneath the knees is the most painful thing. If anyone ever has a heart attack near me, they're gone, no way could I kneel to do CPR. So now I'm standing, nothing broken except my swear button and I'm off to bed but I should have put an icepack on the spine first. Not a snowball's chance of doing that, I'm freezing and have the shakes.

Collateral damage this morning, left hand, right thumb, left shoulder, neck muscles, toes still cramping, sore buttock muscles from bumwalking, tendency to burst into tears and core body temperature low due to frequency of ice packs to spine and sore boobs since, due to gravity, they hit the floor before I landed on them.

The only kind thing today was the sun shining through my bedroom window warming me before I had to move to feed the cat, let it out the front door, turn the heater on for it, open the back door and stagger back to bed.

But the killer is, there's not a chocolate in the house due to resolution no. 4568 to start a diet and no chocolate until Sunday.

Language

RH may be the scourge of the Interwebs and as annoying as nails down a blackboard to many bloggers but sometimes he is a mine of information rather than a swamp of botheration.

"The word 'hoon' in this country was another word for 'pimp'.
Its meaning has changed in the last twenty years or so."

"When I was in primary school a pimp was a dobber, as in: "He pimped on me."

"Bludger was a synonym for Hoon, as in "Here comes Jan with her bludger."

Now I remember the primary school 'pimp' as my sister was a fine example and pimping about me to mum was her idea of fun. I don't ever remember using dobber but do remember my son using it at school. Bludger, as I understood it was a layabout and bludging was taking it easy while others worked.An old lag was someone who'd been in prison but 'lagging' someone was old style dobbing.

My father had a wealth of racetrack terms for everything but nothing was ever written down and now I can't ask him. My uncle worked the wharves, another world altogether but he's gone and all his stories with him except the ones the family still tell about him stealing everything that wasn't nailed down. The advent of container ships didn't slow him down, he just took the container and hid it up bush.

Australians seemed to have a love/hate affair with the spoken English and language changed with every generation. As in the above, hoon now means any lout that speeds around our roads and would not take kindly to being called a pimp. Now perhaps RH could tell us if 'lout' is being used in its proper context or has that evolved from something else.

If we went back to Federation year, would anyone know what language we were speaking, streetwise that is?

TAC Ads

Is our money being well spent putting out the latest TAC ads?
I would say not, given the hoon that went screaming around the corner near my house last night.
The message is not getting across because the hoons that need the message are out hooning.

Who is getting the message?
Everyone who has lost someone in an accident because we're home watching the TAC ads.

For once, the cops have the right idea.
Take the hoon's car and crush it into a tiny cube. That's for the first offence.
For the second offence in another car, crush the car with the hoon in it.

Don't complain about the expense, use the money wasted on TAC ads.

What's the use of a guide that doesn't guide?

It could be that the TV station is just messing with the ratings but it's infuriating to sit down to enjoy a favourite programme that isn't there.

Last night, two episodes of 'Ghost Whisperer', joy for me until it turned into one episode and that was on very late, late late.

So GW is not exactly Shakespeare at the Old Vic but I enjoy it and it has a continuing story line which they managed to keep in sequence, at least. And Jennifer Love Hewitt has stopped wearing her Betty Boop line of frou frou dresses so I've stopped wanting a ghost to drop a match on her.

Now I'm sitting down with cat on knee, enjoying.

The cat sits up, ears go up.

Cat jumps down, goes into the dark hall, goes through to the dark study then comes out and SLINKS close to the ground until she reaches me.

And sits on my knee again.

Yes, I'm spooked.

Tutanhkamun Online

We're all familiar with the golden mask of the boy Pharoah, Tutankhamun, but it was only one of the thousands of objects found by Haward Carter.
In the Sackler Library at Oxford, there is a room where the humidity and temperature are controlled in order to preserve things not as durable as gold. The Griffith Institute houses the notes, photographs and diaries of the English archaeologist who discovered Tutankhamun's tomb in 1922. For 10 years, Carter catalogued the thousands of treasures stacked inside the chambers, but the majority of his work has never been published.
In 1993, Jaromir Malek started his work when he realized that of a total of 5,398 artefacts found, only a third had been properly studied and published. He decided to put all of Carter's notes online, the entire archive available for study.



When Carter died in 1939, he had no collaborators left to continue his work. While the artefacts themselves are held in the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities in Cairo, the Griffith Institute has all of Carter's written records. He recorded his finds on more than 3,500 cards with additional notes by Carter's chemist and conservator, Alfred Lucas. There are also more than 1,000 photographs by Harry Burton, plus hundreds of fragile pages from Carter's journals and diaries and 60 maps and plans of the excavation site, one of which has the valley's contours with Carter's black-ink lines showing the dig site located in the deepest point of the valley where the floodwater dumps debris when it rains. This plus the fact that the later tomb of RamsesVI was built almost on top of it, kept the smaller tomb (after the first break-in) undisturbed.
Malek and his staff had to work in their spare time due to a lack of funding but in 1995, "Tutankhamun: Anatomy of an Excavation" became one of the first websites dedicated to Egyptology. 98% of the material is online with the last pages available within the next 3 months.

