Alien in a Foreign Field

Ladies in Waiting

2010-02-21T23:06:00.000-08:00

I transfer the load to the drier and put the last batch on to dry before heading upstairs in the pitch black to restock the towels, when I hear him come home from work at the ungodly hour of 11:30.

I finish up swiftly and move on to matching socks as I hear him below go from garage to utility room and back again, several times, many times. After more than 20 minutes he’s still at it, so I nip down to check.

I step over the pile of soggy laundry and peer into the garage, lit by a yellow light. It’s been more than ten days after the event, but I see him watch it now, parked on the cement, in a very large cardboard box, hidden at the back. He looks at it, pensive.

I scurry back inside, skip over the laundry hampers into the kitchen and get busy, very busy, because time is running out. I’m poised and possibly ready, as I’ve been practicing in my head.

I bow over the sink and plunge my hands into the suds as he re-appears from the garage, wrench in one hand, screw-driver in the other.

“Maddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you know that there’s a big box in the garage?”
“Yes.”
“Does it really have a washing machine in it?”
“Yes, it does actually.”
“Do you mean we have a second washing machine sitting outside in the garage in a cardboard box?”
“Exactly so.”
“Um…..what is it doing there?”
“Waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Well it’s all a bit complicated really.”
“I have time.”
“Well…it happened last week.”
“What did?”
“There was this terrible smell of burning plastic in the utility room, so I rushed over there in case there was a fire and then I realized the washing machine had packed up.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, it was Monday and I’d just changed the sheets on all 6 beds so I had all this linen to wash and it was already full to busting with the second load…”
“You over-filled it?”
“Er… no…I mean…not really…I’m pretty sure…”
“Are you indeed. So you over-loaded the capacity?”
“Possibly.”
“So…?”
“Anyway, we decided…”
“We?”
“Tamsin and me.”
“Oh god.”
“No, no, no, it’s fine, we decided it would be best if she nipped out and found a replacement, whilst I looked after the children and Nonna. So much easier to make a decision with a clear head and no responsibilities or distractions…and it would save you the bother of having to sort it all out at the weekend.”
“You’re saying this was for my benefit?”
“Of course. You have enough to do already, one less chore…anyway, you were at work. I couldn’t wait five days until the weekend.”
“Hmm.”
“So she bought a new one and brought it home, parked it in the garage and we were going to cart it into the house later.”
“So what happened…later?”
“See that’s the funny thing.”
“Funny?”
“Yes, and I know you’re going to laugh at this… in the middle of the afternoon, just as I was making snacks for the children, wouldn’t you just know it, the darned thing sprang to life and went into the spin cycle…isn’t that extraordinary?”
“Back from the dead.”
“Exactly so!”
“And you didn’t return the new one back to the store because?”
“Because…it’s been clanking and groaning for months… it’s going to die any day now, I’m sure of it.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Yes, certain.”
“Pity really.”
“What’s a pity?”
“That you didn’t buy a drier at the same time.”
“How so?”
“You were right about one thing.”
“Which thing?”
I watch him lay his tools on the counter, “the drier, it’s terminal.”

Goodwill to all Peoplekind

2009-12-18T16:44:00.000-08:00

I escape from the house in a hurry. Although generally I can find any excuse to avoid shopping, currently it’s a valid excuse for freedom. Now that Target provides groceries and prescription refills, I shall probably never need to shop anywhere else ever again. With luck on my side, I should be able to make a round trip in under an hour, long before Nonna awakens.

It’s a short list of necessaries, essentials, extras and maybe’s. I cast grumpiness aside, or is it fatigue – this must be the true definition of retail therapy; the chance to move about freely in a crowd, anonymous with a big cheesy grin plastered on my face. No questions, no demands, no repeats; it’s just like being in a spa:- a holiday for the mind.

I spend far too much money in far too short a time.

I step out towards the car, the final gallop to the finishing line. Always racing when I’m accosted by a large woman, with a loud voice and a bell – ‘spare some change for the missing children?’ I can feel a scowl cross my brow as I fight with the cart and it’s square wheel. Thwarted. Another interruption. I have no time to stand and stare, a white rabbit with a stop watch lashed to my ankle. My handbag is open in the baby seat shelf, my purse on the top, stuffed with receipts and lists, as I search for suitable lies:-

‘I’ve spent it all already,’ - but of course I used plastic.
‘I’ve already greased the palm of every Tom, Dick and Harry with an open hand this week,’ - but there’s always another one.
‘What do I care about missing children, the starving masses or the global warming?’ - but I can’t lie.
‘I’m too busy, too tired, too harassed to give a rat’s arse about anybody else for the moment,’ - would be the honest to goodness truth.

She is far too physically close, as she examines the contents of the cart – “I’ll take one of those milks instead if you like, or the bananas, a few of those rolls of bathroom tissue? Anything’l help.” I know my face is a sour pudding as I struggle with glasses, keys and life. What the heck. It’s only money. I’ve not had to slave for hours in an air-conditioned, soulless pod. I hand over the readies, into the black slot with the padlock and chain attached to the table leg – as if that’s a deterrent? “Thank you!” she beams with far too much enthusiasm than is warranted for such a bah humbug moment. “Give me some love with that,” she adds as I’m enfolded into her soft body with warm hands. I cannot remember when I was last hugged, properly, by an adult woman, let alone a stranger. I feel the surrender as I remember to breathe; it’s oddly comforting as I lay aside my English, ‘do not touch’ body language. “Now you sure have a Happy Holiday,” she insists as she releases me.
“I shall indeed, you too.”

11 + Cake Topper for Twins

2009-12-14T13:29:00.000-08:00

This is a ding bat design for some chums of mine who successfully passed the 11+ examination. The boys are twins and took the exam in the States which enables them to enter the Grammar School System back in England = an amazing feat!

I have no idea how often twins both manage to pass this test, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to celebrate with a dingbat on binary.

Interestingly it was all the thicky adults like me who had a hard time figuring out the message.

Who are you?

2009-11-20T15:23:00.000-08:00

Take the Quiz here!

A sporting chance

2009-11-09T09:19:00.000-08:00

Let me just say from the get go that I know nothing about sport, with the exception of Tiddly Winks, nor have I ever coached anyone to play any kind of sport, which is probably just as well.

That said, I would guess that being a coach is akin to being a teacher, but I’m happy to be corrected on that score. I have the opportunity to observe a coach working as we walk along the edge of the fence that surrounds the playing field, towards the dog park. Although we walk along a clearly delineated path, I have each boys’ hand in one of mine, just in case a squirrel or some other distraction might prove too much of a temptation - the traffic flow in the road is exceptionally busy.

Different groups play different games, some near a soccer goal, some near basket ball hoops others on the asphalt track. As we walk we see the coach, a tall middle aged man who sports a baseball cap, reversed, on his balding skull. He has a very loud voice which is probably an asset in an open field. People of diminished stature are in his care. I would guess that they spread over the age range of 5 to 7. They are all kitted out in similar attire which makes them easier to spot as a group.

There are lots of balls and lots of running and lots of shouting, although only the coach performs the vocals. There are lots of instructions. None of them make any sense, but of course they wouldn’t make any sense because we are ignorant of all sports, American and otherwise. The coach is displeased with his charges performance. Despite all his incomprehensible instructions, the children, individually, continue to flail about the field like headless chickens, but I suspect it’s a team sport. We can all tell that the coach is angry, not just because of his voice but because of his stance. He is very good at hand gestures too, exceptionally so - we all know that whatever it is that they’re supposed to be doing, they’re not doing it.

The coach’s cap comes off his head numerous times because he is exasperated - he copes by rubbing the skin raw on his pate. Each time he removes his cap his voice edges up a few marks on the Richter scale, but we’re none the wiser as to his message. For me, fear is a great motivator. It would appear that his team are similarly motivated albeit unsuccessfully. In a final burst of desperation he yells again, repeats a whole stream of instructions. One new small phrase, bubbles up amidst the torrent, “only move when the ball moves.” A current of comprehension courses through the collective – they are back on track.

What a pity he didn’t say that first.

Now, if anyone ever gives me a pointy ball to hold, I shall know exactly what to do, although I can’t imagine how to throw one through the netted hoop?

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - a movie review

2009-08-13T10:02:00.000-07:00

A long time ago I read "this" book by "F.Scott Fitzgerald." At that time, in my youth, I deemed it both ‘a bit soppy’ and ‘highly improbable,’ because I read it as a ‘story’ and not as a literary critic.

For "one" reason and "another" when the movie debuted I failed to connect the book to the film. I wanted to watch the film but there was a lot of "stuff" going on at the time. By happenstance, as is so often the case, my "daughter" borrowed a copy from the library, watched it and suggested that I do likewise. It was a nudge. I was reminded of "This Mom’s" project and thought……why not just make the time? The trouble was that I needed a lot of time because the movie is nearly three hours long. So I did what I always do, cut it up into manageable chunks.

If you have elderly relatives or young children or if you're middle aged or just human, it's well worth finding the time for this poignant drop of escapism.

I won't add a spoiler but I knew as soon as the backwards clock was revealed. There again, it could just be that the recall was prompted by my original reading.

Evensong – I’ll have the nutty version

2009-07-11T18:11:00.000-07:00

On Sunday Evening my jolly good neighbour hands me a plate of cookies with a warm and beaming smile. “And here’s a pack of diabetic cookies but they’re still frozen.” She has taken pity on me after enduring 30 minutes of my moaning about my catering woes. We chat about families, hers and mine, special diets and special needs. As she turns to leave she adds, “anyway, I have to get back now as I still have a bit of cooking to do.”
“Always cooking to do it seems.”
“Yes…….just enough time for divinity.” A string of words bounce up in a blue ribboned silk banner in my brain with gold lettering:- Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline but I cannot recall divinity?
“Divinity?”
“I’ll bring you some.”
“You will?”
“You probably won’t like it but the kids will.”
“!”
“Haven’t you ever had it before?”
“Never.”
“It’s just sugar , eggs and corn syrup, I’ll bring you the recipe next time too.”
“How delightful. "Thank you.”

Never trust a skinny cook*

2009-07-08T18:52:00.000-07:00

Just before four in the afternoon, I put away the last clean, dry plate and pause for a cup of coffee, black. A couple of hours ago everyone was full of barbeque, salads, bread and cake, which took the edge off the hunger pangs after breakfast of pancakes, in-between morning snacks and afternoon snacks.

Because I am so badly organized, I haven’t managed to squeeze in a trip to the supermarket as the prospect of dinner looms. Some time between now and 6 in the evening, I am doomed to hear those fateful words “what’s for supper?” Right on cue, my husband appears, “so how can I help with dinner?”
“Give me suggestions about what to cook?”
“Don’t we usually have left-overs on Sunday?”
“Yes……..but they’re aren’t any, left overs that is to say. In fact, come to think of it, I’m sick of the sight of food. My brain has died. I have no imagination. I can’t think of anything.”
“Ah…….so you’re in need of a little inspiration?”
“That or a cheap slave.”
“To eat or to help?”
“Quite frankly, I beginning to wonder how I’m ever going to keep up with all these permanently hungry people? It’s a complete nightmare. Either I’m shopping for food, cooking the food or cleaning up after the food.”
“Hmm….so ‘and Nonna makes 8’ is proving too much?”
“Not exactly. It’s just the sheer quantity. Everyone seems to have hollow legs. Just think of something……anything……..an idea?”
“Do you know I heard an interesting discussion on the radio about why women were such abject failures …….under-represented in public life.”
“!”
“I mean……too busy with domestic duties.”
“!”
“Sounds like a take out is in order.”
“Ooo you do have the very best ideas.”
“I do try. I expect Mileva Maric would have been a public figure if they had take out back in those days.”
“Who?”
“Oh……Mrs. Einstein.”

p.s. I actually have quite a few adults around here that help a great deal but I do martyrdom so well.

* "Nonna's" favourite phrase.

Wool Gathering

2009-07-04T03:28:00.000-07:00

I sit down for the first time at one in the morning on the small patch of dry carpet with my knitting and a glass of white wine when my bleary eyed husband walks in. He shouts over the din of the washer and drier playing catch up.
“Blimey. Am I married to a secret drinker?”
“Well that's certainly a plan.”
"Why are you wearing that old sun-dress?"
"It was the only thing I could find in the dark after my shower."
“Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“Because the rest of the carpet is still wet even though I’ve steamed cleaned it twice.”
“Ah. Do you want me to help you move the furniture back? It looks a bit odd piled in the corner.”
“Tomorrow when or if the carpet ever dries.”
“What’s that terrible stink?”
“Bleach in the bathroom, swiffer liquid throughout the kitchen and hall floors of his flight path and essence of vomit here and generally around the bazaars.”
“Ah. Why didn’t I hear any of this?”
“Probably because you passed out after you changed the last bed again upstairs.”
"Well they're fast asleep now. I'm sure they'll be fine by tomorrow, batteries fully re-charged again."
"Now there's a fact guaranteed to aid sleep."
"Happy 4th?”
“Cheers!”

Ivory Wedding Anniversay

2009-06-30T13:36:00.000-07:00

"Let me make this quite clear. I don't care how tired you all are I want everybody there, bright and early at breakfast for our gift exchange."
"Sure. Are you expecting a surprise?"
"I am expecting something duty free from the airport shop."
"Oh."
"However, he will be receiving a minor heart attack in a box."
"Really? What did you have in mind?"
"Something age appropriate for an old codger."
"Such as?"
"Meet Fred. I look positively youthful by comparison."
"Are you sure about that?"
"!"

Ware were you when I needed you?

2009-06-29T05:53:00.000-07:00

I talk to my pal on the phone as I am in need of a therapeutic moan.

“It’s just impossible. Rarer than hens teeth. I knew I should have bought them in England. Even after all these years, this country is completely infuriating. The most basic items are totally unavailable. How do people cope?”
“So……..what exactly is it that you’re lookin for now?”
“Sheets. Proper flat floral twin sheets. See! I even know to use the word ‘flat’ and the word ‘twin’ even though it’s really a single because I’m so completely acclimated now.”
“I recognize that catch in your voice, so you won’t get the sarcasm past me this time.”
“Hmm.”
“Stop sulkin why dontcha. We’ll figure this out. I’m sure just about all the high street stores will have them.”
“No. I don’t want to physically go anywhere. I need to do it on line.”
“Of course, wouldn’t like you to have to rub shoulders with the natives would you?”
“Don’t tease. I’m I a foul mood.”
“Like I didn’t notice? So. What’s the main issue?”
“When you look up floral sheeting the results show loads of sites for some weird stuff to decorate floats!”
“Hmm that makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Yeah. So what happens when you search on floral flat twin sheet?”
“You get ‘sets’ of bedding. I don’t want a set. I just want one single sheet, or maybe two.”
“Single or twin?”
“Two twins. Is that what I mean? Yes, I think it is. It’s all so confusing. I’m toying with Paisley. Do you have Paisley out here or do I have to translate that too?”
“Of course we have Paisley.”
“Anyway. I think I’ll just have to find a source of sheeting and make them up myself but it would be so much easier if I could just by ready made sheets instead.”
“So who’s into Paisley and florals?”
“No-one in particular. I may just have to admit defeat and get plain.”
“Plain?”
“Solid.”
“Ah.”
“But I can’t find anything wide enough. Everything seems to be 90 or 115?”
“What?”
“Oh……36 or 45. No use to man nor beast.”
“So how big is the bed?”
“Bed?”
“Yeah. How big is the…..mattress that want the sheets for?”
“I don’t want it for a bed.”
“But I thought…….what do you want the sheet for?”
“For the table. Now we’re 8 in the family we’ve had to drag out the big table top and I don’t have any table cloths big enough to cover it, so I thought I’d use sheets instead.”
“How big is the table?”
“In metric?”
“No imperial.”
“Er…..that would be about……84 inches or 2 yards and one foot by 5 foot or 60 inches…..ish.”
“!”
“Did you just snort? Did you snort on the phone?”
“Er…..I may have done….so how come yur not lookin in table where?”
“Table where?”
“Ware! Table WARE!”
“Because my table is too big for tableware table cloths.”
“Dya know, it just kills me to tell you this but 84 by 60 is pretty much standard for an American table.”
“!”
“What can I say……everything in America is bigger and……”

Tip of the day

Best way to avoid sun burn = garden in the moonlight and take advantage of your jet lag.

Enterprise allowance – child exploitation

2009-05-21T10:42:00.001-07:00

My daughter moans about lack of funding just as her big sister returns from pulling poison oak in Santa Cruz, dressed like a yetty for protection. I observe the girls in silence as I pot up seedlings which are technically weeds.
“Geez you look disgustin.”
“Disgusting but rich, which suits me just fine.”
“Rich?”
“Yes indeedy.”
“Howmucha got?”
“That’s for me to know.”
“Can I come with you next time?”
“You’ll be at school I’m afraid.”
“How can I get some money too?”
“Work.”
“Can I do some chores for money Mom?”
“You already do your chores to earn your pocket money….er……allowance. There isn’t really anything else that the budget can stretch to right now dear.”
“Maybe you could set up one of those American lemonade stands in the summer?” offers her big sister.
“I need money now. I can’t wait til the summer.”
“I don’t think they have paper rounds out here do they? How do children earn money do you suppose?”
“When she’s a bit older she can do baby sitting.”
“I hate babies.”
“Well that’s another career door slammed shut.”
“Maybe you could make something to sell? Friendship bracelets perhaps?”
“What are you doing mum?”
“I’m just making these little paper pots and plopping weeds in them. Mainly Morning Glories and Tomatoes. They seem to have seeded the entire garden. I really need to conquer the compost heap but I don’t want to just throw them away.”
“Geez I could sell em!”
“Er……I was going to give them away to my friends.”
“Friends suck. I’ll set em up at the end of the driveway. What’ll they cost? $10 bucks each?”
“In your dreams dearie. More like 25 cents if you’re lucky.”
“Really? Still if I sell four that’s a dollar.”
“Now hang on a minute. If you’re really going to do this then we should do it properly.”
“Properly? What’s properly?”
“First of all, you need to be making the pots, finding the seedlings and filling them.”
“I do?”
“Yes……unless you want to pay my wages for making them for you?”
“That sucks. How much do you charge?”
“I believe you said the going rate is ten bucks an hour?”
"Make that ten pounds Mum. Much better exchange "rate!"

Fantasy Fiesta after the siesta

2009-05-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

Or

The Rule of Three

It’s very simple and is as applicable to pottery as it is to cake decorations:- always make three and one might turn out o.k.

It’s stands to reason when you work with sugar, have three children and two diabetics in the house:- obviously one or more will be eaten prior to completion.

The second one will be damaged or broken beyond repair.

This leaves you with one and only one after many, many attempts.

Unless you’re extra lucky of course.

Yes I know! I also need help in the "how to use a camera properly" but that's for another "campaign."

I’d offer to send you the spares but I doubt if they travel well as evidenced by "cake wrecks."

Environmental Whore

2009-05-14T13:35:00.000-07:00

“Mum!”
“Yes dear?”
“Can you explain something to me?”
“I’ll try.”
“Why did I spend all day yesterday rigging up a washing line for you if you still insist on using the bloody tumble drier!”
“Well if you look outside you’ll see that it’s already full.”
“Full?”
“Yes……this is just a little overflow.”
"Ah.....you're so trying!"
"I shall endeavour to try harder."

But it's just a seasonal issue:

Artificial Christmas Tree

Giveaway at Balsam Hill

Now I wonder which is worse?

Buy a fake one that can be used again and again until I'm old and "grey?"

Go out to a Christmas tree farm and chop one down? That wouldn't be "popular."

Although the smell of real pine can be "enticing."

Probably best to take it to a "vote" although I expect we'll do the usual = cut off the top of the one in the "garden."

Gourmands of the world unite – rare bites

2009-05-06T14:56:00.000-07:00

Inspired by her little brother’s recent "cookery" efforts, my daughter decides that she too can be independent, creative and a culinary expert.

“D’ya think I could make a grilled cheese sandwich for myself?”
I look at my pre-teen, scissors poised mid sewing project, “by yourself?”
“Sure.”
“Fair enough, go ahead.”
“D’ya know where his cookery book has gone?”
“Yes he took it to therapy to show his therapist.”
“Ah…….so howamy gonna make a grilled cheese sandwich without the book?”
“How indeed?”
“D’ya know howta make one Mom?”
I think deep down in the repository of my culinary experiences over a period approximating forty plus years. “Actually……..I don’t think I have ever in my entire life made a grilled cheese sandwich. The nearest would probably be…..a rarebit or a cheese toastie……which are probably near enough.”
“A ‘toastie’ sounds nice but wotz rabbits gotta do with anything?
“Nevermind, you carry on dear. Knock your self out.”
“Er…..don’t say that mom……it sounds really weird the way your say it.”
“!”

Predictably I attend every step:- where’s the cheese, where’s the bread, can you cut the bread, where’s the knife………surely every parent does this as some stage or other? Every parent knows that the request for independence comes with a baggage of hands on , one on one, time consuming attention.

“D’ya have a pan?”
“What kind of a pan?”
“Er…..a grilling pan?”
“Don’t you just pop it under the grill?”
“Wotsa grill?”
“Oh…..a broiler……the broiler…..stick it under the broiler and……broil it.”
“Duh….then it would be a broiled cheese sandwich and I don’t like the sound of that one little bit.”
“Neither do I funnily enough….something is clearly lost in translation.”
“Wait til I tell everyone at school.”
“Tell everyone at school what? That you made your own sandwich all by yourself?”
“No…….that my mom can’t even cook a grilled cheese sandwich……that’s cookin 101 y’know.”
“!”

Cake Design for Foreigners

2009-04-27T19:41:00.000-07:00

In a previous life time I used to make cakes. Predominantly Devil's Food Cakes with Chocolate Ganache, decorated with sugarpaste [ rolled fondant], flower paste [that's sugar too] and pastillage. These were a 'few' of my first attempts.

Wheelbarrow and pumpkins

Christening cake

Knapsack for the world traveler

White Ice Church

Halloween pumpkin, fall leaves and scary ghostly skeleton

Rubber duckies and pond life

A peramulator

God Bless Her [not necessarily the Queen]

Three little monsters.

