Tag Archives: humour

the slutmobile and the spider…

21 Sunday Mar 2021

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It’s been a busy few weeks since I last checked in with you, promising to report more on my revived creative journey. In those weeks our 18 year old car needed some repair. Covid conditions of shipping to remote places like ours proved to make that a protracted process. It was our only car so we hired a rental for a couple of weeks. When it looked like that wasn’t going to be enough, we quickly agreed, we deserved a new car. With the money we saved from the lack of travel over the last year, happily, we could afford it. And as it turns out, so can a lot of other people. The car dealer says they are selling cars as fast as they can get them into town! It’s interesting to see what areas of the economy are leaping ahead, while others languish behind.

Fortunately, our modest needs were only for a town car that was small enough to fit into most of the parking spaces at the grocery and other places we frequent. But after sitting in the smallest car we thought we would buy, the salesman said he had one that was a step up, both in comfort and size if we wanted to sit in it for comparison—a tried and true sales tactic, I’m certain. This salesman was very laid back and applied no pressure whatever, but he didn’t have to. The minute I sat in the driver’s seat of the Corolla it was evident the comfort and amenities were better. Since we are of an age which means it may possibly be our last automotive purchase while we are able to drive, we decided to treat ourselves.

Let me digress a bit. The aforementioned 18 year old Barina (Holden/General Motors) was purchased new when our daughter was testing to get a driving license. The agreement was that we would purchase it, in all its spearmint-metallic-green-glory, and that when she decided to purchase a car, she could buy it from us, knowing she would have a car that was looked after and that she could afford. There were a few errors in judgement on her part (and an obvious one in ours!) that meant the car had a couple of dings in it, which we had deemed a fools errand to repair, given that many people will open their doors and not care if they dent the car next to them. So the dings stayed.

Then one night our daughter drove the car to a party. Alice can be a rough ole town at times. Lately we have been all too aware of it as our house, and many others, have had attempted break-ins. On this particular night about 15 years ago, a young woman set her sites on revenge when she thought Allison was flirting with her ex-boyfriend. Seeing Allison get out of the mint green chariot was all the inspiration she needed. Allison returned to the car after only dropping off a friend and visiting for few minutes to discover the rear windscreen wiper wobbling at a very odd angle, the radio antennae broken off and the word ‘slut’ keyed into the relatively new paint. We knew who it was because as most criminals do, she had to brag about her handiwork to someone, and that someone was friends with one of Allison’s friends and by the next morning it had gotten back to us. But we couldn’t prove it. So we paid for the antennae and the windscreen wiper to be replaced but we were loath to repair the paintwork, for obvious reasons. Allison’s detractor was still in town and she had friends.

When Allison decided to buy a car, it was not the dinged up Barina she longed for, but a flashy, used silver Honda, one of the early hybrid cars. Right thinking, but wrong car and wrong time of her life to make that expensive decision. Live and learn, right? We have generally let her make these decisions on her own with some guidance but knowing whatever we tell her she must do, she would do the opposite back then.

So, for the ensuing 15 years we have driven the small mint green car, emblazoned with ‘Slut’ on the side. Fortunately you could only read the word when the car was very clean. Living in Alice Springs, a car is rarely that clean. Dust storms see to that. I have always felt it was good penance, for what I wasn’t sure, to have to drive the slutmobile around town for all to see. No one would claim I was living beyond my means, nor that I had exquisite taste, and I never had to worry about someone stealing it or parking it where someone would ding the paint! The years caused the paint to chalk and peel and the poor little thing looked like it was peeling from a bad case of sunburn. But when we bought the Corolla, they actually paid us $1000 for the 18 year old Barina, that was clean on the inside, generally in good driving condition and had only 54,000 kilometres on the clock! It will have a new life with someone else and served us well.

My deepest anxieties have been realised, however, learning to drive a brand new car with all the advances that the automotive industry has made in the last 18 years, not to mention that it is about six inches wider and about 20 inches longer than the old car. It really adds a layer of anxiety to my days that I could do without. 