Carter, funded by Lord Carnavon, had been searching the Valley of the Kings for 7 years but only a few objects had been found with Tutankhamun's name but it was enough to keep the two of them searching. Years later, there were rumours that Carter had discovered the tomb early in the search but had kept quiet in order to explore the rest of the Valley, with Carnavon's money.

On Saturday, November, 1922, stairs leading to a walled up doorway were uncovered. A diary entry for the next day says "seals intact", a sign that the tomb was undisturbed. Carter's first look through a hole into the tomb was on Sunday, 26 November and by the light of a flickering candle he made out the images of statues, gilded couches, painted caskets, chairs and chariots.

Harry Burtonphotographed the team's progress, as Carter, worked slowly and methodically to catalogue the position of every artefact before removing them. The photos show a jumble of objects due to the burial of the boy king in a smaller tomb than he should have had plus the tomb had been robbed shortly after his death and the contents were shoved back in any old way before the door was resealed. The photographs on the database reveal treasures from a leopardskin cloak with a golden head and silver claws to a collection of green and blue draughtsmen. Burtan also photographed the stages of unwrapping the mummy.

Malek hopes that Egyptologists will begin to study in detail all of the artefacts, not just the luxury items but the everyday items to find out, not only what they were made of but how they were made and the techniques involved. Not only did Carter records exactly where each item was found but they were recorded and photographed almost immediately the tomb was opened, before any deterioration had begun. Museums at the beginning of the last century did not have the technology for preserving organic items which is standard now. If other Egyptian digs are entered into the data bank then cross referencing will make research easier.

http://www.griffith.ox.ac.uk/gri/4tut.html will take you there.

This is one of the treasures, a pectoral scarab ornament belonging to the Pharoah. It has at its centre, another mystery. To the west of the Nile, there is a patch of desert where Libyan desert glass is found. It sits on the sandy surface but is much older than the sand and is almost pure silica. The scarab in the middle of the ornament is the only piece of the glass ever found in Egyptian jewellery.

Another fritzing

Light bulb in the ceiling has blown. The toilet light.
This house is telling me that I can't live here anymore.
Changing the light bulb by me is nerve wracking and dangerous.
Get the ladder.
Find somewhere to hold the new globe and the old globe. Yes I do have a big gob.
Go up the ladder carefully.
Unscrew the three screws holding the shade but not all the way out. Last time I did that I was fishing around in the toilet bowl with a sieve. Yes I did forget to put the lid down.
Hold the glass shade, take out dead bulb, wonder where to shove it while getting the live bulb.
Yes I do have a big gob but there's no where else since I'm holding a bulb, shade and one hand on the ceiling.
Put in the live bulb, put the shade back, screw the screws in.
Take hand off the ceiling. ffs, just let go of the ceiling. Okay, leave hand on the ceiling until one foot goes down a rung. So you've just dislocated one shoulder but don't whine to yourself, now take the hand off the ceiling.

Or I could just leave the door open and turn on the hall light until the BrickOutHouse turns up.
He stands on the floor, unscrews with one hand, replaces bulb with other, drops nothing in the toilet, replaces shade. It takes him 2 minutes.

This IS a serious science blog

I've posted before about the cannibalistic mating habits of various insects but we have more research which proves where a male keeps his brain and how females can multi-task though anything.

Take one sex-crazed praying mantis. His mission is to jump onto a female's back, grip hard, get his rocks off and jump to safety. Unfortunately all too often in a giant FAIL, he'll slip right into the female's mandibles and get his head ripped off for an appetizer.

In some mantid species, getting your head ripped off also loses the system of nerves that tells you to stop copulating. The nerves that keep copulation going are in your abdomen and remain intact.

So, while Madam is munching and lunching upstairs and re-designing the leaf and twig penthouse, the headless wonder is still going strong in the basement.

You'll notice, not one snigger during this serious blog post.


"snork"


"Bwahahahahhahahha"

This was always a deeply interesting science blog

So in the interests of science, here we have a photo of a Hairy Angler Fish from the Deep Australia Project. Not even a mother could love that face. If there is justice in this world, my ex husband should now look like this......without the teeth.

This one from the same project is an amphipod, a type of crustacean.

Only one name for him.....Darth Prawn.

You have been reading a serious science blog, don't be fooled by imitations.

This or the other?

Terrible isn't it, a geek at my advanced age.

There are lots more at the Noble Collection

But I want this one.

Through the gloom there's a birthday looming

How revolting to realize July will soon be over and so will another year of my life.

Apart from really wanting a body that looks like this

I really really really want a light sabre.

One of those dreams

It was one of those dreams that linger longer than usual probably because I was woken up in the middle of it by the furball wanting its too early breakfast.
I had complained so much about dress designers to everyone who would listen that one of the Paris designers had chosen me to end his show wearing 'The Wedding Dress'. No I didn't look like bones up there or bones down there, it was me in all my wall to wall flab. The dress was gorgeous, heavily beaded V neck, wide crinoline type skirt with train, miles of petticoats and heels, me, wearing heels. My flowers were white roses and I didn't so much as parade down the cat walk as glide. As I reached the end and had to turn, I remember thinking, here it is, where I go over the side and kill half the audience but no, I turned with grace, using my feet to flick the train behind me and continued to glide to tumultuous applause. I didn't have a veil, just a sparkly headdressy thing. Thanks to the cat, I didn't get to see myself as the next supermodel plus plus size but the dress was a beauty.

