Girl Friday

A dose of Friday Randomness... because the caffeine's worn off and I'm feeling decidedly seedy - the seediness one feels when one hasn't slept well because one's children are spending their first night at Daddy's new place and one is prone to histrionic fits of freaking-the-hell-out.

So... moving right along then?

* I have discovered, that rather like Prufrock, I am measuring out my life in coffee spoons, or, um fortnights. How quickly one falls into the surreal calendar of access visits. It's odd. And disquieting. But oh! the mixed feelings when His weekend falls again and the children are gone... the silence is bliss, the emptiness agony.

* My musical horizons are growing ever wider - I have been on a downloading (legal!) spree, and have my iPod charged with Clare Bowditch, Death Cab for Cutie, Rooney (when Miss E sends me the discs) and even some Jeff Buckley (don't ask). Further suggestions are welcome - this finding of new music is very empowering...

* I heard some Prince today at lunchtime - always a pleasure to unexpectedly hear some Prince I find - but kinda odd to hear it coming from a Truck Repair Shop.

* I went to see the Brandenburg Orchestra and Choir the other day - 50 boy trebles in their long socks and blazers contributed to my aural bliss. They also managed to send my companion to sleep. But only momentarily... The combination of champagne + cold'n'flu medication + empty stomach = interesting cultural experience... it gives the notes an almost tangible aspect, as I absorb them into my very soul. Unfortunately the aforementioned combination can also lead to melodrama later in the evening. But that is neither here nor there.

* The long weekend beckons wetly, yet promising comfort.

I am making the most of it.

Yo DJ!

I was sorting through my record collection last night.

Like actual vinyl, man...

It was yet another step in the gradual unravelling of a previous life.

Anyhoo, momentary angst aside, my 'collection' amounts to 11 LPs*... and what an interesting bunch they are too...

* Hothouse Flowers 'Home'
* Eurythmics 'Savage'
* Peter, Paul & Mary 'Some anniversary collection - dunno... maybe 25th?'
* Madonna 'Like a Prayer'
* Get On This! (It was an import! From 1990!)
* The Pogues 'Red Roses for Me'
* UB40 'Best of... Vol 1'
* Nik Kershaw 'Radio Musicola'
* Dexy's Midnight Runners 'Too-Rye-Ay'
* Tour of Duty Soundtracks (both 1 AND 2) (and yet... I never was allowed to actually watch Tour of Duty... go figure)

Ideas on what this collection says about me (other than I am completely confused, which is apparent to all and sundry) will be gratefully received...


* Thankfully Michael Jackson's 'Bad' LP seems to have disappeared. It's probably still at my parents house along with Bros' self-titled opus.

History Lessons

I realise that the current fashion is to be bagging Facebook, or lamenting the blocking of Facebook by employers, or the brandishing of fists in response to be thrashed at scrabble on Facebook, but I'm going to be different.

I heart Facebook!

And there's a very particular reason why:

I came home from footy on Saturday morning, consoling a very bedraggled Tiger who was covered head-to-toe in mud having played (and lost) an hour-long rain-soaked Grand Final, to discover a message sitting in my Facebook inbox.

It went along the lines of

"Hi! You wouldn't happen to be the Actonb who lived in Warrington UK before moving to Australia would you? Because I've been trying to find you for ages!"

And this simple email caused much squealing and shrieking and carrying on as it was from my bestest and oldest friend in the whole wide world - Sara. She was my best friend from 1978 to 1982 when we moved a universe away from Warrington - 25 years ago this month. We kept in touch for quite a while, as only 8 year olds can, writing every six months or so, until everything faded to black. I think it was when we were in high school that we finally lost touch.

She still lives there, in that little Northern town with it's incomprehensible accent, and she's been google-stalking me for a couple of months before trying Facebook. So damn lucky I kept my quite distinctive maiden name - there is but one Actonb in the world! And in a lovely coincidence I had tried to find her on Facebook a couple of weeks ago, but got cold feet at the thought of 'poking' the 10-or-so Sara X's...

So we've been exchanging emails, trying to fill in the gaps of 2 decades of silence. It's daunting but fun y'know... What is it about the false security of nostalgia? Why is it so attractive? I am a lifetime away from that little girl Sara knew, and yet maybe not... I think it's worth it, to catch a glimpse through the Sliding Door at the life I left behind...

Plus, also, she has cool photos of us dressing up which she's going to send me!

Soul Sisters

From Post Secret 08/07/07

I just love this photo.

My sister and I always got on relatively well I guess, but weren't really 'good friends' until she left home to go to uni in Bathurst. Life is weird that way.

We've been having silly little squabbles lately, and she annoys me intensely with her oft-mentioned (by me, on this here blog) Sense of Entitlement. But she's interstate for work at the moment, working ridiculous hours at something which I think is causing her some disquiet. And she's going to miss the twins' birthday party on saturday. She missed their last birthday due to work, and their actual Birth Day because she was overseas (work, again) and I know that it's all making her so sad. She was my birth partner when Misses M and H were born (even flew over to the UK for H's birth), and I think she worries that she's losing her connection with her nieces.

She really shouldn't worry.

I miss her.

Trees and Sky

Many many years ago I started to get an inkling that there was something not quite right going on in my head. I had always been somewhat of a melancholic bent, but this was different - scary, unsettling. The Depression (which is what I was finally diagnosed with, but only after they could attach the Post-Natal bit to explain it all away) manifested itself in an inability to watch (or read) anything vaguely confronting or thought-provoking.