Take the day recently, when I went to the grocery store…

In my relatively calm and controlled life there is not much that scares me more than a big Huntsman spider in the house or a deadly Eastern Brown snake in the house both which I have experienced…unless it is either species in the CAR! That morning as I pulled into the parking space (having backed in and was so proud of myself) I looked toward the passenger window and crawling down the outside of the window was a large huntsman spider the size of the palm of my hand. I tried to get out of the car quickly so that the spider couldn’t crawl across the car and get inside. They do bite but are not aggressive or terribly poisonous but I didn’t fancy testing that bit of scientific knowledge. And the shock of having one drop down from the roof of the car into one’s lap, could easily cause an accident.

I did my shopping and stopped at the pharmacy and by the time I returned to the car I’d forgotten about the spider. After putting things in the boot I came around to the driver’s door and there was that blinking spider again! Shivers. The only thing I had to swipe at it was my grocery list so I swiped—trying to get it off the car. But they JUMP. So it jumped back to the windscreen and across to the other side of the car again. I walked around and found it, cleverly trying to flatten itself out so as not to be seen. I took one last careful aim and swiped at it and it disappeared.The other worst outcome. Where had it gone? I quickly tried to locate it and thank goodness it was on the ground out in front of the car a couple of feet. I quickly got into the car and closed the door. Because I had backed into the space I pulled out fairly quickly and left Mr Spidee behind.

Clearly my days of penance are not over. 

Updating you about my continuing creative efforts will wait for another day.  Have a great week.

what happens…

31 Tuesday Mar 2020

Posted by in humour, Travel

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Have you ever followed a special feeling or intuition that you couldn’t really explain? I’ve been doing it most of my life. In the early stages I wasn’t aware of it, but by my third decade I was beginning to get the drift. Some people call them ‘hunches’ or the ‘small voice’ inside. I’m not really sure what it is, but it is wise in ways that I would not claim to be, and yet, somehow it comes out of me. The next few posts will be the story resulting from one of those very strong intuitive feelings.

We have just completed a trip I would never have dreamed for myself. Not because I couldn’t dream that big, but because I couldn’t imagine putting myself through the potential physical punishment. Most of my conscious choices in life have been mental challenges. Trying to understand who I am and those who are close to me learning skills and such. Physical challenges have just been there all my life, as with many people. When I was about a year old a wave unexpectedly washed me out of my Dad’s hands into the sea.  Spoiler alert, he found me. When I was five I developed Rheumatic fever, and again at nine, and on and on. Every few years I’ve had a new physical challenge to work through. So I never felt the need to prove myself under physical duress in other ways.

Only home three days from another big trip, our travel agent told me about a trip to cruise from Tierra Del Fuego in Argentina, to the Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas), South Georgia Island and Tristan Da Cunha and to finish in South Africa. I became quietly obsessed. Logically, there was almost nothing about this trip that should appeal to me. I don’t really like cruising because, well…people…too many and too close at hand. Also, travel is always a challenge, because of my food sensitivities. And then there is sea sickness. I told my husband on the last miserable boat ride we had, not to bother asking me to go on another boat. Ever. He didn’t ask me this time, it was kind of my idea. What was I thinking?

That’s the thing. I wasn’t thinking, I was feeling. It was an intuitive knowing that for reasons I didn’t understand, I needed to make this journey. If every potential thing had gone wrong on this trip it would be the trip from hell. Another spoiler alert, it didn’t. This made it the trip of a lifetime. Actually, either way it would have been the trip of a lifetime, but, well, you know… The real reason I decided it was a good idea was because I’ve learned that big challenges yield big memories. Whether they are memories of hellish challenges, or memories of penguins, sea scapes and new worlds, we took the chance it would all be worthwhile.

COVID-19 was the one thing we had not counted on.

We booked the trip 10 months before embarkation. That’s a long time to anticipate, plan…and worry. Enter coronavirus—just to ramp up the anxiety a bit. A few weeks before our departure on Feb 20, we were both checking the news regularly. At that point the virus was mainly in China. There was none yet in Africa, at least none that was reported, and the same for South America. Since our trip mostly focused on a small passenger luxury cruise with Ponant to islands of the Southern Ocean, where there was also no virus, we felt we were safe enough to go. Just a day or so before leaving Australia we received communication from Ponant that if we had traveled to China, Italy or Iran, we would not be allowed to board the ship. True to their word, before boarding, Ponant representatives had a look at us and checked our passports, as well as had us sign wavers that we had not traveled in those places. And thus, we entered our bubble of safety.

