Cats, Dogs and Change Management

I’ve been thinking about change a lot recently.  Actually, I will say, I’ve been thinking about change for about eight years.  The only difference recently is, now I have been taking what I’ve been telling others to heart.   I’m listening to my own lessons.
 
The most recent change that has left me shattered, is of course, the brief but amazing stay of Millie.  She swept in and out again in only ten days, but the changes she brought with her affected every being in the household.  Puss, the old arthritic codger that he is, ventured into the house only twice when his usual habit of; sunbath in the morning sun, the sleep on Mum’s bed from lunchtime to dinner time, harass Mum for food the second she gets home from work, pop outside for a constitutional, sleep until Mum goes to bed, then sleep curled next to Mum until it’s time for breakfast, was broken by the big black boofa took over the garden and house.  He’s slowly coming around to being back in the house, although he still gives me the evil eye.
 
Oren has been more lastingly affected by, what is now being referred to as, the dogdog incident.  Oren has always been verging on feral, but now she’s full time outside.  I miss her.  She came in this morning and I gave her a hugs, she left shortly afterward leaving behind a thin layer of white hair on my clothes...somethings don’t change.
 
There are also two other additions to the house.  Jack and Danni are two 11 month old cats that I rescued about a week before Millie.  They are beginning to settle, but Puss and Oren are still hissing.  If only I could reason with them, ‘who would you prefer?  Big boofa or two pussy cats, just like you?’
 
So how does this link to change management.
 
Watching the animals I have noticed a few of things. 
 
Cats accept change like a 45 year old with 20 years tenure.  They really don’t like it.  They will resist with all their being and will even go elsewhere if someone will have them (I’m sure Oren now has a secret feeder).  You can’t reason with them, and no matter what you say they have to come to the party at their own pace, you give them all the information they require; in the case of cats, food, cuddles and reassuring voices, humans get training, written and spoken word and reassuring voices.  Yes, It’s amazing how a reassuring voice works, but only if you believe yourself and aren’t condescending.   It took Puss three months to accept Oren into the house three years ago.   Cats don’t trust you, you have to earn their trust and if you break it, it can take months if not years for you to get it back.  One mistake and you’re being judged by that for ever more. 
 
Dog accept change like a graduate in a new job out to impress.  Excitement is over flowing, they are happy you picked them.  They will do almost anything to please you, including checking in with you to make sure you’re still about and haven’t gone anywhere.  Loyal to a fault, a dog will accept any change you throw at them, even if it’s to their detriment.   
 
I don’t see these as lack or abundance of intelligence, I see this a establishment of routine.
 
I can pretty much tell the time of day by where Puss is in the garden or house.  In the morning her slowly moves with the sun, always staying just ahead of the shadows.  Shadows bring cool air.  In the afternoon when the sun is high in the sky, he’ll move inside to the stone floor of the dining room, before moving to my bed.  In the late afternoon he’ll be back outside and waiting by the gate when I pull after a day at work.  The weekdays and exactly the same.  Visitors are considered an inconvenience because they may, and usually do sit where the cat wants to sit at that time of day.  New toys, will sit ignored while the cat susses out its intentions, then, only if deemed to worthy and interesting will it get some action.
 
Dogs will have a routine, but are quite happy to break it for a walk, a ride in the car or visit from a new friend.  New things are fun.  New toys are to be embraced and enjoyed.
 
When you disturb that routine, it upsets the balance.  Puss will wander around looking at spots.  You can almost see the thinking process, ‘is this the right time for this spot?’ if it not, he moves o to the next until he’s found what he looking for.
 
This same goes for an employee that has a routine.  Do you do similar things when you get to the office (in whatever form that is), or even as a housewife/mother.  You do things in a certain order.  You make a cuppa, you boot the PC, you turn of the voicemail, you say ‘good morning to the person sat next you.  Have you ever greeted someone who on annual leave that day?  I have.
 
Ever quit smoking?  While your body craves the nicotine, your hands and mind crave the movements.  That hand to mouth action is just as hard a habit to break at the chemical intake.  It’s essentially a change.
 
Things happen in our lives that involve change, that we don’t think of as ‘change’.  Growing up, illness, family instability, a new person in the office, someone leaving the office.  We often write these off as ‘just the way life is’, but they all require a period of adjustment.  Sometimes we get warning, sometime we don’t.
 