I. Just. Couldn't. Cope.

The last arthouse film I saw before collapsing into a pit of unchallenging chick-lit blancmange was Sister, My Sister. Pretty awesome movie, but unrelentingly bleak. Maybe it was what tipped me over the edge?

Before that, I'd been your typical Arts student - eschewing the blockbusters and seeking out quirky independent arthouse films. I'd even go along by myself, submerging myself in the experience. I could disassociate from violence and extreme themes, I could protect myself. But then that ability started to falter and movies would stay with me for weeks, haunting me, paralysing me.

So I stopped going. At least I recognised what I needed to do, even if it was reactive rather than proactive. It was another few years before I finally saw someone, and that was because my illness was no longer a social inconvenience, but a debilitating, crippling disease.

[Insert Passing Years montage]

I think I'm finally getting better.

Last night I went to see The Dead Girl. It had been reviewed in the SMH Spectrum and looked ... interesting. It looked challenging, but I felt strong enough to cope. I'm sick and tired of missing out on excellent films because I'm too precious to deal with the fallout. The RevJen came along to hold my hand...

It was pretty bloody amazing. Beautifully made, and yes, very very confronting. The title really says it all. It's all about violence against women, and how different women cope with the impact of a single act of senseless violence. Bleak but powerful.

I was sobbing through one of the vignettes, but was able to pull myself together. I was able to sit down with a coffee afterwards and discuss all the issues it presented. Poor Jen hadn't quite known what to expect - I don't think I'd conveyed to her what the film was all about, so she was a little ... shell-shocked to say the least. And worried about me. But all was well. All IS well.

I can see the trees and the sky and things aren't as f*cked up as they were.

This is a Good Thing. I'm home again.

Tiptoe through the Tulips

A friend sent me some flowers the other day.




It made me cry.

They were to say that she missed me. I miss her too...

It got me thinking about how, in this day and age, with all the technological gadgets at our fingertips, we don't seem to be actually any better at keeping in touch with the people who matter.

When we moved to Australia in 1982, I started writing letters to my cousins, my grandmothers, my aunts. It was a habit I maintained until I was at uni, and so very very busy and self-absorbed. I still kept writing, although to a much lesser extent. I also started writing to my sister who was at uni in Bathurst.

When MrB and I moved to the UK in 1999 I continued to write to friends and family, however I found the homesickness and loneliness to be so great I needed to talk to people, so relied on the phone much more to get that connection. Our One-tel account was our only luxury.

Nowadays I sit at a computer all day, and yet don't utilise it as a tool to keep in touch - I'm happy to madly MSN online friends, but never seem to get around to sending lengthy emails to friends and family overseas. I have a brother who is overseas so often and out of the loop, yet I don't drop him a quick line relating the latest tales of his nieces' adventures.

I don't think it's just me either - I see the emails that pass between my father and his brothers back in the UK. They're often quick one-liners about Nanny or travel plans, nothing like the long letters full of news that we used to get. It's almost like there's an assumption that because the global village has shrunk so much - because we're all just a mouse-click away from each other - we just don't need to put in the effort anymore.

I think we're losing something, I'm losing something... The time spent reflecting and writing a letter has been absorbed into the daily hurdy-gurdy of life. I spend time writing this blog, but it's often done at work, when I don't have to sit and devote myself to the one activity.

Maybe I need to go buy myself a pack of notecards and send my gorgeous friend a thank you card. And I may just relate a couple of twin-related anecdotes, because as their Prayer-Parents I know she'd like to hear it. I'll even go out now, in the rain, to show my new-found dedication to the art of letter-writing.

Be Right Back.

And another (10) more things...

The delightful (and pushy) Gigglewick tagged me with a fabulous meme. And as she rightfully pointed out, I've been doing some harumphing practise all week, getting ready for the scorn-fest that is (Ta Daa!)

10 Thing I hate about Other People

1. Their over-developed sense of entitlement.
This is for all of Gen Y. And some of Gen X. And most of the Baby Boomers. And kinda, mostly for my sister, who has decided that the world owes her a living and if she ain't getting it, then it's Just Not Fair. She wants to be paid more - our brother is paid a ridiculous amount of money and therefore she should be too - she wants to be able to buy that cute little cottage in Mosman and it's just Not Fair that it's over $1 million.

It's the L'Oreal culture: Because I'm worth it. I guess we're all guilty of it to some degree, but where does 'oh that'd be nice' wistfulness turn into 'I've gotta have it' avarice? Why does it seem so hard to realise that we have to WORK for what we have? That we exist within a society where there is always someone worse off than us, why can't we be thankful for what we've got and think a little more about those that have so little? It's summed up by my sister-in-law, who once mentioned to me about how, when she was at uni and having a considerable sum of money in term deposits, would have a little giggle to herself every time the interest rates increased on their march to 17% (or whatever it was - can't remember, please remind me again Mr Costello), because even though it meant houses were being repossessed all over Sydney, the moolah was rolling in for her...

