Not Again!

I have just had a call from the Red Cross AGAIN asking for a donation. I get a call maybe once a week or ten days, and I am so sick of it.... always having to make excuses while trying to be polite. It's such an invasion of privacy, to be assailed in your home. But, they are real people on the other end, trying to earn a living while doing good work, and I do try to treat them as such.

I bought some raffle tickets around four years ago, and they are still opening the conversation with a big 'thank you'.

I began donating blood last year and tell them proudly that I do, and they make pleased noises, but it still doesn't steer them away from their appointed task.

So today I said, "Oh no, not again!", quite loudly. While the poor man floundered around, I said most of the above, and that I was supporting a lot of animal welfare stuff at the moment and really wanted to be left alone. We laughed, and he asked me if I wanted to be put onto the 'do not call' list, and I sighed loudly with relief and said YES please!

We parted in good humour and I now look forward to some peace.

PS. When I have more time, I will write about my new found vegetarianism and the animal welfare battles that are dear to my heart.

What's the World Coming to?

Outrage at the treatment of our Prime Minister in Canberra yesterday, and the sight of gleeful aboriginals waving her shoe around like a scalp will not further their cause at all. I'm not keen on Julia and her constant backtracking on her promises is making her very unpopular, but we don't treat our leaders like that. 

The other thing that disgusted me yesterday is the new Pilot Frixion Pen advert on TV, where a man is supposedly reading his handwritten recipe and urinates into the mix instead of adding 'leeks'. Yuk! I was so pipped off, I have written to them. Will the ad make me rush out and buy their pens (?), nope, but I will remember its name. That's what they want, I suppose....

Absolutely Fascinating.

I was up early one morning recently and saw our resident grey thrush rolling around on an ant's nest.... really enjoying himself like he was having a dust bath. Curious, I wondered whatever he was up to, until I Googled it and discovered this:

... 'There are microbes everywhere that threaten our health and cause diseases. These microbes are a danger to other living creatures as well as human beings. Therefore these creatures, too, need to protect themselves just as we do. When living creatures are observed, we see that they use some methods to protect themselves against microbes. For instance, ants produce a kind of acidic substance that incapacitates microbes. They apply this acidic substance to their bodies and to the walls of their nest. In other words, they know that not only they themselves but also the nest they live in should be purified of microbes. Microbes disturb birds too, but birds do not have a system in their bodies to produce protective substances as ants do. Consequently birds have found a different but equally practical solution to this problem. They go to and lie upon an ant's nest, and wait for the ants to wander through their feathers. Ants that search for food stroll among the bird's feathers and the substance that kills the microbes is smeared on the bird's feathers as they do so. Thus, the bird is purified of microbes.'

 

How do you like that?  love Google, and all the people who put interesting info for us to read and learn.

Three Weeks Past a Knee Replacement

Well, most of the excitement is now over, the worst of the pain is done, and I can actually put my knee under my pooter desk for a time.

They were right, it is an excruciating operation and the level of medication needs to be kept nice and high. I do have trouble getting comfortable in bed, and am still fighting a losing battle to get that blasted supporting pillow out from under my knee.

The hospital and nurses were exceptional and my surgeon was a delight to work with.

I did have a truly horrifying moment when I woke up and everything below my waist was dead; just couldn't feel a thing. I recalled I had a spinal anesthetic before going under, and it took about 4 hours to wear off after waking. The panic was huge, and I experienced the desperate need to move that spinal injury patients must have when they are trying to feel anything. Fortunately mine wore off.

I was lucky to be in with a pleasant woman who had exactly the same op as me, except she was number one on our surgeon's list. She was a policewoman who lived alone, and a little eccentric. We got on well all week, though she was a little prone to grumpiness at times, but none was directed at me.

We were out of bed on the second day and walking and showering on the third. Marvelous!!!

Six days later, I was out and home, and being fluffed over by my lovely man. Now three weeks today and although the knee could be bending a bit more, I am walking short distances without crutches and even driving the car, as it's an automatic. I actually went quietly around the supermarket yesterday without crutches, and it was great!

Now it's just physio to increase that bend and strengthen the supporting muscles. If I don't get a good result by the end of this month, I will be put back under anesthetic and the scar tissue will be broken up by manipulation. A good reason to work hard.

Just Wandering By............

I've been gone from for a time as I've been a bit focussed on other things. Sometimes you just need a mental change of scene.