With animals, they never get the warnings.  It just happens to them.  You can tell them for weeks before it happens, ‘I’m going to save a couple of poor kitties from death row, just like you were when we found each other.’  They don’t listen.   Well, actually they do listen, their ears twitch and go back, they tilt their head, but they don’t understand you.  It not until the change is upon them that they suddenly realise, ‘we don’t have a choice, but we’re going to fight it anyway’.
 
Then comes the passive aggressive behaviour;  staying out, mewing in a ridiculous pitiful tone but not taking any notice of your reassurances, hissing at the newcomer.  This is the same in cats as it is in human resistance.
 
I watched it, I’ve seen it.  Through observation I have developed this theory and I’m sticking by it.  The dogs calm down eventually, some quicker than others, but the cats, well you have to work very hard to win them over and it’s never as simple as giving them treats.
 

No, Really, it's not back pain

I went to the doctor today.  This isn’t an unusual occurrence due to my crappy list of heredity conditions, but what is unusual is that I went to one other than my usual doctor.
 
Dr. R is quite used to me walking in and hearing the reply to her question of ‘How can I help you today?’ I’m here for more drugs.  It means I simple need a new prescription.  She knows my background of polycystic kidney, hip reconstructions and blood pressure issues.  She’s also helped me scare the black dog away a few times.  She also comments on how remarkably self aware I am with what’s going on with my health and body.  After years of problems, it helps to be able to explain quickly and succinctly.
 
On Wednesday night I was woken with a pain in my side.  I’d been torturing myself allday about Millie, so I was a tad stressed.  This pain was deep in my left side and I knew straight away the pain was in my kidney.  I couldn’t sit, lay down or stand without extreme discomfort, so I went with the least painful and paced the bedroom and lounge.  After half an hour the pain went away, but my blood pressure was sitting in 149/99.  Not ideal.
 
Yesterday while I was giving a presentation at work, I felt the deep pain again across my entire lower back.  I also noticed something unusual in the bathroom.
 
I called the Doctor.  Dr. R is on leave, back Monday.  I made an appointment with a Dr. A. 
 
Saw Dr. A this morning.  I told him about my symptoms and history.  He tested me for back pain saying it unusual that pain should extend across both kidneys.  He begrudgingly asked for a wee sample.  Was surprised when I came back in less than two minutes.   I tried to explain I always drank a bottle of water before a doctors appointment out of habit.   He didn’t take my BP, he didn’t weight me.  He was surprised that I seemed to have a kidney infection without any symptoms of a bladder infection.  He explained that commonly (he objected when I used the word normally) ‘these things start as bladder infection and travel up to the kidneys’.  He asked me to cast my mind back to if I had had ‘any pain when urinating?’  He dismissed my concern that a cyst may have burst, which is a genuine concern based of family history, as ‘highly unlikely’ as he smirked.
 
At this point I was getting a little miffed.  I asked, ‘We’ve established that I have a kidney infection.  What can we do to clear it up?’
 
‘Well with kidneys such as yours, you must do everything to keep them clean and flushed at all times.  Do you drink plenty of water during the day?’
 
ARGH!  Now I understand why Muv used to say ‘Don’t try and teach me to suck eggs’.
 
He eventually gave me a prescription for antibiotics, but, boy did I have to work for it.  I had to sit through a 10 minute lecture on how to look after my ailing kidneys.  Like I needed reminding!?  I was told seven years ago by my Nephrologist that without the proper care I could be on dialysis by the age of 45 if I didn’t do as he said.  I do as he said.  45 is now only six years away.
 
I go back next week for a  follow up, thank goodness Dr. R will be back from her holidays.
 

It starts, and ends, with education

During a short break at work today I took a look at a leading Australian newspaper and it led me to two stories that piqué my interest.

The first was about the death of a 15 year old while she was playing ‘The Choking Game’. According to the article she and her friends had been texting each other about the natural high that it gives. I have a confession to make. I was due to give a talk to a group n Montreal in September, but due to financial issues (they plague me) I was unable to attend. The subject of the talk was ‘Breath Play’; this is where two consenting adults play with the oxygen supply, or lack of. It’s a sexual kink. Autoerotic asphyxiation (playing solo) is responsible for a remarkably high volume of accidental hanging deaths around the world, but often written down as suicide. More often than not, it’s boys or young men looking for the sexual high caused by the deprivation of oxygen to the brain during, self-pleasuring. No one wants to die at this time, but sometimes the complex rigging systems put in place in the case of ‘passing out’ fail.