Which brings me neatly to:

2. Their obsession with interest rates.
Only 1/3 of the population has a mortgage. When we're carrying on about interest rates, why won't someone think of the retirees who are trying to eek out some semblance of a lifestyle on their investments???
This national sport of interest-rate-watching is just ridiculous! But I may be saying that in the smug knowledge that, because I don't have a mortgage of $50gazillion, slight variances don't bother me overly much.
And one more thing. The Governor of the Reserve Bank? COMPLETELY INDEPENDENT OF HOWARD THE MAGICAL MORTGAGE BROKER. I'm sick of having to repeat this to people.

3. Their children.
Seriously. Hell is Other People's Children. I have a very low tolerance threshold for children, other than my own (obvs) and a small select group consisting of some friend's children and one of my two nephews.

I like kids I can hold an intelligent conversation with. Even if they're only 2, it's still possible.

I dislike kids who are whingy, whiney, rude and ignorant. Which is pretty much all of 'em.

Of course I realise that my own kids probably fall into this category quite a lot of the time, and understand that others' aren't always enamoured of them. But I can deal with that. It seems most parents can't...

4. Their inability to return calls/ emails.
It's rude. It's inconsiderate. It's unprofessional. It's bloody annoying.

It's also how friendships die, and that's just so sad.



I am also a habitual offender, so I really need to lift my game...

5. Their lack of barista skillz.
OK - this is a little specific. There are 4 cafes in Jannali (where I work), with another one being fitted out as I type. And yet I buy my coffee in Sutherland (the next suburb). Now, why is this so? Because merely having an espresso machine installed in one's shop does not a barista make. It should be a Rule that everyone using an espresso machine should have gone to Coffee School. It makes me so very very cranky that people think just whacking the beans in the machine will do the job. They have NO IDEA. And also, neither so most of the people patronising these establishments. Why are they letting these cafe proprietors get away with serving substandard coffee? Why do they display such a lack of discernment? WHY?

6. Their massive 4WDs
I have a nice sensible Zafira ('Champagne' coloured of you must know. I would have preferred the blue, but never mind) with it's 7 seats, but which is still smaller than a Commodore. I have a LOT of trouble getting out of car parking spaces if I've been hemmed in by 4WDs. I can't see around them, I can't see under them, I can't see through them, I just got to HATE them.

Why do they have to be so BIG? Dumb dumb dumb.

Also - I saw a mini next to a Land Cruiser the other day - not a new-fangled wankmobile, but an actual olde worlde mini. It was hilarious! The roof of the mini was at the height of the BOTTOM of the Land Cruiser's door. They could see UNDER the 4WD. Hee! But eeek! Dangerous much?

7. Their lack of compassion.
This really goes without saying. It astounds me how easily Other People can see the suffering in our communities and turn their backs. How ready they are to blame the victim, to demonise them. Look at how we treat refugees, the homeless, the poor and needy. There was a study done a few months ago, I think by ACOSS, which as well as finding that a staggering percentage of homeless are actually children, also discovered than an overwhelming number of Other People thought that if someone was homeless, they had only themselves to blame.

We really do have it so easy don't we? We have a roof over our heads, full bellies, internet connections, so we're set. And so few of us see it as good fortune, but simply as what we deserve.

8. Their driving.
Others have commented on the general lack of courtesy on the roads. I just want to mention the complete lack of awareness some people have for the prevailing conditions.
Yes, you Mr Green P Plater tailgating me on the freeway on Friday night. In a once-in-thirty years storm. In the dark. There is no way in hell you would have been able to stop if I'd had cause to brake suddenly, such as , you know, the car right in front of me stopping, or indeed the car in front of that. Idiot.

I see it all the time, experiencing as I do the joys of freeway driving on my daily commute... People hurtling along at 120kph in the near-darkness without their lights on. People constantly tailgating, and I mean so damn close you can't see their headlights in your rear vision mirror tailgating. Which is intimidating at 60kph. It's downright terrifying at 110kph.

And so many of the offenders are P Platers, which means I know they don't have the experience necessary to safely get out of any problem they may find themselves in. Idiots.

9. Their use of the term 'Union Bosses'

Moir, From the SMH 09/06/07

This one really gets me cranky. It's as bad as all these modern independent women writing off 'Feminists' as being too hardcore and pushing impossible dreams and swinging the pendulum 'too far'. The average working Australian enjoys and takes for granted benefits that those 'union bosses' struggled and fought for over many years. Women who are happy to demonise the dreaded unions, yet enjoy equal pay for equal work, maternity leave allowances and the like.

They are happy to cheer on the ACTU in it's fight against James Hardy, yet the very next day denigrate them as being diehard socialists hell bent on dragging Australia back to the 'Bad Old Days'.
It doesn't make sense. Some consistency would be nice people.

10. Their need to use memes to preach to the converted.
Er, yeah. Sorry about that. I realise that it's turned into a soapbox and I've been all earnest and angst-ridden.

Most of the people on my blogroll seem to have done it already, but Chris has promised to reduce the object of his hatred to the Magic Number of 10. Mex? W? fancy a try?

RIP Radar

Firstly, I'd like to thank everyone for their kinds words and well-wishes in regards to my Headache Dramas. It was pretty scary, and that fact that everyone was so lovely was a soothing balm, a wet towel to the forehead of my feverish and paranoid soul...


Thank You. It's moments like these that make you appreciate the tender heart of the blogosphere.


It's also a little freaky that last night's episode of MNiE was so strikingly relevant to this ongoing drama...


Anyways...


It's taken a while, but I've finally sworn off Radar.