At the beginning of July, I was mentally brutalised by my orthopedic surgeon yet again and made to feel six inches tall. My hand still won't form a fist and is making alarming cracking noises when rolled around. Looks like it's a bit stuffed long term, but I am going to a top hand specialist this Wednesday for a second opinion. The nasty man expressed his disappointment at it's condition and ventured that I hadn't pursued physio for long enough. Not true.

He also gave me the wonderful experience of a cortisone injection into the rapidly failing knee joint, and yes, it's true they hurt. Then he sent me away with my tail between my legs to become totally crippled with bone on bone and no cartilage.

So I rebelled and went to the Melbourne Orthopedic Group, the cutting edge specialists in the city, to the knee man. He was lovely and treated me like a real person, not some pathetic husk that pays for his holidays.

We now have a knee replacement planned as soon as the cortisone that was brutally administered into my knee has worn off. Apparently it can compromise the immunity of that area, leaving it more open to infection.

TAC has to approve the surgery, which hopefully, won't be a problem.

So September should be the date. A new knee! How exciting! I'll be resting up a bit for a while afterwards, so might catch up on my blog.

Red In The Morning

Sometimes the beauty of a sunrise just takes your breath away...................

.... and that intense orange light in the late afternoon, here for a few minutes, then gone as the sun drops.

Keep Me Away From Sharp Objects

.....or that's what my man says.

I have a big laser printer I paid $2000 for about 6 years ago. Thanks to China, nowadays you can get them as easily and almost as cheaply as an ink jet.

The toner replacements for mine are a huge rip-off at about $145 full price, and eBay a bit cheaper, but still expensive. On eBay they also offer toner refills, so I ordered one of each colour at a total of $114. Good value I thought. It arrived with four bottles, new cartridge caps, instructions and a wipe for any spilled toner powder.

Although the old cartridges had caps that needed 'gouging' out, which was quite difficult, I managed to fill two successfully and reset the sections that tells the printer it is out of ink to it now has a new one.

I felt suitably chuffed and relieved at my success and set to on the third bottle of magenta. The cap is a sealed unit and needs cutting off, so the Stanley knife was hacking away at the tip, did that and thought all that left over energy should be directed at ME. It sliced straight into the back my wrist (yes, my damaged one!), pouring great slops of blood over the table and collection of ink filling equipment.

The blood didn't want to stop once I ascertained I had really done some damage, so my cyan and yellow stained rag was held down hard as I ran to the phone to call my man (who turned out to be miles away), then my neighbour (who wasn't answering). The phone had to be knocked off with my elbow and dialed with great difficulty.

Nobody could help, so I thought better drive myself down to the hospital. Down on my knees in the medicine cabinet, I found some elastic bandage and took the pressure off the cut to wrap it tightly enough to transport. Heaps more blood but the job was done.

After a one-handed drive down the the hospital 15 minutes away, then a five minute wait in casualty, I found myself ready to be stitched up by a charming male medic and a trainee-doctor young girl. She was clearly out of her depth, but they must have spotted me as someone who would co-operate on a stitching lesson. We all worked in a friendly huddle as he asked her questions and schooled her through the process. We learned how to tie off stitches, and she learned how not to lose the thread ends (which she had), and how to administer local anesthesia.

She apologised a lot for her fumbling; he was marvelously patient, and I really enjoyed what could have been an unpleasant process.

So, now stitched and strapped up, the cut is in a place that doesn't require too much movement. Eight days from yesterday, I will take the stitches out myself and take more care with my Stanley knife. And yes, I have just refilled the magenta with no problems.

If you want refills, try www.tonerstop.com.au. I am delighted.

Clearly Gone

A friend and ex-work mate's wife died last Tuesday and her funeral is tomorrow. She had pancreatic cancer and took maybe a year for it to overwhelm her.

At seventy-ish Lorraine was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. She had a reputation for sitting on the same chair most of the day, and was notoriously stingy handing out the bikkies when my man would call in to give her husband a hand lifting something.

She once told me she had had 'a headache for twenty years'.

He is the most active of men, working on seed collecting from the mountain eucalypts for the Government, watering plants at the local hardware, walking to and opening and shutting the local cemetery gates, and busy with the Lions Club.

He is bright, cheery and nice looking for his seventy three years. I expect the widows will be lining up to snare him once a suitable mourning period is over.

BUT, the reason for this post is a mutual, very funny friend rang up last night and said in the tune of the song.... "David can see clearly now, Lorraine is gone".

Get it? I did, and laughed like crazy.

Gettin' There

Old Age, I decided, is a gift........... (this came in via my emails this week, and I liked it)

I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.

I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.

I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?