So the dream started me thinking (at that time of the morning, Great Goddess) about why dress designers don't design for lardarses. It's because they can't. Miss Skinny Pink in Satin is flat all the way around, up and down, no tits, no bum. Designers cannot cope with lumps. Fat ladies have lumps. They have lumps in strange places, they have one up/one down boobs. Fat stomachs tend to move as one glides (yes, we glide, shuttup) legs can be thinnish to tree trunks.

So you see with all their fabulous designs that they charge squillions for, they've not got the talent to dress the most Rubenesque of real women.

I dream of the day, that one will rise above this tryanny of skinny and have a show of such largeness, such women of curves to rival an alpine road and all in the most gorgeous of frocks to outshine the stick insects into extinction.

I could really kill the cat.

I'm not sure I can handle another chance

The clock is borked.

The toaster is borked.

The dryer is borked.

The spouting is borked.

My understanding of Telstra wireless broadband is definitely borked.

Relations with my sister are almost unfixedly borked.

My eyes are borked because I can't stop this water stuff from flooding out of them.

The cat has finally realized that waking me at 3 am for food is the road to borkdom.

I think my tin knee is borked.

My bank account is borked.

But I'm not depressed, my depression button is borked.

Idle, I haz it

I don't really but the blog haz.
Three days at the home this week.
I will just take a minute to unpack my brain.
Damn, I forgot where I left it.
Think, where do I hide the chocolate.
Thank the Goddess, brain and left over chocolate.
Sorry can't blog, eating chocolate.
Can't blog tomorrow either, smashing scales with hammer.

Plants I could get to like

I could really get to like that green blobby thing pictured here. For a start it's growing in the Atacama desert in Chili which is not the most hospitible places for growing. It's called llareta, a relative of parsley, looks like moss but actually consists of thousands of flowering buds on long stems which are so densely packed together they can withstand the weight of a human. Some parts of the above plant (photographed by Rachel Sussman) might be more than 3000 years old but we don't know enough about it to be sure. It has adapted to this extreme environment and is very slow growing. Of course humans can't leave it alone, the locals use it as fuel and make medicine from it which is fine if you're living in the same extreme location but don't tell big Pharma companies or it will be history.

I'd love it in my garden, no weeding and it looks so 'Dr Who'.

July is not turning out well at all

The big kitchen clock dropped off the wall this morning but with an agility I haven't seen in years, I managed to catch it.

The BrickOutHouse brought all his washing over including his world record sock collection. Washing was no problem but with two pairs of jeans in the dryer, it fritzed itself. Smell of burning, very hot plug in the power point and a low level clunk in the machine itself. Still I have been using it since 1991. Out comes Grandmother's giant solid stainless steel clothes stand which weighs a tonne and take up half the MCG's ground when it's all out in radiating spokes. I don't think I've used it since I put his nappies on it. (He said he didn't need to know that)

I dropped my mobile phone in my coffee cup. It was not a day for multi-tasking but being 5 years old and very basic, it didn't seem to do it any harm.

Putting paper in the bottom of the kitty litter tray was not a success. I walked in to the laundry to find kitty litter still in the tray but shredded paper from wall to wall. I have no idea how she did it but she must have had a grand time.

Fast forward Miss O'Dyne.

The black and white terror seems to have recovered from setting her tail on fire the other night.
She was rolling round the floor with BOH, so engrossed in him playing with her that only I noticed the slight smell of singeing. Stupid clot had her tail right up against the gas fire. OMG, the drama. He's still checking to see if any hair has fallen out, his precious was nearly hurt. Little beast is milking it for all it's worth, even cringing when he touches it.

My adventures on eBil, now at an end, cost me dearly money wise but lessons learnt were worth it. I am now ready to launch my retaliation against the largest of the shonky dealers and he's not getting the stones back, I'm keeping the evidence.

Happy Fourth of July.

Confession time

Don't get all excited, it's not about sex but about food specifically being a vegetarian.

The vegetables that I like are vastly outnumbered by the vegetables I don't like. Tofu is only made bearable by coating it in batter and smothering it with sweet and sour sauce. There are tofu sausages made by Sanitarium which gives me a taste of normality with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes although if you read the ingredients on the back of the pack it might as well be MacDonald's.

It's no good directing me in the direction of good vego recipes, I have them by the hundreds but the problem is, they all contain vegetables and I have to cook them. I am so past cooking a decent meal.
Yesterday I had such a craving for roast pork that I gave in and bought 4 little pork belly cutlets. I put a skewer through them, covered them in soy/ginger marinade, hung them over a baking pan and let them cook. The smell was enticing, the eating not so much and I will be glad when they leave the body. The sight of how much fat was left in the bottom of the pan from four 8cmx4cm pieces of pork was frightening. It wasn't wasted, the magpies were enjoying bread dipped pork drippings all morning.