(And this probably isn't going to be meaningful to anyone other than the Punters, sorry)

I know, I know, I should have done it months, nay, years ago... but I just. couldn't. I'm weak etc etc.

They've stuffed up the format, so the little threads don't flow....
Dom still doesn't update enough...
The posts aren't even interesting anymore...

But the final straws came this week:

1. 'Bron' and 'Suey' were indulging in a little back-slapping and 'nice to see an old face around here' self-congratulation. Then 'Bron' said 'Who are all these people' meaning the randoms... And I had a little WTF? moment, seeing as she'd only been commenting for a couple of months. And Dom didn't publish a comment from 'LongTimeRadarReader' pointing out this fact...

and then


2. Dom didn't publish my (actonb) comment on his 'View from the Departure Lounge' post...
   
   "Most have slammed his (Tony Blair) record on account of Iraq. Blair was the salesman who gave the war what scant veneer of legitimacy it had, and for that he will ever be described as Bush's poodle – a lovely description given the man's inherent prissiness.
   
   And Tonza should indeed be remembered harshly for the debacle in Iraq. But he has other crimes to take into account. It was he who, almost a decade ago, coined the phrase "People's Princess" – a contradiction in terms if ever I heard one. He was described at the time as the nation's Mourner-In-Chief. I'm sorry Diana died, but let's be honest, she had a better life than she deserved, and the charity work she did was the least anyone with half a conscience would do if they received massive amounts of money because they'd married someone wealthy.(My emphasis)"
   
   I took him to task, quite politely, about the mean-heartedness of that comment, as well as his encouragement of similarly harsh commenters, and pointed out that it reflected badly on him.

Radar is deader than a door-knob AND a dodo, and it makes me quite pathetically and strangely sad. I miss Sian and Vic and Garry. I miss winding up Blondie, even if it was like shooting fish in a barrel... I miss the comforting cliquey-ness of the Punters.

Why is this so?????

The Picture of Actonb

So, last night, after a hard day of not going to the dawn service (because I am a lazy arse person who spent Tuesday sick as a dog) (and man, is PossumBoy going to have something to say about that, 'specially when I promised I'd take the Big Girls), but having cleaned the house, washed the floors and re-arranged the rumpus room, I decided to relax.

In style.

By sitting in a hot bubble bath, eating King Island Belgian Chocolate Creme Dessert and reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. Which I like to think Mr Wilde would have found entirely appropriate.

...I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream - I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal - to something finer, richer, then the Hellenic ideal, it may be...

It's fun to finally approach some of the classics, especially ones that you feel you know quite well, despite never having read them. I'm not sure why I've shied away from Wilde before, but I've had Dorian Gray on my shelf for ages without having picked it up.
[Oh! Embarrassing realisation: I bought it after watching the critically panned The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (which I actually enjoyed), as DG is one of the characters]

I absolutely adore The Importance of Being Earnest, and remember seeing the Ruth Cracknell production at the Opera House on a school excursion (the same day that Nelson Mandela was giving his famous address on the Opera House Forecourt). So really, it's not that great a stretch of the imagination to assume that I'm going to love Dorian Gray either. The same turn of phrase, same biting wit though elegantly expressed... I'm loving it so far, and am intrigued as to how the story will unfold. Knowing the basic premise is actually adding to my enjoyment of the novel.

I had the same experience reading Stevenson's Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde: was expecting an out-and-out horror story, but instead encountered a beautifully and simply told psychological drama. It wasn't at all what I was expecting, and now I am left wondering how many other novels I have crossed off in my mind as being not 'my thing'... Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is probably one of them.

What else am I missing out on?

Easter Blahness

I really want to gloss over the last couple of days, although I'm not entirely sure why... I had some fantastic days and some pretty ordinary episodes, so, um, I dunno? Maybe a couple of dot points can help to explain:

* The girls went to their last Saturday morning dancing class - AFL starts after Easter, and footy wins over ballroom dancing (they were given the choice). However, since they're still adoring it and we've gone and invested in some Fabulous Silver dancing shoes for them, it looks like we'll just have to start going along to the Adults Beginners Ballroom lessons on Tuesday night, as they run a *free* kids class at the same time... This is something we've been talking about doing for our entire marriage, so yay! for only taking 12 years to get our arses into gear...

* I bought a Dyson Vacuum cleaner...

Please... admire it's dysonny beauty... and it matches my kitchen too!

(And don't worry - I didn't spend the million gazillion dollars of my own money - it's a 'Business Expense')

* I got no chocolate. None! Unless you count the leftover M&M Speckled Eggs that mum bought for the girls. And I don't. And no books neither (the B family alternative to chocolate)...
RIPPED OFF!

* Miss M bought herself a lilac-coloured beanie, and wore it all weekend, regardless of prevailing weather conditions. Her hair just curls out the bottom making her look entirely gorgeous.

* We went down to Berry to check out Mum & Dad's new house - the slab is down, and the frame is up - and the girl's were being 'ghosts' walking through walls...

* I cooked lamb shanks (Irish shanks - with half the shoulder still attached) which simmered for the 6 hours I was down in Berry. SO DAMN GOOD! yum yum yum (etc) And especially when matched with a Chapel Hill Shiraz. And the rain on the tin roof. One of the better moments!

* Church was... difficult. And made even more so by the decision to play a Colin Buchanan song for a 'quiet, reflective' period. Me, I just reflected on how much I DETEST the man, so that probably wasn't very helpful really. Me and Colin, we have 'issues'. MrB says I need to forgive him, I say "ha! I don't have to forgive him until he asks..." Me and petulance, we also have 'issues'.