I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love .. I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set .

They, too, will get old.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so ma ny have died before their hair could turn silver

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
So, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)

Holiday Snaps

(Did you know that the Australian shield above figures the emu and the kangaroo because neither animal can step backwards, and neither should the country?)

Our week away went like clockwork. We saw most of what we planned, the weather was great, and the four of us got on like a house on fire.

We nick off for a few days each year with two long term pals and each trip has been successful.

Our first day was to Cooma via Cann River and Bombala. Leaving the lush green of West Gippsland, we travelled through the less fertile flats east towards the border. I had always mumbled about the seemingly interminable eucalypt forests from Bruthen through to the NSW border until I rode through them on the Harley. On a bike, it's enormous fun.

Back in the 'family truckster' (Ford wagon), my eyes glazed over once again as thousands of the buggers rushed by, entertained by Jill laughing at my man's recycled jokes. Even Ralphie in the back snoozed contentedly to while away the time.

As you veer off the coast road onto the Monaro Highway towards Bombala, the land changes again, with cosy valleys and pine plantations, then the road begins to climb up towards the highlands. The country becomes rocky and the gum trees get the curly stunted shapes from poor nutrition, lack of water and cold nights. I love this area. The land has a rawness and honesty, and its people have to be more courageous and determined to eke out a living from this unforgiving place.

This beautiful painting by William Delafield Cook inspires me to paint this area. Although this is of Euroa, north of Melbourne, the feeling is the same.

I get really inspired to take lots of photos and have a go at these wonderful craggy hillocks, but having a bunch of reprobates in the car made me put it off yet again.


Onwards and upwards to the treeless plains, brown after yet another dry summer and little autumn rain. The dreaded weed serrated tussock has taken a hold on much of this enormous expanse of marginal grazing land, filling the paddocks with the unpalatable grass that balls up in the bellies of grazing animals and stays there. My man works for the DPI, and this horrific weed is slowly working its way into Gippsland via the fleeces of sheep, hay and machinery. Viewing it at its worst in this magnificent landscape makes it very frightening.

We have ridden these highlands a few times on the bikes, and the fabulous road snaking far into the distance makes your blood rise with excitement. Many a biker has been booked for speeding hooning at 150kph and more, and the cops hang out there all the time.



Most of this land is sheep grazing, but each time we see it, we wonder how they survive. Our sheep are in heaven in comparison.

Showing off to our travel mates, we insisted we stop at Nimmitabel, where there is a delicious bakery with a life size concrete elephant next door. The owners were so passionate about all things Thailand, they bought this huge 'garden ornament', put it into a container and shipped it home. It seems like the strangest thing to have in the courtyard of a remote Australian Cafe, but there it stands for all to marvel at.

My man applied his usual twisted humour foisted on innocent girls behind the bakery counter, and asked for a 'snot block'. The hapless girl's face dropped with confusion, and he, in his best stage manner, explained it was a vanilla slice (custard sandwiched between puff pastry, and vanilla icing on top...... very good!).

We wandered up to the Leather shop to peer at the biker jackets, belts, saddles and assorted leathery thingies. Ralph and I were confused about the fly swatter, which turned out to be a complete cow tail with long tassels of hair.

Our first night was in Cooma at the Sovereign Inn Motel. The owners were the salt of the earth types, friendly and helpful, with a budgie that barked like a dog. The rooms were beautiful and cheap. A celebratory glass of champagne, a very ordinary dinner at the local pub, cooked by a girl that liked to laugh, and we collapsed into bed.

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The next morning we decided to get onto the road early and find a cafe for breakfast, rather than challenge the motel's cooking skills for something that might not satisfy. On the bikes, we loved get out and ride, then stop somewhere and have a really good feed.

Mistake! We got back onto the Monaro Highway towards Canberra and passed numerous underpopulated small towns, and nowhere open to supply us with our egg and bacon roll and cappuccinos. I took lots of snaps and short films out the window of the car, and found the views breathtaking. Such sparse countryside, deserted and beautiful.

As we came towards the outskirts of Canberra, the land softened and became more welcoming, the autumn poplars lined the Highway, and we could see the suburbs ahead.

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We might have looked like country hicks as we cruised wide-eyed along Canberra Avenue towards the town centre. It is such a beautiful place, with all the ugly shops and industrial areas hidden away from visitors, just wide, tree lined avenues running into wide circles the closer to the centre you get.

Tummies still rumbling with no breakfast, we finally stopped in a posh shopping area, and ordered a heap of food. The sun was out, the trees with bright autumn colours lined the streets, and we couldn't have asked for better.