It's not just teenagers - David Carradine, who died in a Thailand hotel room in 2007 was a well known player of 'the choking game'

While I’m sure the girl in the story wasn’t doing this for a sexual high, it’s never advisable to play these ‘games’ alone. Kids experiment. It’s a matter of fact. Accept it. We’ve all done things alone, that maybe we shouldn’t have. I know I have, many times, (although not recently). The important thing has to be stopping tragedy befalling others. This is one of those things that needs to be spoken about and not brushed under the carpet. When a parent, friend, sibling, or other unfortunate soul finds a loved one hanging, they should never touch the victim or scene and should immediately call the police. When these ‘games’ are being played, schools need to be aware in order to put a stop to them happening. Her parents, bless them, are, in this time of grieving and mourning choosing to send this message. They are to be commended for doing this at such a difficult time.

My thoughts are with her family at this time.

The other story was a resurrection of an old piece of trash talking from a politician, well there’s a surprise!?. This one is about a Queenslander Fiona Simpson saying you can ‘grow out of being gay’. Now she said this in 2002, but now refuses to confirm or deny her current sentiments on the issue. I’m guessing when I say, she’s still a fan of the Exodus Ministries and she still believes what she said nine years ago. The issue here is that she is now a frontbencher and should her party be elected in the next state elections she will have the Community Services portfolio. Not an ideal fit, I would say. But that’s my opinion. You can have your own. I’m glad I don’t live in Queensland, but to be fair NSW has its own twits in power. Equal rights are a right, not a privilege.

And this is why I don’t generally read the newspapers.

That's all I have to say on the matter

I am a horrible person. It was confirmed today when I took Millie back to the pound. It’s almost certain, unless by chance someone takes a chance on her, that she will be put to sleep next Thursday.

I made the decision this morning after a hell’va night last night. I managed to get Puss inside for the first time since she arrived on the scene. I put Puss in the bedroom and pulled the door to. Millie managed to get in and Puss just hissed at her. Millie barked at him, he ran, she followed, and Puss being slower than he used to be because of his arthritis, she caught him. I caught her as she got him. She let him go and he dashed out the kitchen window which was still open a smidge.

She jumped on the bed three ties in the night. Three times I had to get her down. Each time I lay there listening to her wander the house, wondering what she was chewing now.

This morning, I fed her as usual. Rang a few ‘No kill’ rescues and was told they don’t take surrenders.

I rang the three animal behaviour specialists that I contacted by email on Saturday and that I haven’t heard back from. No answer, and no voice mail.

For the first time since I got her, she lay quietly, just looking up at me.


When I returned from the pound, both Puss and Oren where waiting in the backgarden, but Cara waited for me to let her out the back of the car.


By surrendering Millie the black dog…The Black Dog has wormed his way back into the house. I’m a horrible person.

A Black Dog

For a while now I have been involved with animal rescue. I have a small four legged family, but I have been resisting adding anything larger than a fat cat to the crew until last Monday.

Pound Rounds on Facebook is a group made up of ladies that go to local pounds in Sydney and take pictures of animals for when they reach the PTS list. They do a great job and are sometimes let down by people not going through with offers of fosters. PTS = Put To Sleep. Most dogs will only have a maximum of 20 days before then are euthanized. Millie Dogdog was due for PTS the day after i picked her up.

I drove out to Hawkesbury Council Pound to have a look at PCC805. A black Great Dane X with something of a mystery. Maybe a mastiff, maybe a Staffordshire Terrier, maybe a Pit Bull, maybe a bit of all three. She was listed as be 3-4 years old, but I now know is closer to a year, give or take a couple of months. She’s covered in scars.

I wanted to foster her until the right home came up, but due to many fosters falling through, the only option was adoption. I still want to foster.

The first day home she was very docile. Doopy almost. Slept indoors, pooed in a couple of places.
The second day I took her to vet because she had diraeorra overnight and a cough. She was well behaved once in, but didn’t like the idea of going into the vet. Slept outside.
The third day a little bit bouncy, howled when I left for work. Attempted to sleep outside but she howled and whinged until I let her in. Slept by the bed.
The fourth day. I had to turn around and go home as soon as I got there. She broken into the house through the side window, broken glass everywhere. Wouldn’t sleep outside and tried to get on the bed several times in the night. Started to eat Cara’s toys.