And no Resurrection hymns! Can you believe it???

And also, no minster standing at the door wishing the congregation farewell... Our old minister may have been so terribly Old School, but he knew that, especially on Easter Sunday, the minsters place is by that door, greeting people...

MrB and I have decided enough is enough... we're officially church-hunting again, and will be visiting the local Baptists this Sunday. We attended a Baptist church in the UK, and have never felt so loved, so part of a community (Although this may be rose-coloured glasses). We Shall See.

not so Good Friday

Look, I'm not going to muck about here, I'm feeling a decided lack of inspiration (and there have been no kind offers of memes either) - and it's not just the blogging, it's everything. I need these 4 days off, even if MrB has got to do an essay, which means I'm on child-minding (and child-keeping-quiet) duty.
I having one of those terribly female phases of dropping things and getting all shaky and bursting into tears for no apparent reason (and NO! I am NOT pregnant before you even think that) Last night I dropped a dish of roasting carrots and tomatoes, and got quite irrationally upset about it - MrB was trying to comfort me about the shattered baking dish, but that wasn't what was upsetting me - it was the loss of the carrots. I really really wanted roasted carrots and tomatoes with my roast beef and potato bake. Like really...

Maybe it's because it's Easter, and our family has the worst luck at Easter... So subconsciously I guess I'm strung rather tightly, just waiting for the axe to fall...

And it's Good Friday, and I haven't made it to church. Again. And my soul is aching... I'll make it on Sunday, even if it kills me. I'm not too sure why I've been letting 'life' interfere with the church-going, but I think it's probably something to do with the lack of my RevJen. Although I thought it would be liberating to just be a bum on a pew, I'm kinda reticent to go knowing that her warm (though harried) smile won't be welcoming me. Which is precisely why I need to go. Because church shouldn't be about the people sitting alongside me, it should be about Him. And everything else is just a pathetic excuse.

INC's post showed up in Bloglines this morning, and I can't add to it, other than to say - go, read - and I'll have the CD playing, along with the New Irish hymns, because Mohammad, mountain etc.

And now I'm going to spend the rest of this grey and rainy Friday baking Hot Cross Buns, and hope the warm and comforting spices bring home to my selfish heart the sacrifice of my Crucified Christ.

ABC, as easy as 123...

Oh No! Another meme... blame Mountjoy this time! But I'm all outta love right now, so you'll just have to deal...

A- Available or Single
Well that's just dumb for starters... shouldn't it be Available or Unavailable? This doesn't bode well does it?
Unavailable. Obvs. I think MrB would have something to say about that otherwise...
B- Best Friend
Hmmm... I have a core group of BFFs - Jude, Sarah, Jacqui and RevJen. And I have a special Bloggy BFF, the delightful LaRue... I'm such a girly girl sometimes...
C- Cake or Pie
Cake. My fave at the moment is a moist apple and hazelnut cake... yummo!!!!
D- Drink of Choice
Really depends on the time of day... I'm constantly asking myself 'Is it gin o'clock yet?'
E- Essential Item
Espresso machine. Or my Kenwood Chef.
F- Favorite Colour
Green I guess. Or maybe purple. What a dumb bloody question.
G- Gummi Bears or Worms
Neither! Haribo Happy Cola all the way...
H- Hometown
Now, is this the actual town in which I reside? Or the town in which I was born?
Bulli is where I live, and where my heart calls home. I was born near Birkenhead on Wirral though...
I- Indulgence
Tanquery 10.
J- January or February
Well January's hot. Damn Hot. But then February is a) always confusing me with it's ridiculous 'r' and b) always surprisingly hotter and humider. I hate them both.
K- Kids
4. Girls.
Life will be interesting in a few years when the Hormonal Hell hits our place.
L- Life is incomplete without
Love. Awwwww. *vomit*
M- Marriage Date
July 1995
N- Number of Siblings?
I'm the eldest of 3. A younger sister, and a baby brother, PossumBoy. I love them both dearly, but my goodness! the burden of responsibility is a heavy one...
O- Oranges or Apples?
Apples. Always. Especially a nice crisp tart Granny Smith.
P- Phobias/Fears
Umm... I'm not going to mention any phobia because of fffreaky stalkers...
Q- Favorite Quote
Life is Pain Princess! And anyone who says otherwise is selling something...
R- Reasons to smile
Clouds on the Escarpment, waves crashing on the beach... Bulli is my reason to smile!
(and Donnie, you know that was a shout-out just for you....)
S- Season
Autumn. It's just peachy.
T- Tag Three People
Eek! How about next time someone is stuck for inspiration and has to resort to a meme, just say Actonb told you to do it... Coz I said so.
U- Unknown Fact About Me
Look, I've been blogging for a year now. There ain't nothing you don't already know. Oh, except that I was vice-captain of Red House in Year 6.
W- Worst Habit
Ask MrB and he'll say 'blogging'. Ask my siblings and they'll say 'bossyness'. Ask me and I'll say 'huh? I have no bad habits, now bugger off'
Y- Your Favorite Foods
Oooh! rare steak. chorizo a la plancha. laksa. BBQ Pork. Broccoli.
Z- Zodiac
Scorpio. You mean you can't tell?????