Appetites sated, we resumed our travels and ended up as you always do in Canberra, at Parliament House. My man and I had visited only a couple of years before, but our companions hadn't for quite a while.

It's not hard to marvel at this beautiful building, completed in 1988 at the cost of AU$1.5 billion. I remember watching it's construction on the TV, with its huge excavations and spectacular design. It is still as stunning to this day. Our Australian hearts always swell when we make our pilgrimage to the capital.

The eighty metre spire soaring over the building

The Entry foyer built out of Italian marble and all Australian timbers. The local marble was apparently too porous for this building which handles many thousands of visitors each year.

One of the beautiful inlaid timber panels depicting Australian wildflowers

Stunning garden view with autumn colours, and I love the checkerboard lawn edges.
I'm still waiting to use that idea somewhere here at home ..........

The House of Representatives, done also in all Australian timbers and leather seats the colour of our gum trees.

We didn't plan it at all, but we arrived in Canberra on the day of our newly elected Government's annual budget presentation. Security was very high, and we watched the lock down from lunchtime on when the press and opposition were able to view the budget in all its glory, but not to release it to the public.

The entire place was abuzz with expectation, and we booked to go into the 2pm's sitting of question time, where the opposition quizzed the government on many points of interest. All members were in town for this sitting, so they could be present for the budget at 7pm that evening, and we really enjoyed watching the theatre that is our parliament at close range.

We were totally fagged out after all this excitement and finally left for our accommodation in nearby Queanbeyan.

After getting lost, which is law in Canberra and surrounds, we located our funny little cabins, pulled the cork out of a bottle of bubbly for Jill and I, and a beer for the boys. We had packed a casserole each so we didn't need to eat out, and collapsed happily with our slug of alcohol and home cooking.

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The next morning we planned our day's entertainment with precision. Each person voted on their favourites: the menfolk off to the War Museum, and we gals off to the 'Turner to Monet' exhibition at the National Gallery. We dropped the men at the magnificent War Memorial, and came back and immersed ourselves in culture for a few hours. Lots of landscapes later viewed with a set of earphones describing the key paintings, we were totally 'paintinged' out by lunchtime.


Then we went to see the High Court (see photo above), which was quite fascinating with 3 courts and seven judges who sit to hear matters of the Australian Constitution, and to provide the final court of appeal.Their judgment leaves appellants no further avenue available to them. We watched for about 20 minutes a matter of sexual slavery by a Thai woman importing young girls into prostitution. The seven judges sat facing all the 'silks' and clerks, and delved into the intricacies of law, which was pretty heavy stuff, but it made the weekend papers the next Saturday.

The other two courts were empty as the seven available judges were sitting together, but there was a welcoming guide standing at the doors of each to show us the large rooms and explain the process. Fascinating stuff.

We wandered out and drove around to the Museum, which had great displays of the Australian way of life, its history and collection of artifacts over the past two hundred years. The modern, purpose-built building was quite stunning, built on the banks of the beautiful Lake Burley Griffin.

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Our final day in Canberra found the men and Jill visiting the High Court, and me for a wonderful wander through the Australian Art section of the Gallery next door. I had wanted to go to the Portrait Gallery, but that was being replaced into a magnificent building nearby and wouldn't be open until December.

It seemed like heaven to me to be alone and wandering through our country's history via our artists. I came away feeling very inspired, found the others and we took off to see the Old Parliament House which sits neatly in front of the New P.H.

The actual solid gold Ceremonial Sceptre for opening the Parliament

We took a guided tour, but I was disappointed by the ugliness of the building inside, with dark paneled wood everywhere.... an absolutely uninspiring rabbit warren. The guide tried hard to make it interesting, and cracked jokes about the prime ministers, and the Queen visiting.

The brilliant white elegance of the building's outside gave no indication of the drab, seemingly heartless inside.

There were a few good portraits to enjoy and the entry foyer was impressive.

Really glad to be out of there, we visited Australian Screen and Sound Archives. My man's grandfather was Campbell Copelin, who was an actor in the 30s through to TV in the 50s. I have found a lot of photos on the Net, even an original on eBay, and bought 'Tall Timbers' on VHS, where he was a bad guy. He was in about 12 movies all up and a couple of TV Shows.

The librarian was very helpful and my fella enjoyed trawling through the history with her. Wandering through a large display room with lots of movie excerpts, we came upon 'Tall Timber' playing. Bad boy Grandpa Campbell was shot as we watched.