Fifth day. Broke into the house through the kitchen window, luckily it was already open. I took her out for her first walk. She tried to sleep on the bed five times in the night. Swotted Cara, chased a cat. Continued to eat Cara’s toys
Day six, Saturday. She woke me for the fourth time in the night at 0645. I decided to just take her out for a walk. Mental bouncy. The worms quiet clearly gone, and the cough is nearly cleared up. Walks OK on the lead, doesn’t come when called, does not get down when told.
On the seventh day the sun was out to the tune of 35 degrees. She panted the day away but kept wanting cuddles. She would not leave me alone. Covered the lounge floor with stuffing beans for Skunk.
On the eighth day, I only had have a day at the office. I got home to find shoes destroyed. Tried to work from home, managed a couple of hours because she would not leave me alone. She moves around all the time, doesn’t settle. I took her for a mega walk, she could barely stand by the end. 30 minutes later she’d recovered. Bounce was back.

Today, the ninth day. Only jumped on the bed once in the night, but thought she was going to have Cara for breakfast. Both paws swotted her, and she had Cara in her mouth. Had to take little one to work. I wonder what she’s eaten by the time I get home. Knickers, shoes, bra or maybe a cushion or three. Turned out it was three pairs of shoes and the back of one of my steal toe caps

I have to be gentle in tone with her, she has clearly been beaten in the past. She cowered when I grabbed her collar after she ran away in the park a couple of days ago.
She wants to play, Cara isn’t big enough. Neither are the cats or chooks (yes, she’s had a mouth full of feathers).
She needs attention. Lots of it
She steals everyone’s food and toys

I haven’t seen Puss for two days
I haven’t seen Oren for since day three

I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. I can’t lock her out, she breaks in. I can’t lock her in, she chews stuff – in and out with door open, she chews stuff, but doesn’t drive the neighbours to drink.
I’m taking her out for walks every night, but the only way I can exhaust her for half an hour is to run her, that means letting her of the lead, she runs away and doesn’t always come back.

The thing is, I can tell she has a lovely giving nature and will be amazingly loyal to the right person, but I don’t think I’m the right person for her. She really need someone at home during the day, I don’t even come close to that...

I’m worried about her wellbeing and my sanity.

My book, please buy one :-)

Things Muv use...

...and a few things...

By Frances Carleton

Book Preview

Modern Comms

I’ve been thinking, about how Oscar Wilde would have liked the new era of digital communications.  He was a flamboyant man famous for quotes such as:  ‘There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked and bout and that is not being talked about’ and ‘I always carry my diary with me because one should always have something sensational to read’.
 
I have recently given in and created a Twitter account.  I resisted for a long time, but then I realised I was missing little snippets of information from some dear friends, so I signed up.  Personally I can rarely think of anything worth twitting, so I’m not a dozen a day poster, but I do enjoy reading others.

Today, just randomly, ‘What would Oscar Wilde post on twitter?’
 
I know he would have been blogging for years, he’d have his own website (more than likely banned in the more conservative countries of the planet), and I imagine he’d be BBF with Stephen Fry (@stephenfry), but only so he could keep an eye on the competition.  But wouldn’t they be FABULOUS together!?
 
I think Oscar’s tweet (just one of many) today would be something like, ‘So another dictator is dead.  I shall miss seeing his arenose black and white lungi on the BBC.’

What's really going on

Normally when I’m being smothered by the black dog of doom I hide away from everyone and everything, this time has been no different, but I have popped up for a moment to say a few things.

I want to set the record straight about a few things. Put everyone in the picture as to why I’m so low and why asking ‘how’s the job hunting going’ is just rubbing salt in the wounds.

Yesterday I left the house. I had too. I didn’t want too. I don’t want to do anything at the moment. That includes the dishes, and getting out of bed. It’s one o’clock in the afternoon and I sit here with panda eyes because I haven’t yet washed the make-up from my face…and you know what, I don’t care.

I don’t care that Cara has chook on the bed
I don’t care that I have a pile of dishes in the kitchen…I’m only eating what comes straight out of a tin, so what?
I don’t like going out in the car, not because I can’t afford to fill her up (I can’t), but because I’m starting to look at trees, concrete barriers and walls in an unhealthy way.

Yesterday someone called my Muv a fool. In an email. I woke up to am email that called my Muv a fool.