I no longer want red meat, add pork to the list but a geniune free range piece of chicken does find it's way to the table at least once a week along with some salmon and a tin of sardines or my doctor screams about bone fractures along with the other screaming he does when I refuse to get on his scales or have blood and fasting tests which means getting up too early on cold mornings.

My weight is at the limit of what frightens me, not as much as it was in 2000 but more than it was when I lost 20 kgs in the post divorce glow. My credit card is at the same limit, I dare not go over either of them. It's not like I'm not trying, I mean I'm not just sitting here eating chocolate, it's chocolate covered dried fruit. See, I'm trying. But I confess, my diet is appalling.

Breakfast cereal is a mixture of whatever's on special but mainly high fibre and skim milk but it's winter and that's cold eating. Don't mention porridge, I've told you lot before, it's like eating cold snot. But toast (wholemeal wholegrain) and two free range boiled eggs (before Miss O'Dyne has the vapours, Kangaroo Island free range eggs) and steaming hot Earl Grey tea I can manage with my eyes shut and they usually are until midday.

The problem is, I'm a stress eater and staying home with my feet up beside the fire lessens stress but I'm still stressed because I'm not used to de-stressing yet, being still in 'what's happening to mother' mode. This is not as bad as it was but the brain still lingers there. The last time I lost weight, I stayed home, kept busy (not housekeeping, never housekeeping) and the kilos dropped off. It didn't last, the motherdrama kicked into high gear and I was back in the fat business.

If I could just resist the siren call of cakes, forget the hand to gob pleasure of chocolate, the melting goodness of a quiche made with sour cream and Tasmanian Brie, the steam from hot crisp fried chips crusted with sea salt and bread, lovely lovely fresh bread with creamy butter and not the crap Nuttlex I'm stuck with. You did notice the absence of vegetables in there, I thought you might have.

There's no getting round it, I'm the world's worst vegetarian.

You can have the real goodies for a price

If you want the real stuff why not try the Eternal Diamond stiletto, for a measly 100,000 pounds. They're made entirely from gold and diamonds and will give a shine to the most witless of women.
They have been created by bespoke jewellers the House of Borgezie, and the world's first designs have already created a stir among celebrities.

Made by British jewellery designer Christopher Michael Shellis, each pair is handcrafted from solid gold and then encrusted with 2,200 brilliant cut diamonds, totalling 30 carats.

Shellis has spent three years working on the creation, perfect for summer balls, society weddings and red carpet events. Not to mention broken ankles, necks and getting mugged for your Cinderallas.

The betting books are closed on Victoria Beckham getting the first pair.

Just another eBil lesson

A synthetic stone is not a fake. Synthetic describes a gem made in a laboratory which has the same basic chemical composition and similar chemical, optical and physical properties to its natural counterpart.

Imitation is glass or plastic.

Synthetic diamonds were first produced in the early 1950’s for industrial use. Synthetic rubies were produced in the 19^th century for the watch making industry in Switzerland.

Synthetic diamonds have essentially the same composition as natural diamonds but usually without the flaws like included minerals that come with the way diamonds are formed. Manufacturers are now deliberately putting flaws in their stones to fool the eye or a jeweller’s loupe.

There are now instruments that detect the synthetics. When placed against a natural diamond, they emit a sound but not with synthetics.

A cubic zirconia is not a synthetic diamond, it’s an imitation with a different chemical composition. It also weighs more than a diamond which is why it’s always sold by size not carat weight.

So now to eBil.

1. Buy from a reputable buyer (Ha!) in Australia so you can hunt them down and kneecap them.

2. If you do get lab diamonds, you have to make sure that they’re hand cut and polished not machine cut in a factory in China.

3. Have them appraised by someone who knows the difference between Czs and lab diamonds or a jeweller who has a beep machine because they don’t beep.

4. Don’t buy them on eBil if you’re smart.

The large stone at the top is 207 carats and from Thailand, in other words, take your chances.

The square modified Asscher cut ones are mine. I paid .01 cent for them because nobody loves a square diamond that doesn't sparkle larkle larkle like 207 carats of bling. They're machine cut because I can still see the tooling marks on the back of one of them and they don't have as many facets as shown here but I didn't expect much for one cent. Tomorrow I'll find out if they're lab diamonds, CZs or glass.

I knew it wasn't going to be easy

For one thing I don't know how to fix my optusnet email which is tied to Outlook Express. I'm still getting emails in but I can't send anything which means copying and pasting by going over to gmail. I don't like gmail.
I'm reading the booklet which has all the Telstra instructions and you know what I'm like with instructions, hopeless. And then there's what will happen when the dial-up finally cuts out on July 3, do I still have an Optusnet email?
So, today I get a large envelope in the mail telling me I have 10 days to cancel my contract with Telstra wirless broadband and mobile phone. Wtf, I didn't sign up for mobile phone but it sounds as though I get charged on the phone bill for a phone I don't have. Collect all papers and prepare to storm Telstra shop on Thursday. Why don't the bastards get it right.

It's just another thing to deal with. I'm already dealing with depression by hiding in a corner hoping it will get tired of looking for me. It's no big thing just making me not function a bit more than I don't function normally. I feel for people who deal with real depression every day and more are not coping at all especially younger teens. To help myself and get out of bed each morning, I write down three things to do in a day. If I get one done, I'm happy.