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We packed up our cabins early the next morning and bade Canberra farewell, making our way to our next planned destination, Bungendore.

This small town has seized the moment and created a mecca for antiques, artwork, and many other interesting shops. My man and I had visited before, and told Ralph and Jill we had to go there.

They have a wood working gallery there that would blow anyone's mind, with fine furniture and sculpture there that takes wood into a whole new realm. With prices for some tables up around $20,000, it is a bit rich for your average taste, but it's so lovely to look at.

They also have a leather work shop, which is chock full of anything you could imagine in leather. Not one for fussing over handbags, I couldn't resist and bought a gloriously soft calf skin bag, and some headbands for the daughters. Lovely, lovely ....

After an excellent cappuccino each in a nearby cafe, we hot-footed it down to the coast to Bateman's Bay, then on to Bermagui, our next destination. We have done this trip a few times on our bikes, and the steep drop as you leave the highlands can test your riding ability, and has been affectionately called 'Brown Undies' (after Brown Mountain). Riding up is enormous fun, but riding down requires extra care, and we have seen riders fall with the tight corners, constant braking and gear changes.


Bateman's Bay seemed bright blue as we pulled in for a thermos coffee and sandwiches at the bridge. The weather was perfect, as was every day of our holiday, with boats tied to the wharf and the ever present gulls hoping for a snack.

It wasn't long before we reached Bermagui and our pre-booked house for two days. We pulled up at our two story fibro-cement sheet house that didn't look all that exciting, but it was bang on the cliffs looking over towards the township. Stretches of coastline with waves breaking on the shore, a nearby cliff walking path, and heaps of blue sky gave us a surge of excitement.


We found the key and unlocked the house to discover it was a treasure inside with everything we could want.

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I really enjoy Bermagui with it's clean beaches and lack of major development. After unpacking, we went downtown for a reconnoiter and discovered that there was a major fishing competition that weekend run by the Canberra Angling Club. This place's tourism runs on large game fishermen with huge expensive cabin cruisers with names like 'Chivas Regal' and 'Gambler'. The boats fairly bristle with aerials and long rods and other strange paraphernalia, all of it shouting 'money'!

Years ago (1990) I had a successful solo exhibition in Brighton, Victoria, based on this place, so I knew it fairly well and really enjoy coming back for another look.

We ate some super-fresh fish and chips on the wharf and wandered up and down watching the preparations for the weekend of competitive fishing. The sun was going down, and we watched a large lone seal dipping and diving around the boats hopefully angling for a free feed.

The next morning we went for a wander along the cliff path which led down to a lovely beach with cliffs that really stirred up my artistic soul.

I am planning some paintings of these glorious shapes and colours.

Later in the day we went back to the wharfs and discovered there had been a drowning accident 14 kms out into the ocean. A small craft had capsized and three went in. One drowned and two were rescued. There was a gloomy pall hanging over the anticipated competition and police and ambulance waited quietly by the water's edge for the body and surviving men to be brought in.

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Back on our deck over looking the ocean, we cranked up the barbecue for our final dinner away, remarking on the success of our holiday filled with so many interesting events.

Lamb Chops Galore

When we got our five ewes a couple of years ago, we needed to keep our small acres clear of grass, have a bit of fun breeding some lambs, and finally converting the progeny into 'table sheep', i.e. into the freezer.

Our lambs were born last September/ October, and although they happened only a couple of weeks after my being badly broken on my motorbike, I really enjoyed their antics and watching them grow into healthy young creatures.

Then the drought hit, and we had no serious rain for some months, leaving our small patch of land totally denuded of grass. So we converted an area into a 'feedlot', and fed our flock of ten mums and youngsters on grass hay from my man's family farm and expensive lucerne. They all stayed fat and happy, but caused me some anxiety as they watched me all day, reminding me their next meal might be due (when it wasn't).

Time to move on to the next stage, we decided, and I began to make inquiries as to the best method of dispatch that would cause them and me the least anxiety. Meeting your maker is rarely a pleasant event, whether it be animal or human, but it was important to me it would be as expedient as possible.

So, Monday of last week, four were bundled into the trailer and taken down to the local 'dispatcher'. One cute little ewe stayed behind and went to our neighbors behind to be babysat by their lamb, three alpacas and a rather grumpy goat.

Little Chevy, very nervous, on the right and her new best friend, Shabby the young wether.

A motley crew, who rushed at the newcomer, frightening her badly

The mums, who immediately forgot their progeny, were put onto the trailer and carted off to be united with a new Cheviot lover, who was happy to be sent on a honeymoon with our lucerne fat mommas.