Rose petals and crib

Lacy crib

Lacy bootees for a boy or a girl, hands and feet motifs

Smocking box and bottees

Chocolate box cake topped with real truffles

Carousel

Easter basket, bunny and eggs

Ghosts

Going and away and packing boxes

Yes today I figured out how to use the scanner and scan in a few of my old photographs. I feel like I've finally conquered technology.

No you cannot send me to "Cake Wrecks" because I am not commercial!

But "life" has taken over in more ways than "one," although I wish I were a better "photographer."

Now I make "Pots."

Online grocery shopping – a comparative review

2009-02-19T10:30:00.000-08:00

If you think that shopping on-line is purely for the "slothful" you may probably be right. If on the other hand your family is subject to the occasional domestic disaster, then it may be something worth checking out. Just off the top of my head, I can easily think of half a dozen different scenarios where this service might be of use:-
Freezer death
Fridge death
Sudden illness, oneself or a family member, which results in house bound
Car death
Explosion of oven
Death of any other essential household appliance, such a toilet, whereby the owner occupier must remain in residence for a minimum period of 48 hours on the off chance that the plumber may honour us with a visit for a standard call out charge, 5 minute examination, departure on the promise to return with the month, not to exceed 31 days in any event, many harsh words regarding consumer mis-use, and the promise of further additional charges for parts, installation and tax, not to include clean up or removal and disposal of broken parts, nor the slightly battered and water logged Thomas the Tank Engine.

For many efficient people, any or all of the above would still leave them with a carefully organized store cupboard of ingredients to whip up a wholesome and nutritious meal for a family of "seven," and sometimes more.

Other less efficient people, may need to resort to on-line grocery shopping.

In my vast experience in these matters, it is far better to set up an order on-line prior to the disaster. A basic list of essentials can very quickly be drawn up, especially, if you’re not working on a Mac. If you are working on a Mac it is even more essential to set up the emergency shopping list in advance, to iron out any inevitable and frustrating kinks.

Make sure you save the voucher for free delivery on all orders over the minimum requirement. Orders that are delivered on the same day take the maximum hit in delivery charges, assuming that you can find an open window or convenient slot. If you are doubtful that you can hit the minimum charge ensure that you stock up on staples such as toilet rolls, laundry detergent and other non-perishables, preferably large, heavy ones as you need to exploit someone else’s muscle power to the maximum and reserve your own strength, so as to be better able to run your household efficiently and hand the plumber his tools.

Book mark the site or leave as a permanently open window so that other household members are able to hit the ‘order now’ button should you find that your fingers are inoperable due to a surfeit of wooden splinters from Thomas the Tank Engine. It is a good idea to include finely targeted bribes for each member of the family as an incentive to their co-operation in this endeavour. Most family members will be reluctant to hit the ‘order now’ button in the sure and certain knowledge that the result with be several hundred weight of healthy vegetables winging their way towards your door, but a packet of M&M’s here and there may just make the difference between success and failure to the enterprise.

It is handy to note that the pictures of the shopping items all appear to be the same size and there is no scale available for comparison. This means that a one and a half ounce individual fun size pack of M&Ms appears to be the same as a family pack for a herd of elephants. Most children salivate to such a degree that they are not mindful of the fine print.

A few details.

Our personal experience.

Customer service is great. If the delivery person turns up with half your order or half of someone else’s order, this is easily remedied by telephone where you get to speak to a real live human being who is also capable of making decisions. This works even if you only discover the error an hour later. We had no problem being credited for items that we were charged for but failed to materialize. They also offered to deliver the missing items later in the day for free. Make sure that you check each item off the print out to avoid hic-cups.

All of the different supermarkets are competitively priced but don’t forget to check the ‘specials.’ Since price is crucial in these financially crippling times, take care to double check the price per ounce to avoid expensive mistakes. Also be aware of the difference between buying some by quantity, i.e. one unit, and by weight, i.e. one pound, otherwise you may end up with ten ten pound bags of potatoes.

Take care over the ‘substitutes’ page. This is where you explain whether you are willing to accept alternatives for specific items. This is generally divided into substitute brands and substitute quantities. If you fail to complete this form then you may end up with something entirely unexpected.

The delivery personnel are friendly and personable and on time. I’m not sure on the etiquette but I believe it would be appropriate to tip the delivery guy, afterall they’re providing a service, although I have no idea what sum would be appropriate.

One last hidden benefit is that you're helping to keep your carbon footprint under raps as well as preventing impulse buying, as little pictures are not as tempting as the real thing. It also means, in theory at least, that at the check out, the trolly won't be filled with erroneous purchases by other more surreptitious members of the "family."

It's a dog eat dog world

2009-02-04T10:16:00.000-08:00

In response to the following query search, which brought a newcomer to my blog:-

“my goldfish ate one of my other goldfish on wednesday and still has part of it in his mouth on saturday will he choke?”

I can say with complete confidence, no, he won’t choke, but he is probably carnivorous so your other goldfish may be in danger. Is your tank large enough to accommodate one super sized goldfish? And by the by, how do you know that he’s male?

Other people’s reality

2009-02-04T10:12:00.001-08:00

Just after Christmas I flee to Target where there will be adult people with normal speech patterns for a few moments of respite and some other essential items. Once cats, teeth, chocolate and cleanliness supplies are under control, I also grab a plain black top for myself, on sale, probably not my size but at $5:00 I’ve no complaints.

At the check out, the checker is abuzz and abusy. She is young, fresh and full of bounce, so I feel all the more ancient, numb brained and deflated.
“Did ya have a nice holiday?”
“Oh yes very much so. And yourself?”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“?”
“Do you want your milk in a bag or not?”
“No thanks.”
“Er…….was that yes or no……to the bag?”
“Um……it was a no…..thanks.”
“I got the thanks I just couldn’t work out if it went with a yes or a no?”
“Ah. That constant bleeping must be very distracting for you.”
“Me? I’m right on top of things even after nearly an hour. Just tune it right out.”
“Oh good.” Maybe my diction has deteriorated?
“Do you always buy toothbrushes?”
“Er……sometimes.”
She hurls the sack of cat food into a bag even though it is already fitted with a handle.
“What’s your dog called?”
“Er…….that’s for the cats.”
“Can you just swipe your card?”
“I already have.”
“Can you just sign in the box?”
“But there’s no total, I don’t know how much I’m spending yet?”
She presses another button and the sum appears like magic on the screen.
“Do you like black?”
“Yes I do, it always matches.”
“I never eat black chocolate. Is it good?”
“Black? Er yes, it’s a birthday present.”
“Oh I’m sorry to hear that. Was it someone in your close family or just a friend that died?”
“Um…….a distant acquaintance.” Presumably, I can only guess.
“Always nice to buy new clothes though……even if it’s just for a funeral.”
“?”

Maybe I am already dead? Therapy session over. I can’t wait to get home.

How those digital recorders come in handy. Even as I re-listen, I still have no clue.

ROLF Awards

2009-02-03T10:33:00.000-08:00

"Jessica" explains the rules as follows:-

"To award someone a ROFL Award:

1. Pick a post from the current month that made you laugh.
[Please only choose original material written or developed by a blogger - i.e., not a YouTube video, cartoon, or joke circling the Net.]

2. E-mail me a link to the post that you are nominating AND a link to your blog by the deadline.
[I will send you the award button so you can share it with the blogger you've nominated.]

3. I will send you the award button code a day or so before the awards are to be posted.

4. Send the person you are awarding the award button code and let them know when the ROFL Awards will be posted for the month.

5. On the first Friday of the month, write a post on your blog about the post you nominated.
[Please link back to this blog (Oh, The Joys) and to Tania at Chicky Chicky Baby so that people can see the full list of award winning funny posts.]

6. Read all the funny posts for the month and enjoy!

Feel free to e-mail me with questions.

I look forward to laughing with you!"

Not sure about the 'first Friday' versus the deadline, but here is my offering in any case:-

To "Lime" over at the "House of Lime" for her wonderful post called "Signs of an unwell mind" that's just my kind of mind.
Cheers dears

Escape Artistes

2009-01-27T10:51:00.000-08:00

I don gardening gloves before diving out into the cold. I leave "Nonna" in the house watching Manga Anime and hope that this doesn’t constitute "elder abuse." I commence an hour’s hard labour, as I transfer rocks from the garden to the fence line. Thatcher, our new puppy is determined to dig for freedom. He has already adopted several favourable sites where he burrows. Broadly speaking, my neighbours are more mellow and tolerant than many, but the appearance of a 45 lb puppy in their back yards, might just tip the balance. As I heave, I think about all the other people determined to escape the premises. The deadlocks work for the children, but other "senior members" of the household are every bit as wily.

I can’t quite fathom when "exactly" life became quite so "complicated" but I’m certain that when I first installed the rock garden I had no idea that I would end up where I am now. The heavy, stability of a rock garden seemed the cement on our new American life. I never expected to be dis-assembling it for such a bizarre purpose.

I ordered it on-line as it comes with 3 homing tags.

I’m so glad to be living in the 21st century.

And if anyone mentions wrap around services or Respite Care, I may just crack, or possibly croak, as it's strictly 'do-it-yourself' around here.

January Jaunty Jest

2009-01-25T10:15:00.000-08:00

Have you read something during this month of January that made you laugh out loud? Was it something that might make other people have the same reaction? If so you may wish to leave a link to that post in the comments section here, or e-mail me or write a little note to "Jessica" over at "Oh the Joys" and her jolly good pal "Tania" at "Chicky Chicky Baby" for their "ROLF" award for January.

Maybe I could invite you to play along too?

As they say:-

'If you are willing, we'd love help spreading the word. Feel free to share the deadlines with your followers and friends on Twitter and / or Facebook .

Thanks so much!

Jessica & Tania'

I'd attempt the Twitter / Facebook option but sadly, technically challenged persons, such as myself are incapable of such feats.

What I'd really like to know is whether I can submit four suggestions or recommendations? I maintain four blogs, I read lots of other blogs. Some are quite hilarious, others draw me for different reasons. Surely I could provide four nominations, although I suspect that would constitute cheating?

Cheers dears

All men are beasts

2009-01-17T08:49:00.000-08:00

I lie in bed at night, alone. It’s the same every year, once a year. Once a year, on the first Friday after his birthday, my spouse leaves for his annual pub crawl with his friends, who used to be young men but are now all old cronies. It’s a tight schedule, on foot, to twenty different venues at 15 minute intervals. I remain home with the children for several different reasons. The primary reason is that someone must remain fully functioning during the rest of the weekend’s hangover, and oh what a mother of all hangovers it is.

I wouldn’t mind so much if he were a regularly drinker, I think, but for the rest of the year he is dry. Nothing more dangerous than a fizzy coke. How does a body cope with that kind of onslaught?

Hence, once a year, I go to bed early, or at least relatively early, after a glass of wine to speed me on my way. I know that the last call, at ‘The Last Call,’ is at 1 in the morning. I know that approximately two in the morning I shall wake up. I shall wake up and be extremely grumpy. I shall be grumpy and alone. I shall remain alone until any time after three but by that time my grumpiness will have vanished. Instead I shall troll through my regular nightmare scenarios. Has he been squished by a bus? Has he died of alcohol poisoning, as well he should? Has he been arrested for miscellaneous misdeamours, as I’m sure that no-one understands the fun of playing ‘dead rats,’ least of all the local constabulary, or cops, as we now call them. I should quite like to be present as he lies in the middle of the road on his back, squealing ‘dead rats,’ whilst his legs and arms bicycle through the empty air and explains his purpose to a cop. By about four I give up and peek out the window. My ears are on heightened alert to pick up pin pricks, although it will probably be crashes and bangs.

Between 4 and 5 I will hear him, I’m almost sure I will? I hope I shall? I’ll check the LED on the clock as the numbers flip over slowly, oh so slowly.

When I hear the noise I’m up in a flash to spy. I look outside into the yard as the sun begins to rise, where he sits on the concrete with an arm around the silent dog as he howls to the non-existent moon.

Mothers

2009-01-12T08:42:00.000-08:00

We notice each other moments after our dogs notice each other. She is a large woman of generous proportions on the other side of the road. She crosses over. The marshmallow and the stick insect exchange pleasantries. She suggests that although her puppy is a nervous type that maybe our "dogs" could meet each other. Two quivering Labradoodles attempt contact. Her’s is shaggy, like a poodle. Chocolate brown with a stumpy thumpy tail. Mine is short coated, like a Labrador. Fizzy Champagne with a teasle tail. Two shivering puppies attempt appropriate puppy behaviour. Her owner is perfectly made-up, exquisitely coiffed and co-ordinated in couture. I am in yesterday’s clothes, bare faced and hope to brush my hair tomorrow. I explain our choice, unnecessarily:- eczema, asthma and allergies. She explains hers :- children and family time. We exchange glances. Mine are at home during electronics time. Hers are at home watching the telly. I see her hopes and the bead of sweat on her temple. It’s reflected in her over glistening eyes. She dabs a finger to the corner, gently, as she bends to untangle herself from her dog and the lead. I am a novice. Like all novices I have read the "book," the theory. I’m crouched on the grass embracing Thatcher as puppy jumping is to be discouraged but "proper practice" is tougher than the theory. I don’t mention our morning walk, together, all of us, for an hour and a half. I try to practice smiling. She smiles back, tired, weary, but still hopeful. We remain in Tableau, several moments longer than might be expected. Broadly speaking, I follow the rule that unsolicited advice is unwise, to anyone, let alone strangers. Foreigners should always try to keep their own counsel but because I am a novice, I decide to be bold and share, because I have read the book. “You know……” I start as I concentrate on the woven fibres covering her knees.
“Hmm?”
“I read that it’s very important to be a confident owner……..it’s something…….. I’m working on.” Her eyes find my eyes as I stand up, straight, almost as tall as her shoulder. Her shoulders straighten too. “Mebee I could try that too?” We beam and go on our way, dragging our dogs behind us. Women, our connections make us strong.

Slippery Siren

2008-12-31T14:12:00.000-08:00

I lean on the door jam and slap serum on my face. I have no hope of rejuvenation but I need to demonstrate my appreciation of a gift. I look across at him, deflated and defeated on the tumble drier, surrounded with a plethora of tools.
“No luck then?”
“Nope…….they deliberately design these things to make them inaccessible.”
“Forced to use the call out guy then?”
“No……..I’m going to get in there somehow or other.”
“I have my new tin opener if you’re desperate?”
“Permanently removing the back of the tumbler is not a solution.”
“Ooo I don’t know. We need the front …..and the sides……..but I don’t really think we need the back. If we leave it off it will be easier to fix next time.”
“The back is an integral part to maintain the structure.”
“Ah….”
“What’s that pong?”
“The new face cream…….see…….I’m using it…….it’s quite lovely.”
“Doesn’t half honk though.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“Fruity yet.........smells like something’s died.”
“?”
“Here……give me a hand…….pull on that corner and we’ll see if anything fallen behind.”
“I can’t get a grip, my hands are all slimy now.”
“Stand back then, I don’t want to knock you.”
We peer at the back wall behind the tumbler.
“What do you think that is?”
“I have no idea. Looks like a tongs and rubber glove jobby to me.”
“It looks like a petrified banana.”
“But that wouldn’t smell……..would it?”
“There’s a hellava lot of …….food down here. Look! That used to be a grape.”
“What’s the old toilet plunger doing there?”
“I think we can safely say that we’ve found his new hidey hole.”
“For both the precious and the "discards.”

It’s a gift

2008-12-30T07:21:00.000-08:00

Late at night, I am all set to bimble up the hills to Bedfordshire when the telephone rings. Obviously someone has died or some other dire emergency has befallen my loved ones.

“Hello?”
“Can I speak to her,” asks my daughter’s pal.
“I’m sorry she’s already in bed……..........some hours ago.”
“Can you give her the phone?”
“I could……...... but she’s asleep. May I give her a message……tomorrow?”
“Can she come to my party?”
“Ooo how lovely. I’m sure she’d love to come. When is it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh…….what time?”
“4…….it’s a sleepover.”
“Ah……well ……..I think that should be fine,” I reply peering at the calendar.
“Tell her to bring me a present.”
“Well…….yes……indeed…….a birthday present…it is your birthday party afterall……it shall be my first priority tomorrow morning.”

I’m not sure if she heard my reply as the line is dead. I can think of few worse scenarios than taking three children to shop for a gift, unscheduled, unplanned and with no prior notice or warning. Fortunately, these modern times provide other alternative solutions. I am quite certain that the inventors of gift cards had me in mind.

There is none greener

2008-12-29T17:46:00.000-08:00

My daughter heads off to the airport to collect her pal. She takes a spare bike with her for her pal, so that they may both cycled home together. I just hope that she's a light traveler, unburdened by luggage.

I can honestly say that I would be more than a little surprised to be greeted in a similar manner. Luckily I'm confident that there is a taxi rank at the airport for those who are like minded.

If your carbon footprint permits air travel, I don't think it should moan too much about four wheel travel.

A son’s a son til he gets a wife……….

2008-12-29T14:34:00.000-08:00

But that is part of the delight of children, part time rental whilst fledgling and then free fall when they flock off elsewhere to nest.

Oh the joy of having both girls and boys.

Hence, when I return home from a quick emergency food shopping trip, I am immediately accosted by the back gate and it’s freshly screwed in safety catch. I swing the door open a few times to admire it’s magnificence as it clunks gently into position, locked, safe and with just enough spring to avoid finger damage.

Just next to it, I find that the compost heap has been turned over and neatly closed, a job only for the muscle bound and me.

In the garage I find the whole place has been overhauled, tidied, rearranged and labeled. The toilet plunger dries on an old newspaper, an indication that it has been used, for once, for it’s rightful purpose.

Inside I reach for paper towel, so overwhelmed with the diligence during my absence, and what do I find? Some gentle considerate soul has mounted the paper towel dispenser, that’s been hanging around on the ‘to do’ list for the last 5 years.

In the bathroom the toilet is free from blockage and I detect a hint of Clorox bleach, an indication of a thoroughly efficient job, well done.

Some might believe that I pinned a ‘chores’ list in a prominent position when I left, but I can assure you that all these tasks were unprompted, because as we all know……………. a daughter’s a daughter the rest of her life.

Of course it may take another five years for some other people to adjust to such "change."

King of Puddings

2008-12-27T14:10:00.000-08:00

Adapted from "Delia Smith’s Queen of Puddings" new recipe. Following our "pudding" "disaster," we attempt an "alternative." It was the jam jelly mid layer that caused the screams of agony. Since everyone like’s the meringue topping, except me, and everyone likes the eggy bread base, except me, we opt for the lemon option.

Tried, tested and trusted as follows:-

King of Puddings *1

1 pint / 20 fluid ounces (570 ml) milk
1⁄2 oz (10 g) butter
4 oz (110 g) fresh white breadcrumbs
2 x 1oz (50 g) caster sugar, plus 1 teaspoon to dust on top
grated zest of 1 large lemon
Juice from three large lemons
2 large eggs
half a jar of Lemon Curd

Heat the milk and add the knob of butter. Take off the heat and add the lemon juice and rind. Stir in the breadcrumbs and one ounce of sugar. Leave to cool [and swell]. The extra liquid makes the base more fluid and less stodgy. [Sorry Delia!]

Separate the eggs and stir the yolks into the bread mixture when it’s cold. Pour into a buttered casserole dish and bake for half an hour in a medium oven.

Warm the lemon curd gently and spread over the bread mixture when it’s finished baking.

Whisk the egg whites to firm peaks and fold in the other one ounce of sugar. Spread the meringue over the surface of the lemon curd and sprinkle with the last teaspoonful of sugar. Bake for 10 minutes at gas mark 4 or 350C until lightly browned.

Prince of Puddings

As above but omit the lemon juice and rind, and replace with heavy cream.

Instead of lemon curd use Nutella. Only warm the Nutella slightly so that it’s spreadable at you don’t want it to burn.

Enjoy!

*1 a.k.a. Poison Pudding, scored 6 out of ten and he ate it.

Spud U Like

2008-12-27T07:34:00.000-08:00

“What’s up mother?”
“Hmmm.”
“You look perplexed, or rather buried in cookery books.”
“Yes I’m trying to think of something exciting to do with "potatoes?”
“Is there anything exciting about potatoes?”
“I lack inspiration.”
“Well let’s have something else instead?”
“We can’t. We have 30 lbs of potatoes in the garage after the "shopping debacle." I calculate we need to eat about 3 lbs a day for 10 days so that they don’t all go bad.”
“The opposite of the potato famine.”
“Indeed. Mono diets are so dull.”
“Oh I don’t know. I’m happy with a baked potato every day.”
“Not everyone is quite so happy.”
“Just don’t cave in and give them chips every day.”
“Hmmmmm can you give me 10 different recipes for potatoes just off the top of your head?”
“Mashed, fried, baked, plain boiled,……chips……er……?”
“That’s only five and two of them are the same effectively.”
“Just rotate those four then.”
“It’s all about expectations and presentation.”
“You’re kidding. What happened to flavour?”
“Flavour is irrelevant if it never hits the taste buds.”
“Dino shaped potatoes? Star cut outs?”

“Now you’re talking. I was toying with Dauphinoise? Whether that might tempt them?”
“Dopey what?”
“Ooo I know! How about Duchesse!”
“We’re American now mother, we can’t stoop to such ancient monarchical depths.”
“You will never know my maniacal depths when it comes to food deception.”