However, I was definitely having ‘buyers remorse’ for two weeks (at least) before the trip. The Southern Ocean is notorious for the roughest seas in the world: refer to paragraph 3 re: seasickness. I had two seasickness meds with us, and bought a third thing I’d heard about, at the airport as we were leaving…sea-bands. They are elastic bands with a small plastic dot that when worn activate pressure points on both wrists that help control nausea. I have no idea if any of them worked because I never needed them. I hasten to add this was not because the seas were smooth, they were very rough at times. But I am now wise in the ways of ‘stabilisers’–in particular, fin-style stabilisers, on ships. If we do a cruise again, my first question to the sales agent will be ‘what kind of stabilisers do they have?’ Glory be. What a boon to the motion sick traveler. As the seas slapped us around the stabilisers kept the ship from doing the deadly corkscrew motion and I was saved. I hasten to add, there were a number of people, one crewman even, who wore the seasickness patches behind their ear. They didn’t seem to be bothered by the motion either, but I never got around to asking them whether the patches were precautionary or necessary. Seasickness was my most pressing worry. It could have spoiled the entire experience.

image of Ponant Cruises ship Le Lyrial
Our blessedly stabilised ship carrying 124 passengers, 157 crew, and no penguins,
who were sorely disappointed.

Also I had anxiety about what clothing to pack. Never having been on a zodiac excursion in my life, I did some extensive research online a few months prior and eventually chased down the required clothing. Said clothing were: wool socks, tops and leggings, beanie and neck gator; waterproof outer pants and waterproof gloves and shoes. The cruise was a National Geographic Expedition cruise and they partnered with Ponant providing very warm waterproof jackets and knee high boots (aka: wellingtons). We got to keep the jacket, which, despite best efforts at minimal packing, we then had to ease into already full suitcases (one each) to come home. Thankfully Ponant kept the boots so no further stuffing of cases was required. Would my research prove adequate, would the items procured be fit for purpose?…more anxiety.

Aren’t we fetching? We may not look glamorous but we certainly were warm!
Captain Patrick Marchesseau and yours truly–not glamorous, just not inappropriate either!

And then there was the side fact that this was a luxury cruise with a French crew and lots of French passengers, ie: French women passengers who might be intimidatingly stylish . What’s a 66 year old from the bush to wear? I was so anxious I tried on every single thing that I was thinking of taking, and photographed myself wearing it so I could analyse the images. Roll your eyes now. Anal, you say? Well, it worked. I’m happy to report I never looked inappropriate and at the end of the cruise a handsome Frenchman told Don and I we were one of the most glamorous couples in the photos taken on board the night of the Captain’s dinner. You can judge for yourself. But I also note, that on the flight from Adelaide to New Zealand for our departure to South America, a middle aged woman ran to catch up with me as we were deplaning and said ‘I just love your ‘look’ and wanted to tell you!’ I was not wearing the same outfit we wore to the Captain’s dinner either. Such a boon to anyone who tries their best. I always try to pay it forward, even to strangers when I see something I admire. I had only recently realised for myself that the changes I had been making to my hair, makeup and wardrobe were so that I would look the same on the outside as I feel on the inside…grey hair and sagging body parts aside.

And there were other things, the normal things, to be anxious about. Lost luggage, late flights, dietary needs, fitness level, sickness—over and above the obvious COVID-19 issue. And the ever important question of whether or not my pants would fit after three weeks of French food. The closer the trip, the more anxious about all those things I became. I tried to tell myself what I always try to tell myself ‘the things we worry about are almost never the things that happen!’ And sure enough, I was right—er, well, my wiser self was right. But that’s easy looking back 6 or 8 weeks later, isn’t it? The one thing I didn’t worry about was the thing that happened.

to be continued…

(this series of posts of our recent travels and other non-important musings by moi (are you feeling the French vibe??) are designed to entertain those of you who may need a break from self-isolation and social distancing. I hope you enjoy it)

ode to joy…

22 Saturday Dec 2018

Posted by in Life

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Early Saturday morning, three days before Christmas, I decided to do my holiday grocery shopping, hoping that only a small top up here and there would be necessary for a week or so after. The produce section was the main focus of my effort, sourcing in season fruit and organic vegetables to the degree that I could. We live in a place where none of it is grown, so we never know what the gods of long haul delivery will bring us! One of the veggies on my list was broccoli. The organic version had been full of moth eggs earlier in the week when I bought it, so I went straight for the regular kind. I don’t care for extra protein in my broccoli and the tedium to clean the eggs and the moth damage out of the broccoli is just more trouble than it’s worth, given that it costs more than double the regular.