They have gone on an extended holiday to the family farm, where they are wandering happily with their woolly man, heads down and bums up, eating grass and making babies for October.

Me? I'm having a rest from all this negotiating and moving 'the flock'.

Our freezer is now full, and my conscience is clearer than I expected. To me, being that connected to the meat that we eat is better than fronting up to the supermarket fridges. We are lucky to be in the position to do it the way we have.

A Solid Gold Sheila ..........

One of our dearest friends, Jill, is a frustrated choreographer/director/ actor and dancer. Over the eleven years I have known her, she has been a tireless worker on many committees. Any time there is a celebration within these many organisations, she has grabbed the chance to 'put a show on' and jump into the limelight. She inspires others to take part, sets the scene, does a lot of the costumes and gets the show on the road.

Yesterday was the culmination of one of these efforts, where her local women's group had a ten year celebration. A hundred ladies from that branch and elsewhere came for a luncheon and show. I was an invited visitor, and finally had a crack at using my video within my new camera, which I might add, worked a treat.

They chose the Village People and the YMCA song, and they got the costumes together for each member of the group. Jillo was the African American in leather. We sourced a black affro wig from my daughter, and she wore my bikie leather jacket and my man's Harley belt. She glued black fluff onto her chest and you can see the rest.

Very scary.....

All the ladies were terrific, particularly the policewoman, who was just fabulous.

I might add, all of these ladies were in their 60s and 70s.

If that wasn't enough, they did a synchronized swimming piece, with the girls 'swimming' at the Beijing Olympics.

Luv ya heaps Jillo; your blood's worth bottling .....

Random Acts of Kindness

I'm a big advocate of people doing this, and if I do something for people and they want to give me something back, I say, 'pass it on'.

I had three complimentary tickets left on the last day of Art Melbourne, valued at $20 each. I looked at them and wondered whether to throw them out or be creative.

As I was going to the front entrance, I looked around for friendly people and spotted a woman going in on her own. I called her over and asked whether she was paying to go in and she said yes. I handed her a ticket, and she nearly hugged me ..... so excited.

I found a young couple and did the same, with the same result.

I got more of a charge out of doing that than anything else over the four days.

Try it; it's a really excellent feeling.

Packed up and Ready to Go

'Pieces'
Watercolour and pencil

Well, all my paintings are finished off, packed up and delivered to Ingrid at Gippsland Artists who is the organiser for our stand at Art Melbourne 08. It's like giving away your babies and throwing them onto the world stage. I miss them already.

I haven't been a passionate shower of my work for some time now, as there has been a lot of getting over some dastardly life events to be attended to. I never stopped loving doing my paintings; but left most of them in my studio for a viewing 'some day'. Every now and again someone would take one away and leave me some room.

Sounds complicated, doesn't it? It is.....

It is time I got my arse in gear, as I am not getting any younger, so maybe good things will come out of venturing down to the big smoke.

The pretentious side of the 'art scene' bores me terribly, which involves dodging popping champagne corks, and trying to say something important about the works on show. I just really love what I do; I don't want to talk about it.

Ho hum! Somebody's gotta do it....

Just Photos Again...........

Too tired to blog, so pieces from my life.

Sunset tonight. My new 8 mp camera and a 12 X zoom means I can get right in there.

I love the way the light tracks through the hills.

'Extreme Ball Sports for Babies' (my daughter's title - her bub).
Asher couldn't believe how big it was, with all those pointy little tips.

Tonight's Coq Au Vin, made with field mushrooms picked nearby, our tomatoes, zucchinis and carrots.
My man's not big on chicken, but he's away tonight.

Yum!!! I'm still cruisin' after that one.............

Hi Andrew. Yes, rice would be nice, or little potatoes in their jackets (ours again!), which is what I had.

Brown the chicken, throw in the onion, garlic and veggies and brown those, top up with chopped tomatoes, stock, red wine, thyme, mushies, S & P, simmer happily (half an hour?) until all is tender.

Side salad if desired.....

Very good. I'm sure there's a flashier recipe, but that one really works for me. :0)

Don't Buy a Toshiba Laptop.

..... because they don't care.

My 15 month old laptop is still in dire straits, even after two whizz-gig IT fellas have pored over it banging on buttons. The video card seems to have crashed, giving gorgeous vertical stripes in fetching colours at the most inopportune moments (most of the time), or the 'blue screen of death', which flashes so quickly, the only way I could read it was to photograph it, or the dreaded BLACK SCREEN.