Santa’s little helpers

2008-12-21T07:22:00.000-08:00

Another busy day dawns for my daughter at mid-day, but that’s the trouble with jet lag. For some unaccountable reason I am the center of her attention.
“I’m just saying that not only would you reduce your carbon footprint on the planet but you would also, simultaneously, save oodles of time.”
“Hmm. It’s not a very user friendly site.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll set it up for you.” She settles herself in front of the lap top to commence battle. “Before you know it all your shopping will be whizzing it’s way to your doorstep once a week. You won’t have to lift a finger, merely stab a few buttons on the keyboard,” she beams. As usual, I have my doubts. I continue with my chores and mop the downstairs floors except the kitchen, where she is perched, intense with concentration and furrowed brow.
“Mum?”
“Yes dear?”
“How many bananas do you buy a week?”
“About 5 lbs.”
“How much do they usually cost? You want the organic ones right?”
“Hmm.” Do I prefer half eaten very expensive organic bananas strewn around my house rather than cheap ones, as you can slip just as easily on either. I chop onions at the far end of the kitchen and then put them on to sauté softly for fifteen minutes.
“Do you want salted butter or unsalted butter or both?”
“Salted please.”
“You don’t want sweet butter right?”
“Actually, confusingly, sweet butter is salted butter here.”
“What? That’s ludicrous.”
“Just buy Kerrygold, it has the best flavour.”
“Right.”
I nip upstairs to make beds and strip a wet one. On return to the utility room via the kitchen she’s waiting for me.
“Mum?”
“Yes dear?”
“I think I accidentally ordered 11 whole chickens instead of one. This is such a crap system.”
“Don’t press the update button twice.”
“Which would you prefer 10 ounces of frozen spinach for $1:19 or 26 ounces for $1:99.”
“The latter.” I punch the linen into the extra large capacity washing machine which seems to have recently shrunk.
“I don’t get it. All these things are on offer this week. If they’re not on offer again next week then we won’t be able to calculate an average bill for you to work with.”
“You do know that the freezer is still frozen shut…..maybe…….we need to curb the frozen food purchases.”
“Right. What was the other thing you wanted?”
“Why not check the list on the fridge?”
“It’s gone, he took it with him when he went to Trader Joe’s, which is odd as I thought he went Christmas shopping.”
“Hmm.”
“Anything else you can remember?”
“Pastry. Can’t find it anywhere.” I nip out to collect the post from the mail box and cuddle into welcome holiday cards.
“Ah there you are. Why do you keep disappearing?”
“Er…..”
“Just stay where you are for a minute. You should have been searching for ‘pie crusts,’ not pastry.”
“Ah.”
“Anything else?”
“Frosties.” I make a dash for Nonna’s room. Whilst she slumbers in her chair I do a quick tidy, primarily to avoid her breaking her neck on debris when she wakes up. Back in the kitchen I load the dish washer which tips off the ‘tree hugger’ gene, “don’t put them in there, I’ll wash them by hand when I’ve finished this. By the way, you should have been looking for ‘frosted flakes’ not ‘frosties.’ What kind of apples do you want?”
“Fuji. Try not to get too much fresh stuff as the fridge is already bursting.” I skulk off with the vacuum to remove enough pine needles to ignite a small bonfire, possibly spontaneously.
“Mum?”
“Yes dear?”
“You need to put your credit card details in, everything else is done.”
“Oh goody.” I oblige before tottering off to remove the tide mark of paint from the bath tub.
“Mum?”
“Yes dear?”
“What time do you want it delivered tomorrow?”
“Morning.”
“That’s ridiculous. The whole point of this was to spend $200 to get free delivery and now they’re charging us $6:95.”
“Indeed.”
“Damn! The screen’s frozen. I hate your mac.” I escape to the family room to pick up Pokemon and gather overdue library books.
“Mum?”
“Yes dear?”
“Didn’t you realize this coupon for free delivery expired over two months ago?”
“I did.”
“Did what?”
“I did realize it expired a while back, that’s just one of the reasons why I haven’t ordered my groceries on line.”
“Well at least that’s one thing sorted. Between 10 and 12 tomorrow morning we shall have enough food delivered to feed the 5000 for a week, quite effortless don’t you think?” We pause to listen to the roar of the garage door and there he is, just like Santa, laden down with 20 bags of groceries, “just wanted to do my bit for the festive season,” he beams.

I’m tempted to hide in the fridge, but of course it’s already full.

The perfect gift for every man in your life

2008-12-16T21:00:00.001-08:00

I don’t know about you, but I find I have the devil’s own job finding just the right thing for the only man in my life. But fear not, help is very close at hand. Blessed am I, for having found the perfect solution, although first you will need to strike up a sterling relationship with the mail man. Once you have charmed your way into his favour, the world is at your feet, as you will have conquered the seemingly impossible.

In these troubling financial times, you may find, like me, that the man in your life is still able to order all those essential little items on line that make his life tolerable. All sorts of widgets and gadgets are winging their way towards your house as we speak. Your mission, is to intercept the parcels without your man’s knowledge. This feat can be achieved in any number of different ways such as bribing the mail man to leave them in a secret, pre-arranged nook in the garden. Then, all you have to do is retrieve the items surreptitiously and hide them in a new, unknown to your man, secret hidey hole of your own choosing. This should preferably be an inside hidey hole as most widgets are subject to rust during inclement weather.

Should your man be bold enough to enquire whether or not the mail man has visited, this will be your opportunity to throw a fit and deny that there is any funny business going on between you and the mail man. If your performance is up to scratch, he will learn to avoid the subject completely, for fear of being drowned in alligator tears.

Pick a quiet moment when he is otherwise occupied and spent a few moments wrapping the box or package in festive paper and attach a card that displays your endearments.

Then when the great day arrives, you can rest assured that your gift will be one that he really, really wants quite badly, even more so, due to the delayed gratification of receipt. If there is any hint of disagreeableness, grab the gift and threaten to return it as unwanted, post haste.

Be sure that when the New Year comes around, your renew and refresh your relationship with the mail man to ensure his continued loyalty and pre-empt the possibility of any retaliation by your own widget wanter.

Reign dear

2008-12-15T20:28:00.000-08:00

“Ooo yur wearin a new necklace!”
“Not really new, quite old actually.”
“D’ya just wear it at Christmas?”
“Christmas? Not particularly.”
“Is it real valuable?”
“Just costume.”
“Costume?”
“Um…..what is the American word for that? Er….let’s just say it’s fake.”
“Shame. I still like it though. Did Father Christmas give it ya?”
“No, Daddy did.”
“Did he give it t’ya at Christmas?”
“Er…..I can’t really remember. The last decade is a bit of a blur.”
“If it’s fake can I borrow it for the Christmas party?”
“Sure.”
“I like wearing festive things.”
“What do you mean? It’s not particularly festive. In fact I don’t think it’s at all festive now I come to think of it.”
“What’s more festive than a moose with one antler?”

What indeed?

Party time

2008-12-13T10:46:00.000-08:00

I greet the woman I have never met as she drops off her daughter to the birthday party. We have spoken twice of the phone.

On the first occasion I asked whether or not her daughter might be able to join our birthday festivities. Her schedule was awesomely busy, although she appears to have received the invitation which has R.S.V.P. on the bottom. Maybe next year I should add A.S.A.P? She would get back to me, although we knew not when.

I spoke to her a second time 17 hours before the party, when my daughter’s frenzy of the unknowable, was over whelming. I telephoned to enquire whether she had found a free moment to study her busy schedule. After a considerable kerfuffle I was advised that her daughter might, would probably, just might manage to make it, to the relief of everyone.

Now, having deposited her child into our care for two hours she turns to depart, to resume her very busy schedule with a hopeful chance that she may in due course, if time allows, return to collect her daughter. She leans towards me with a conspiratorial air to whisper loudly, “did you know your have dye smeared around your hairline?”
“Er……..no…….” My index finger runs around my face before I lick the end, “that’s good, Thank you for letting me know.”
“!”
“I’m just glad it’s not chocolate frosting.”

What a gimlet!

2008-12-09T17:44:00.000-08:00

I sit outside on the school bench waiting to give my reading presentation to the class. I wear yesterday’s party outfit because one and a half hour’s wear does not justify washing machine space. I also sport my Dr. Seuss’ Stoker hat whilst I listen to the "Archers" on my phone. Another mum also waits nearby. We exchange smiles as she watches a younger class cavort during their PE lesson. She steps over to me, “what do you have on?”
“Er……I’m listening to…..a radio programme even though it’s really a phone,” I offer ripping out ear bud.
“No, I mean what do you have on?”
“The hat? I’m wearing a hat.” She giggles and repeats the question.
“Er…….?”
“Your perfume…..what fragrance is that?”
“Er…?”
“Scent?” she grins.
“Fabric conditioner probably.”

Martyrdom is so unbecoming

2008-11-29T11:36:00.000-08:00

It’s not so much passive aggressive, more survivorship skills.

After a couple of decades with one partner I have learned that timing is crucial. I need to find just that right moment when he will be receptive. I wait a long while for the perfect moment to present itself before pouncing..........

“So, I’ve booked the party, paid the deposit, bought the invitations, written them, given them out, co-ordinated the replies, made the cake, bought the presents and wrapping paper, cleverly hidden them in a fiendishly ingenious spot, found the perfect birthday card, written it, forged your signature ……......….in addition to all my ordinary duties….........…all I need you to do is wrap the presents and mind the children whilst I nip out to buy party favours and bags for 24 children….......…..if you think you might be able to manage that with your busy schedule and all?”
He yawns, “yes it’s great to be home at the weekend, pity I have to work full time I suppose. I’m happy to help, only too happy to help…...........…assuming you can find your cleverly hidden presents before you leave?”
“!”

A.S.A.P.

2008-11-26T21:24:00.000-08:00

I receive a complicated reply to my son's birthday party invitation.

The child's father's girlfriend's parent's friend and neighbour will bring his child to the party.

I take a deep breath.

I remind myself that blended families are the new norm, that the nuclear family is a myth of the past.

Although I don't know the current divorce statistics, I do know that those families with children with special needs are quite startlingly real.

I reply in a kindly fashion.

I count my blessings.

Circuit Breaker

2008-11-20T17:43:00.000-08:00

I submit to yet another round of dental experts for my dental woes. From dentist, to oral surgeon, to home. I blunder into the house to grab my next fix of Ibrupofen.
“Ah! Didn’t go so well then? How can you swallow those things without water?”
“Practice.”
“So what’s the conclusion? Actually, don’t tell me until I’ve sat down.” He nips into the sitting room to flop on the sofa. I stand over him with an expression. “Ooo does it hurt that bad?” He sits back upright again to hide his head in his hands, “o.k. I’m ready.”
“Well the oral surgeon was cock a hoop.”
“Oh?”
“Implants are a super success, nothing to worry about there.”
“Great! So what’s up really?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to go back to the dentist. He had all kinds of theories but I can only remember the most interesting one.”
“Which was?”
“Something about nerves and spasms and splints. I wasn’t really listening.”
“Must have been a bit of a shock?”
“Yes. So although it’s ongoing agony, it’s also short term easily fixed agony.”
“Well that’s good to know.”
“So are they going to put a splint on your teeth?”
“Er…..I’m not sure. He thought I might have had a muscle spasm during surgery, so my bite’s off. Something to do with pre-programming the muscles……maybe it was re-programming the muscles? I didn’t know that you could teach muscles to do anything anyway.”
“Re-programming………”
“Yes……odd isn’t it………”
“You’re going to be re-programmed……..........…do you think they take requests?”
“!”

The invisible hook

2008-11-18T07:27:00.000-08:00

Of course my first mistake is to pick up the receiver. My second mistake is to speak to the caller. My third mistake is not to replace the receiver after I have spoken:- “thank you so much but I do not wish to receive a daily newspaper.”
“But you need to be informed.”
“I am as informed as is currently possible.”
“Where do you get your news from?”
“The radio.”
“The newspaper is far more comprehensive.”
“Nothing is more comprehensive than the BBC World Service.”
“But print is so much better.”
“I find it too local and parochial. Anyway, I need my news to be mobile.”
“Mobile?”
“I can’t sit around reading a newspaper I need to be able to hear the news as I bimble around, aural.”
“Oral?”
“If you like. Besides I don’t wish to contribute to tree carnage.”
“All our newspapers are printed on recycled paper with biodegradable ink.”
“That’s highly commendable but I still do not want a newspaper thank you.”
“What about all the coupons? There’s over 300 local coupons that we can make available to you.”
“I am already swamped in coupons from all the unstoppable junk mail thank you so much.”
“O.k. so give me your name?”
“Well I would suggest that if you don’t already know my name it may be that you are considerably harming your chances of a successful sale. In any case, all I can say is that you have a much greater chance of a sale with someone else, as I really do not want to buy a newspaper.”
“But it’s a free trial.”
“There is no such thing as a free lunch or a free newspaper, I always end up paying in the end one way or another.”
“You have nothing to lose.”
“How many different ways can I say ‘no’ that might help you understand?”
“It’s o.k. you can just keep talkin to me.”
“Er……I beg your pardon?”
“Geez I love your accent.”
“Ah!...... I see!.......... Just to let you know that I shall be hanging up the receiver now. Do have a jolly nice day.”

Anger management

2008-11-14T17:08:00.000-08:00

I scoot out with our prescriptions, my youngest son and his doughnut, bribery for good behaviour. I walk briskly and he skips alongside as we continue our negotiations, 'when we are home,' is our compromise. The light is fading so I turn on the headlights and gingerly reverse out of my parking spot, the height of commuting time when everyone is in a hurry. We bimble gently along, following the arrows with care in the car park as the rules appear to be of great importance to the majority of drivers and I am apt to be sloppy. A car without lights screeches through the diagonal layout to brake abruptly, mere inches from the passenger door. I pause, breathe, examine the occupants before pulling forward another two yards to the stop point marked out on the blacktop. As I wait for a break in the traffic I hear a door slam and a face appear at the window. It is a very angry face with a fist in front of it, a shaking fist. Narrowed eyes, furrowed brows and bared teeth. Yes I can recognize aggression when I see it. I pull up my unnecessary sun glasses and smile the sweetest smile I can muster, one that travels to my eyes, the genuine kind, soft face, guileless, trouble free. He drops his bicep and lopes off.

What is it about car parks?

What is it about me?

Industrial espionage

2008-11-12T08:12:00.000-08:00

“I think it’s knackered. It lacks suction.”
“Maybe you should clean it out?”
“I did that yesterday. I’m sick of this thing. It’s completely useless.” I rip the dust buster apart and tip the contents into the bin amid clouds of white dust.
“Blimey!” he sputters in-between coughs, “what is that stuff? Asbestos?”
“A combination. Why don’t they make these things more robust? They’re so wimpy. Domestic appliance indeed. Someone’s domesticity must be very tame.”
“Combination of what?”
“Talculm powder from this morning, moulding sand from lunch time, styrofoam this afternoon, and icing sugar this evening.”
“Geez you could market that.”
“As what exactly? I’ve got a it in mind to write to Mr.Buster and tell him exactly what I think of his feeble little appliance.”
“!”
“?”
“Well…..don’t slip a sample in the envelope or we could be in big trouble.”

Dry Stone Walling

2008-11-09T12:33:00.001-08:00

Many people, especially women are doubtful of their own survival skills.

Whenever the next disaster or world catastrophe should strike, many of us will shudder at our ability to conquer.

I would suggest that we reflect upon the many skills that we have already mastered, such as laundry. It may well be that other people also suffer a spate of thievery, whereby all six laundry hampers are purloined for other nefarious purposes. The laundry maid falls back upon the talents of yesteryear, such that clean clothes are stacked together into an impenetrable block for easy transportation upstairs. The careful manipulation of the pieces means that they fit together like a jig saw puzzle to thwart all the deamons that would do your family harm.

Omar can put a sock in it

2008-10-29T16:07:00.000-07:00

“Ah domestic bliss. What’s for supper then?”
“I’m not quite sure.”
“Hmm?”
“The oven won’t heat up properly.”
“Nuke something in the microwave then.”
“Something exploded in the microwave and I haven’t had time to clean up the mess…..oh….and the freezer has frozen shut.”
“Beans on toast! Let’s open a tin!”
“I can’t find the can opener and anyway it doesn’t work and the toaster fused this morning.”
“Toaster oven.”
“I forgot to bring it in from the garden at the end of the summer. Something’s chewed through the cord.”
“Hmm what other options do we have then?”
“I made some bread. Bread and cheese?”
“And wine and thou……”
“Not a popular choice with the children I suspect.”
“Still….at least that’s solved the Christmas present dilemma?”
“It does? How so?”
“Which new domestic appliance would you like?”
“Let’s put it this way………if it has a plug I don’t want it, o.k.?
“Batteries?”

Dischord and harmony – the good son

2008-10-29T09:30:00.000-07:00

[Before Nonna came to stay, lived in England without an answering machine]

I stumble down the stairs in a morning fug with fog outside too. I am immediately assaulted by a smell, a smell of stale. I poke my head into the utility room. Typical! Just typical. The only domestic duty he has, and of course he hasn’t done it.

I stomp around gathering recycling and trash to haul it out to the bins wearing my dressing gown. At least my modesty is screened by the half light. I particularly hate going outside in the front garden semi-clad as it only adds grist to the mill in the neighbourhoood. It’s supportive evidence that we are really a clan of nudists rather than a family with tactile defensive issues. I yank the waist knot tighter so that I can leap on the 78 gallon garden waste bin in the hope that my full body weight can persuade it to pivot into a pushing position. After several attempts, flailing legs and a lot of heave hoing, it finally rewards me with a cup full of cold condensation and movement.

I rush back inside to replace the bin liners with the accompaniment of lots of banging and crashing, my kind of silent passive aggressive protest. As I scrub my finger nails he appears, disheveled and unshaven. I ensure that my face registers full pout, just so that there can be no mis-understandings.
He begins to empty the dish washer ineffectually and inefficiently.
“I’m amazed you got all the laundry put away,” he remarks cheerfully. Damn his eyes, how dare he be unexpectedly observant about domestic issues!
“Hmmm……took a long time.”
“It was great to come home and not trip over a dozen hampers outside the bedroom.” His fingers pluck the tines of a shiny clean fork.
“What time was that then?”
“Time?” He dings the fork on the counter, rhythmical.
“That you got home last night from work?”
“Oh only just after midnight……maybe one. You were asleep.” He moves the fork back and forth, one hand to the other.
“Vicodin.”
“Ah.” The fork tines ping, musical.
“Did you sleep well,” I ask with thinly disguised venom, eying the single, finger- printed fork.
“No so much so. I woke at about three and couldn’t get back to sleep.” I do not probe, as it’s too early in the morning to discuss medical insurance, debt and finances. I am sorely tempted to snatch the fork and impale him in the forehead.
“So after an hour I gave up. I just had to know that she was o.k. so I got up and phoned home.”
“Oh. Was everything o.k. with Nonna?”
“Yes.”
“What a relief, you must have been so worried.”
He beams quietly as he drops the fork in the drawer.

Fashion Fiend - always try it on first

2008-10-14T11:47:00.000-07:00

I am in Target with all the other cool people to buy a few Halloween necessities when my eye spots a new version of my old black trousers. I check the size and the price and then toss them into the trolly to replace the ones with the ripped knee. It’s a pre-emptive strike on the next laundry crisis. I grab a new pair of white fluff muffs that already look dirty, by design rather than real life.

The following morning I am busy making pancakes for the masses. Everyone is in a state of semi undress when I realize that a visitor will be with us in ten minutes. I grab the bag from the counter and rip off the labels, pull them on and flip a pancake to the accompaniment of Elvis, ‘A hard headed woman,’ in the family room together with a combined confusing mantra of “Mar co, Po Lo, feel the power of cat, Garfield you are a natural.”

Their father is a picture of misery, fighting for sofa space to nurse his stress headache. I tune into the radio to catch the weather report as the Wii music competes for my attention.

I trip around the kitchen assembling syrup and cutlery, hampered by several yards of surplus fabric.

My daughter argues on the phone. An international call to her Grandmother, my mother, to debate who hits Daylight Savings first. Strangely it appears to be an exact replica of the discussion I had with each of them, on two separate occasions. I check my legs. They appear to be six inches shorter than they were a few minutes ago. The fluff muffs are muffled by material. I am not tall, but neither am I short. I have no idea what purpose the split serves other than to split nerves, but I’ve always been a bit short in the fashion department.

Silk purses and sows ears

2008-10-12T17:19:00.000-07:00

I see "THE" perfect bag/purse to fit my current life style, although they probably had to slaughter the odd herd of cows for their hides. I convince myself that this is merely a bi-product of the meat eating masses, which would otherwise go to waste. I ignore consumption of Hawaiian Pork, with or without Pineapple, especially since pigs are renowned for their superior intelligence.

Describing it as an accessory seems a mistake to me. It makes it sound superfluous, whereas in reality it could be a sanity protector, like a little safety sack for those of us warding of senility with a limp stick of celery.

The idea of a garment to hold the door key, credit card and driver's license permanently about my person seems so much more attractive than duct taping them to my bare skin and probably less embarrassing should I ever be called upon to 'prove my identity' to the authorities.

Then I notice the price.

$150 bucks for that teeny tiny little thing. There again, the Holidays are just a hop, skip and a jump around the corner. The postage probably wouldn't be very much for such a teeny tiny thing.

Rats to that!

I'll knit one myself, out of string if needs be.

Maybe mohair would be better next to the skin? I bet "Anne" knows the cost of "Mo's?"

Excuse me whilst I go an research the current cost of Mo's?

Hope I don't have to eat it first before I skin it?

GMT

2008-10-07T08:38:00.000-07:00

“What on earth are you doing?”
“Nothing……I mean I’ll work it out myself thanks dear.”
“I hate it when I see you scribbling away. Why don’t you use a calculator?”
“Hmm because I need to increase my brain function by doing little sums. Don’t hover, you’re putting me off.”
“O.k. tell me what you’re doing and I’ll leave you in peace.”
“I’m trying to work what Greenwich Mean Time is here?”
“What do you mean, ‘here’?”
“In San Jose. What is GMT here?”
“It’s the same here as it everywhere else, that’s why it’s called Greenwich Mean Time.”
“I know that, but I need to work out what time "A Book At Bedtime" in broadcast on the BBC.”
“They give the broadcast times in GMT?”
“Yes.”
“Well all you have to do is make allowance for Daylight Savings and….”
“Oh do buzz off and leave me alone.”
“It’s quite simple….”
“I know! I know! There is something else that you can help me with……of a technical nature.”
“Ah!”
“I need to work out how to turn up the volume on the lap top so that I can hear it.”
“Why don’t you just download the podcast?”
“Because of some nonsense about copyright.”
“So much for free speech!”
“Certainly not free, old stick in the muds.”
“Probably get it from the library.”
“I want to be more current and with it and up to date. So I need to listen to A Book at Bedtime when I’m upstairs and the computer is downstairs.”
“But you won’t be in bed when you listen to A Book At Bedtime because it will be some other time…….not likely to be bed time.”
“I know but I can’t stand next to the computer and listen to something for 15 minutes. I need something gargantuan in the volume department that will broadcast all over the house.”
“Actually…...”
“I need it to be much louder, like a megaphone.”
“Well……..”
“With a little knob or a twister so that I can go about my business, or a very long piece of string…..er…….cable or what not.”
“You just need a couple of speakers.”
“Really? Is that all?”
“Simple! So much easier than a Gargantuan Megaphone Twister.”