Meme a meme a meme a

The lovely Miss W tagged me with a meme. I haven't done one in yonks, so I'll be lazy today...

Three Things That Scare Me
Actual Howard Voters
Small Children next to High Cliffs
Supernatural (Because I am the biggest wimp)

Three People Who Make Me Laugh
PossumBoy (my little brother)
Misses I and O

Three Things I Love
Bulli
Goats Cheese
Reading in the bath

Three Things I Hate
Mushrooms - utterly, and in every form
Never having enough time
Voting with the Hip Pocket

Three Things I Don’t Understand
Life
The Universe
Everything

Three Things On My Desk
Michel's Coffee card
An apple
Hand Cream

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die
Go to Russia
Drive around Australia in a Campervan
Learn contentment

Three Things I Can Do
Cook
Breed
Um?

Three Things I Can’t Do
Surf
Anything artistic
Lose an argument

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To
Your Mother
Your Big sister
The still small voice

Three Things You Should Never Listen To
The Internet
The Daily Telegraph
The argument 'but all the other kids are allowed to...'

Three Things I’d Like To Learn (but won’t)
Ballroom Dancing
Finnish
Inifinite Patience

Three Shows I Watched As A Kid
The Young Ones
Blue Peter
V

Three Blogs I’ve tagged
Donnie
Meva
Possum

And I'm done. I'm on a tight schedule here...

Sunday Bloody Sunday

I'm sitting here in my kitchen on a blustery Sunday afternoon watching the clouds scoot over the Escarpment, causing the sky to alternately lighten and darken again in response...

Some randomness for you...

* I'm cooking Bolognese, as it's Miss H's birthday in 2 days time, and her grandparents are coming down for a special dinner tonight. She proves her kinship with her uncle PossumBoy in that her response, each and every time, to the question "What do you want for your Birthday Dinner?" is "LASAGNE!"
Dad has taken her on a shopping trip for her birthday. To Westfield Bondi Junction. Her present is whatever they pick out together. Last time he did this she ended up with a pair of bright pink tassle-y boots which she adored. I am dreading her arrival home this evening...


* I'm eating a pomegranate. I love them, despite the extreme effort involved in eating them, and also despite the fact that my fingers are now stained pink... They make me feel exotic and Greek Goddess-like.


* I'm supposed to be writing a post for the new collaborative blog We do talk about our kids, but I'm having a shocking attack of blog-fright. All the other contributors are so articulate and intelligent and intimidatingly Melbourne... And besides, my kids have done nothing cute or sweetly-sentimental in the last couple of days. In fact I think they've got a bet running as to which of them can irritate me the most.


* I have atrocious sinus-allergy type sniffles. I'm blaming the fact that I had to go sifting through the vacuum dust-bag to rescue various pieces of Lego... Plus, even though we supposedly got an extra hour sleep this morning, nobody told the twins, so they woke up at 4:30am and refused to go back to sleep. See! I told you they're in cahoots!

* Is it sad that I love watching the ABC's election night coverage? L.O.V.E. it! Antony Green is the thinking woman's, um, political analyst?
I stood at the polling booth yesterday, confronted with my ballot paper and was overcome with dismay. I couldn't vote for any of them - I just couldn't bring myself to do it, and so voted informal for the first time in my life. I made it back to the car before bursting into tears. MrB thinks that I have too strong a sense of social responsibility. Is this possible??? I couldn't even vote for the CDP, which is my usual two-fingered salute to the Establishment. Yeah, I know, Don't say anything.
(Oh My Goodness - whoever tried to read that sentence last night would have thought I was going mad! Its's fixed now...)

And now I must bake. It's a Cross I must bear...

Pity Party

I apologise in advance if the following post makes little sense... Or littler sense than usual. I'm all groggy with a cold, and have that disconcerting 'head is twice as big as usual' feeling. But I'll soldier on...

I've been thinking about friendship recently. The further into my thirties I travel, the less 'Real Friends' I seem to have. And yet conversely, due to the wonders of technology (ie the Blogosphere), I have many more 'imaginary friends' than I would have considered possible... These faceless friends, with their witty one-liners and heartfelt suggestions actually know more about the day-to-day crapness of my life than my oldest and dearest confidantes.

Of my friends who I am able to have and to hold, only two read this blog. This may be because they're the only two who have regular access to a computer, or maybe it's because they're the only ones I want reading this crap. Who knows? Hey Sarah! Hey RevJen! *waves madly*

When we were at school, there was always clear delineations of friendship... there were 'bosom buddies' within subgroups, within larger 'classes' of kids... For instance Cath & I were bestest friends from Year 7, and generally hung out with a subgroup of KindaNerdy girls, who would socialise with the larger Band/Music class. Yet, after high school, I maintained contact with only 3 of these girls, and they were members of the Band, not the close little subgroup I was part of.

The friends that I made at uni - a close-knit group of four - they're the stayers. I guess the difference between school and uni is that the first is a group of kids thrown together with only geography as the unifying factor. At uni you have the experience of sharing interests and passions and discovering yourself. Of our little group of friends, we each had friends outside, although even then there was a subgroup within that group, as Jude & I had been at school together, and went to church together. She is still, to this day, my best and closest friend. I adore her. And yet, it's Sarah - the only one of us not 'Married with Children' - that I share this blog with. She's the only one I can trust to read this and not immediately become concerned for my spiritual well-being! She's the only one to whom I can expose certain parts of my soul, simply because I know she gets it. I love her too.