New video card, you might say? But no, that's too easy. The video card is embedded into the motherboard, so one doesn't go without the other. The motherboard is hugely expensive, as was the laptop. $4000 to be precise.

I rang the Toshiba support people today, who should probably be called 'the Toshiba Non-Support'. He was obviously carefully schooled to stick rigidly to the point of law, and tell me that although it was a very young laptop, I was out of the warranty period by 3 months. I told him it had been broken for quite a bit of this year and I could prove it. Too bad..................

He also said what I found fascinating, that 'electronics these days are not made to last very long.'

I wish they had told me that before we forked out the four grand.

I belong to a very active Computer Forum, who have kindly provided me with answers to IT questions for quite a while now, and they have offered me some ideas on how to squeeze some help out of these heartless beings.

My man says fix it, but he is emotionally attached to it because it was my Nov 2006 birthday present. My IT son-in-law-to-be says ditch it; he can set me up a 'kick-arse pc' for the $1200.

Me? I just want my lovely laptop back the way it was, the way they promised it would be when we bought it.

No Power for 48 hours!

We've just got the power back on this afternoon after the big windstorm on Wednesday. It's been a freakin' nightmare, so tonight I'm going to put the electric light on, cook my dinner on our electric stove, and watch the electric television, and chill out.

We've had no water (electric pump driven), so no toilet flushing, hand washing, or showering via the tap. Buckets-full have been acquired by climbing on top of the tank, scooping it out and positioning one in each area of need.

Cooking has been on a rusty old gas bottle driven portable ring, which was banished outside when the leaking gas smell became dangerously overpowering.

No light, apart from my man's fire fighting head torches and some weird half melted candles. We looked like miners, walking around with our head lights. I bought a $9.95 kerosene lamp from Aussie Disposals this afternoon, so we don't have to go through that debacle again.

I dropped my glasses in the dark, and stepped on them, cracking the lens and snapping the frame. More dollars down the drain and I'm stuck with my old glasses for a week, which don't work nearly as well.

It came on yesterday for ten minutes, and my pre-programmed celebratory dishwasher and washing machine heralded its arrival, only to grind to a halt as it broke down again.

Our mood has been seriously gloomy, though we did get out to see a movie last night, 'The Kite Runner', which was wonderful. We cheerily came home to an expected repair as we had been promised, but not a light to be seen as we climbed the hills.

For practical people who believe they are fairly adaptable, our routine was badly shaken up, and we were overwhelmingly relieved when we got all our services back.

How did this happen? For those overseas who were not part of our storm, there had been a cyclone up north, which sent high winds down across the south. Some of those winds were clocked at 170 k.p.h , and they were pretty impressive here at 'Hell On The Hill' (called such for obvious reasons).

That morning, I had spent a couple of hours socialising maybe 10 kms away, and noticed the trees outside the window really thrashing around. I went to check on my car, which was parked under the gums at the front of the house, and there was a branch across it. A light one, fortunately. Eucalyptus trees drop branches regularly as they grow, and have been known to fall on tents and caravans in the night, and killing people. I decided to get back home, and discovered the road back was littered with loads of forest scraps, requiring quite a lot of dodging about the road to avoid scratching the car.

Back home, we had a serious gale going, with heavy verandah furniture and nick nacks tossed 50 odd feet away. I heard the dog bowl go skating across the concrete, to disappear miles down along the fenceline.

Then the power went out, and stayed off........................

It turned out a neighbor had rung the services to report the fault, and was told he was the only one to complain, so it wasn't a priority (and not the eleven plus kilometres of residents who were also in trouble!). With that, he gave the operator a nasty serve as he is prone to do, meaning the notice was pushed onto the back burner. By the time I rang through, the phone line was in meltdown, and there was just the engaged signal. They said later, that they usually had about 200 calls per day, and were fielding 70,000!

You get more with honey that you do with vinegar.

You are The Wheel of Fortune

Good fortune and happiness but sometimes a species of
intoxication with success

The Wheel of Fortune is all about big things, luck, change, fortune. Almost always good fortune. You are lucky in all things that you do and happy with the things that come to you. Be careful that success does not go to your head however. Sometimes luck can change.

Which Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

The good things in my life come more from hard work than good luck. I've been hit with more disasters than one person could reasonably manage, but that's all in the past. Now is great!

"Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish."
.... John Quincy Adams

Moving Day

My middle daughter and her partner moved into their first home yesterday.