Ruby Tuesday and Cats on Tuesday

2008-10-06T23:36:00.000-07:00

The tiniest tomato in the world!

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Occasionally I am honoured with pure, direct and unprompted eye contact!

Cheers dears

An English Woman’s kitchen is her castlette

2008-10-05T15:37:00.000-07:00

I look around my galley kitchen. I experience a serious pout. A determine that no-one really understands what constitutes a kitchen and that we must adopt a new campaign forthwith. Everyone else has "a room of their own," a "bolt hole" or an office. I on the other hand, have to share my only working space with six other people. This kind of discrimination shall cease forthwith. The new campaign shall be to remove anything that does not fall within the category of ‘kitchen necessities.’

I pick up the tray of glued and drying Pokemon as well as a slew of screwdrivers, as posidrive always gets on my pip. I gather other people’s abandoned sheets of paper, receipts and post it notes. I collect a multifarious collection of widgets, wires and plugs.

When they all tumble home with their dad in tow, I am ready for them.

My youngest son is first. He stops dead in his tracks, the epitome of frozen cartoon caricature, “alert! Alert! Spillage in aisle four!” The others crash into his statuesque form from the rear. I look above the heap of children to their dad, “so……..what’s going on?” he enquires foolishly.
“I’m putting you all on formal notice. From now on, only kitchen things will be allowed houseroom in the kitchen. I shall confiscate any deviations!”
“Intruder alert! Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”
“What’s up with him by the way?”
“Just the usual.” He skates past us grabbing his fluffy Garfield toy and disappears.
“Whataya talking about Mom,” she asks with an air of scoff.
“I’m saying that all this rubbish skulling around my kitchen has to go.”
“What…….rubbish?”
“Toys, tools, homework,…….I could go on and on and on.”
“You are!”
“Homework…………is… er…….rubbish?”
“No of course not. Homework isn’t rubbish it just shouldn’t be in the kitchen where it can get lost or wet or…..” I fizzle out as usual as I notice a conspiratorial glance between them, accompanied by cheesy grins and Groucho Marx eyebrows. “O.k. Mom. From now on we’ll keep our rubbish outayur personal space, won’t we!” she beams with a collaborative arm around his shoulders. She propels him from the room with stifled giggles.
“Hmm……..that went well,” he adds unnecessarily. “So that’s what you’ve been up to whilst we were out?”
“Yes. Can’t you see? The kitchen is immaculate!” He glances around, airily and opens a cupboard. “So…….since when did cameras consititute kitchen necessities?”
“Well I need to have a camera close at hand,…….just in case…….they move so quickly…..I can’t dash away to get a camera from some obscure location every time……or I’d miss getting the evidence on celluloid.”
“Digital.”
“Pardon?”
“And what about all these plant cuttings………very unhygienic having soil around the kitchen.”
“Well……I have to keep an eye on them……so that they don’t die…….whilst I’m not paying attention…..”
“You could also keep an eye on them outside, in the garden.”
“I’m short sighted. I’d need a telescope!”
“Talking of telescopes, why are there so many magnifying glasses around the computer? Come to think of it, why is the computer in the kitchen at all? Do you know that the average keyboard harbours more germs that the average toilet?”

Oh we are so very average.

If anyone needs to brush up on their "feminist principles," you may wish to nip along to listen to this very interesting and highly entertaining "debate." It's slow to start but worth the wait. I had to pause it a zillion times as I am unable to remain static for 40 minutes near my computer, despite evidence to the contrary.

Ruby Tuesday and Cats on Tuesday

2008-09-29T23:30:00.000-07:00

To quote from "Mary the Teach":-

"Hi, everyone, today we're going to try to post Just A LITTLE RED in our Ruby Tuesday post. Of course you don't have to post just a little red you can post the red you have or all the RED you want!"

Some finishing touches to the "decor!" They're just little votive holders and a plastic mint box from Lucky's, but she's quite delighted.

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That wasn't our only 'spring clean' task. He's been on the list for a while now after that tussle with a bag of flour. Fortunately I had a change of heart. In between whiles I altered the sprinkler timer so that I could garden more effectively, but I didn't mention it to anyone.

Next time I think he'd appreciate a warning, preferably in advance!

Cheers dears

Run that by me again

2008-09-28T15:36:00.000-07:00

“What is all that beeping?”
“It’s the timer dear,” I add unnecessarily with only the tiniest hint of sarcasm.
“I know that. I mean which one is it?”
“You can’t turn them off! I need them all or supper will be a disaster.”
“Actually I think I mean……… where is it?”
“I can’t tell you that either as I know you’ll turn it off.”
“This is ridiculous. How many timers do you need?”
“One for 30 minutes electronics time.”
“Fair do’s.”
“One for the quiche in the oven, one for ‘minutes left for cycling,”
“Who is cycling?”
“Look out the window!”
“Ooo that’s new. How long has he been doing that?”
“All afternoon.”
“Why do you want to stop him……er……restrict him?”
“I don’t.”
“?”
“He asked me to time him. He needs to cycle for three minutes to exercise his body and he needs to come in again to recover, so he tells me. Then he does it again.”
“Blimey.”
“He’ll be worn out soon…….I hope.”
“How long as he been doing it for?”
“All afternoon.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I kid you not.”
“What are the other ones for?”
“They were doing ‘world records’ at school today, so she’s timing how long she can hang upside down on the monkey bars?”
“Typical. She looks like a beetroot.”
“And he’s timing how high a score he can reach within the 30 minutes electronics time.”
“You mean level.”
“Do I?”
“But that’s not the beeping one. Where is it?”
“On the microwave.”
“What are you timing?”
“The oven. The quiche.”
“Why don’t you use the timer on the oven?”
“I am.”
“No……the oven timer.”
“It doesn’t have one or I would.”
“Look! You’ve stuck a timer on the microwave oven but the microwave oven has a timer.”
“I know! But I’m not using the microwave oven!”
“I know! But you’re using yet another timer when you could simply use the one on the………….Look here. The microwave oven has an independent timer feature.”
“Does it? Really?”
“Really.”
“I wonder why I never noticed that before? How long have we lived here?”
“13 years. Anyway it’s beeping so it must be ready so you can turn it off.”
“True, but don’t touch it.”
“Why not?”
“Because the quiche isn’t quite done yet.”
“Reset the timer then!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know how much longer it’s going to take to set, er.....I mean....be done.”
“You can still turn it off and just peek at it every now and then.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because without the beeping I’ll forget to peek. It's like a cattle prod to the mind.”
"Surely you'll smell it if it burns."
"That will be too late!"
"That constant beeping would fuse anyone's brain. How can you remember anything or even think?"
"I don't need to think, that's why I have the reminder. I wish it had a little viewing window, that would make life so much easier."
"Forget easier, quieter would be enough for me. More of a sledgehammer than a prod!"
"Can't you just tune it out for a bit? It shouldn't be very long. I know! You can borrow his "ear muffs!"
"!"

Faith

2008-09-26T23:59:00.000-07:00

My pal over at "Inherwritemind1" let me know about this quizz. It would appear that I am not a lapses Roman Catholic, but rather a Neo Pagan, whatever that creature might be?

My Results:

The top score on the list below represents the faith that Belief-O-Matic, in its less than infinite wisdom, thinks most closely matches your beliefs. However, even a score of 100% does not mean that your views are all shared by this faith, or vice versa.

Belief-O-Matic then lists another 26 faiths in order of how much they have in common with your professed beliefs. The higher a faith appears on this list, the more closely it aligns with your thinking.

How did the Belief-O-Matic do? Discuss your results on our message boards.

1. Neo-Pagan (100%)
2. Unitarian Universalism (99%)
3. Liberal Quakers (98%)
4. Mahayana Buddhism (92%)
5. Theravada Buddhism (91%)
6. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (85%)
7. New Age (85%)
8. Reform Judaism (79%)
9. Secular Humanism (74%)
10. Orthodox Quaker (74%)
11. Jainism (73%)
12. Taoism (69%)
13. Bahá'í Faith (62%)
14. New Thought (58%)
15. Hinduism (53%)
16. Scientology (50%)
17. Orthodox Judaism (47%)
18. Sikhism (46%)
19. Nontheist (45%)
20. Seventh Day Adventist (39%)
21. Islam (38%)
22. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (37%)
23. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (35%)
24. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (34%)
25. Eastern Orthodox (25%)
26. Roman Catholic (25%)
27. Jehovah's Witness (21%)

You can check out what you might be over "here" at "Beliefnet"

Warning!

Although all the advertisements in-between are very tiresome.

Sky Watch Friday

2008-09-25T22:51:00.000-07:00

Please scroll down for our usual programme and The Thematic Carnival

JUST OUT THE BACK GARDEN

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Photo Friday - extraordinary [GMF]

2008-09-25T11:05:00.000-07:00

Their Widget

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Thematic Photo Carnival - Angles

2008-09-25T10:35:00.001-07:00

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A Glut of Starving Brains

2008-09-23T23:46:00.000-07:00

“Hello there! Mmm something smells good. My you have been busy!”
“Oh hello dear! I wasn’t expecting you home for dinn…….well home really.”
“Let me give you a hand with the washing up.”
“Hmmm.”
“You look……flustered?”
“Er….. I am a bit. I’ve been cooking…..”
“I can see!”
“But now I have to work out a menu for the week. I really should have done that first.”
“No matter, there’s enough here to feed plague victims for a month.”
“Plague? Um …..…..but none of it goes together.”
“How come?”
“Well we had a tonne of tomatoes, pounds of cheese, onions by the sackload and a bushel of Basil.”
“Mmm my favourite.”
“Indeed, but I sort of put them all together in different combinations.”
“So?”
“Cheese and onion pasties, chicken, cheese, onion and basil roulade, cheese, tomato and onion salad, chicken, Basil and tomato pie, cheese, onion and tomato quiche……”
“O.k. I get the picture. It all sounds yummy.”
“Hmmm…..but we’ll effectively be eating the same thing over and over again. We need more variety and balance.”
“This from the woman who goes to a restaurant, orders bouillabaisse to start, kippers for a main course and fish cakes to follow.”
“!”

Cats of Tuesday

2008-09-23T06:10:00.001-07:00

A public service announcement!

This is the photo I have pinned at eye sight level for all users for a very long time.
N.B Laminate to extend working life.

You may wish to copy and past the code from the box below

No rules, but be a good sharer!

Cheers dears

Ruby Tuesday

2008-09-22T23:47:00.000-07:00

Ever had a day like this?
I can think of better methods of protection though!

His helper is trying to pull it off not ram it on!
[just in case you were wondering]

To join in you can just click on the picture and it will whizz you right there!

You may wish to copy the code in the little box to post along with your own contribution on your own site.

Get the code:-
Cut and paste
from this little
box below

Cheers dears

All Frightfully Chummy

2008-09-21T23:24:00.000-07:00

Whilst everyone in the world believes they have the right to criticize America, I personally feel that I have a superior right.

One area that is often neglected, is the subject of horticulture. This would be my primary area of complaint. Now I’d admit that I come from a country renowned for it’s gardening enthusiasts but really, what can I say?

Well, I’d start by saying that I had no idea that America was the primary home of Bonsai! Their proliferation is quite staggering. All those finely manicured front gardens bedecked with strangulated treelets, in such profusion. Whilst I’m not a gambling type myself, I would lay odds that there are more Bonsai in San Jose than in the entire Japanese nation.

What I wouldn’t say to those Americans, if I weren’t so polite!

Thus I anticipate the arrival of our English chums with glee. No need for translations! A day in the garden and a barbeque to boot. No mention of ‘yard’ because we are all metric. Bliss.

*****
“Ooo Maddy the garden looks lovely.”
“The joy of sprinklers! Yours must be a picture back home at this time of year too.”
“Oh no. We don’t have any flowers.”
“No flowers?”
“Well…….not really……”
“?”
“This is like a huge field full of flowers. You have so many……..flowers. Acres of blooms.”
“About 30 square feet.”
“I can smell something……..burning.”
“Oh good. Lunch is ready.”
“?”

MENTAL HOSPITAL PHONE MENU

2008-09-19T13:34:00.000-07:00

Shameless stolen from my jolly good pal Geetha. Thanks for the e-mail.

Listen carefully

Hello and thank you for calling The State Mental Hospital.

Please select from the following options menu:

If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.

If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.

If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5 and 6.

If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want,

stay on the line so we can trace your call.

If you are delusional, press 7 and

your call will be forwarded to the Mother Ship.

If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully

and a little voice will tell You which number to press.

If you are manic-depressive, hang up.

It doesn't matter which number you press,

nothing will make you happy anyway.

If you are dyslexic, press 9-6-9-6.

If you are bipolar, please leave a message after the beep

or before the beep or after the beep.

But Please wait for the beep.

If you have short-term memory loss , press 9.

If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

If you have low self-esteem, please hang up.

Our operators are too busy to talk with you.

If you are menopausal, put the gun down,

hang up, turn on the fan, lie down and cry.

You won't be crazy forever.

If you are blonde, don't press any buttons.

You'll just mess it up.

This coming week is

National Mental Health Care week.

You can do your part by remembering

to contact at least

one unstable person to show you care.

(Well, my job is done. Your turn. )

Knots, kinks and other Tangles

2008-09-18T23:55:00.000-07:00

After more than an hour of fiddling, I am finally ready to test my engineering skills.

I was of course delighted when his initial installation was installed, but progress subsequently stalled due to unforeseen complications.

But I am a ‘can do’ kind of a woman. Who needs a man when you have a pair of scissors and several yards of quarter inch piping to play with? I shall complete the project myself. My adaptation of the drip system for my tired out old pots is a masterpiece. I am the ninth wonder of the world and no mistake! Maybe this should be my next career choice, in a while, when small people are no longer in need of my ministrations?

I stand gingerly by the standpipe to observe the first few drips as I turn on the tap. I’m promptly squirted with 17 jets of water from multifarious directions.

Dang! How to regain world domination, or perhaps just drip irrigation, not to say irritation? I skulk back indoors uncertain whether to cover the scene of crime or own up when he comes home from work? I have many hours to ponder this conundrum.

Several days later, at the weekend, he comes flying down the stairs from his office waving the bill. My cue to lie.
“Ah……I wanted to talk to you about that actually.” A pre-emptive strike always works well.
“Really?”
“Yes, one of the heads came of the main sprinkler system in the back garden. Sorry I forgot to mention it earlier. I did mean to turn it off but I couldn’t work out which one was the rogue, so it’s probably pouring out many millions of gallons of water all over the patio.”
“Head? Really?”
“Yes and of course you know that the ‘save water’ campaign has otherwise been a tremendous success.”
“It has?”
“Yes, every bowl of washing up water is dutifully sieved and then hurled over the potted plants.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, and of course you already know that I’ve completely abandoned the ‘flush the toilet after usage’ campaign unless it’s strictly necessary.”
“Strictly necessary?”
“You know….for more ……or rather……serious deposits.”
“Oh…..but…….”
“Anyway, to sum up, I’m very confident that before too long we shall reap the benefit of any number of savings with all this……water……saving……..campaign……” I peter out as his facial expression is unfathomable, very dark, with murky waters.
“Hmmm….well that’s all very interesting I’m sure. However, you’re wrong.”
“Wrong? Me? Why?”
“This isn’t the water bill. You jumped to soon.”
“Oh…..what is it then?”
“Guess?”
“Guess? I don’t have time to play games, I have important things to do!”
“Guess?”
“Give me a hint then?”
“Credit me with some intelligence!”
“Ah……… I’m happy to discuss the credit card situation with you but first of all I have to go and……”
“It’s o.k. there’s nothing to worry about. Everything you "bought" has been "credited" back to our account.”
“It has?”
“Yes. I just wanted to assure you that as usual you are completely correct.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You should never go shopping again as you’re no good at it.”
“?”
“Tell you what, you nip up and file this away for me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Fix the "second wonder" of the world.”
“Second?”
“The "Hanging Gardens of Babylon.”
“!”

Leaking Batteries

2008-09-17T05:25:00.000-07:00

I just tried out one of "Lime's" brilliant widgets. She has several "others" to choose from. For some reason or other that I am unable to fathom, my fist attempt was an abysmal failure, I am but a damp squib!

Your Body is Producing 187 Watts!
This is 100% LESS wattage than the average person

* You could light up 0 light bulb
* You could power 0 iPod
* It would take 0 of you to power an Xbox 360
* 0 of you would be needed to keep a refrigerator running

***

How can anyone be 100% less than average? Where is all my energy going to may I ask? Just as well that all my appliances have an alternative source of energy!

187 WATTS

Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

Methinks it lies!

How much does it cost to change a light bulb?

2008-09-15T12:34:00.001-07:00

I decide to use my time and temper wisely, to say nothing of saving pennies and petrol. First I shall visit Wolf Camera for the repair, then I shall go to Home Depot to exchange the light bulb for the correct wattage, then I shall collect the organic vegetable box. Should be done in under an hour, well in time to collect the children from school.

I head off to the repair shop.

Inside I find four women chatting. They greet me in unison, so I know that they are all employees. They recognize my air of expectancy.

“How can I help?” offers an amiable face.
“I should like to have this camera repaired please?”
“That one?”
“Er….yes.”
“Cheaper to buy a new one.”
“I knew you would say that but I have come mentally prepared for a repair not a purchase.”
She grins and leans across the counter to grab a huge file, “a new one would be so much better than that old thing.”
“Old! It’s not old. It’s my new camera in fact.”
“Hey it must be what three or four years old?”
“4 years young actually. Nothing is old unless it has reached it’s 25th anniversary.”
“Antique! Well it’s gonna cost an initial $148 to fix.”
“Initial? How about final?”
“Ah you never know until you start. Like I say, you can buy a new one for that. A better one than that big clunky old thing.”
“It’s not big and it’s not clunky and most importantly of all, I know how this big, clunky old thing works.”
“Ah but when you first bought it you didn’t know how it worked did ya. But you learned. You’ll learn how to use this new one too.” She waggles a green camera in front of my nose, the size of……something very small.
“It’s green!”
“Yeah, they do em in all colours now.”
“Fluorescent would be handy as then I’d be able to find it in my hand bag more easily.”
“Cute bag.”
“TJ Max.”
“Really? It looks designer.”
“It looks knock off.”
“O.k. so how doyalike this one.”
“I don’t know. Does it do very teeny tiny close ups because that’s what I need.”
“Lets see. How about that?”
“Blurry.”
“Dya wanna clean your glasses?”
“Oh dear. Yes. Just a tick. Ah! That’s much better.”
“If you buy this camera you get a HP photo scanner, fax, copier, printer for free.”
“Free?”
“Free after mail in rebate.”
“So not really free then?”
“Cost ya about $10 tops.”
“Tops?”
“Sure thing.” She pats the huge box. I look at my wrist watch. I remember that he’s been researching these machines for weeks as the fax has fused, the printer has packed up and the scanner is totally scatty. An ‘all in one’ would be just the ticket, a lovely surprise, one less thing on his ‘to do’ list. I remember that there were two very important things related to this research and purchase. “Can I bring it back if it doesn’t fit in the cupboard?”
“Cupboard?”
“Closet? Er …….I mean……..can I bring it back for any reason?”
“Sure. You getta free book with it too.”
“Free book? How I love the word free.”
“Free if you have 12 pages, five bucks if you have 20 pages.”
“Er……there must be some logic in there somewhere.”
“You want the 20 pages?”
“No the twelve please. Are you sure it’s free?”
“Sure.”
“You wanna sign up for classes?”
“No time for classes, I like to fly blind.” I check my wrist watch. This is taking longer than I thought.
“You want insurance?”
“How much does it cost?”
“$48 for a year.”
“No thanks then. Do you have any chips?”
“Chips?”
“Things that hold the pictures.”
“Memory cards?”
“That’s the one.”
“What size to you want?”
“What sizes are there?”
“2MB, 4 MB and 8 MB.”
“I’ll have the biggest. Two please.”
“That’ll be $140.”
“You’re joking?”
“Special offer.”
“What about this Lithium battery. How much does that cost please?”
“Er…..$12.99 but they’re on back order.”
“Does it come with a re-charger?”
“Sure.”
“Right.”
“I’ll go get you the camera from the back.” I stand in a daze at the counter watching the seconds tick by and turn into minutes. I read the repair manual whilst I wait. $45 for a repair………I wonder if I’m looking at the right page? She reappears, “sorry we’re out of stock, I’ll order you one.”
“I’ll take that one.”
“Which one?”
“The one you showed me.”
“But that’s just for display.”
“No problem. I’ll take it anyway as long as you can find the manual.”
“Dya want insurance in that case?”
“Nope, no thank you.”

I stagger out of the shop bogged down in boxed purchases. He’s going to be so pleased!

I dash to Home Depot for the replacement bulb as the countdown continues. Why does everything take so long? An alarm explodes in my head as I return to the car and race to the school.

Much, much later, my husband returns from work. The children are in bed, asleep for many hours. He finds me hanging from the door frame by my fingertips to feel the satisfying xylophone clicks of my spine. My kind of yoga. I beam at him, step across the kitchen and drape myself on the huge box, the surprise.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s the thingy you wanted to replace all the other thingies that have broken. Surprise!”
“But that’s not the one we wanted.”
“I’ve checked. The whole thing, including the box, fits in the cupboard.”
“Typical.”
“Typical?”
“Of all the things you could remember, that’s the little niblet that you remember.”
“What was the rest that I was supposed to remember?”
“Ink jet cartridge refill cost comparison, to name but one.”
“Oh. So you don’t like it then?”
“It’s not a question of liking it.”
“It’s free!”
“Free?” I explain in exact detail.

He sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair.
“Right so these memory cards are the wrong kind.”
“You wanted littler ones?”
“They’re not compatible.”
“Ah.”
“And this cable, we already have one.”
“Ah. But otherwise it’s o.k.?”
“So you didn’t notice then?”
“Notice what?”
“Photos.”
“Photos?”
“It doesn’t print photographs.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. You really shouldn’t be let loose in a shop alone. It’s just not safe.”
“Ah. So not so much of a bargain afterall. I’ll take them all back tomorrow.”
“How much was the camera?” he asks, examining the receipt for the light bulb from Home Depot.
“Er…….just a sec I’ll nip off and see if I can find it……..upstairs…...” As I reach the top of the stairs with no intention of looking for something that isn’t there, I realize that I have forgotten the organic vegetable box, which will now have reached a stage of putrefaction sitting abandoned on a Californian, red hot spot, all ready for collection.