As I approached the broccoli bin, a strapping young Aussie man bent over it examining the choices carefully. He picked one up and put it back, then another, and finally chose one. But as he held the chosen one, his serious face dipped down, looking and inspecting more. Ever so carefully. Finally he chose a second one. As he stood up, towering over me (I’m very short on one end) and began to walk away, I quickly said to him “Oh, those are the two I wanted!” He looked at me and said very sweetly “Oh, really?” I laughed and said, “No, no, I’m just joking!” His face broke into a relieved, open-mouthed smile and he chuckled as he walked to his trolley…or maybe that was clucking at what a mad loser he’d just encountered…hard to say.

A lady and I nearly collided trolleys but we finally got our signals right and as we passed in the aisle I said to her, “These things need turn signals”. It’s an old joke, but it made us both laugh. I joked with another fellow that we were ‘doing the dance of the trolleys’ and he laughed as well.

By this stage I suppose I was in danger of being hauled off to the looney bin, or at the very least being pulled up for misdemeanour merriment. But, unbridled, my mirth knew no bounds.

There were numerous other people at whom I smiled warmly. Some mirrored the radiance, others looked stunned, as if they could not even consider a smile. Perhaps I did look a little out of place. Finally, at the checkout, the staff member who was looking after the self-check-out registers, and I, exchanged smiles and best wishes for the season. It occurred to me that what could have been a stressful shopping trip was made very fun because I could connect with people in a light hearted way. It may have even improved their day, who’s to say?

As I drove home, I realised I was genuinely relaxed. At Christmas!! And for the weeks leading up to it as well. This was unfamiliar territory. Some weeks ago I realised I was teetering on the edge of depression, as many people do this time of year. What is the saying ‘if you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten’. I needed to make some changes. About the time I took that decision, or probably because I took that decision, some things came into my life to assist me. Have you ever noticed how that can happen? I discovered a new (to me) meditation technique which worked for me from the first time I tried it. I began my early morning walks again, though my foot is still quite sore. The walking is just so good for me mentally. We are all different. Because these things were good for me does not mean they would be good for everyone else, or anyone else.

Others may look forward to finding just the right gift for everyone on their list. They might revel in cooking foods that everyone looks forward to all year long, or writing that family newsletter to keep in touch with everyone. But for me, I knew I needed to say ‘no’. No to most of the gift giving, all the decorating, baking, card sending…so that I could say ‘yes’ to giving myself space to find my inner joy again.

We have had unprecedented high temperatures so far this summer, up to 43 and 44C (109+ F). The traditional Northern Christmas, celebrated with decorated pine trees, snowy landscapes and mountains of food hot from the oven just doesn’t translate well to this hot, arid zone climate. As I sit here, sipping my iced coffee in air conditioning, having gotten my chores out of the way before the day gets too hot, I’m thinking of those very sensible countries who practice ‘siesta’. I can see more serious relaxation in my future, and a little bit of celebration with close friends. I always have plenty to be grateful for, but this year I will add something else to the list. I will celebrate the gift I have given myself…the space to rekindle inner joy.

My warmest and very best wishes of the season to you all. I’m sending along my very favourite of all the season’s greetings…

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remotely challenged…

10 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by in humour, Life

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IMG_0836If you have ever been in over your head with technology…

Among other things, my husband has a degree in Information Technology. After many years, I have figured out they taught him never to intervene if there is someone else foolish enough to try and do the job. So. I am the ‘tech guru’ of our household. I have just finished setting up the latest addition to our family of technology, an Apple TV. Silly me, I believed everything Google said, ‘you just plug it in and follow the instructions on the screen to set it up’. Oh, yes, that ole’ fairy tale.