It is a tiny renovated cottage in Cockatoo, a leafy place on the fringe of the 'burbs', in the Dandenong Ranges. It will need more work to get it up and running properly, but that matters nought to them. It has three tiny bedrooms, a lounge, living, kitchen area with a pot belly stove, and a bathroom with a cupboard in it for the washing machine (the laundry!). There is a covered deck at the rear, which was probably the clincher on the house.

In a world where the young want so much so early, I am proud of their determination to buy what they can afford. She is doing her PHD in Psychology and he is now working as a sound technician and stage manager in a large theatre restaurant. A one year old bubby and two lively dogs makes up their contented little family.

How close would you drive your parent's van to the power pole?

They pulled together his brothers, and her sister and partner to do the move from Watsonia, about an hour away. We were thankfully spared that end of it, but were elected to put an electric fence around the derelict wire one at the rear to keep the dogs in. My farmer fella knows all about such things, and had the necessary unit to power up the doggies.

Once it was up and running with the power switched on, the dogs took numerous shocks as they explored their new back yard, with yodelling squeals pealing through the hills, and all the neighboring dogs taking the call up in sympathy. Poor Hunter the boxer retreated under the house to recuperate, making his mum very concerned and just a bit guilty. Better than taking off through everyone's backyard, we all commented.

Poor stressed Seeker wanting out

They have factored in a new boundary fence into their budget, so that should be installed very soon.

I had made the sandwiches and cake for lunch, to fuel up all the flagging energies, so was pretty popular, and my man was sucked into the moving. He's a bit sore today, but he amazes me with his energy and enthusiasm, considering he's 20 plus years older than most of them.

My grandson, happily oblivious to the activity around him.

Telling them to watch Wendy Harmer's "Stuff", on ABC TV, where she wanders through people's lives chiding them about their accumulating unnecessary junk, we did a runner late in the afternoon, leaving them to their piles of boxes, bags and disconnected furniture. The baby was due to be delivered home in half an hour, so his mum would really be up against it. Asher is just walking, and will enjoy climbing over everything and exploring his new home.

You can't beat the cosiness of a pot belly fire.

Ode to the Beaut Ute.

After a small, whingy digression yesterday, I am back with renewed vigour.

When I first met my man eleven plus years ago, he had a ratty little Toyota twin cab ute which he loved with a passion. He had a bunch of little kids and was building his new house, so it was used for carting all sorts of gear.

He was keen on impressing me (then!), and decided to wash the grubby little thing to take me out for a night on the town. "Hell On the Hill' was in its infancy then, and there were no solid fences around the house.

He left it parked out the front and went inside to get a bucket of warm water. Coming back out again, he was horrified to discover said ute rocking off down the hill with no one in control. Our hills are not to be taken lightly, and she crashed through a rough wire fence half way down, across a disused road, and took off the bank with gay abandon. A second scruffy old wire fence hooked at her and she came to a panting halt hanging precariously over the bank.

My man had rushed out and leaped at the door, managing to get halfway in, but had no hope of pulling his carefree little girl from her chosen path.

If that wasn't bad enough, his brand new oven was sitting on the back, and took a nasty tumble.

He rang me, panting with the drama, saying, "I've had a major!". Not knowing him well enough to understand this often used phrase of his, I said, "A what?"

Now I know what 'a major' is!

The ute was a write-off, and the oven went to be panel beaten and wires reconnected, and still stands in her slightly creased state in our kitchen today. It seems to not understand 'simmer', but I have now learned to appreciate her inadequacies.

So, there have since been many years of muttering about his need for a ute. The government department he works for has recently and unfairly begun to threaten his dogged determining to bring the work ute home, so we asked a local car broker to hunt one up for us.

That was six months ago, and we had pretty much given up hope, until two days ago when our man rang saying he had found what we wanted.

Woo hoo!

It came up to visit last night for us to test drive over the weekend, and my fella was quite impressed. "So, come on!", I said after dinner, "Lets go out for a drive."

Well, he got into that ute and we screamed off round the windies for an eleven kilometre white knuckler. It was like he had driven it for ever (probably in his dreams). We passed many peaceful wallabies out for their dusktime graze on the side of the road, watching them leaping into the bush in fright. "Big cat!" he smirked, recalling the times he had to deal with delusional spotters of lions and leopards supposedly at loose in the Aussie bush.

My stomach was starting to swirl as the oncoming dark lost my contact with the horizon, but we made it home in one piece.

I think he likes it! It's not a big important sort of ute; not the kind you would take to a ute muster, but it will cart wood and feed, and earn its keep.