I’m supposed to be on a plane to Rome. Instead I’m having to talk to agents that keep dragging me into the city to ‘talk and find out where you want to go’. I want to go to Rome, Florence, Milan spend time with good friends on a balloon ride over Tuscany. Instead you’re wasting my time because I know you don’t have a job for me, but you have to keep your stats up. Meanwhile I've let TM down monumentally, which breaks my heart because I hate letting people down.

I feel myself on a countdown to homelessness. My rent is paid up until 1st November. After that I have no way of paying rent or any other bill that finds it’s way into the house. Currently there are no real prospects just lots of copies of my CV floating in the job ether.

I keep receiving emails and text messages asking why I’m ignoring them, that they have explained why they pulled out of this or that at the last moment. I’m not ignoring you, I’m ignoring everyone and everything because I have nothing nice or good to say. I’m not capable of saying it’s Ok that you let me down, because it’s not. I needed and wanted you there, to share the experience, that’s why I invited you.

If this leaves me friendless, I’m beyond caring.

I’m desperate and despite talking with friends I know that really no one has even the slightest clue how bad I am this time. It’s not just the complete lack of money, it everything. The chicken coop I order weeks ago arrived today and guess what, you need two people to put it up.

I’m rambling.

Goodbye Vodafone. Forever

My telephone contract with 3 ran out yesterday and after nearly 13 years with them as my mobile provider, I told them to get lost. Really I wasn’t telling 3, I was telling Vodafone to get out of my life.

Vodafone took 3 over earlier in the year and ever since I have been having issues with coverage, billing and everything that can go wrong with a mobile phone. I had many arguments with the ‘customer service’ department about incorrect bills, tariff increases without approval and no service in the Sydney CBD.

Of course I use the term ‘customer service’ loosely because when you call the Care Line you are diverted to a call centre in India manned by men and women calling themselves Betty and Bruce so they can ‘relate’ to you as they call you by your name at the end of every sentence.

Yesterday I was able to tell one of these Bettys I no longer wanted to be a customer. When asked why, I explained the many and varied.

[Please read the Betty with a thick Indian accent in mind]
Betty: ‘As you’ve been with Three for a while and we’d like you too switch to Vodafone, would that be acceptable to you?’
Me: ‘There is no way on this earth that you could entice me to stay.’
Betty: We would like to offer you a discount.’
Me: ‘NO, unless you could offer me a free mobile service for life and 100% coverage.’
Betty: ‘I’m sorry Jodie, we are not able to offer that level of discount.’

That level of discount!?

They are idiots. I am please to say that I am no longer a Vodafone customer, whether by self-infliction or takeover. I have left them behind and anyone that asks of my experiences as one of their customers I shall shout from the rooftops to avoid them at all costs (and it would cost you $$).

Let’s see how Optus do over the next few months shall we?

In the Words of ABBA...

...Money Money Money

Maybe I'll quote Sally Bowles from Cabaret instead, 'Money makes the world go around, the world go around'.

I’ve been through my fair share of impoverished times. I’m still coming out of one actually. So it’s something I don’t like being reminded of, day in, day out.

While I am by no means rolling in it, or even dipping a toe into wealth, I am no longer struggling each week, fortnight or month to rustle up the pennies to pay the bills, and I have started to see the worth in paying a little extra for something that won’t break the second time you to try and use it. I no longer HAVE to shop in $2 shops. The spatula lasted three cook offs before the handle snapped.

This brings me to me weekday surroundings. They depress me.

The pavements and waste bins are dirty, not just dirty, but putrid.
There are vagrants sitting in their own filth swearing at passers by.
The ratio of $2 shops to shops that don’t have big flouro hand written sales signs is 100-I don’t know, I can’t find one without any.

I feel like a snob. I’m not, but I just like things cleanish and items and food to of a certain quality.

A very good friend of mine would need to shower more than the 2-3 showers he already has in a day. I’m sure he’d roll out his ‘I see poor people’, t-shirt.

I was in a shop today buying cable ties, those $2 shops are handy for some things, as I was paying, a man, missing teeth and smelling like he had peed his pants three days ago barged to the front of the twelve person strong queue, pushed his way between me and the counter and demanded to know where the watches were.

They were in the cabinet in front of him. ‘I have to buy a gift for a friend and she wants a watch.’ He announced.

I have no idea whether he procured a watch, or how long he had to wait, but I’m guessing his prevailing odour would have seen him served almost as quickly as my twitching nostrils had me out of the shop. This isn’t an unusual occurrence in Ashfield.