I’ve had Apple products almost since their inception, so I’m kind of used to them. I stay with them because they integrate so well with each other. I was a freelance artist and an early adopter of desk top publishing and eventually I used the computer for most of my design work as well, so I am not without skills.

IMG_0850Less accomplished are my skills of using a remote. Or three in this case. The Apple TV is a toy, a luxury. I enjoy watching YouTube videos, TED talks and the like, but I don’t like sitting at the computer to watch them. I can also view my 30,000+ digital photo collection on the bigger screen, as well as use other apps from my computer. Also I like movies, and for a modest fee, this will let me subscribe to Netflix. (Shhh, don’t tell the satellite provider) Our TV is seven years old. It is not a totally smart TV. It isn’t stupid but it is no longer the valedictorian of its class.

Our daughter had encouraged me to buy the Apple TV in the first place, assuring me it would augment the smartness factor, and convincing me that I had the tech skills to set it up. Ego being what it is, I believed her too.

First attempt: Early in the morning, fail. I send her a text message. 

Me: “No success so far, but I think it is operator error”

Second attempt: A couple of hours later…I sat sympathetically in front of the not so smart TV, three remotes lined up in front of me. I did not feel so smart either. The design of the Apple remote is such that you need to be able to access ‘settings’ on the TV to see if the remote is fully charged and connected. Therein lay the conundrum. I could not advance from the screen after selecting ‘English’ as my language of choice. Nothing would happen.  But it didn’t happen in English. At least I’d gotten that far, though how, I wasn’t sure. If I have learned anything over the years it is that going back to basics often fixes a tech problem. Perhaps it would help, I thought, if I tried charging the new remote, just in case it was flat and not working.  Apple usually sends things already fully charged, but it was worth a shot.

…charging for a little while.

Text reply to my earlier message, from our daughter, who has owned an Apple TV for 7 years and who lives 1000 miles away:

Daughter: “I would help if I wasn’t so far away”

Me: …contemplating why I let her leave home.

I retrieved the charged (presumably) remote and returned to the task at hand. Wot??? Suddenly appearing on the TV screen, the remote shared with me, it was ‘connected’! Well, thank God for small mercies. Upon a second third look, I realised I had not noticed the track pad on top of the teeny tiny remote. Oh for Pete’s sake, how did I miss that? Yeah, the same way I missed the most important item on my grocery shopping list, yesterday. (Will give myself a personal flogging later.) Finally, I could advance the screens and set things up. Setup finished, and connected to Wi-Fi, I suddenly had a new problem.

How do I return to the regularly scheduled programming on the satellite service? This was dicey. I had screwed this up in the past and it took ages to sort out. Stakes were high. 

Daughter: “Once it is connected you need to select the correct HDMI port”

My reply: “Yes, I know that, but I have no idea how to get that screen up on the TV”

Silence.

I’ve been in this space before. Being technically challenged is surprisingly stressful, probably up there with childbirth–without the Oxytocin or drugs. Stomach gnaws, angst grows. Which button do I push now? Truthfully, I have no idea what a quarter of the buttons do. And I’m the guru.

Sweaty palms.

(Does not even know which remote she should be using at this point…staring, sweating, considering her options, which bears mentioning, the actual ‘options’ button does nothing discernible. More contemplating… )

Incoming text message from my friend, the Bricklayer, who wants to know if he can come THIS very morning to patch something I spoke to him about two months ago. Really? You want to come in an hour? Trying to complete my task at hand before needing to be at the airport to pick up my husband, whose plane was to arrive early, after which a friend was coming for coffee, was closing in on me. Something in my response must have signalled ‘danger Will Robinson’*.  He later replied he would come another day.

Fine. Better. I will apologise later, in case I made him feel unloved. I don’t think I did. He is very intuitive and probably just picked up on a vibe.

Honestly, who needs extreme sports to get the heart rate up?

Basically I was just pressing the same button over and over, hoping for a different outcome. Insanity, I know. BUT, then I noticed on the TV screen, a teeny, tiny icon I had previously overlooked. (more flogging later) OMG, that looks like another icon, where did I see that….desperately scans all three remotes at once. Could it be…THIS other teeny, tiny little button that almost looks like that?