Comment of the week Award

2008-09-12T23:45:00.000-07:00

A blogless, but otherwise highly intelligent person, emailed me this week to point out that not only was I muddling one week with another, but additionally, I was muddling one blog with several others. I plead guilty on both counts. However, it did prompt another stunningly brilliant idea! Why not give the award on each blog? Far less confusing, well for me at least.

Hence this post is repeated on "Whitterer" and "Sandwich" but with different awardees.

{Don't want you to have to wade through this more than once, just skip to the end.}

Another brilliant person "mit blog" castigated me [in the nicest possible way!] for my neglect of the "Hub," which once again I need to ‘fes up to,’ as we Americans are wont to say. I’m lucky if I mange to read through the first two or three postings in the list and since my intelligence quotient is at an all time low, I rarely comment either. Ooo the irony.

Since I am now on a confessional streak, I would also admit that I have spent time on the "photo blogs" for several reasons. Firstly I like "piccies." I am a very visual person.

Secondly, it is far easier to choose a "picture" and post it, than it is to write intelligently. Whilst I continue to take daily notes on our doings, it is hard work to channel that material into something worth reading. There again, if your enjoy reading schedules and lists who am I to criticize. Just think of it as my attempt at quality control.

The photo blogs also have the advantage of a thoroughly international flavour. This means that I can convince myself that instead of embalming my brain, I am really learning to be a linguist. This is sure to come in handy in the future when I travel round the world. I shall be able to say ‘post comment, email, URL, spam filter, preview and post,’ in every language in the world.

In my defense, all I can say is that I promise to try to do better soonishly.

I still struggle to juggle!

Sad to say that Ricky has had to go as he was crashing everyone's computer. [some kind of bug] Hence this rather dull replacement. I shall try and spend some time removing Ricky's bugs from all my sites. Humble Apologies

[Inspired by "Scribbit."]

This week's award goes jointly to "White Noise and Random Thoughts" for his comment on the post below, "My Lord and Some Masterly," where he comments as follows:-

'As the usual target of similar female directives, I enjoyed this turn-about immensely...'

and to "Hammer" for his comment:-

'Well you sure told him! ;D'

.....seeing as how they are the only two chaps that commented, it only seemed fair.

Cheers dears

My Lord and some Masterly

2008-09-09T23:00:00.000-07:00

I decide to nip it in the bud, first thing in the morning at the weekend.

Whilst, I certainly wouldn’t wish to disparage the entire male population, sometimes it pays to be forthright.

I plan my attack, or rather, my approach in the early morning as I field copious children and miscellaneous adults. After two sittings of breakfast and subsequent clear up, I hear his footfalls from on high.

He appears in the kitchen, shortly thereafter with a 2:47 shadow and a dazed expression. We greet as is customary between partners. After the mushy stuff I let rip.
“See this?”
He blinks to focus.
“Excedrin Migraine. ………. Are you ill?”
“No. Are you? Do you have a headache? Are you about to get a headache? Your usual weekend headache, that never surfaces during the working week?”
“Um…….”
“Is there any possibility that you are about to claim incompetence due to an imminent headache?”
“Er…..”
“Coz I can tell you right now that you might as well take a couple straight away as I’m not having another weekend ruined by you dripping about like the walking wounded.”
“Why are you………talking so fast?”
“Because I have already been awake for three and a half hours.”
“Ah…..I see the coffee………is empty.”
“Broken. Never mind about that now. So. Where was I? Ah yes. What’s on your agenda for the weekend?”
“Um…….”
“Shall I tell you what’s not on your agenda for the weekend?”
“If……… you must……..”
“You are not going to play in the garage with your widgets for three hours solid.”
“They’re…….not actually……widgets……they’re…..”
“Nor are you going to fllutter leaves in the garden for an additional five hours.”
“I don’t actually flutter……..”
“Nor are you going to fiddle about in the attic until hell freezes over.”
“I don’t actually fiddle…….you see I…….”
“And if you so much as touch a computer key I swear I’ll impale your finger tips with a knitting needle.”
“Well…….”
“Do we understand each other?”
“I……”
“Everybody on the planet is enjoying exclusive family time at the weekends except us.”
“Well I think…..”
“It’s just not good enough. We need to do better.”
“Right………so you don’t want me to take the coffee maker into the garage and fix it and I’ll leave the washing machine for another day shall I?”
“Ah…….well I suppose it would be o.k. to fix those two, but only those two.”
“Right. So as it’s over 100 degree today I assume you won’t be wanting to use the pool at all?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well unless I clear all the leaves off and unclog the haulage mechanism you won’t be able to open it.”
“Ah……well I can see why that might be a priority……another priority.”
“So I can leave all the summer luggage and baggage for another day?”
“Er……..?”
“All the suitcases in the hall that you wanted me to put up in the attic, left over from our trip to England……..because I can’t put them away until I’ve cleared some space up there.”
“Hmmm……maybe……perhaps?”
“I’ll start in the garage……….after I’ve had a shower……if that suits you madam? I’ll take the Excedrin with me.”
!

Short of a bob or two

2008-09-06T13:46:00.000-07:00

“What on earth is that noise! Don’t say that’s something else we have to replace?”
“Oh no. It’s fine. The clunking is probably just some "loose change" or something.”
“That noise is going to drive me nuts. Lets see if I can fish some of it out.”
“Don’t bother it’ll be fine.”
"Oh “heck!" All my trousers are in here.”
“I know. I couldn’t tell which ones were dirty and which ones were clean from that heap, so I just chucked them all in together to be on the safe side.”
“Didn’t you check the pockets first?”
“Um…..no. I don’t do that any more.”
“How come?”
“Too much busyness I suppose. My laundry skills are slipping due to increased production. Quality control is out the window I'm afraid.”
“But there could be receipts and……business cards…..and…..all sorts of important stuff in there.”
“Quite possibly.”
“Don’t you care?”
“I do….....…but it’s too late now.”
“You know…....…..most wives check their husband’s pockets.”
“Do they? Most? Why?”
“Well……I suppose …….just to check.”
“Check what?”
“Their…..husband’s…….....doings.”
“What doings?”
“Um……whether their husbands are maybe……up to no good.”
“Are you up to no good?”
“Of course not!”
“When would we have the time!”
“……..well……maybe.......”
“Maybe what?”
“I’d just like to keep my options open.”

Wouldn’t we all.

Sky Watch Friday

2008-09-05T20:20:00.001-07:00

How could I resist?

This comes to you from the gorgeous "Mary the Teach" at "Work of the Poet."

Please note it is not [I hope] necessary to show a blue sky!

If there are additional links I should have added, just let me know!

Cheers

Deadlines

2008-09-05T08:13:00.000-07:00

I rush around in the usual manner working backwards so that I shall be ready.

As soon as they have gone to school I have a punishing schedule of catch up, to commence with the slug campaign which has reached a stage of urgency. Unless I can begin to eradicate the infestation immediately, I shall be left with a sprinkler system and bare flower beds. The voracious little pests are doomed. I have already considered the green option, beer traps. A recycling choice for the truly keen. One of the main advantages of beer traps is that they function like a pre-marinade. All you need is a little parsley, pepper and garlic butter.

However, in the early morning the Mosquitoes are out in force. Several gallons of abhorrent insect repellant is an essential pre-requisite, unless I wish to become someone else’s breakfast. Once I am completed, slicked, I dive into the 40 minute morning routine with the children, a marathon in preparation for readiness for school.

As we finish off the final touches to hair and shoe laces, we reach the finale of good byes. I am touched by a rare opportunity of a kiss. When his lips meet my Deet, he is promptly "done for."

Mental crumbs

2008-09-02T09:10:00.000-07:00

I attempt calculations with a pencil and paper. Although I did put the grocery receipts to one side for later, now that it is later, they are no longer there. I jot down prices from Safeway on-line instead, traitor that I am. I hunt for conversion tables, cups to ounces, teaspoons to ounces, solids not liquids. I decide not to factor in exchange rates, current or otherwise. I have put off this particular exercise for quite a while, terrified that my home made loaves of bread will in fact be dear, too dear, more costly than a golden sheaf. Fear coupled with aversion to reality, and far too much busyness during the holidays has dulled my sensibilities.

Now I must know the truth.

He passes by me carrying a lap top into the garden, but pauses as I peer at tiny labels through mucky bifocals. “What are you doing?” he asks suspiciously, enough to make me stab my ear with the pencil. “Oh nothing really.”
“Can I help?” he offers, a clear indication that he is aware of subterfuge. I parry, “only if you happen to know how much an ounce of flour costs,” I beam with superiority.
“No problem, pass me the calculator.”
“Calculator! You can’t use a calculator.”
“Why not?” Because this is basic arithmetic from people required to know both their 12 and 14 times tables by the age of eleven, or earlier. Failure to perform guaranteed that you’d be shipped off to the colonies for treason. Although I seem to recall being absent that day, due to a possibly herniated wart, a fact I gleaned from irrelevant leavings from my Human Biology class.

“It’s cheating.”
“No, it ensures accuracy and eliminates unnecessary errors.” He picks up my tatty scrap of paper scribbles with disdain. He stabs buttons on the calculator. So that’s $2.16 per loaf, plus tax, plus electricity.”
“Oh I don’t think we should count electricity.”
“Why not?”
“Because we have that natty new machine so I don’t have to turn the oven on.”
“Still uses power.”
“Not much.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t it on for about 4 hours?”
“Only 3 hours and 50 minutes actually, it’s a very efficient model. I’m sure it doesn’t use anything more than the radio surely?”
“What!” He looks at me as if I have the brain the size of a peanut. “Of course it uses more than a radio, it uses heat!”
“Heat, power, electricity, it’s all much the same surely?”
“Er…..no. Actually they’re all completely different….”
“Isn’t it just the same as using the pilot light?”
“The pilot light?”
“Yes you know, like when you make yoghourt overnight on the pilot light for free.”
“Firstly it isn’t free, secondly you don’t make yoghourt any more and thirdly and most importantly in my opinion, we don’t have a pilot light!”
“Oh I know that, I just meant it’s the same principal.”
“What……which principle?”
“The saving money principal.”
“Well lets just say……it looks as if it’s all much of a muchness.”
“But we’re bound to save money by not driving to the shops to buy bread every couple of days!”
“Probably offset by driving to the shops to buy flour and yeast every couple of days don’t you think?” he adds adjusting his waistband.
“Hmm we do seem to eat far more bread now that it’s so irresistibly fresh.”
“By the way……..I kept meaning to ask you, but somehow I never quite get around to it?”
“Ask me what?”
“How much did that very efficient model cost?”
“Ah…….just give me a minute, I’ll nip upstairs and find the receipt for you, I know I’ve put it somewhere terribly safe,” I leg it, in Billy the Whizz mode, but I can still hear him, “it’s o.k. you can just tell me………”

Meanwhile, life "continues" with a "vengance."

Twenty questions

2008-08-22T18:18:00.000-07:00

My days are peppered with a list of inevitable questions. I have learned to cut to the chase and provide a well established, standard answer. I am working on my tone, to keep it fresh. As my anticipation improves, so does my patience.

“You don’t ave many butterflies do you?”
“They’re mainly in the front garden. Do you remember the Monarch Butterfly that we saw?”

“Are you going to pick some tomatoes today?”
“Yes, in a bit.”

“Do you make bread every day?”
“Yes.”
“Who eats it all?”
“All of us.”

“Where are all the children?”
“In the family room.”
“Where?”
“Just there.”

“May I just have a little coffee / snack / drink / glass of water please?”
“Sure, just a sec, just let me dry my hands.”

“Do dey have therapy today?”
“Yes.”
“Again?”
“Yes.”
“When will all this therapy end then?”
“I’m sure I have no idea.”

“You have an awful lot of huge black bumblebees don’t you?”
“I know!”

“My blood sugar is high again. I don’t know why?”
“But your blood pressure is good again today.”

“Did you know that there are four gallons of milk in the fridge?”
“Yes.”
“Who drinks it all?”
“All of us.”

“Ave you seen my glasses / pills / hanky / sunglasses / bag / cardi?”
“Just a sec I’ll go and look to see if it’s in your room if that’s o.k.?”
“It’s not in there, I’ve already looked.”
“I’ll double check for you.”

“I haven’t seen Gene for ages. Doesn’t he come over any more?”
“He’s here every day.”

“I do miss fruit. Why does nobody eat fruit?”
“It’s over here, in the fridge, here, left had side, marked ‘fruit,’ with a picture of a banana.”

“Why do you think it is?”
“Genetics.”
“They are such lovely children. What a pity.”
“They’ll be just fine, don’t worry.”

“Where did all those tomatoes come from?”
“They grow on the side yard.”

“Where is Unis? I’ve not seen him for days.”
“He hunts all night and sleeps all day.”
“Where?”
“All over.”

“Where is the BBC?”
“Take a seat, I’ll turn it on, cuppa in a min.”

“Isn’t he home for supper tonight?”
“He tries to get home when you’re here, but he’s rarely home much before 10.”

“What is it?”
“?”

No, I still can’t answer that one, no matter which generation asks.

I honestly thought that I would not be able to do this, but I can, it’s easy once you get the hang of it, just like everything else.

There could be many motivations to write this. Those who "know me," also know that there have been many repetitions in my life over the last decade. I do not mock, merely tease, gently I hope, as I learn and share. Whilst I’d like to lay claim to saintliness, it is always my nature to be annoyed. Little things will always be an irritation, but I need to remember their littleness.

My own short term memory is also weak, vaguely suspect. Now I find I have a whole new way to tell the time without a watch. I expect than in future years I will have my own list of questions. I do so that hope there will be someone around for me to annoy.

An unarmed slightly yellow elephant

2008-08-21T16:55:00.001-07:00

I snap on the outside light and step into the garden to check progress. A snail shell falls from a great height and bounces on the patio cement. I peer in the gloom and listen to shooshing noises.

I return to my domestic duties inside as the washing machine is on screech cycle. I give the floor a final clean and refill the coffee maker ready for the morning. I yawn and shuffle towards the hills of Bedfordshire. My husband stomps into the house clothed in an all covering waterproof suit, complete with hood and elasticated cuffs. He puts the thing that looks like a fire extinguisher on the floor and the torch on the counter. As he removes his outer wear, the debris of three wasps nests flutter in all directions. He heads to the bathroom to wash his hands. I follow in a flap uncertain whether to clean again or give up.

He scrubs scum as the budgerigar swings gently behind him.
“So…….remind me again……exactly what is it for?”
“Well it’s to encourage them to sit on the toilet seat.”
“And how does it do that, pray tell?”
“Well the movement of the bouncing budgie will attract the eye and the best position for the perfect view of the bouncing budgie, is if you are sitting centrally and purposefully on the toilet seat.
“Regardless of height differentials in the children?”
“Well…..er……..I’ve not exactly checked that ……variable.”
“You’re a lousy liar.”
“I’m not lying……exactly.”
“Stretching the truth? Making excuses?”
“Hmm well it was a bit of an accident.”
“How do you buy something accidentally?”
“Er well I was in this shop…..”
“What were you doing in a shop!”
“A very good question!”
“Well?”
“I was trying to buy a thank you present to bring back to the States.”
“And you had all three of them with you?”
“Yes, in a gift shop full of nicky nacky noos.”
“Three heifers and steers in a china shop. So?”
“Well they had a whole line of these little birds on bungee cords. They were irresistible. I liked the red and black one best.”
“How many did they break?”
“Just this one. I didn’t realize they were made of china.”
“An up market nicky nacky noo shop.”
“It was very expensive.”
“You paid for it!”
“We broke it.”
“So why is it here then?”
“Well I wasn’t going to leave it after we paid for it. They’d only have thrown it away anyway.”
“So you brought a broken bird home by international carrier. Not exactly pigeon post.”
“I glued it back together and hung it up.”
“Why didn’t you give it to your friend?”
“Well I can’t give her a broken glued back together budgie on a bungee can I?”
“I do not understand your friendships.”
“I just thought English Bone China would be appropriate for an American, a token gesture.”
“Token? How much was it?”
“Er…..I’m not sure I can remember the exchange rate at that precise minute. I’m sure it was a bargain.”
“So how many further mishaps has the bird experienced?”
“I glued his tail back on three times and the branch that he’s gripping with his little claws where his bottom fell out.”
“What little claws?”
“The little claws were too little to find when they broke off. They probably ended up in the toilet anyway.”
“Flushed away?”
“I was too squeamish.”
“Humour me?”
“Yes?”
“Who is this erstwhile friend that you were planning to honour in this manner?”
“I’d rather not say…….it would spoil the surprise.”

I think my marbles have rolled under the psychiatrist's couch to join the "dust bunnies."

Cut backs

2008-08-18T17:07:00.000-07:00

Stolen from my very good pal, Nancy. [ A blogless person!}

EFFECTIVE AUGUST 1, 2008

NEW OFFICE POLICY

Dress Code:
1) You are advised to come to work dressed according to
your salary.

2) If we see you wearing Prada shoes and carrying a
Gucci bag, we will assume you are doing well financially
and therefore do not need a raise.

3) If you dress poorly, you need to learn to manage your
money better, so that you may buy nicer clothes, and
therefore you do not need a raise.

4) If you dress just right, you are right where you need
to be and therefore you do not need a raise.

Sick Days:
We will no longer accept a doctor's statement as proof
of sickness. If you are able to go to the doctor, you are able to come to work.

Personal Days:
Each employee will receive 104 personal days a year.
They are called Saturdays & Sundays.

Bereavement Leave:
This is no excuse for missing work. There is nothing you can do for dead friends,
relatives or co-workers. Every effort should be made to have non-employees attend
the funeral arrangements in your place. In rare cases where employee involvement is
necessary, the funeral should be scheduled in the late afternoon. We will be glad to
allow you to work through your lunch hour and subsequently leave one hour early.

Bathroom Breaks:
Entirely too much time is being spent in the toilet.
There is now a strict three-minute time limit in the
stalls. At the end of three minutes, an alarm will
sound, the toilet paper roll will retract, the stall
door will open, and a picture will be taken. After your
second offense, your picture will be posted on the
company bulletin board under the 'Chronic Offenders'
category. Anyone caught smiling in the picture will be
sectioned under the company's mental health policy.

Lunch Break:

* Skinny people get 30 minutes for lunch, as they need
to eat more, so that they can look healthy.

* Normal size people get 15 minutes for lunch to get a
balanced meal to maintain their average figure.

* Chubby people get 5 minutes for lunch, because that's
all the time needed to drink a Slim-Fast.

Thank you for your loyalty to our company. We are here
to provide a positive employment experience. Therefore,
all questions, comments, concerns, complaints,
frustrations, irritations, aggravations, insinuations,
allegations, accusations, contemplations, consternation
and input should be directed elsewhere.

The Management
Pass this on to all who are employed!

The why's?

2008-08-17T06:57:00.000-07:00

Shamelessly pinched from my pal - Thanks dearie.

Can you cry under water?

How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?

Why do you have to 'put your two cents in'... but it's only a 'penny for your thoughts'? Where's that extra penny going to?

Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes you were buried in for eternity?

Why does a round pizza come in a square box?

What disease did cured ham actually have?

How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?

Why is it that people say they 'slept like a baby' when babies wake up like every two hours?

Why are you IN a movie, but you're ON TV?

Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money in binoculars to look at things on the ground?

Why do doctors leave the room while you change? They're going to see you naked anyway.

Why is 'bra' singular and 'panties' plural?

Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat?

If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a stupid song about him?

Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours? They're both dogs!

If palm oil is made from palm nuts, corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, what is baby oil made from?

Do the Alphabet song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?

Why did you just try singing the two songs above?

Why do they call it an asteroid when it's outside the hemispheres of earth, but call it a haemorrhoid when it's in your ass?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him for a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?

Why do we press harder on a remote control when we know the batteries are getting dead?

Why do banks charge a fee on 'insufficient funds' when they know there is not enough money?

Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest, but ducks when you throw a revolver at him?

Whose idea was it to put an 'S' in the word 'lisp'?

If people evolved from apes,
why are there still apes?

Why is it that no matter what colour bubble bath you use the bubbles are always white?

Is there ever a day that sofas are not on sale?

Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator with hopes that something new to eat will have materialized?

Why do people keep running over a string a dozen times with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it up, examine it, then put it down to give the vacuum one more chance?

Why is it that no plastic bag will open from the end on your first try?

How do those dead bugs get into those enclosed light fixtures?

When we are in the supermarket and someone rams our ankle with a shopping cart then apologizes for doing so, why do we say, 'It's all right?' Well, it isn't all right, so why don't we say, 'That really hurt, why don't you watch where you're going?'

Why is it that whenever you attempt to catch something that's falling off the table you always manage to knock something else over?

In winter why do we try to keep the house as warm as it was in summer when we complained about the heat?

How come you never hear father-in-law jokes?

The statistics on sanity is that one out of every four persons are suffering from some sort of mental illness. Think of your three best friends -- if they're okay, then it's you.

Dynamic Shift and auto pilot

2008-08-12T17:16:00.001-07:00

My husband walks in bleary eyed and yawns hugely.
“Didn’t you sleep well?”
“Too bloody hot. Do you know it was nearly 78 last night?”
“Hmm, it’s much hotter during the day.”
“Anyway, I’m off now. See you tonight.”
“Hey! Say good bye to your mother!”
“Oh right.”

A few minutes later, he leaves for his minimum 14 hour shift in his air conditioned office.