Despite being able to drive to work, I think I’d rather be back on the trains to the city. In the city I can run errands as everything is available. If I need to buy a birthday card, I have a choice of something other than Frangipanis for a dollar. If a gift is required the choice of smellies stretches beyond cat pee masquerading as Vanilla and Cinnamon. Lego® instead of Leego and Post-it® not StickyNotes by Bob.

I don’t really want to get used to this. I don’t want to get used to thinking that I deserve to be screamed at by the checkout crone because I have a note instead of the exact change.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask people to pay back a bond loan borrowed from the government, but apparently it is. The government should just keep giving them money…They don’t give me any, in fact they keep taking it, even when I’m in hardship with barely enough to feed myself.

I don’t think I'm cut out to work in an environment where I’m surrounded by a ‘give a battler a fair go’ mentality, when on the odd occasion I’ve really, and I mean REALLY needed help, I’ve been back handed and told to go and get a job.

It’s taken me six weeks to figure this out. I don’t want it to become the norm, I like that the locals still surprise me with how cheap things are, ‘Ohh eight dollars for the Pho at lunch that was as big enough for a family of four, awesome, here have ten.’ I don’t ever want to get to the point where I’m surprised that things are expensive, because in the real world, i.e. away from Ashfield, everything is, but I want to be back in that world!

Confrontation

I've come to the conclusion that I don't handle confrontation well. It causes me extreme stress that knocks my immune system for six, allowing in bugs and illness to take hold. When illness is already in residence, the addition of stressors just helps the illness settle in for a longer stay and even bring his mate Cujo to stay as well.

After my weekend of strolling to the lavatory on a regular basis and either sitting or bowing to Harpic of the Bowl I really wanted to spend Monday resting at home and fully recuperating. I was still very weak in the morning after having only managed to add half a cup of dry cornflakes to my extremely tender tummy.

Due to work commitments I didn't have the luxury of having that extra day, so I arranged to go in a little later than usual and wrote the Key Message Comms document that was required by the end of the business day. I was a struggle because talking to the people I needed assistance from were extremely busy.

At 5pm I handed the document to the requester. 'It needs detail!'

So my question is this: If you're asked to provide Key Messages or Points would you submit, bullets or detailed paragraph?

I spent the next two hours trying to flesh out my bullet points and most of today working on it. I was and am particularly unimpressed. This isn't the first communications breakdown that I've had in this role and I have a feeling it may be the last.

I'm not going to pass all the blame, I may not have asked enough questions, but not being able to ask them has made that difficult. Of the six one-2-one I'm supposed to have had, I had one. I've been given seven projects to learn about in my short time. I have a pretty good learning curve, but I think I've found my limit.

Tomorrow will be a telling day. He wants to 'talk about your work'.

House of Horrors (no graphic details)

I had an interesting weekend. I found out to my detriment what happens when you eat food that is one or more of the following:
• Prepared in an unclean kitchen
• Less than fresh
• Reheated to the incorrect temperature
• Kept in the wrong conditions
• Anything else that makes food bad for you

On Friday I had prawns and boiled rice for lunch at about 1pm in a little noodle house a couple of doors down from the office. It wasn’t the first time I’d eaten there, but it sure as hell, will be the last.

About 3pm, I started to sweat.
Half an hour later I went to bathroom, all was not well.
I left the office at 5pm after being to the bathroom a further two times.

The car ride home was forty five minutes riddled with tension. I needed to pass wind, but I wasn’t game.

I got home and immediately went to the bathroom. I didn’t even bother to chase Cara out for a wee, I just had to trust she’d know what to do. She did. Of course Puss and Oren followed me and started asking for dinner. Food was the last thing I wanted anything to do with.

I fed the animals at arm length, put a log on the fire, then sat on the sofa, feeling considerably better and thinking it was over.

At six o’clock the violence began, and continued until four in the morning. At this point I was exhausted, I wanted my Muv, while I didn’t need anyone to hold my hair, I would have like someone to rub my back and tell me it would OK.

When I have a migraine I want to be left alone. I don’t want anyone telling me to keep my fluids up or asking me if I’m still alive.

When I’m sick, and I mean SICK, while I don’t really want anyone to see the indecision about whether to sit or bow, but I would like it if there’s someone outside the bathroom waiting to tuck me back onto the sofa or into bed and tell I’ll live to see another day. I would love to have someone else tell the cat not to try and sit on my tummy and this weekend I’d have loved it if someone else could have got log in and kept the fire going. Those buggers are heavy when you haven’t eaten for two days.