Deep breath.

Push button.

Presto. I have just graduated summa cum laude in ‘remote education’. I am wildly happy. Ridiculously happy. But at 8.30 am, I’m also wondering if it is too early to open the bottle of vodka.

I message our daughter about the victory and the vodka, who replies:

“Call it a Mimosa”**

I text back to her: “How did you get so smart?”

Her reply: “Good genes”

I may be technologically challenged, but I raised a smart and funny young woman.

Things always look easier in hindsight, but keep a bottle of vodka just in case. –ardysez

 

*”Danger Will Robinson” is an often quoted line from a 1960’s TV series called “Lost in Space”. Will Robinson was the son of a family who was supposedly lost in space on an alien planet. His ‘minder’ was a protective, humourless robot. If Will, who was a bit cheeky, would test the limits of their alien situation, the robot would sound the danger warning. Here is a five second clip 🙂

**A ‘Mimosa’ is a drink often served at fancy brunches, that is half champagne or other fizzy wine, plus orange juice

a summary of summer things…

19 Friday Jan 2018

Posted by in Alice Springs, Recommendations

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The year is spinning by so fast I can hardly believe it. Despite recent years of minimising and editing my environment as well as downsizing interaction with social media, days are full and my energy wanes. Sometimes I think the summer here is like winter in the northern hemisphere, a time for stasis, or at least slowing down. But the one thing I make time to do nearly every single day is walk. I love to walk in the early morning.

Light. Quiet. Relative cool. Promise. Beauty. So many reasons to walk early. And this…IMG_0738

I have no profound topics to share with you this time, but decided that you might find a little gem in amongst some of the things that have interested me in recent weeks.

Podcasts:

Your Creative Push – interviews with various artists and people who share helpful insights for creative practices. This episode is an artist whose work I recently purchased and if you listen until the very end she shares a good tip from Martha Beck for tackling big projects. (Aimée Hoover, artist, website here)

IMG_0724Chat10 Looks3 – This podcast is by two of Australia’s leading journalists, Annabelle Crabb and Leigh Sales. They are brilliant women whose banter is hilarious but they also impart a lot of information regarding Australian culture, books and other media. It makes me laugh so much, if I listen to it when I’m walking I’m sure I’m in danger of being taken away to the psych ward. If you are not Australian it may not make as much sense.

Tim Ferris Show – interviews with people who inspire and illuminate. This episode with Brené Brown.

BBC Food Programme  – A factual, in-depth examination of all things food. Fascinating. This episode is for my Northern Hemisphere friends as it is all about the humble dish of porridge (oatmeal).

Conversations with Richard Fidler – MY FAVOURITE! Yes you can read that in shouty tones because that is how much I loved this episode. And now I want a horse. Or at least to be near one. A radio interview can actually have that effect on a person.

(*note – Not all of these interviewers are the best, but these are still my favourite interviews of recent weeks, usually because of the person being interviewed or some bit of wisdom they present)

Books:

IMG_0770Outline by Rachel Cusk – did not hit my sweet spot but it might hit yours (fiction) I noticed that reviews were varied, though mostly positive.

Everywhere I Look by Helen Garner – a revelation (to me) in writing style. This is a series of essays, some I liked very much, others not as much but overall a very worthwhile book. (non-fiction)

The Summary of Small Things by Carol Adams – a surprising and gentle little book filled with details from six months of a life lived in Central Australia, with awareness and engagement. I was delighted by this book. (non-fiction) This is the second in a series of locally published books (Ptilotus Press) about Central Australia. Carol is a long time resident, artist and author from Alice Springs. Book is only $15 (plus postage) and is available from Red Kangaroo books, 79 Todd Mall, Alice Springs Ph: 08 89532137 and email: redkanga@bigpond.com

Small House Living Australia by Catherine Foster. Over the years I’ve become very interested in the ‘small but perfectly formed’ abode. This book has photos and floor plans of smartly designed homes of 90 square metres (~315 sq. feet) or less. (non-fiction) (there is also a New Zealand version here)

Food:

New favourite salad – http://www.theglowingfridge.com/crunchy-thai-noodle-salad/ 

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This is not my photo, but from the website with the recipe. I ate mine so fast I forgot to photograph it!