Yet, with our busy busy lives, we have such little time for our friends, and even less time for acquaintances. It's sad.

Now finally, the reason for such navel-gazing and reminiscence, is that my beloved RevJen is leaving the Illawarra.

And I don't know what I'm going to do....

I just can't express what a great gaping hole her absence is going to leave in my life. I mean, it's not like she's being swept up to heaven on a cherub-borne cloud, she's only going to *gasp* the North Shore, but as far as I'm concerned she's crossing oceans...

I may be being just a tad melodramatic here.

But only she & I know just how much I depend on her - she knows all my dirty secrets, and still loves me. She keeps me grounded, and keeps me sane. And will only very occasionally put on her dog collar to make me accountable...
Her move is going to be so good for her, her career and her family, and I'm so conflicted because I want the wider world to recognise her utter brilliance, but I also want her to stay put. But for the selfishest reasons in the world. We love her and want her amazing mind and heart and sermons all to ourselves!
And I don't want the CleryWife's little mini-me (aka Baby A) to grow up without me. I love that all my girls, even though they see her every week, all squeal and run to throw themselves at her. Well all except Miss M, who's now so grown-up she'll just go 'huh. hey jen' and then wander off...

And if you knew just where she's going, you'd want to slap me for being a complete idiot. Seriously.

I just hope there'll be someone at her new church that is happy to call a spade a spade, and not indulge in that earnest passive aggression that is the hallmark of church politics. I need to know that someone will look after her, because He knows she needs it.

Pah! Sappy crappy girly stuff.

Jen - just don't pack my mother's flan tins because she's getting well pissed!

Ssssh! This is my guilty secret...

Last night was my annual late-night televiewing shame-fest. No, not the crappola "Great Escape", which I would have plucked out my own eyeballs rather than watch... It was Eurovision!!!!
I have no theory as to the reasons for my enduring love of Eurovision. I have memories of watching it before we even moved to Australia - the Bucks Fizz 'Making your mind up' entry. It could be the kitsch, it could be the resonance of the 'nil point' constantly awarded to the UK, the dodgy accents, the 'Hello Athens, this is Belgrade calling'. Oh, I don't know - I love it all.
Highlights of Eurovision 2006 include:

• Germany's fabulous country music entry - complete with plastic cacti, pink saloon-whore frilly dress, and hats.
• The inner-thigh definition of Croatia's entry. No idea what her song was about, but she put lots of effort into it. (And even had a bucks-fizz type wardrobe moment)
• Ukraine's boots.
• Russia's mullet.

I love the way all the Scandinavians vote for each other; all the Baltic states vote for each other; all the Balkan states vote for each other; no-one votes for the UK. Astonishingly I didn't find this years entry from the UK, Daz Sampson, too cringeworthy. I must be getting old. Or it's the combined effect of years of Eurovision-viewing. Who knows?????

It's a guilty pleasure to be sure, accompanied by a cheeky cab sav, and an even cheekier Terry Wogan. He really makes Eurovision for me - and I grow nostalgic for his BBC Radio 2 program. His dry and irreverent commentary cuts through the cheese... although the quote of the evening belongs to MrB - when confronted with 7 fabulous Greek beauties clad in the shortest of shorts, his only comment was "Man that lighting rig is awesome". Aww, bless.

Safe Havens

Last night the wind was pretty intense, and it got me thinking that there is really no better place during storm than snuggled under a warm and cozy duvet... We recently replaced the roof on our old converted chapel, so now I can lay in bed listening to the hammering of the rain (when it DOES bloody rain) on the tin roof. I also love to watch the electrical storms out to sea - switch off all the lights in the lounge and be mesmerised by the light show on the horizon.
What is that feeling of contentment? How good does it feel to know that you're safe and warm, protected from all life can throw at you...
The memory that most perfectly encapsulates this concept of safe haven occurred in 1998. It had poured and poured and Wollongong was flooded. The roads were cut off; the train line was washed away; half of Bulli Pass ended up at the bottom of the mountain. I was working in Sydney, MrB working from home. The train crawled from Central, taking 2 hours to get to Waterfall where we were all unceremoniously dumped! Luckily I could go stay at my parents' place - most of the other unlucky commuters ended up staying overnight in a hall in Heathcote. The next evening Dad & I found a window of opportunity and dashed down the freeway which had opened for a whole hour before being closed again. It was dark, it was freezing, it was still raining... We got to our lovely old Federation cottage and stumbled in the door... MrB had cooked cottage pie and we all sat around the open fire - comfort food on our lap, red wine by our feet, the drumming of the rain on the roof, the warmth of the fire on our faces. A true safe haven.

Old Blighty

My mother is off to the UK this afternoon - Easter struck again and her favourite cousin dropped dead in his garden. She's going to do the funeral, estate sorting thing. Poor Mum - her Dad died at Easter (when she was 16); my Dad had a near-fatal car-repairing accident (a MkII Cortina fell on him) at Easter; her favourite aunt died at Easter...