When she walks into the kitchen I have a foot in each sink. One hand holds a spray glass cleaner and the other a chamoise. My mug of tepid tea, calls to me from the opposite counter. “Ere I brought dis in for you.” I glance down at Nonna’s hand as she reaches up to pass me a lime. “Oh thank you,” I say with full hands, that I wave a bit, so that she can see that they’re already full. “Oh….what I do with it den?”
“Just leave it there, on the counter, I’ll deal with it later.”
“Later?”
“Yes I’ll put it back with the others.”
“What others? There was only one.”
“No, there’s a dozen on the table, ripening in the garden.”
“No…..only one.” She disappears and I renew scrubbing as I must finish in the next minute and a half.
“Why you are do that now?”
She’s back.
“Because when it gets really dirty it cuts down the light.” I try and remember when I cleaned it last? Six months? A year? I have now working memory available.
“Is it dirty den?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m cleaning it.”
“Looks clean to me.” I refuse to be distracted by discourse. I continue to scrub.
“Ah dat reminds me, ave you seen my glasses?”
“Which ones?”
“Reading.”
“I put them back in your room, on the dressing table.”
Good enough. I jump down and wash hands. I nip outside to the garden to pick up a dozen dried towels, fold and stack them in the sun, ready for the next swimming session.
“Maddy?” I nip back to Nonna who waves the remote control at me. She pats the step by step instructions written in extra large print with icons, “it’s……no good……you know?”
I turn on the telly as the rule about ‘no electronics until 5:30,’ has had to be amended. It only applies to junior members of the household.

I dash back to the kitchen.

I commence lunch preparations.

The joy of happy healthy children, is that they have appetites to match. The joy of a healthy appetite is the opportunity to force feed a healthy diet.

“Maddy?”
“Yes?”
“Can you do dis?” I nip back to the family room and a blue screen. I snap it off and dash back to the kitchen. I stand in the kitchen trying to remember what I was doing. I dash off to make the bed that I keep forgetting to make.

“Maddy?” I skidaddle back to the family room.
“Yes?”
“When we are have lunch then?”
“Oh….any minute now, nearly ready.”
“I’ll just ave dis den, whilst I am waiting.” She departs to the garden, with one of the dinner rolls, for dinner, tonight.

“Maddy?”
“Yes?”
“Can you do dis?”

She flaps the end of the hose. I nip outside and twist the tight tap until the water flows. I zip back inside.

“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“When can we have another swim?”
“A little while later, after lunch.”

Nonna leans on the counter as I create, or attempt to create. I make the burritos with great care, individualized to particular needs and preferences, each with a slight variation on a theme;

“So…..why?”
“Why what?
-more guacamole,”
“Why you don’t swim den?”
“I do, just not two or three times a day.”
-less tomatoes,
“Why not?”
“Er…..well…..I suppose it takes too much time.”
-less sour cream,
“Time? But you’re out there with them anyway.”
“Um……probably because if I’m wet too it makes it a lot more difficult to get everyone else dry and dressed again.”
-more grated cheese,
“I don’t see dat…….why don’t you swim?”
“Er……do you know………I think………maybe I’m just too tried.”
-less herb infused shredded chicken,
“You go to bed too late you do.”
“Do I?”
- a dash of freshly ground black pepper,
“Yes, far too late.”
“Hmm.”
a forestful of finely chopped Parsley
“Why do you go to bed so late?”
“Because……I don’t know.”
and Basil.

Perfect!

I move away to lay the table, fetch water, napkins and cutlery, where my son is camped out underneath, together with every Pokemon we have currently adopted.

I glance out the window where Nonna fights with a recalcitrant hosepipe. It must have been on all the time I’ve been making lunch. The water bill! He’ll kill me! I leg it outside to turn it off, as the ‘off’ and ‘on’ direction are not clear. “Oh tank you, I don’t know wot appened?”
“Right for off, left for on.” I skip back but notice the sodden, tower of towels. I shake them all out and drape them back on the chairs again. I dash back inside to put the right plate in front of the right empty place before I call them.

Children munch perched on nearby chairs.
“Maddy?”
“Yes?”
“Ave I taken my pills……or not?”
“Sorry, I forgot to remind you. I’ll just dash and get them.” I return with pills and a glass of water. Nonna carefully unwraps her wrap and picks daintily at the contents. The children look and open their mouths to protest, “not a word. Nonna can do as she likes, she’s a grown up.” I suspect I speak with forked tongue. A glass of water tips and floods the second tablecloth of the day, but their clothes remain dry. They are all wearing at least one garment. Rather than move everyone, I put a bath towel on the table, a sponge. “Now finish up and I’ll get the million dollar shortbread out for pudding.” They munch with renewed gusto. I smell a burst of citrus as I remove the foil from the baking tray in the kitchen. “What I do with this then?” asks Nonna, pointing to the remains of her lunch in the dining room. “I’ll be there in a mo, don’t worry.”
“I hate doz things, they are disgusting, they taste raw.”
“Actually, they’re not corn tortillas they’re whole wheat, very good…..relatively speaking ……for diabetics because of their lower GI.”
“Whole wheat,! Only fit for farm animals.” The children giggle in agreement. I bring the tray to the table with clean plates. “Ooo that looks nice” beams Nonna expectantly.
“Oh I thought…..”
“Oh, you don’t have enough plates, I go get another one for you,” she offers moving at the speed of light. The towel appears to have large quantities of smooshed avocado and orange slime on it. Nonna returns with her plate as I dish out inch sized cubes to the children. “It’s o.k.” she beams, “I serve myself thank you.” I watch. The children watch. My daughter opens her mouth in protest, but I give her ‘the look.” She gives me her best ‘it’s not fair pout.’

At current rates of food consumption I shall either have to double production or call in professional caterers.

Shortly thereafter I clear the table to the kitchen. By the time my back is no longer turned, I find the table stripped of towel and tablecloth. I pause. Nonna steps back in from the garden, I ask. “Oh, I put dem out to dry for you, as dey are wet.”
“Thanks.” I wait a moment until she is out of sight and then retrieve both filthy sodden items and charge to the utility room and the Shout.
“Maddy?”
“Yes?”
“Ave you seen my bag?”
“Which one.”
“The new black one.”
“I put it in your room on the dressing table.”
“Oh good, because I need to take my pills.”
“You’ve already taken your pills.”
“Ave I?”
“Yes.”

I dash.

The chocolate stains are an added bonus, already baked on hard after 2 minutes in the 87 degree mid-day Californian sun.

“Mom?”
“Yes dear?’
“What are the chances that we’re movin?”
“About 50 50 at the moment?”
“Are you sure we’re gonna live in England?”
“Well like I said there’ a 50% chance we will and a 50% chance we won’t.”
“I don’t want to move to Georgia.”
“Georgia? Who said anything about Georgia?”
“It was on the BBC news. I don’t wanna live somewhere that’s at war. I didn’t like the pictures of….” She begins to blub, as well she might. I hug my daughter and lead her away for a chat about the meaning of life and death and war and greed.

I whip back to the utility room to put on the next load of interminable laundry.

“Maddy?”
I run to her room. “Can you elp me please?” she asks as she flaps the corner of her sheet.
“You’d like me to make the bed? I’ve already made it, just now.”
“No I want to change the sheets please.” I pull out clean bed linen from the cupboard, strip the bed and make it in record time. I dash back to the utility room doing a head count on route.

Back in the kitchen, Nonna calls for me. I go to her and the table, which is surrounded by expectant children who enjoy a serious dose of joint attention. “So……..Maddy……can you peel me an orange please?” I look at my husband’s mother and her face of defiance, her arms braced on the table, my children’s faces, effervescent with suppressed something or other. “Um…….o.k…….sure…….I’ll just get a…”
“I’ve already got you a plate and a knife……just to help…….you know.” I reach for the single orange in the bowl, which collapses under my grasp. Four people roar with laughter. I must have a touch of sour grapes coz life is just too peachy.

“Can we swim now mom?”
“Yes sure. Let me just make another pot of tea…..” No-one hears as they squeal out into the garden. I follow, over taking Nonna to intercept clothing removal. As the children splash, I plop down on the edge and suppress a yawn. The lazy, hazy days of summer. Nonna looks across at me, “why don’t you go in? I can watch dem for you?” I hesitate. My expression of doubt causes consternation. “Wot? You think I can’t do it?”
“No….I just…..”
“Go on with you. Go and clean something.” I know it’s a tease. I step slowly back to the house. I really shouldn’t. I race around the house picking up soggy swimsuits and towels from every room in the house because somehow or other I have failed to instigate any kind of co-ordinated campaign. I limit my occupation to mopping up the gallons of water in the bathroom from the earlier morning swim, to prevent further falls and slips. A two minute job. I hear pool guy’s super dooper truck pull-up and make my way to the garden. “Hi Maddy,” he calls breezily.
“Time to get out everyone!” I call as they all scamper away to escape the chemicals, otherwise known locally as ‘tentacles.’

Despite all the shouting and commotion, nothing disturbs Nonna’s slumbers, in the shade, in the lounger.

How do people do this?

All suggestions gratefully received.

Just think of it as a contribution to the Maddy charitable sanity foundation. I'm sure it'll be tax deductible?

Completely off her trolly

2008-08-08T12:29:00.000-07:00

I nip out of Lucky’s and pack the boot to busting, zip over to park my trolly in the designated duty area and whiz back to the car. As I open to door to fling in my handbag, I hear mutterings and look around for spare people. A spare person is staring at me with a set, not to say displeased expression, “hello?” I offer tentatively.
“Would it kill yah?”
“Um…….I beg your pardon?”
“I’m jus saying, would it kill yah?”
“Um….I’m not quite sure…..er…..”
“The cart!” she snaps.
“The cart?”
“Yeah, right there, next to yah!”
“This one?”
“Yeah.”
“Actually this one isn’t mine, I’ve already…….”
She looks at me with a withering glare as she sees into my blackened soul. “Right, I’ll just take this one back too shall I?” I don’t wait for an answer and leg it as there’s road rage and catastrophic carts these days. Very UNlucky for some.

I may have to go over to the dark side, Safeway.

Can anyone vouch for the personages who patronize their parking places?

The cost of moving?

2008-08-06T14:27:00.000-07:00

I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I do the washing up by hand. Every day he receives an automatically generated message of the latest available houses in the UK. Which house and where, it’s our new perseveration? Clearly my eye contact bores into his brain as he turns to face me, “did you see the water bill this month?”
“No. Why?”
“It’s prohibitive!”
“Well that’s presumably the price we have to pay for a green lawn in the desert!” I snap. He opens his mouth and then closes it again to turn back to the screen.

Whilst he examines property details I nip around the house to flush and scrub the toilets in an effort to remove 24 hours worth of waste from far too many individuals with very individual needs. I wonder if they have all adopted a campaign to save water and redeem my tarnished reputation with Mother Earth? I zip downstairs again as fast as possible as property details can be a distraction from the main event.

I take the room temperature milk from the counter and place it in the fridge. I take the sugar pot out of the fridge and put it on the counter. I collect discs of dried up salami scattered in abundance, a Hansel and Gretel trail through the kitchen.

I used to be like the kitchen design. Nonna struggles with unco-operative cereal packets on a too high shelf, so I step up and step over to help.

The main event are still happily playing with Pokemon with the volume on full and flying plush animal antics. He comes up behind me to watch too. Nonna appears with a mug and a meniscus. I could do with some caffeine myself. He slips his arms around my waist, “you know, we wouldn’t have to worry about the water bill if we were in England again.”

I watch the coffee slosh onto the floor.

Which life "where?"

Tuning in

2008-08-06T09:33:00.000-07:00

It sounds like criticism:-

1. Have you not made the bread yet?
2. When are you going to the shops?
3. Can you choose a book for me to read please?
4. Where are all their clothes?
5. That tastes a bit burnt. Did you burnt it?
6. Can you turn on the BBC for me please.
7. When do you take them to therapy today?
8. Have you picked any tomatoes?
9. What are we doing today?
10. Which one has vision therapy?
11. Why isn’t the coffee machine working?
12. Do you think it’s doing any good, all this expensive therapy?
13. Why are you doing that?
14. What time is it now?
15. Can you find me a needle and thread then I’ll fix this for you?
16. Why don’t you iron?
17. Do you know where my glasses are?
18. When is he coming home?
19. Can I have something to eat please?
20. Have I seen him today? When did I last see him?

And then I remember and slip into the groove, the pattern, the interest and concern. Now all I have to do is to keep remembering because the relationships we have with our Mother's in Law, whilst not free of baggage, have all kinds of possibilities.

A whole new evolution

2008-08-05T20:07:00.000-07:00

Whilst the children play with Pokemon games for 30 minutes of electronics time, I busy myself with supper preparations. With their attention absorbed in this adventure they have no time for Nonna.

In turn, I find that my own attention havers. I discover that I am unable to provide a running commentary on my 'doings' at sufficient volume and achieve anything constructive at the same time. It is an entirely new course of mental torture, monitor the children for squabbles and cook and answer questions. Strangely I find I am completely incapable of all three simultaneously.

“When is he coming?”
“Who? Oh, not for a while yet I’m afraid.”
“He won’t be home for supper……again.”
“No…….I’m sorry.”

I try to explain the concept of a Start-up, the hours, the American work ethic. She is not impressed. It is the same discussion we have every year, impossible to translate, unrelated to senility and everything to do with insanity.

I have a brilliant idea, Suzanne's really, “I could do with some Basil from the garden if you’re not busy?” I yell. She blinks momentarily, “oh…….right…….I’ll go and get you some then.” She steps unsteadily towards the door and yanks on it’s unco-operative handle a few times. I step over to open it for her and hover, door ajar as she negotiates the step. Her hand reaches out to the pillar for support before gingerly taking the plunge. Why did I say that? What an idiot I am? I hear the rice boil over on the stove behind me and make a dash for it.

She returns a few minutes later, “ do you know?”
“Know?”
“It is quite chilly out there now.”
“Is it?”
“Yes……I came back in to for my cardi.”
“Right, good idea.” She walks around the kitchen patting surfaces.
“Do you know where it is?”
I put down the wooden spoon and cloth on the over spilled rice and head off to her bedroom. “There, that should sort you out.”
“Now…….what was I doing outside……oh Basil!” she strides forth, “no leave it really, I don’t need any, I’ll used the jarred stuff,” I yell in what I hope is an appealing tone. She looks at me as if I am half mad, “no, no, no, not the jar when we have fresh.” I hover behind her as we challenge the port cullis of a door. Behind me I detect the gentle waft of cinders.

I begin to seriously doubt my capabilities, the responsibilities. It seems only too recently that I was moaning about a lack of child and Respite care, now I have an odd sensation of whelming over.

I dump the burned rice in a bag at the sink. I glance up, out of the window to see my 84 year old Mother in Law teetering on the seat of the rocking chair, hanging onto the top of fence to peer over into the next garden. I drop my hands and leg it outside as fast as possible. I reach her in a state of gasp as I scream at her derriere, directly in my line of sight, “what on earth are you doing!” She glances back over her shoulder, “eh?”
“I said…….....can I help you down?”
“No I am just looking.” I take a few breaths and attempt composure.
“Do you know……?" she asks and pauses, "dey still haven’t started building yet?”
“Yes I know. Now howsabout I help you down from there?”

I attempt help but I’m sure it’s closer to manhandle.

A few moments later she is back with a few leaves of Basil in her hand. I look at the contents of her hand and smile, “thank you.”
“What can do now then?”
“Um……..I know…….perhaps you could peel the potatoes?”
“I thought we were having rice?”
“We were but now we’re having potatoes.”
“Pesto won’t go with potatoes!”
“Yes it will………it’s on old Ita……..er……..French recipe, delicious, I make it all the time.” She looks at me dimly, “it must be a very old recipe indeed cause I ave never eard of it.”
“Delicious, really.”
“Where it is then?”
“Where is…….?”
“The peeler?”
“In the knife drawer.”
“Oh right.”
I peer in the fridge hoping for inspiration.
“So…….where they are then?”
“Where are…..?”
“The potatoes.”
“Right there, next to the sink, in a bowl.”

I decide to chat, to dispel the tension, my own. I yell.
“Did you see that he wrote your name in the dust?”
“Eh?”
“He wrote ‘Nonna’ in the dust in the display cabinet.”
“Oh….” she giggles, “that wasn’t him…….that was me!”
I pout and pause, close to tears.

I really don’t think I can do this.

My numb is brain.

“You" are very naughty Nonna!”

I need all the help I can get

2008-08-05T16:57:00.000-07:00

I feel I have inadvertently implied that "Nonna" is bored. This would be very far from the truth. It is rare to come across such an enthusiastic and energetic octogenarian, enough to take my breath away.

Always good humoured, always occupied, never a dull
moment.

***

My neighbour drops by to give us some home grown peppers together with a warning:- ‘they’RE HOT!’ I resist the request to taste due to the earliness of the hour and the excuse of my retainer.

As I vacuum crumbs I notice Nonna flapping at me. I pause. “What are you going to do with dem den?” she asks.
“Not sure yet, the menu is already planned.”
“You are going to put sugar on dem?”
“Sugar?”
“Yes. Where is de sugar. I’ll do it for you.” I leave the dust buster and my children and skip into the kitchen after her with the sack of Goldfish Crackers held hostage, intrigued. She pats the lid of the plastic box exactly as a cat bats a toy, “look at dem!” she says with annoyance. I look. She bats the box again, struggling for the right English words, “dey are all………rotten.”
“I know. You didn’t get around to eat them in time.”
“Wot?”
“You wanted fruit. We bought fruit but they don’t keep very long in this climate,” I bellow.
“So wot we are do with dem then?”
“Compost bin.”
She gasps in horror, “ere give me a knife please.”
I open the knife drawer full of lethal weapons. She bats the knives and rattles the drawer, “but deez are no good! I use dis one.” She wields a serrated bread knife in my general direction and attacks the strawberries. “Where it is?”
“Um….what are you looking for?”
“The sugar.”
“Ah. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather use Stevia?” I ask the diabetic.
“Oh no orrible stuff.” I watch as she heaps granules onto soggy, mangled, berries. “Why don’t you make us some tea, I can do dis myself?”
“Er……right.”
“Where it is?” she asks as she riffles the fridge.
“Um……..what are you looking for?”
“An orange.”
“Ah, it’s over here in the fruit bowl because you don’t like them cold.”
“Right. Now where it is?”
“Um…….what do you need?” I watch as she pulls open every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen, the very narrow galley kitchen, just like a corridor.
“A lemon squeezer please.”
“Here it is.”
She pours the juice of half the orange on the soggy pile.
“There!” I help her open the heavy fridge door to place the bowl inside, perched. I pop the orange skin in the compost bin. When she turns her back I slip a plate over the top of the strawberries and tuck it further back, safer from small inquisitive people.
“Are dey ready yet?”
“Um…..the strawberries?”
“No…..the…….the tomatoes. Are they ripe yet?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are going to pick some more today?”
“Yes…..I’ll do that later.”
“When you are do it?”
“Er……soon…….do you want some for your lunch perhaps?”
“Yes please, that would be very nice, thank you.”
“I’ll leave a box on the counter to remind me.” I hear my absent husband’s voice swirl around my memory: ‘just try and be kind, she wants to help and be useful, you’re not going to change her now!’
“What about dis den?”
“Er…..?”
She flaps the left over half orange around in a waving motion dripping juice. “Er…..I’ll wrap it for later shall I?”
“Yes. Where it is?”
“Cling film?”
“Right.” I whip out the box, wrap and toss it into the fridge because I have about 20 zillion other things to do. “Oh no! Don’t do dat!” She removes the orange and places it’s leakiness in the fruit bowl for the vinegar flies to enjoy.
“Where it is?”
“Um….where is…..?”
“That spoon……the one I used for the strawberries.”
“Oh just there, I’ll pop it in the sink.”
“No, no, no. I will wash it for you.”
I wince as I watch her rinse the teaspoon under several gallons of boiling hot water, fight to turn off the extremely tricky tap, wipe the spoon on the hem of her nightgown to drop it in the knife drawer.
“Right. Now that’s done.” I stifle a sigh of relief. “So……where it is now?”
“Um…..where is…..?”
“The orange skin?”
“Oh…I put it in the compost bin.”
“Oh no! You shouldn’t do dat.” She stretches across to the bin which is strategically out of reach.
“Really? Why?”
“Here, give it me,” she flaps. I reluctantly oblige. She sorts through the contents and removes items as she sees fit to stuff them down the non functioning garbage disposal unit. “You see! They are no good in the compost.”
“Oh?”
“They are acidic. Dey kill the worms.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Here. I clear up for you.” She takes the bread board full of crumbs and squished strawberries, to walk out into the garden to brush them onto my newly planted herbaceous border, with added slug pellets as a safety measure. The treasures drop to the earth. They send shock waves through the soil to alert the snails that it’s snack time.

Inside again, she wipes the board with a clean hand towel and pops it back into the wrong drawer. “Is the coffee reader now?”
“Oh…..I thought you wanted tea?”
“No matter. There, now I am going to ave a rest as I can see I am keeping you from the children.”

An exchange of a mere few minutes.

I use my tremendously huge brain to calculate which task to tackle first, clean up stickies or return to my herd? Like all neglectful shepherdesses, I opt for the former.

Two moments later.

I trot back to the flock to see Nonna sitting on the sofa above the children, “look at that!” she cries with glee, “don’t dey look so lovely! Why don’t you bring that tea and we can watch dem together?” I greet my a litter of children transformed into kittens with several nests of litter, but that’s the true cost of my own meagre social skills.

Who needs Goldfish Crackers when you can play with cat suits and face paints?

Note to self:- cancel play therapy sessions.

If you can find someone else who truly enjoys your children consider yourself just as lucky as me.

Moving Target

2008-08-02T13:34:00.000-07:00

What do you do with someone who has six holes in their head?

Where all the really BEST people shop!
Thanks guys, love the bargain, love to jingle, love the surprise.

First Kiss

2008-07-30T20:27:00.000-07:00

“I remember like it was only yesterday……” isn’t that how it’s supposed to start?
Strangely, it doesn’t. It starts with deep thoughts, ‘why can’t I remember?’ This might be because I am an older person, but those memories are supposed to stick, right?

I do remember a first kiss, but it wasn’t mine.

At five I was small, round, freckled and ever so slightly dim. I knew I was dim because my girls only, white segregated Elementary school’s teacher, told me so. Since teachers are the font of all knowledge, I knew it must be true.

Fortunately I also knew that I had little pockets of knowledge hidden away, like how to make a Chameleons explode, where to find the fattest tadpoles and how to walk on the top of walls without falling off, often.