(I can’t eat the rice noodles so left them out and still found it delicious. This is a vegan salad as it is, but you could easily add prawns/shrimp, salmon or boiled egg if you want more protein.)

YouTube:

Mel Robbins – is probably classified as a motivational speaker. What fascinated me is this particular ‘5 second rule’ idea. This link is for the short version, lasts only 5 minutes.

This link is for a 25 minute interview with Mel — her story of how she discovered this ‘5 second rule’ which she admits she wishes had a different name 🙂

 

As I look back at what I’ve been consuming…no wonder the days are flying by.  xx

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gone, with a whinge…

04 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by in Life, Wordpress Daily Post

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The days of thin eyebrows are gone. Back in the day, no one mentioned that eventually the tweezed ones would not grow back. Being young, I doubt I would have listened, regardless. Having slavishly plucked to appease fashion demands of the latter part of last century, mine are decidedly thin, from lack of regrowth. But on the negative side, they have creatively developed some extremely long and wire-y disciples that vie for attention.fullsizeoutput_3902

I now ‘trim’ the brows—my tweezing efforts have had to move to the lower portion of the face. Can’t science develop a directional flow beam-a-ma-bob that will show the hairs where they are needed? Herein lies your millions, all you millennials. Of course it may not be needed, those of us who over-tweezed may be long gone, having gradually faded to nothing, one hair at a time.

And while the upper eye area has an overgrowth of select hairs, the lower lid has the reverse. Gradually the lower lashes are disappearing. A small dab of liner pencil where I never used to need it, helps it look less sparse. Meanwhile, the upper lashes which were always rather short and light on the tips have been given a surprising boost in recent years. The diagnosis of glaucoma, which requires eye drops, is the reason. On my first visit the young female doctor (I may have shoes as old as she was) tried to reassure me as the tears gathered in my eyes, “Don’t worry, it may never get any worse than now, and just wait until you see what long dark lashes you will develop as a side-effect from the drops.” Yes, exactly, at 60+ what I really, really want is long dark lashes. It was little comfort at the time, but eventually I grew to embrace this little gift, as I saw the results. More importantly, after two years the glaucoma has not worsened.

The young doctor forgot to mention a quirky little fact, if she even knew— that every now and then, all the longest lashes will fall out…within close timing of each other… gone. There are odd gaps through the lash line, that probably no one but me notices. It is slightly alarming at the time as I ponder–what happens if they never come back at all? I’m unable to answer myself when I pose these deep questions.

Leonid Brezhnev in the Federal Republic of Germany 1978These were the thoughts going through my mind this morning as I groomed and cosmetically enhanced my face. Smoke and mirrors, friends, smoke and mirrors…There are other things that have disappeared, like my waistline, hair colour and the once smooth texture of my fingernails. Gone, gone, gone. Perhaps you think I place too much emphasis on my appearance, but I kind of liked the face I was finally getting used to. I know, I know, it is part of the deterioration of ageing and has nothing to do with one’s inner beauty. Really, I’m okay with that…I’m just not ready to have the eyebrows of comrade Brezhnev.

Inspired by WordPress Daily Post: Gone

a tale of two thongs…

07 Friday Oct 2016

Posted by in art, Creativity, photography

≈ 13 Comments

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Early one morning I came upon a pair of thongs. They lay in the middle of the footpath, as if someone had just walked out of them, and gone on their way, barefooted. It is not the first time I have discovered homeless thongs. The humour-loving, curious artist in me took a photo. I edited the photo so it would be viewed more as an art work than a photo. I tagged it on Instagram #thongsasart and wondered if anyone would be as amused as I.

They kind of were.

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Right and Left Thong, as found.

The next day as I walked by the same place, the pair of thongs had been moved. Not by me. I almost never move anything that I photograph outside. It is kind of my little challenge to myself to photograph things as I find them so that I have to work with the existing light and environment. The thongs now looked as if they were escaping into the tall grass at the side of the footpath. I photographed them again.

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Day Two, the great escape…

Day three. Separation of the pair gnawed me with anxiety for their future. It was not good for a pair to be separated. Now there was nearly 30 feet (pardon the pun) between the two. They had lost sight of one another.