Saturday I spent sleeping and drinking the Powerade that had been brought in to replenish my electrolytes (Thank you SI). I failed to keep the first bottle down, but then it was over. Healing time.

Now began the aching, the muscles pulled for unusual activity of the non fun type. Shoulders, back, neck and chest. It hurt to drawn a deep breath and anyone calling to ask me how I was, was asked not to make me laugh. The restless sleeps invaded by dreams of jack-knifing trucks and being stuck in a bubble on the roadside unable to escape. It’s a classic for me, been having it for years and a true indication that I’m anything but well.

On Sunday I started to feel somewhat human again, but I didn’t venture out and a tenderised tummy kept me on fluids only until I braved half a head of steamed broccoli and a scrambled egg about 7.30. It was too much and I couldn’t eat it all.

This morning I had a cup of cornflakes without milk for breakfast. Weakness is the word to describe my current state. Ohh and about 5kgs lighter.

I find it remarkable how being sick can reduce even the most independent person into a blubbering child that wants their mummy, because MuV always knows best and exactly what to do.

Muv would have tucked me into bed.

Muv would have popped to the shops and brought Ribena or Lucozade.

Muv would have almost certainly made me dry toast with Marmite.

Muv would have cleaned the loo up and taken the bin bag out when it needed to be done.

Muv would have stroked my back and told me it was OK to cry.

And after two days Muv would have told me to ‘get up now, have a shower, start moving around, it’ll make you feel better.’

It’s a weekend I don’t wish to repeat anytime soon, but I know there where people out there that suffered worse than I, Tradie Trady being one of them and SI with a gastro bug.

But for the record, to ensure no one else goes through this I have reported the Noodle House responsible. I’ll keep you posted.

14/9/11 Update - The New Taste Noodle House was closed for lunch yesterday and it's looking shut up right now. Someone asked me yesterday, 'Did you close down the Noodle House?' My response was, 'No, they did, by not having a clean kitchen or food handling practices.' Not guilty, I still have a dodgy tummy!

Get Clucked

As I lay here recovering from a nasty bout of prawn poisoning I can hear the chickens clucking. I can tell at least one is in the process of laying a egg by the distinctive drawn out sounds.

I've been considering asking my neighbors if they find them to to too noisy.

Then the sound of the barking dogs over the back fence comes to forefront of notice. My senses have managed to develop a drowning out mechanism for the sound of two overweight bull masstives barking at each other and every loose leaf that flutters to the ground.

I think I'll wait until the neighbors come to me

Gold Plated Chooks?

So, due to demand for home grown eggs from work colleagues and friends I decided to add a couple more chickens to the flock on Saturday, making the total six channels on CatTV.

The flock is called CatTV as a collective because, Oren, the cat can spend hours watching them. Whether they are locked up in the coup, or roaming free in the garden, she’ll watch, faux stalk and run away when chased. The last one happens more often that you’d think.

The first four where first purchased on the day Jeff Conaway finally lost his battle with drugs and alcohol, I thought it would be fitting to call them Rizzo, Frenchie, Jan and Sandy. I called the new additions Marty and Channing (having run out of female character names and I didn’t think Waitress was very nice as a name).

Fittingly enough, the Pink Ladies took exception to the new additions and decided to show them who was boss. The pecking order is very fitting as Marty and Channing really have had a stressful few days.

I first noticed the wound on Marty’s foot on Tuesday. It was red and open, not dissimilar to a cut you may get from a nasty scratch. I took her inside and bathed it. I didn’t get a chance to look at the wound on Wednesday, and yesterday I made a point of looking in the morning. Her toe was black.

I went to work, and on the way I made an appointment with the vet. Luckily it was pay day.

When I got home to put up Marty, I notice a small scab on Channing’s cheek, so I put her in the box. Better safe than sorry.

Both birds had a shot of penicillin, Marty had part of her toenail cut away to see if the limb was dead already, but a spot of blood showed that it was possible it may just be saved. Channing had a blood clot on her face. I was informed that production anaimals are pretty hardy and cope with this sort of thing quite well. While it may not be visually pleasing as a pet, we can't just put them down for any old thing. I never intended to have them put down unless they were suffering. I don't allow suffering in my house. I paid the bill...cough, clear throut, we shall speak of this no more...

Fallout, no eggs can be used until the foot is healed. If Marty has septicaemia, then it can be passed into the eggs, and that wouldn’t be a good thing to eat.