There were others things I knew too, like if you weren’t careful with the bread knife you could turn the loaf red, that it was easy to wriggle through a window if you were locked out, accidentally and that girl’s bodies were different from boy’s bodies. My parents were not nudists but neither were they prudes. I knew the difference, of both.

I knew when he approached the chicken wire fence at the back of the school. Play time for 25 unsupervised minutes in the scruffy yard. It was 1965 when children were occasionally seen, but very rarely heard. He didn’t have shifty eyes but he was definitely sheepish, cautious and soft spoken.

He waved to us, beckoned, the universal come hither and we flocked. The candy was a nice touch, a worldwide language of friendship without translation. His English was broken, but more than good enough. His sarong dropped to his ankles, a yellow and orange patterned cotton, slightly soiled on that very hot day in Cape Town, at the foot of Table Mountain, in South Africa.

His image is imprinted on the inside of my skull He pressed his body against the fence with his skinny chicken arms hanging over the top spikes and his equipment through one of the wire diamonds. I stopped watching him. I looked around at my friends. I looked at their faces. No-one was talking. Silent four and five year olds in rose coloured frocks with crispy white collars and buttons. By now I was bored. I wanted to go away and play, but no-one moved. “D’ya wanta com an stroker snake?” he cooed. Statues, every one. Silence and the smell of dried grass. A girl took a step forward, tentative, with an out stretched arm topped with tiny little finger nails, freshly scrubbed. I watched mesmerized.

Surely she wouldn’t?

Surely she couldn’t?

Didn’t she know?

“If yur his frien, ya can kiss im.”

I wanted to shout but what to shout? No-one else was shouting. As she bent down with a pout I shoved her over, sideways. She yelled, did she ever yell, was she ever loud.

When the teacher arrived we were a gaggle of incoherent girls covered in tears, a great deal of snot, a grazed knee and the man was gone. The teacher, never a very happy woman at the best of times, was even less happy than usual at our disgraceful but unspecified behaviour.

I thought about that man as I wrote my lines:-
‘I will not be unkind to other pupils,’ or something like that, as it’s such a long time ago.

As I wrote with a crampt, pudgy hand, I thought:- ‘adults are so deeply dim, indeed!’

Foreigners go home – ten a penny around here

2008-07-24T18:23:00.000-07:00

It is usually just after I have convinced myself that I really am an American that I have cause for doubt.

After yet another night where three people complain of leg cramps, I trot over to Target to buy some Potassium tablets. Whilst I’d prefer to buy a hand of bananas, sadly there would be no takers from these three particular individuals. Although I have sung the praises of bananas to the crampy people, and provided scientific evidence of their benefits, no-one will co-operate.

I dither over $3:89 plus tax. My ignorance over all things medical makes me pause. I check with the pharmacist on duty. “Is it true that Potassium helps leg cramps?”
“Yup!”
“Cheers!”
“Oh er..are you on any other medications?” He watches my mouth with intensity. I might as well walk around with a sign that says ‘Brit with bad teeth!’ Then I remember that they’re straight now. I worry that my lunch reveals itself on my retainer.
“No….um…..well they’re not for me actually, they’re for my Mother in Law.”
“She on any meds?” His eyes drop from my eyes to my mouth. I tighten my lips to mutter, “yes, lots.” I bet it’s spinach!
“Which ones?”
“Er ……well……” I need to think of an excuse, “she’s visiting from England so they have different names.” I find it hard to concentrate with someone staring so intently at my teeth. I always forget that every American knows everything there is to know about ailments and medications, walking, talking pharmacists.
“That’s o.k. I can cross check on our database if they’re not generic.” I smile weakly, glad that at least I know what ‘generic’ means.
“I’m not sure I can remember all of them,” I lie. It’s not a secret, it’s just something that we’ve never discussed. It’s not a privacy issue, it would be the same with my own mother. Not a clue.

“O.k. just tell me what conditions she has?”

I list them.

“Right well in that case this probably isn’t a good choice as there’s a one in 5 and a half zillion chances of heart arrhythmia.”

I try and avoid eye contact but every time my eyes flicker back to his face, his pupils are dilated upon my teeth. Perhaps it’s red peppers? Perhaps he thinks I’m bleeding? I fluster.
“Oh dear. Not good. Maybe we should go the food route as I originally planned.”
“Yeah, bananas are best.”
“Unfortunately that’s why I’m here in the first place, as none of them eat bananas.”
‘None? How many people.”
“Three, my husband, my son and my Mother in Law.”
“You’re all on holiday here? Give me a minute.”

He steps away to his colleague who hands him a print out of foodstuffs with the highest levels of Potassium. Now that’s what I call customer service! Talk about team work! We go through the list together. He is joined by both his colleagues. They all watch my mouth. They all ask me questions and offer helpful advice. Every time my lips part I have three people hanging on every breath. Perhaps I have Halitosis? I knew I should have cleaned my teeth before I left. Perhaps they’re plucking up the courage to tell me?

“So where are you from?”
“Um….England, ……..but we live here now, ……..my mother in law is just visiting,….. she’s on holiday…….with us.”

I have the distinct impression that I am speaking Swahili as I look into three pairs of hypnotized eye balls. There is a pause in our unusually lengthy conversation about nothing in particular.

“How long have you bin here?”
“Er….let me think…..1995 so that’s 13 years.”
“Wow that’s amazing.”
“Oh er…..thank you,” although I’m not quite sure what for?
“That’s way cool!”

Seconds of confusion tick by until he puts me out of my misery, “you really talk English with an accent.”

Thursday 13

2008-07-24T10:47:00.000-07:00

I’ve pinched this from "Mozi Esme" – thank you!

Here’s how it works – Google your name followed with a verb like “needs." Copy the first few results and add your own commentary.

So here are our Thursday Thirteen for me:

1. Maddy needs fill it out please?

I'll need some instructions first

2. Maddy needs some privacy pictures from friends and fun photos.

What is a privacy picture? Don't like the sound of that one little bit.

3. Maddy needs to come home.

England is evil!

4. Maddy, you need to learn how to use a cell phone.

How true how true.

5. Maddy needs Love.

Yeah, just like everybody else.

6. Maddy needs you.

Maybe, depends who you are?

7. It's not our optimism that Maddy needs now, but our ruthlessness.

A real life story of true misery.

8. Maddy catch that kid.

Why do you think I'm such a fast runner?

9. Although she has been away from home for fifteen years, Maddy needs work as an accountant.

Um......I think I'd rather crawl under a rock than have to count anything more than seven. How did they know I'd been away for 15 years?

10. Double happiness: visiting the doctor[s]

Interesting blog about adoption from China and all ends well.

11. Dear Maddy,. My wife and I are thinking about buying pre-need funerals and burial plots.

I am ill equipped to advise, but just for the record, put me in my compost heap.

12. Maddy needs alot of attention!!!!He is not for a family or a single person who is never around or who works an 8 hour day ...

Um.......I didn't know I had a boy's name!

13. i just glanced over and Maddy is stretched out on the floor in front of the air conditioning unit. it’s a little too tall for her to be directly in the path of it’s air flow, but she knows a cool spot when she finds one. her fur has been coming out in large matted tufts and she has a new microchip implanted near her left shoulder, but she’s the same dog i shipped to Saskatchewan six weeks ago.

Please send care package - woof!

So there you have it! That was fun! Now you try it!

Not so Mellow Mrs. Potato Head

2008-07-20T18:46:00.000-07:00

“Ooo dear, that was a mistake.”
“What?”
“Yellow crooked neck squash and Yellow Bell Peppers in one barbeque.”
“Really. Why? Too much veg?”
“Hardly, I’ve made potato salad and green salad too.”
“That’s way to much green stuff!”
“You need to eat more vegetables AND salad.”
“Hmm, maybe we could just skip a couple of the greeny ones? Just stick with the peppers and squash?”
“But they’re yellow!”
“You’ve got something against yellow?”
“No, it’s just that they’re BOTH yellow.”
“Two the same is wrong?”
“Yes, when it comes to food, the colours are supposed to complement one another.”
“First I’ve ever heard of it. What’s this over here?”
“Corn on the cob, soaking. Rats! They're yellow too.”
“The potato salad smells good. I love Yukon Gold.”
“Fiddlesticks!”
“What’s it going with?”
“Hawaiian pork.”
“Pineapple?”
“Darn it! Where is my brain today, absolute mush.”
“Mash?”
"Fiddle de dee!"
"Why don't you just swear, you'll feel so much better?"

Dietary and sanity concerns

2008-07-18T13:43:00.000-07:00

"Nonna," recently widowed, has come to stay a while. Like many elderly persons she enjoys robust health with any number of minor evils such as diabetes. This addition, challenges my already over-burdened cookery skills.

From first light I am consumed with thoughts of 'what shall I cook for dinner?' I have a mental image of the interior of the fridge, swollen to capacity, both fridge and brain. The box of "organic" vegetables must be consumed forthwith, a perishing nightmare.

Is it possible to make 6 ounces of left over chicken into a meal for six? I'll make some "bread," padding.

I remember to remind her to take a rattling variety of pills prior to meals, in between meals and after meals. I decide that I need even more "timers" to get through the average day.

If I could get eliminate the really big vegetables then I might be actually able to see what else is lurking in their. Two foot of Bok Choy, 18 inches of Kale and four heads of lettuce, is enough to turn me rabid if not rancid.

I also need to take account of those watching their weight, their blood pressure, their cholesterol. I cannot begin to accommodate the neophobic into this murky matrix. The bread maker churns.

I field demands from small people throughout the day, no time to think or create or devise menu plans. I wonder if summer holidays are longer than they used to be or shorter?

I deliver all the play date victims back to their respective homes at the end of the day. As I drive back to the house with my own children in tow, I settle on Stir Fried Bok Choy mixed with Chicken Teriyaki and sesame seeds.

The children bound into the house to enjoy thirty minutes of electronic time which leaves me free to cook. I check on Nonna, "everything o.k.?" I beam. She smiles and nods confirming that her hearing aid is adrift. I pick up her laundry and a few empty dishes and mugs. "Your bread turned out very nicely."
"Did it?"
"Yes it started beeping whilst you were out."
"Oh good."
"Yes I helped myself to some, like you said I should. I used that left over chicken. It made a lovely sandwich."

Which "life" am I living?

Black and white and red all over

2008-07-09T15:00:00.000-07:00

I skip through the supermarket in my thinnest cotton skirt with goosebumps on my arms. 101 outside, frosty inside. The joy of air conditioning. A few minutes of freedom to buy a few little essentials. So much easier on my own, it's like a day at the spa but much cheaper. I hurl in a sack of giant pull-ups but can't help perseverate over a few percolating phrases from Nonna:- "why are you always so cheerful?" Cheerful is not a description that I have ever considered applicable and doesn't jive well with my grumpy existence. I chuck in a bag of ice as the freezer is on the blink again. A checker says hi and "nice colour!" which strikes me as odd for a black skirt, but none the less welcome for that.

The Parmesan is expensive but will make the difference between 'good enough' and 'superb' when it comes to dinner time. It's so hard to think of things to eat that don't require cooking in the heat. Some day soon we shall learn the art of the 'barbeque' rather than the sacrificial cremation. Nonna's voice reverberates around my brain, "ooo you look like a gypsy in that!" Was it a compliment? I think it was a compliment. I think of the programme I watched on the telly which explained that people see patterns where there aren't any as the human brain shuns the notion of random. I lean over the freezer counter as I hear a male voice say "nice black man." I flip around as he disappears around the corner. I remember that I am in America where the terminology differs as does the emphasis and timing. I'm so glad I'm wearing a skirt otherwise I might have something else to worry about in my tiny mind.

I dither over ketchup as there is far too much choice. I'd choose to avoid it completely but if I want him to eat broad bean and salami salad, then at least a cupful of the red stuff will be required.

I nip out to the teeny weeny car with one canvas bag of groceries as a woman struggles with her children in the next parking space, "get in the f**king car!" I glance across at small and stumbly people. "Whatcha lookin at!" It's more of an accusation than a question. I unlock the door and avert my gaze. I already know that I'm feeble at confrontation. "You single career women make me sick!" she yells as she slams her door. She's right! I am a woman. We both look at my wedding ring that rests on the top of the little car, "childless then! Baron bitch! You know nothing." She reverses out at high speed and departs. I start to breathe. This is the second occasion where I have had a similar experience. I must have the wrong sort of face.

I suspect this is punishment for using the car on an unnecessary trip, increasing my carbon footprint on the planet. If I'd walked I'd have missed her.

Whiplash from Mother earth no doubt.

Gems

2008-07-06T09:48:00.000-07:00

I pause to blink, just to check which continent I’m on. The beach huts would indicate England, that at least must be a certainty, but really, who’d have thought you’d find such a jewel on these shores? She’s rare example of womanly beauty, voluptuous and on display for all the world to see. Strangely, the world doesn’t appear to be looking. I look. I’m probably staring. How could anyone miss her swathed in azure gauze, glittering in the feeble sunlight. I’d probably have missed her myself as I so rarely have the opportunity to look past my own sunburnt peeling nose. Her skin glistens and ripples in a shade of slick nut butter. I’m tempted to ask but I lack the gall, “could you sit completely still for another 20 minutes whilst I sketch you please?” From this angle she is flawless, although I’d go for natural grey rather than dyed jet black. Not for the first time, I wonder why women of my mother’s age are so rarely appreciated?

Swings and Roundabouts

2008-07-05T16:41:00.000-07:00

I drag myself around the supermarket in the middle of the night buying huge foods, enough to feed a small pod of whales. I remind myself that it's really four o'clock in the afternoon for West Coast Americans but my brain is still mid Atlantic, awash with minutae.

I have mislaid my sense of perspective and everything seems too big. There again, after 22 days in England I have regained the ability to use a stick shift and parallel park, so it's all a trade off.

I think fondly of my beloved ex sister in law. She would scoff with derision at paultry English coupons, but we ignored her as she was a barmy American. I decide to entertain the checkers as they pack my bags with expertise. It's the very least I can do as they hand me a wad of money off vouchers as thick as a house brick. I use my own highly honed skills of international exchange rates, imperial/metric comparisons, and trans-Atlantic language differentials. "Do you know the price of petrol in England?"
"Gas? Yeah, real expensive."
"That's right, it's $10 a gallon or thereabouts."
"Shoot! Is that for real?"
"Really real. What's more, when I went to the supermarket there, they had an offer on."
"What kindofan offer?"
"Spend 50 pounds, which is 100 dollars in the store and then get 5 pence, which is ten cents off a gallon of petrol." I skip the bit about litres to avoid any further confusion.
"Geez. Kinda makes ya think!"

Doesn't it just.

Ostrich mentality

2008-05-14T10:21:00.000-07:00

I visit the dentist for a post something or other appointment.

“Do you happen to be familiar with any psychobabble?” I smile, lips neatly fastened.
“Psychobabble?”
“I’m afraid I’ve turned into a nut job.”
“Excuse me.”
“Well you know that fake tooth you stuck in?”
“Crown.”
“Well even though it’s dead, no nerve endings, it hurts really badly. I know it must be psychosomatic.”
“That does sound a little……strange. Let’s deal with the lower implants first. Let’s have a look at them, when you’re ready.”
“Actually, I’m not bothered about the bottom bit or the stitches.”
“Oh……that’s good, I think. Haven’t the stitches fallen out?”
“Nope. Looks like macramé round there, not that I look of course.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I’m not going to look at the carnage am I?”
“But how do you clean your teeth?”
“With a toothbrush.”
“No, I meant how can you clean your teeth without looking at them in a mirror?”
“Who needs a mirror? Who looks at themselves in a mirror when they clean their teeth?”
“Everyone.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why?”
“So that I can see that they’re clean.”
“Why do you need to see when you can feel? Anyway, all I see is a blur without the bifocals.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who cleans their teeth without a mirror.”
“So, where was I? Ah yes, I rammed the retainer on anyway. There seems to be a little continental drift going on in there. I thought it might help them stop falling out, a bit like a corset.”
“You know……..it doesn’t seem to fit…….anywhere.”
“No matter, it’s the top bit that’s bothering me anyway.”
“Top? Upper.”
“Yes. I’m up to about 20 painkillers a day.”
“20 painkillers?”
“O.k. maybe only 18 but all the same.”
“What kind of pain killers are you taking?”
“Paracetamol, it’s just like Advil but better.”
“How long have you been taking painkillers for?”
“Um …..about ten days now.”
“10 days! Why didn’t you come and see me sooner?”
“Well I was hoping it would just go away, but I don’t like the creak.”
“The creak?”
“Yes the right side creaks like an old door. I’m worried it might fall off.”
“You think your jaw will fall off!”
“Maybe. I don’t think it should move like that.”
“Are you sure it’s ten days?”
“Er…..no actually it’s more like a fortnight.”
“Fortnight?”
“Fourteen days. I remember now because it was just after the "screw fell out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know that screw that went adrift, well it popped out, unexpectedly. I thought it was a grape pip, apart from the fact that I only buy seedless grapes. In any case I’ve not eaten a grape for at least a couple years.”
“You need to go and see the surgeon. Wait here, I’ll give him a call.”
“No don’t do that. You’re the dentist, why don’t you fix me?”
“Madeline! You need to go back to the surgeon. Why don’t you want to go back to the surgeon?”
“Because he’ll do what he always does.”
“What’s that?”
“He’ll take an x-ray and then he’ll cut it open again, take a peek, clean everything up if it needs to be cleaned up and then he’ll sew me back up again.”
“That sounds about right.”
“It’s not alright from where I’m sitting.”
“Why?”
“Because then I won’t to be able to eat for another 3 weeks.”
“Are you eating now?”
“Well not exactly but that’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“I think I’m scared of the surgeon or maybe I’m just pain averse?”
“Hmm, they say that fear is all in the mind but….”
“I think I need to find my stiff upper lip again!”

An inalienable right to ask

2008-04-30T15:17:00.001-07:00

Yes Americans are steeped in American culture and never question their value system until some witless person forces them to face up to reality. I am that witless person.

When we first arrived in this country we had so many questions, big questions, little questions and thoroughly irritating questions.

We would come across them all the time, Americans doing funny little things, American things. One big thing that we noticed happened at the beach. They did it at other places too, but they were more noticeable on the beach. We, British people, would go to the beach with our hefty wicker picnic hampers and a wide variety of inedible foodstuffs, or rather, destined to become inedible as soon as the wind blew a handful of sand our way. We would sit on itchy rugs and watch Americans pass by. Each family would drag a large, colourful, plastic box after them, a little wheel on two corners. Why did they all bring mobile coffins with them? It was most curious.

An Irish friend of ours translated the custom, “it’s a cooler!”
“A cooler? It’s the biggest cooler I’ve ever seen!”
“That’s America for you! But no, not white wine and soda! A cool box.”
“Ah, a cool box! Why didn’t you say that in the first place! Why is it so big?”
“They fill it with ice.”
“Why? It must be so heavy!”
“So that they can put their drinks in there to get cold.”
“Ah well at least that’s one thing we don’t need. Cold drinks indeed! Give me warm beer any day.”

But we’re improved since those early days, or at least I like to think that we progress. Yet, every so often, even after 12 years, I find that they still catch me out, those wiley little Americans.

***

It’s took me a few moments to connect the dots, as I hadn’t come across the term ‘otter pops’ before. The context, this month’s prize for all students who handed in their reading calendar, meant that it was a reward of some kind. The reference to the sunny weather and the mention of ‘cooler,’ tipped me off. The prizes must be some variety of ice lolly. I know that ‘pop’ is shorthand for popsicle. I decide that I have no need to learn why they are associated with otters.

I arrive at the school to collect my students’ quota, for two classes.
“Hello, I’ve come to collect the "otter pops.”
“Cute bag!”
“It’s a cool bag.”
“Yeah, cool.”
“Oh, not ‘cool’ but er……chilled, it’s for frozen things, like a cooler.”
“A bag? I’ve never heard of those.”
“They’re just like the children’s packed lunch cooler bags, but bigger.”
“Not that big though.”
“Well it’s from England….big enough for a few ice pops I hope?”
“Oh you don’t need a cooler.”
“I don’t?”
“No, they’re not frozen yet.”
“Ah. That makes sense. Freeze them before visiting the class.”
“Right.”
“So……I was wondering………why are they called otter pops.”
“Oh coz they’ve got this little otter on the box. See?”
I look at the box. It doesn’t look much like an otter to me, more like a walrus. “Ah yes. But what’s the association with otters?”
“Gee, I have no idea. Hey Ginger, why are they called otter pops?”
Mothers gather and debate. We fail to reach consensus.

I move over to my own children’s class room, where an assemblage of Americans wait. “Aha! Just what I needed! Americans!”
They look at me with the usual mixture of exasperation and expectation, “not again, what is it now Maddy?” I explain about the ice lollies. They shake their heads, “where do you get this stuff from?”
“Do you think it comes from a Mr. Otter, like a Mister Heinz?”
“Maybe? I think that they were just the first ones to hit the market.”
“Ooo like hoover you mean!”
“Hoover? Whatsa…..what did you say……loll…….lolly?”

Life "continues" always with more questions than answers.

Tiger, tiger burning bright

2008-04-24T12:36:00.000-07:00

My eldest daughter had an environmental impact on my youngest daughter. “D’you know that domestic cats kill zillions of small mammals every year just for fun!” She tells me this nugget of information in a tone of outrage, although her words are directed at one of our two pet cats.

The cat, as cats do, wanders of with a disdainful air.

Later.

I am knee deep in recycling in the garage, ignoring the laundry, the filth in the house and several unmade beds, when I am summoned to the garden by a catawalling. Cats wail and birds twitter. The combination is not a happy one. I shoo the cat away and look above to find a smallish bird swinging upside down from the light fitting, attached to a few inches of green netting. I watch for a moment or two to see if it is about to escape. I wonder how long it has been dangling? First light? I survey the terrain. It is impossible for either cat to get within swiping or gnashing distance of the bird. The bird is safe. Very shortly the bird will catch it’s breath and fly away. I wait for the bird to fly away. I hide behind the door just in case my presence prevents flying. It dangles from one claw. “Go on! Fly away! I have very important things to do! My recycling is saving the planet! You are making the planet wait!” It ignores me.

Damned bird.

I am under no moral obligation to the bird, in fact, it’s a trespasser. There are no children to chide me and the neighbours have other business to attend too. I need to return to my recycling duties. Mother Earth needs every cohort she can get.