I suppose if I go back to the blog at this time for the last 5 years, I'll have been the same way.
Still it has been a stressful year and I haven't opened a vein yet not even when I weighed myself on Sunday. Eating is not an option to make myself feel better neither is drinking and it's too cold to go out spending money. I think it's winter blues, greys and dead browns.

When's spring?

The jungle or politics, it's all the same

Researcher, Dr. Greg Johnston from Flinders University and Adelaide Zoo has been studying the rold of bright colours in frog breeding behaviour in the Panamanian rainforest.

He said, "They're brilliantly coloured. They're green on the back, they have bright orange feet, they have gold and blue stripes on the side and they have bright red eyes and they have purple flashes on the thighs." (Lady Gaga of the frog world)

When the frogs strike a particular pose that displays the bright colours on the side of their body, they start shaking the branch they're on. What Dr. Johnston noticed was whenever they displayed this behaviour, they were also doing what looked, to him, like little tantrums.

The research team also used a miniature seisomograph to measure the vigrations made by the frogs to make sure they were not the product of wind or some other random movement.

Johnston and colleagues set up contests between male frogs and found they interchanged vibrations until one frog finally gave up, or the two had a fight to determine who would stay. They also put together an experiment using a robot frog to play back vibrations to male frogs in the field. They reacted to the robot as if it was a competing frog.

I'm trying not to say it but I can't help myself, isn't that so male, flashy, tantrums and sex.

Why am I still sitting like a frog on a log?

Simply because I've been so used to waiting waiting waiting for pages to load that I don't realize it already has.

One problem from last night, not from the connection but the fact that I confused the poor Telstra boy so much he forgot to swipe the card and while I'm telling him the connection is working well, he's telling me I haven't paid for it and he's about to get fired.

So it was walk to the bus, sunny and almost warm, get out at Cheltenham and drop off the rest of the gemstones for testing, have coffee, catch another bus to Southland and stagger round to Telstra. It's been a long time since I had a male of any age almost throw himself at my feet.
3/4 of an hour later after three of them tried to fix up the account and swipe the card, I was free.

I looked at the movies since I was already there but not one good viewing at Gold Class and Prince of Persia was on at the Europa and the seats are a little snug in that theatre. Everything
else started too late so I took the money and blew it on lunch and a very large glass of wine.

And while I'm doing all that, Jules took the country. And I was so looking forward to referring to Kevin O'Lemon until the election. On the upside, I'll probably go back to voting Labor, sorry Greens but you'll be second on my list.

So I am home and ready to play with my new toy and blank. Computer still wants to play dial-up
and it's taken me a while to figure everything out. I just disconnect not take the little stick off the cord thingy. I am not good with electrical things.
Which brings me back to the beginning, sitting like a frog on a log waiting for pages to load.
And yes, The Age is ghastly with sound, I went straight over to ABC news which keeps its gob shut.

Redheads Rule.

Back as soon as I get broadband

Current download speed is 12kbps and that's after spending half an hour with the Peter Sellers Memorial call Centre who assured me that my down load speed was working fine on their end.

Now going out tomorrow to do a deal with Telstra about broadband and telling Optusnet to get stuffed. Of course, I might have to do that with Telstra as well which means posting from the first internet cafe I find.

I blame the World Cup, Tony Abbot, Kevin the Lemon and the Solstice vibes, they're all bad.

eBil lesson No. 4

The lovely Amethyst of all shades, shapes and sizes. This one is 32 carats, cut in the Portuguese style and synthetic. The deeper shading in the middle made it look a winner for a while but no, another on the list of mistakes.

Now for above and below. A cushion shape and an oval both showing that lovely deep pink flash when moved around. The one above is synthetic and the oval, well, the jury is still out on that one. The gem has a very deep pavillion and there are some marks that look like natural inclusions so only more testing will tell for certain if it's another dud. The richness of the two colours means that I'll be happy to look at them. I emailed the seller who confirmed that both stones came from the same dealer, overseas dealer I suspect.

But in all this, I have a winner. This lovely light shade of lilac which some sellers refer to as "Rose de France", a clever pr thought that one up to sell this particular light stone which is not as valuable as a deep purple gem. It is delicate and would look lovely in a ring and didn't cost as much as the synthetics.

Now to this lovely deep deep purple cushion cut gem from Africa via a laboratory. Just goes to show that even the crooks can't always get it right. It happens to be a synthetic sapphire.

I have to say even for a synthetic, it's a beautiful shade.

eBil lesson No. 3

I know this lesson was supposed to be diamonds but I forgot so we'll have a lesson on Ametrines.
They look rich and luscious and gorgeous and they'll all synthetic and photoshopped for glitz.

This one was too dark in the amethyst section, it's almost burgundy but in the hand, the shade was the right colour for amethyst. The citrine section, shown here as gold to deep gold, was a pale lemon colour, not right for a geniune ametrine. The size was large, too good to be true and it was. It appears to be laboratory grown, by looking through a loup but not by chemical testing.

Now I was sure this was a winner. The shading of the purple, pink and yellow is beautiful and I loved the cut and shape but again, opinion is that it is also a laboratory grown synthetic.