Day three, the separation. Left Thong as found.
Day three. The separation. Right thong as found.

Day four. Before setting out for my morning walk, I found myself nervously anticipating what might have happened to the separated thongs. The closer I got, the more wary I became. Grass. Had. Been. Cut. Town Council workers using their big mowing machines would never see the thongs. The pair meant nothing to them. They would take no notice if the blades transformed them into mulch.

I was almost afraid to look. There, in the newly mown grass, was Right Thong, face down. But where was Left Thong? Hesitatingly I stepped slowly into the grassy area, running my eyes along the ground. Something blue was at the base of a small tree. Ah. It was what makes a thong, a thong…the flexible, rubber wishbone that embraces the foot. It lay disembodied from its sole. A metre or so away lay a star emblazened remnant, once part of Left Thong. To its right lay another piece. I felt like a forensic scientist collecting data, though I already knew the truth of Left Thong’s demise.

Day five. Right Thong in mourning.
Day four. Remains of Left Thong.
Day four. Remains of Left Thong.
Day four. Remains of Left Thong.

Day five. You know that feeling of being curious, but not really wanting to know if the outcome is bad? I walked and tried not to look too far ahead, thinking perhaps I should just leave the story to its own conclusion. The podcast I was listening to distracted me, and before I realised, I looked down and there I was next to Right Thong. Right Thong was facing up again. I could see small signs of its ordeal, but it was gently smiling at me–as if to say, ‘it’s okay’. I stopped to photograph the survivor. As I was taking care to focus, a young woman walked by, sending a nervous glance our way.

I said aloud, ‘I know this looks crazy’–as if somehow my saying it, made it less so. We both knew it didn’t.

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Day five. Right thong smiling at me.

Inside I thought of the words I’d just heard in my ear. They were by Frank McCourt who wrote the wonderful memoir ‘Angela’s Ashes‘.

[By writing] ‘I learned about the significance of my own insignificant life’

Yes, it was an insignificant thong, the image of which was made by an insignificant artist. But if we are to believe that nothing ever leaves the ethers, those images are forever. Making art makes us human. Being aware of that makes us grateful.

Euphoria Inversion – Remedy

18 Wednesday Sep 2013

Posted by in Food, Health, Inspiration

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Occasionally there is an energetic phenomenon that takes place called the Euphoria Inversion. It is difficult to identify in the early stages, before all the indicators are noted. The affected person feels like they are in their normal mode, but nothing quite works. There are gremlins in the wifi network, a hole in the coffee filter, and for some reason the attention span of a fruit fly prohibits the person from doing anything with efficiency. This is the Universe offsetting the extreme efficiency of previous days. You must learn to be at peace with Euphoria Inversion, by whatever means you have to hand.  To resist it is futile. All those lovely sunrise walks must be avenged.  The Universe will have its way.

A few of my guidelines…On those days it is useless to try to purchase anything online. Your credit card will probably not work, but more likely, you will not even be able to sign on to your favourite website because it will not accept your password. Don’t try to drive in situations that require anything more skilled than a 10 year old could manage. So, probably best to not leave the driveway. Try not to use any utensil more cutting than a broom, and by all means don’t cook.

It is equally futile to try and ameliorate the momentum…. with one exception.

Cake.

It is a well known fact that when nothing else will change your day, a piece of cake and a cup of tea or coffee will intervene in the Euphoria Inversion phenomenon and put the Universe in balance once more.

Today was one such day for me… but I broke one of my own guidelines, I baked the cake. I had to because I was afraid to get into the car and drive to get some. And to illustrate my previous observations, I did everything wrong…nearly forgot the salt and added at the wrong time, used the wrong kind of oranges, used the wrong sized pan and used a new recipe rather than an old standby.  Clearly my judgment was heavily impaired… and still, it worked. Thank goodness.  To be honest, as long as it had a cake-y consistency and was sweet, I would have been happy, but it was actually quite good.

Reclined in my favourite position, deep breath and mmmmmm…the moment that sweet, citrus and almond, moist nirvana hit my tongue I knew all had been returned to natural order.

Let us eat cake.

my salvation

my salvation