I was born in the UK, in Cheshire. We moved to Australia in 1982 - I was 8 and remember being horrified - I understood just how far away it was. My brother and sister thought we were going to Austria... I was not a happy little chicken for ages - I was old enough to have identified myself as English. The Falklands War probably helped with that now I think about it. An easy lesson in nationalism - start a conflict and get all the school children to pray at school assemblies. And I wonder why I'm still uncertain around Argentineans... So, I started a new school, didn't deal well with the heat, didn't deal well with being called a pommy bastard (this was the Shire after all), didn't realise that people couldn't understand my interesting Warrington accent (cross between Liverpudlian and Mancunian). My identity as 'English', as different, was thoroughly entrenched. My parents became citizens, my siblings became citizens... I only got naturalised when I got a job with the Federal public service, and that was only because I had to.

1998 - happily married, one baby and another on the way... MrB gets a job in Eastbourne, East Sussex. We'd always wanted to go overseas, have an adventure, and we didn't let having kids stop us. It took a whole 3 weeks before I realised that I REALLY wasn't English after all. I was aussie through and through...

The English are... odd. And the Southern English are just a bunch of stereotypes! I spent 4 years living in Eastbourne and found it highly amusing that I offended people with my 'blunt aussie humour' Little old 'wouldn't say boo to a goose' me! They really are uptight, they really are unspontaneous, they really do talk about the weather. Constantly. There were things we loved about being in the UK, proximity to Europe not necessarily the most important, but I yearned to come home. We became increasingly frustrated with the fact that, especially in the organisations we were involved with, change and innovation was frowned upon. The "this is how we do things, we don't need to change" attitude ruled everything. Of course there are always exceptions, and we met some amazing people, made lifelong friends, but overall we missed Australians. We missed the way life is meant to be lived: the 'work to live, not live to work' mentality.

And I now feel so proud to identify myself as Australian. In a non-nationalistic way. To me it means: openess; friendliness; spontaneity; joyousness!

He is Risen!

This has been an interesting weekend.

Good Friday has got to be one of the more perfect days experienced for quite a while: Time spent with the kids, walking along the beach, playing with the babes... The weather was amazing, so clear, so still. I stood on Bulli Beach, and looking north I could see the coastline stretching to the Royal National Park. I felt calm, truly blessed.

Last night I went to church - the first time I've been in weeks. It's always easy to be too tired, too sick, too busy to get to church. I've been struggling with it for a couple of months now. I don't want to be around people, don't want to be accountable, don't want to be judged. I know I won't be - I know it's all in my head and that I am loved, not scorned - but still. Church is a difficult place to be when you're trying to hide from God! Anyway we all went to church - lots of hugs and kisses and concerned looks - "Christ is Risen" "He is Risen indeed!" Christians on Easter Sunday are the most joyous of people! Well we should be - our saviour lives! I didn't feel particularly joyous - and I shared something with a friend of mine (while hiding in the creche) - something which should have prompted care and understanding but instead brought forth a diatribe of pure and unadulterated dogma. Is it any wonder I'm feeling conflicted at the moment?

And in that frame of mind I read this article 'The Christian Paradox' by Bill McKibben. I had never come across his work before, but this article blew me away. The discomfort one can feel professing Christ in this world of Christian Right Neo-Cons is both validated and diminished. The Christ the Left blames for the woes of the world is not the Christ of the Bible: not the Risen Saviour. "Since the days of Constantine, emperors and rich men have sought to co-opt the teachings of Jesus. As in so many areas of our increasingly market-tested lives, the TV men, politicians and the Christian interest groups have found a way to make each of us complicit in that travesty, too... When (we) hunger for selfless love and are fed only love of self, they will remain hungry..." The central tenet of Christianity is Love: love of God and love of each other. I'm not going to get into an argument here about imaginary friends: I have my reasons for my faith, and as the daughter of scientists, you can believe that my reasons are pretty sound. I may share my testimony at some other point, but now all that is necessary is to understand the my faith is real and my Saviour lives. My struggle now is to try and apply His words to my life. Again. Because they've been sadly overlooked recently.

It's all Charlotte's fault...

And so, to another day...

I'm having issues with my medication at the moment, should probably go to see the doctor, but that's the problem with depression, I really can't be arsed... I wasn't coping too well a couple of weeks ago: much shouting at kids, husband... So I decided to self-administer and double my dosage. Which hasn't really helped - just kept me awake at night, leading to complete exhaustion. What a vicious circle!

But blah, who cares?

Interesting article in the SMH which may explain my abiding love of literature. And my prostration at the feet of Charlotte Bronte... So women like a bit more angst, a bit more passion... A bit more Life in their preferred reading materials. Life in the B household bears this out: MrB reads history (mainly military), philosophy and theology. I read whatever I can lay my hands on... Am loving Jasper Fforde and Malcolm Pryce at the moment.

Actually I blame Charlotte Bronte for where I'm at right now. Blame is probably too harsh a word: but she definitely contributed... At the end of Jane Eyre she writes those famous words: 'Reader: I Married him' And that's the end of the story. After all the angst, the passion, the 'I can't live without him, oh I can but I'll go do good works in the mission field while married to a complete loser' she marries her Mr Rochester. And one assumes all settles into domestic bliss. Maybe I read Jane Eyre too young (age 11), or maybe I've read it too often (at least once a year), but after getting married at age 21 I've discovered there is no fullstop after the magical ceremony. It's then that the real angst, the real passion, the real hard work starts... I'll be sure to encourage my daughters to read Jane Eyre early and often, but I'll also be sure to tell them not to rush into marriage, not to expect the bliss to automatically follow the fullstop. Reader: I married him. And I still love and adore him, more than anything, but geez it's hard...