Look at all the photoshopped sparkly bits on this delightful heart. In the hand, it is a dark mauve/violet on one corner, violet on the bottom and the citrine band across the middle is a lightish lemon/yellow colour. Opinion is synthetic laboratory grown.

The gemmologist who is advising me on these stones, in fact on all of the gems that I've bought, is qualified but is doing this by looking with an experienced eye. It will cost me a great deal of money to have them assessed by chemical and other tests.

So, after a post not long ago about ametrines, why did I fall for and buy these? Because the country of origin was listed as Bolivia, the home of ametrines and it was an Australian seller with a supposedly good reputation.

If they had been listed as synthetic, I still would have bought them but not paid as much because I love the colours and shapes.

I will get to those diamonds but the minefield that is simulated diamonds needs to be negotiated with eyes wide open.

eBil lesson No.2

I came across this pink tourmaline while trawling the web and fell in love with it. The colour, the sparkle, the shape and so when the gem below came up on eBil, the 'must have' sign went off in my brain and I didn't look any further than the colour or the shape.

The seller, in this case, thought she had protected her buyers by selling certified gems in sealed packages direct from the GHI. That's the Gemological Hallmark International Co. Ltd. which happens to be located in Thailand. It is sealed, the information on the pack is dated April 30, 2010 with a report number. The deal is that there is a secret password underneath the flap with which you can access the full report at the website, if you have 50 years to figure out how to do that since they give no information at the site.

So here is the report on the back of the sealed packet.

Result: Natural Tourmaline

Object: One loose stone

Weight: 2.16 cts.

Cut:PS/Facet

Colour: Pink

Measurement:8.79 x 8.43 mm x 4.69mm

Comment: None.

Additional information on eBil says the origin is Namibia, the gem has had heat treatment, it's clarity is VS1 and it is jewellery grade.

Now have a good look at both gems. See how the top one sparkles all over but the bottom one has a blank look in the middle. It's blank and it's called a window. The cutters have gone for weight instead of cutting it smaller and removing that window. If you hold the gem straight and look down over a newspaper, you can actually read the print through this window. The 'Catch 22' here is that you can't see this unless you open the sealed package and once the sealed package is open, the gem is no longer certified. I could even read the fine print on the back of that package with this window and there was a lot of fine print.

When I emailed the seller, she was genuinely upset and offered me a full refund but I've kept the gem as it wasn't her fault. She then offered me a discount on any other gems I might buy from her, sorry nice person but not a chance. Anything from Thailand is suspect even with a certificate unfortunately Thailand was not mentioned anywhere on the report shown on with the stone on the eBil site or I might have taken a bit more care.

The next lesson will be on Laboratory grown diamonds.

Shopping on eBil

Now I liked this pendant from first look. Starting bid was $39.00 so I bid $39.00. It's 9cm long and 4 cm across the top. The flowers are carved shell, the round stones are pink, dark green and light green tourmalines. There is one small pearl next to a tiny coral bead, further down is a faceted briolette of citrine next to a topaz pear. It's marked as 925 sterling silver and quite well executed, dainty but balanced. It was according to the website and the faded price tag, originally $625.00 but it didn't appeal to anyone but me and for $39, it was mine. Of course I might not have been the first to own it, it could have been returned for a full refund.

But why would anyone return it? The arrow at the top is pointing to a delicate curved silver scroll which has become detached from the back. Quote to be re-soldered in silver, $70, but since it is decoration only and not structural, I can live with it. The second arrow near the citrine briolette is to show you that the topaz pear has been crossed over the citrine. The two arrows pointing to the pear shape would show you the internal stress lines if the photoshopping hadn't been done so well. Actually I could feel with my finger the outline of one of the stress lines and it will, no doubt, shatter completely if I ever drop it or it might just do it because it feels like it.
The X shows the difference in the colours on the background where the photoshopping has been applied. The drop was crossed with the briolette to best hide the flaws which I can clearly see now because I have the pendant in front of me. The tourmalines all have stress lines and inclusions but those are only visible with light underneath.

I can live with all of this because it is a lovely piece regardless. The problem was what to hang it from, silver chain, ribbon, beads? The chains I had were all wrong, I'm too old for dinky ribbon but I did have 6mm smooth, round semi-precious moonstones, perfect. So, in spite of all the faults I didn't return it because the seller didn't lie, just omitted to divulge a few things.

Tomorrow's lesson will be about a seller getting done like a dog's dinner.

Heaven in a grain of sand

This is something remarkable and it measures just 7.5 x 5.4 x 3.1 cm.
The vug (a small cavity in a rock or vein, often filled with crystals) is of shattuckite in a blue velvety botryoidal (like a bunch of grapes) form coating the inside. As well there is a spray of acicular (needle shaped) malachite which is dark green with tiny clusters of needle shaped crystals.
There have been a number of these specimens from the Kaokoveld region of Namibia, south-west Africa but it would be hard to go beyond the beauty of this piece.
And I gave you all the meanings so you can kill the competition at Scrabulous.

This must be a joke, please

From the Sunday Herald Sun:

PIGEON LOCKED UP
Indian police are holding a pigeon under armed guard and have banned anyone from visiting it in the Punjab after it was caught on an alleged spying mission for arch rival and neighbour Pakistan.