Damned bird.

I stomp off into the garage to find the step ladder, remove several yards of cob webs and drag it out to the front door. I look at the small bird. I nip back inside to find scissors, bifocals and a tea towel.

As I climb the ladder the damned bird flaps and dives seeking an escape route. The tea towel subdues the fluttering as I snip the netting and return to the ground. I swear that’s the last time I ever refill the bird feeder. It only encourages the little blighters.

On closer inspection, adjustment of bifocals and careful manipulation of the tea towel, it appears that the bird has managed to wrap itself in the netting, not just the claw. I’m surprised it hasn’t strangled itself. It is worse that untangling knitting. Which way is a tiny wing supposed to bend? I shall probably snap something fatal. I wonder why wish bones are so resilient? I give up with the tea towel and use my extra large hands as a cage. I notice that the kitchen scissors are three times as large as the bird. The bird is warm and incapable of remaining static. It probably has fleas or parasites or something else that I’ve never heard of and don’t want to know about. I cover it’s head so that I can concentrate on the body the size of a golf ball. As the last thread of green falls away I turn my hand over, let it’s head pop out between my fingers and insert my arm into the nearest shrub. Release. I sit back on my hunkers whilst the bird vandalizes the perennials.

I expect the onions on the stove are cremated by now.

Damned bird.

Score- cats = zillion -1
Wildlife = +1

Meanwhile, "life" continues in the "slow lane."

Really need help. MUST GO!!!

2008-04-23T13:46:00.000-07:00

Shamelessly stolen from my jolly good pal Nancy - Thanks Nancy!

Please help! After two long years of being on a waiting list for a dog, we have been notified by breed rescue that, at long last, our number has come up and ... WE ARE HAVING A PUPPY!

We must get rid of our children IMMEDIATELY because we just know how time consuming our new little puppy is going to be and it just wouldn't be fair to the children. Since our little puppy will be arriving on Monday we MUST place the children up for adoption this weekend!

They are described as:
One male -- his name is Tommy, Caucasian (English/Irish mix), light blonde hair, blue eyes. Four years old. Excellent disposition. He doesn't bite. Temperament tested. Does have problems with peeing directly in the toilet. Has had chicken Pox and is current on all shots. Tonsils have already been removed. Tommy eats everything, is very clean, house trained and gets along well with others. Does not run with scissors and with a little training he should be able to read soon.

One female -- her name is Lexie, Caucasian (English/Irish mix), strawberry blonde hair, green eyes quite freckled. Two years old. Can be surly at times. Non-biter, thumb sucker. Has been temperament tested but needs a little attitude adjusting occasionally. She is current on all shots, tonsils out, and is very healthy and can be affectionate. Gets along well with other
little girls and little boys but does not like to share her toys and
therefore would do best in a one child household. She is a very quick learner and is currently working on her house training. Shouldn't take long at all.

We really do LOVE our children so much and want to do what's right for them. That is why we contacted a rescue group. But we simply can no longer keep them. Also, we are afraid that they may hurt our new puppy.

I hope you understand that ours is a UNIQUE situation and we have a real emergency here! They MUST be placed into your rescue by Sunday night at the latest or we will be forced to drop them off at the orphanage or along some dark, country road. Our priority now has to be our new puppy.

I shall pray for you

2008-04-22T19:09:00.000-07:00

I spent my formative years in a Roman Catholic Convent. As a direct result of that experience I have a vast knowledge of bullying behaviour. Unlike my own children’s enlightened school, there was no anti-bullying policy.

Bullying, like any other unpleasantness, had to be endured, a cross to bear for the greater good of our immortal souls. My immortal soul shriveled during target practice.

I was an ideal candidate, a head shorter than my peers, round and freckle faced. I made regular visits to the confessional on a Saturday morning to cleanse my immortal soul prior to Mass the following day. I would detail my laundry list of offences before the priest. At the end, he would often ask if there was anything else I wanted to ask. I took this as an invitation to moan about my poor benighted lot in life. I gathered that the priest had little experience of childhood or maybe it was just too long ago, but in any event, his advice was to tell my persecutors that I would pray for them. It sounded like sage advice to me and I took the first available opportunity to put it into practice.

I didn’t have to wait very long.

Sadly, the priest’s advice did not bring about relief. As I dusted myself off from my latest pulping, I decided that an alternative plan was required. I had tested my mother’s advice, ‘ignore them,’ but that had proved fruitless. I had followed my sister’s advice, ‘walk away,’ but ended up running at warp speed on short little fat legs. I ended up with a mentally satisfying option, whatever they said, I would agree with them, whole heartedly, good naturedly, enthusiastically, followed by a jolly good simper. The balm of sarcasm would maintain my sanity.

“Hey McEwen, come over here so I can join the dots on your face!”
“Oooo please do, that would be delightful. Do you have a pen? Here you can borrow mine. I wish I was as talented an artist as you are.”

It didn’t work at first, but I kept trying.

The leader of the pack was one wizen and twisted Geraldine, the bane of my life. A cross between Dick Dastardly and Cruella de Ville. I instinctively knew that if I could just get her to crack a smile, I would bend her to my will, or failing that, slip under the radar. Her torments were regular and unfailing. Apple pie beds, stealing tuck boxes, hiding mail, public humiliation of every kind devised by the truly unloved.

It wasn’t the pain of being tripped up in line and sprawling on the floor, it was the punishment that followed from the staff for this misdemeanour offence, “McEwen! Get up this minute and cover your embarrassment! This kind of wanton spectacle will not be tolerated. Go to the chapel and say twelve Hail Mary’s and pray for humility, modesty and chastity.”

The days passed slowly into weeks. One term followed another but I still bobbed above the Plimsoll line. During a holiday period I happened to break one of my arms, again.
“But I can’t go back to school! I can’t write!”
“You can still learn. You can learn to write with your left hand.” So returned to school with a cast. I was so miserable to learn that there was no escape from school that I hadn’t the will power to submit to Geraldine any longer. I kept a very low profile, lizard like but she still sought me out.

Triumphs when they come, are often small, not a fireworks display, merely an ever so slightly damp squib.

“So there you are McEwen. Licking your wounds no doubt.”
“Hardly, I don’t like the taste of plaster of Paris.”
“You look……grumpy.”
“That’s right I am grumpy. Very grumpy. Very grumpy indeed.”
“Good, I can give you something to be really grumpy about then.” I saw her take something out of her skirt pocket. My brother’s old catapault, purloined from my room! “Want it back?” she weasled, dangling it before my eyes. Lizards can sometimes move very fast. I snatched it back and shoved the single end down the cast to scratch the itchy bits, “ah that’s much better, how thoughtful of you.” I whipped it out with a cloud of old dried skin cells. “Here, you can borrow it for a bit if you like?” Geraldine didn’t sneeze but her nose wrinkled.

I should like to say that she stopped bothering me after that, that I won, but I think it’s more that she lost interest, or perhaps found a new and more interesting interest.

Now that I am a grown up person, I suspect that ghastly Geraldine was also homesick. For all her bravado, she had no friends, only cohorts. Perhaps our powerlessness in an adult world, provoked her to gain control and revenge. I often think that resilience and persistence are the flip sides of the same coin.

Maybe she did me a favour after all?

It all seems such a long time ago from my current "existence."

Now that’s another fine mess

2008-04-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

I troll off to the library deep in thought. I have just discovered that his pyjamas are reversible, or rather he just discovered that his pyjamas are reversible. We spent a good 20 minutes turning them one way and then reversing them back the other way, an hysterical magic trick that provoked guffaws of hilarity. He actually wiped away a tear of mirth.

How come I didn’t know that they this garment had this feature? Well it’s because the vast majority of the boys’ clothes are given to us by pals, old clothes from old pals with bigger children. Admittedly this feeds my recycle and thrifty nature, but more importantly it provides an endless stream of threadbare, soft clothes for the tactile defensive amongst us.

I park my stack of books on the counter and beam at the librarian.

“Hello, I’ve come to pay my fines.”
“Just drop them in the book drop………over there………on the wall.”
“Yes I know where the book drop is, it’s just that I want to clear the fines first.”

She gives me the Librarian ‘look’ with pursed lips. It’s the look that says ‘don’t mess with me lady, I’ve heard it all before.’ It’s an expression that always prompts me to speak, whereas experience tells me that I should keep mum. I ignore experience and start making excuses, “yes I’m sorry they’re overdue but I’ve got a bit behind with them being off school for ski week and then my husband had to go to England….unexpectedly…..”

She glances up from her computer screen for another ‘look.’ The ‘look’ kick starts my ramble, again. “His Dad is ill in hospital….very ill……”
I can almost see her eyes roll, but she’s too professional. I want to tell her that I’m a very bad liar.

“Dya mean sick?”
“Um…...yes, that’s right, very sick indeed.”
“I’m sorry about that. Serious is it?”
“Yes…..some kind of……illness.”

Now I know that she knows I’m a liar, because normal people can provide a full diagnoses, prognosis and a list of medications, both brand name and generic, it’s the American way. The British way, with or without the requisite knowledge, is never to discuss medical matters. Medical matters are in the same category as sex, politics and religion, strictly off limits.

I am sure I am on the American Librarian Associations list of ‘Most Not Wanted.” I always have fines. I always have excuses. They are always true, although my delivery leaves a lot to be desired. I have the flush and blush of the truly guilt ridden.

“So.....…you’re from England?”
“Yes.”
“I have an English friend.”

Oh no, here we go! This is the ‘do you know Jane Smith? She lives just outside London in a little village called Landsend, do you know her?’ Just because I happen know the other 23 people who live in England intimately!

“The medical section is up the stairs on the right or I could give you a few websites if that would help?”

A good librarian never reads a book by it’s tatty cover, unlike some patrons.

Otherwise, life continues "relentlessly."

"Job Description" = Parent

2008-04-15T09:35:00.000-07:00

An oldie but goldie - shameless lifted from my good pal Mickie!
Cheers Mickie

POSITION :
Mom, Mommy, Mama, Ma
Dad, Daddy, Dada, Pa, Pop

JOB DESCRIPTION :

Long term, team players needed, for challenging permanent work in an often chaotic environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call. Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in far away cities! Travel expenses not reimbursed.
Extensive courier duties also required.

RESPONSIBILITIES :

The rest of your life.
Must be willing to be hated, at least temporarily, until someone needs £5.
Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly.
Also, must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, this time the screams from the backyard are not someone just crying wolf.
Must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges, such as small gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets and stuck zippers.
Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate production of multiple homework projects.
Must have ability to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and mental outlooks.
Must be willing to be indispensable one minute, an embarrassment the next.
Must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half million cheap, plastic toys, and battery operated devices.
Must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst.
Must assume final, complete accountability for the quality of the end product.
Responsibilities also include floor maintenance and janitorial work throughout the facility.

POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT & PROMOTION :

None.
Your job is to remain in the same position for years, without complaining, constantly retraining and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you.

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE :

None required unfortunately.
On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.

WAGES AND COMPENSATION :

Get this! You pay them!
Offering frequent raises and bonuses.
A balloon payment is due when they turn 18 because of the assumption that college will help them become financially independent.
When you die, you give them whatever is left.
The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more.

BENEFITS :

While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are offered; this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth, unconditional love, and free hugs and kisses for life if you play your cards right.

Forward this on to all the PARENTS you know, in appreciation for everything they do on a daily basis, letting them know they are appreciated
for the fabulous job they do.... or forward with love to anyone thinking of applying for the job.

** AND A FOOTNOTE ?
THERE IS NO RETIREMENT -- EVER!!! **
If you are fortunate enough, you will become grandparents!"

Shower style

2008-04-14T14:11:00.000-07:00

Shamelessly stolen from my very good pal 'Mrs.B'- Thank you!

How To Shower Like a Woman:

Take off clothing and place it in sectioned laundry hamper according to lights and darks.

Walk to bathroom wearing long dressing gown.
If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.

Look at your womanly physique in the mirror - make mental note to do more sit-ups/leg-lifts, etc.

Get in the shower. Use face cloth, arm cloth, leg cloth, long loofah, wide loofah and pumice stone.

Wash your hair once with cucumber and sage shampoo with 43 added vitamins.

Wash your hair again to make sure it's clean.

Condition your hair with grapefruit mint conditioner enhanced with real passion fruit.

Wash your face with crushed apricot facial scrub for 10 minutes until red.

Wash entire rest of body with ginger nut and jaffa cake body wash.

Rinse conditioner off hair.

Shave armpits and legs.

Turn off shower.

Squeegee off all wet surfaces in shower.

Spray mold spots with Tilex.

Get out of shower and stand on bath mat.

Dry with towel the size of a small country.

Wrap hair in super absorbent towel.

Return to bedroom wearing long dressing gown and towel on head.

If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.

How To Shower Like a Man:

Take off clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed and leave them in a pile.

Walk naked to the bathroom.

If you see wife along the way, shake wiener at her making the woo-woo' sound.

Look at your manly physique in the mirror.

Admire the size of your wiener and scratch your ass.

Get in the shower Wash your face. Wash your armpits.

Blow your nose in your hands and let the water rinse them off.

Fart and laugh at how loud it sounds in the shower.

Spend majority of time washing privates and surrounding area.

Wash your butt, leaving those coarse butt hairs stuck on the soap.

Wash your hair. Make a Shampoo Mohawk. Pee.

Rinse off and get out of shower. Avoid bath mat.

Dry off forearms and butt only.

Fail to notice water on floor because curtain was hanging out of tub the whole time.

Admire wiener size in mirror again. Shake it to watch water fly off.

Leave shower curtain open, wet mat on floor, light and fan on.

Return to bedroom with towel around waist.

If you pass wife, pull off towel, shake wiener at her and make the woo-woo' sound again.

Throw wet towel on bed.

If there is anyone among you who did not laugh at the truth behind this, there is something so very wrong with you.

Have a great day! And, ' woo woo'!!!

Crazy Facts

2008-04-09T08:10:00.000-07:00

Shamelessly stolen from my very good pal - Thanks Mickie!

* If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee. (Hardly seems worth it.)

* If you farted consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb. (Now that's more like it!)

* The human heart creates enough pressure when it pumps out to the body to squirt blood 30 feet. (O.M.G.!)

* A pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes.(In my next life, I want to be a pig.)

* A cockroach will live nine days without its head before it starves to death.
(Creepy.)(I'm still not over the pig.)

* Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour. (Don't try this at home, maybe at work)

* The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off. (Honey, I'm home. What the...?!)

* The flea can jump 350 times its body length. It's like a human jumping the length of a football field.
(30 minutes…lucky pig! Can you imagine?)

* The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds.
(What could be so tasty on the bottom of a pond?)

* Some lions mate over 50 times a day.
(I still want to be a pig in my next life...quality over quantity)

* Butterflies taste with their feet. (Something I always wanted to know.)

* The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue. (Hmmmmmm......)

* Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people.
(If you're ambidextrous, do you split the difference?)

* Elephants are the only animals that cannot jump.
(Okay, so that would be a good thing)

* A cat's urine glows under a black light..
(I wonder who was paid to figure that out?)

* An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.(I know some people like that.)

* Starfish have no brains (I know some people like that too.)

* Polar bears are left-pawed.
(If they switch, they'll live a lot longer)

* Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure. (What about that pig??)

Lay the tombstone

2008-04-04T16:18:00.000-07:00

Americans are a funny old lot, so similar and yet so different from the rest of the world. Whilst there are a great many things to admire in Americans, there is one all to obvious failing. Reluctant as I am to pick fault, sometimes I am bound to tell it how it is. Let it be known that when it comes to gardening, the average American is to be found sadly wanting. The average foreigner, myself included, can be deluded for many years before uncovering the truth.

All foreigners know that the right thing to do, is to visit a garden centre and buy a packet of seeds or maybe, if extravagance gets the better of us, a very small plant. The small plant, no greater than three inches under any circumstances, must be taken home, planted with care in just the right spot and then nurtured with love and mature in equal proportions for years thereafter. Then, the said plant will grow and bloom. The owner enjoys the delightful experience with patience and an ever blossoming wisdom for the meaning of life.

Americans on the other hand, favour instant gardening. Instant gardening involves buying mature plants in gallon tubs, sometimes more than one gallon tubs, often to include 10 foot trees. They then have the audacity to remove huge clods of earth and dump the plants in the holes such that within the course of the average afternoon they can go from moonspace to landscape. I mean, however you view this kind of behaviour, it’s basically cheating!

English people are renowned for being gardeners, regardless of the national shortage of castles. This is a whole nation devoted to the lifting of Dahlia tubers to over winter, wrapped in newspaper. Civilization is maintained by perpetuating geraniums in hot houses in our green and fragrant land. Our American cousins are scandalously derelict in their duty to Pelargoniums, where they are left to ramble through roses and grow without check like the prolific weeds that they are, the plants not the people, that is to say. They are a strange people that defy accurate translation.

Meanwhile.

I skip around the garden centre until I am forced to leave by the silent shout from my under-funded bank account.
“Can we help you out with that today?” she offers as they always do.
“No, I’ll be just fine, thank you.”
“Here, let me give you a hand,” offers the teenage girl. I give in. She probably wants to stretch her legs outside for a while rather than being cooped up in the check out stand. We trundle out with the trolly to the car, open the boot and start unloading. I open the side door, push back the seat, heave 5 foot, 3.6 gallons of White Lady Banks together with her tightly furled little rose buds into the space on the carpet, snap back the chair to hold her securely in place. The top blooms tickle the door on the other side as it nestles in the foot well, horizontal and happy.
“But you can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“It’s unhuman!”
“Er….yes, you’re right, it’s a plant?”
“I mean it’s mean.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t know, it jus doesn’t seem right somehow?”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll be home in 20 minutes.”
“But lying down like that it……..looks..... kinda dead.”
“But it’s still alive, it’s only been lying down for a minute.”
“Ain’t it kinda cruel?”
“Um…..I don’t think it minds.”
“How d’you know?”
“Well it’s not as if it has a mind to mind really.”
"Ya think?"
"Sometimes."

Well I'm certainly glad to lay that myth to rest. Now I'm off to go and hug a tree.

California Dreaming

2008-04-04T07:22:00.000-07:00

I present myself in the "dental office" together with my heavy heart and a fake cheesy grin. I decide not to think about the "teeth nightmare."

Instead I study a group of recipes so that I can figure out if any of them will make cardoon acceptable to my "children’s palettes."

I’m in two minds about signing up for the "weekly organic box" of vegetables. On the one hand this presents the opportunity to grab a little healthy nutrition, support local growers, reduce our carbon footprint, get in touch with nature. On the other hand I have a fridge full of rotting produce to transfer to the compost heap. The death nell comes as they call my name. I submit to the summons.

I greet the dental surgeon agreeably and we exchange niceties whilst he prods my jaw with two 12 inch long Q-tips. He pauses, knuckles on hips, my moment of salvation, “I don’t normally bore people with my dreams but I need to tell you about my dream last night!” I burble.
“Nooo you’re dreaming about me now?”
“Yes, you are my own personal nightmare.”
“Oh come on!”
“Well, it went like this………I came to your office and you said “hi Madeline, whilst you were asleep I did another x-ray and do you know what? Something incredible has happened! Although your jaw rejected the implants, now it’s accepted them and all the bones have grown back. You are a medical miracle. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m going to write you up in the medical journal….’…….so if you’d like to do the decent thing and tell me that my dream has come true, that would just be all fine and dandy.”
“Fine and dandy?”
“Yup.”
“Well……I must say, it does look as if the bone has in-filled.”
“In-filled? You mean grown back! I am a medical miracle!”
“Well not exactly a medical miracle.”
“Ooo but I am. First I was a reject and now I’m a bone grower!”
“Er well, that is what was supposed to happen in the first place.”
“I know, but it didn’t and now it has, so now I am a medical miracle.”
“Geez Madeline.”
“It’s true. You just need to say it out loud so that I can hear it.”
“Well I can’t really because it’s more of a spontaneous reversal.”
“Write it down then so that I can read it, no….....that’s too permanent, you’ll just have to say it, I won’t tell anyone…….......honest!”
“Madeline!”
“Yes?”
“I want you to go home now and bite something, just for me.”

Now I think that is something I might do!

Meanwhile, in my other "life" it might be fair to say that perhaps "maternal anxiety" is in part caused, or exacerbated by the challenges of autism?

Time out!

2008-03-25T18:10:00.000-07:00

I’m sorry but sometimes venting is the best solution. I don’t know about you but my social life is a bit limited, mainly due to a lack of qualified baby sitters, but every once in a while we get a pass. We get to go out for the evening and commune with adults like other normal people.

And do you know what? Every time I get stuck with some person who wishes to talk at me. Does that happen to you? These people drone on and on and on without pause for breath. Since we are in Silicon Valley for our sins, more often that not the person in question will favour the subject of chips, the micro variety not the edible ones. They’re closely aligned with the layout guys, who are even more closely related to the circuit guys. There are two main types, those that avoid eye contact of any kind and those whose eye balls sear with a piercing unblinking gaze.

I find I manage quite well for a period of up to twenty minutes. My standard excuse for escape is a trip to the loo. During the course of the evening, I can tell how unlucky I have been by the number of times I have had to submit to a call of nature. If I’m really lucky I can think about the patterns and designs of the restroom I’ve memorizing during my lengthy visits during the next conversation that I have to endure.

I am always careful to start off well. I learned from my parents to avoid three topics, religion, politics and sex. Most people’s standard opening line is ‘what do you do?” Me? Never. I have learned that is just opening the stable door to invite a stampede of words. Instead, I usually ask ‘what do you like to do when you’re not working or if you had to work in another discipline what would you choose?’ Anything to head them off at the pass. All I want is a little light witty repartee, not a lecture, nor a diatribe. Is that really too much to ask?

Maybe I’m just older and losing my bounce but I am sorely tempted to take a more proactive approach with droners. I’m sure someone once said that best line of defense is attack;

“O.k!” I would have to bark to make them stop for a nano second, “you can say three more sentences then you have to ask me a question. Then you have to listen to my answer and ask a follow up question, get it?”

“Remove your eye balls from mine or wear dark glasses.”

“From now on you have to speak without using the words circuit, diode or awesome.”

“As I am an atheist feminist, come to the restroom with me so we can discuss fornication.”