Pure Peter Sellers.

I'm a day late for the celebration

How could I have forgotten the wonderful day of the 28th of May. Emancipation Day. The 'Blight walked off with the Blonde' Day. Freedom from cooking, washing, snoring, door banging, radio slightly off station annoying buzz, crashing of gates, bashing of garbage wheelie bins, in fact the silence when he left was deafening. I still can't stand having the radio on.

Forgetting was easy since I saw mater yesterday. I missed the bus by a second, walked down to the pharmacy, picked up the registered mail and while the stupid man, who knows me but still wanted to see ID, made me miss the second bus. While waiting for the third bus, the sky rained on me.

So walking through Mentone, cold, still not well and hungry, I stopped at a small fish and chip shop. I haven't had fish and chips for years and it was well worth the wait. The chips were crispy and the fish was at least an inch thick without the batter. Perhaps it was the hunger but I savoured every mouthful. There was another woman having lunch and enjoying the shop's speciality, deep fried battered hamburger. No bun, just the hamburger in batter and a layer of tomato sauce. She said she'd be back for more and she was thin, I hate it when thin people eat stuff like this and stay thin. It'll be another year before I indulge in this treat again.

Which brings me to a word that is going into my memory bank. Researchers use laboratory rats for biomedical research but there are concerns that the rodents aren't up to it. They're not exercising, eating too much food and so like a teenage couch potato they're overfed, unfit and obese and developing a range of health problems and are dying prematurely. So how can the experimental results of any research be called a success? These animals are housed in obesogenic conditions. OBESOGENIC, fantastic word. It should be printed over every cake shop I pass, my fridge, my chocolate stash, the bottle of Pepsi I've hidden for emergencies. It should be tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.

It should also be printed all over that container of fat sludge that's been in the news. 2000 calories in one container! But what I want to know is how icecream and peanut butter is considered a taste sensation. It's obesogenic.

No apples here

For a start I just love the gold butterfly mouse and would have it for the desktop because it's pretty.

But this is serious pretty. The Butterfly Lovers HP Mini 210. Gold and butterflies, it's calling to me.

Designed by Vivienne Tam, less than 3cm thick and blingingly gold. I am loving the gold. Apple Ipad, dull. Butterfly Lovers Rule! Priced at $799 but if you have to ask, you can't afford it.

Good for blogging the ghost ride over the Titanic.

Superstitious, me?

This is the lovely "Balmoral" cruising here in sunny waters but in 2012, she'll be re-creating the journey of the "Titanic".
She'll be sailing from Southhampton, to Cobh in Ireland then to the Titanic wreck site, from there to Halifax and New York.
Would you believe nearly all the cabins are booked out?
I don't think I'll go, been there, done that.
All the 'New Agers' seem to think that the world is coming to an end of some kind in 2012 according to the Mayan Calender which happens to stop at that date. Probably someone just forgot to bash up another stone calender but if the world was going through a strange time I suppose the Balmoral would be just the place to watch it.
If you want to check it out http://www.titanicmemorialcruise.co.uk is the place.

All of me is not well and that's a whole lot of not well

Last Wednesday, Southland, the cavacade of wheelchairs and me riding trolley for my mother's shopping.
"Do I have money?" "Yes."
"Good, I'll have that lace cardigan and in all those colours."
And so it begins.....

Thursday, Southland, one trolley but half of it is taken up with cat items. Why does my shopping list now begin with 'Kitty litter' and the register read-out ends with me approaching bankruptcy.

Friday, cooking all the stuff I bought yesterday and fighting with the Electoral Commission again.

Saturday, down to the home away from home with new Electoral Roll papers. I have to go because I know I'll find two witnesses on Saturday. Get roped in to call Bingo. I forget it's not a race to the finish and I'm not calling the Melbourne Cup. Mother to the right of me telling me what to do, little old ladies to the left of me throwing down plastic tops on their bingo boards like the Titanic was sinking. Telling ma to shut up every two minutes in between numbers is giving them the best laugh they've had in days. The only thing livelier was the fly flitting around and that committed suicide in Gordy's coffee.

No, I'm not doing it again.

Sunday, pain is my friend. It stays my friend and it is still friendly with me. If it doesn't piss off by tomorrow, it'll be the doctor and a surgery full of lung fairies. I've got my own germs and I don't like to share unlike others who think it's their mission in life.

I hate being sick, it makes my hair turn grey and fall out. You'd think the way I'm built, (brick shouse comes to mind) it would make the fat fall off but not in my world. In the words of the great Arnie, "I'll be back!"

A Tryanny of Cats

That's how they should be labelled especially this black and white tyrant.
She sits on my knee between 8.30 and 10.30 so reading or knitting or crochet is out of the question.
She likes to have food in the dish at all times even if she doesn't eat it immediately. I've made allowances for this because of the upheaval of leaving mum's house.
I sit and break up whiskettes in a mortor and pestle because she only has four teeth left.
She likes to go out the front door and in the back door but at night she likes the light on.
She can spray crystal kitty litter 360 degrees. It's not so bad now that I've moved it more into the laundry and instead of ending up in the lounge, it just hits the laundry wall. Standing on crystal litter in bare feet in a dark kitchen makes for a lot of swearing.
She likes one last stroll outside before settling down for the night but the stroll is at midnight and it doesn't matter if I've turned off the light and settled down for the night.
She likes to go out at first light, fine in summer but now, re-training in progress.
It didn't work this morning. Caterwauling in old worn out moggie voice which is like running a saw across violin strings. Staggered up to open door, bashed leg on blanket box, lose balance and do several pirrouettes across bedroom floor before crashing into door.
Sobbing, swearing, groaning and snivelling, I opened the back door, made it go out (likes the front door) and said if it came near me again, it was dead.
Reawakened at 9.30 by eyes boring into my brain but not a sound, silent communication.


This would all be bearable if the beast didn't crawl all over the BrickOutHouse when he calls in to pat her and tell her how much he's missing his baby. You can almost see the vibes while she's trying to tell him how vile I am to live with, well snap you little rotter.

Heeeeeeeeere's Mother

I finally finished the film in my camera so here's MummyWorld. This is her corner of the four bed ward and I think we've added two more photographs since this was taken. I made the sparkly wreath for Christmas but she liked it so much, it's still up.

And this is the view from her bedside through floor to ceiling glass door and window. I'm not good at photos, you all know that, but hanging from the seed bell in the centre of the frame are two lorikeets. The little pottery possum on the post we brought from the house along with two garden gnomes. We usually hang two or three bells along the pergola not only for the lorikeets but the other native birds that hang out in the flowering gum. The pigeons go for the bits left on the ground. They don't seem to be good at hanging on to the bells especially when a lorikeet is attacking.

This was taken on Christmas Day. She was still looking very fragile even after being there for just under four months. We'd just sold the house so we were all relieved at not scratching for money to pay bills.

This was taken in January with her great granddaughter. We made a surprise visit but with so many little Asian nurses looking after her, it was a minute before she recognised her. She's now look a lot brighter and more with it.

This was taken at the end of March and she'd made it to her 80th birthday. Don't bother with the fat tart at the back, just someone she knows. The old girl's got colour, bright eyes and totally with it and more importantly, no pain.

I will be in pain after Wednesday because I stupidly opened my big mouth and will now play escort to the wheelchair posse for a Southland visit. I have to go, I have her eftpos card and she is looking forward to a shopping trip, the first she's been on for over 6 years. I get to pay and wheel the trolley and fetch the coffee and plan the shortest route between shops. I don't get to wheel the chair, thank you for dodgy knees.

I hate this time of year

Because it's getting cold and I want the fire on but I always think of people who can't afford heating or are sleeping rough through no fault of their own. It takes at least a month before I kick that switch on and settle down to thaw out. Sorry, cold people, but I'm feeling my age earlier each year.

One can always put the cat on one's lap for warmth but it is physically impossible to knit if one does that. If the cat isn't trying to put out an eye with the needles, it's gagging on the half ball of wool it's shoved down its throat.

So this time of year I'm always verging on depression for the most trivial of reasons. I also burst into tears a lot. I also eat too much which makes me loathe Magda and Jenny Craig ads but switching channels usually brings me to a KFC ad. Why do they put KFC ads on near midnight? It's not like they deliver and, praise the goddess, I don't have a car or I'd have the keys in the ignition before you could say 'junk food'.

It's a bit late to be bitching about Mothers Day but I've only just finished Sunday's papers because I had to visit the mother. I didn't have to but I'm great at laying a guilt trip on myself and I was going somewhere really pleasant for me on Monday, so I did. I took her chocolates but I bought them with her money just to be snarkey.

Back to the bitching bit. The papers were full of mother and baby stories, grown up kids and mother stories but not one single instance of same sex mothers and their children. Not one single mention anywhere. Tossers! Single mothers and child got mentioned but no same sex partners. Wouldn't it have been nice if one paper had had the guts to put out a full page of lovely mums and their lovely kids but not a mention.

Mother Nature agrees with me. I just looked out of the window above the computer and there is a rainbow stretching across the sky.

GEM ART

This is a 155.83 carat Aquamarine carved by Micheal M Dyber for the 2009 American Gem Trade Association. It was for the Combination Section for a gemstone design incorporating two or more lapidary techniques. He used "Optic dishes" and "Photon Phacets" to create this piece.




This brooch by Frederic Sage was from the 2009 Awards and won 'Best of Show'. Called "Enchanted Stallion", it featured a 158.26 carat hand-carved natural Turquoise, white diamonds and demantiod garnets, all set in 18 carat green and white gold.




But this is my favourite from the 2008 Awards. It is an 80 carat Aquamarine cabochon carved by Chu- Alice Chan. I love the swirls and the heart and the colour.

I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS

That's right, I'm still trying to come to grip with the fact that Kingston Council has shown signs of intelligent life.

This year's Harvest Festival on Saturday, May 29 from 11am to 11pm will be a ripper. No bring your own booze or animals allowed but best of all no fireworks.

At 6pm and 11pm the organizers are going to release hundreds of sky lanterns. They're made of biodegradable bamboo and will float to light up the sky. No loud bangs, no shattered animals but lots of pretty.

Fancy a council having a brain.