I have to keep a close eye on both birds until their check up next Thursday. Puffiness, not eating, sitting and no walking are all bad things

This morning I let the Pink Ladies out in the rain for the day, giving the sickly duo a day in, on their own to potter about the coup, have a bite to eat and generally have a day off. I’ll do the same for the next week. As I was leaving both were eating and moving around.

Wish them improved health and that other leave them alone.

So Not a Morning Person

I have often been told that you can train yourself to be a morning person.

I would like to refute that nasty piece of propaganda.

After many years of having to rise at 0600 in order to catch a train to London, I never once went to bed with ease before 10pm and I never, ever, ever woke up before my alarm.

To this day, and during periods of unemployment, as I often have due the fickle nature of being a consultant, I research the natural sleep patterns of my body.

1. I need eights or more hours of sleep
2. If I don’t get a minimum of eight hours, I have a week before I NEED to catch up that sleep deficient
3. My body will fall into a rhythm of bed at midnight up at eight or later.
4. I snore

When working I often have sleep to catch up on by the time the weekend comes around. This weekend will be no exception, but this week through no fault of my own.

I am fortunate at the moment in that my job allows me the luxury of rising at what I consider to be a fairly civilized time. I rise between 0730 and 0800. Shower, sort out the family feeding requirements and drive to work. I still arrive between 0845 and 0915. Almost, the perfect arrangement, perfect would be being able to work from home.

So as you can imagine, I was somewhat perturbed this morning when I was awoken, not by the sounds of harps coming from SleepCycle® but the bleating of trucks reversing down my street, followed by crunching sounds of tarmac being scraped into a digger bucket and blokes yelling instructions. When the cockatoos screech I can block that out as it is classified in my head as a ‘sound of nature’, not so with trucks, tradies and tossers at 0600.

I went to bed at midnight last night.

As I was up, I tried to leave early. I couldn’t because the road was blocked. I had to wait before I could get my car out of the driveway.

I asked one of the men in flouro if anyone had thought to let the residents know that the perfectly good road was going to be dug up.

I was informed that a letterbox drop had been done a week ago. I assured them that I had received no such warning and neither had my neighbours and that perhaps that the powers that be should speak to the person responsible for said drop to find out where they had dumped the flyers. I know my neighbour knew nothing about it because I know that the local gossips would have been having a field day on something happening in the street and when I’d been caught outside weeding on the weekend it would have been mentioned. I know about Lisa from round the corner having a baby with webbed toes for crying out loud and I don’t even know (or care) who Lisa is!

I’m working on six hours sleep today. Could be interesting

Chicken Gizzards

I’ve been at my new job long enough now, to be able to make what I believe, to be fairly sound comment on the working environment.

The office is in a part of town that is renown for it ethnic leanings. Most shops on the main street are labelled in Chinese before English. Being a big fan of dumplings, noodles and adventures in food land this isn’t really much of a problem. Where it does become a problem is if you want or need to buy anything (apart from food) of quality. The local shopping centre has a Best Buy, Franklins, and a Dick Smith (remnant warehouse). All the other shops, except the Post Office and leased out to market stall type shops that sell jewellery for a dollar and fry pans for four. The local butcher sells gizzards, skin, feet (of chook and pig) and the best cut of beef is blade. No Scotch Fillet for my dinner. Having said that, it does mean I can’t spend on M.A.C make-up (I’m sorry, did you say one dollar for the eye-shadow?) or clothes.

When I am at work, I have delays in computing. They are doing a roll out of new PCs, which is good, because when the machine can’t keep up with my typing speed you know there’s and issue. Stop. Plus I think I have the tiniest screen possible, it reminds my of the old DOS days when you have a massive off-white brick on your desk with a screen no bigger than a credit card. In my line of work, which currently involves extensive Copy/Paste activity I am really hoping I’m next on the list. However, I have feeling I’m going to have scraped the documents together only to find a geek standing at the end of my desk saying, ‘I’ve come to replace your tower’.

I’ve never been to so many meetings. Seriously. I swear they would have a meeting or ‘workshop’, … and I have put quotes around workshop because, often they have a ‘workshop’ to discuss things, but don’t actually have any workshop activities. I’m getting really close to widely distributing the definition of workshop.

Back to point. They have meeting for everything. So far I think I’ve been to three meetings that actually proved to be useful.

I do have a nice big desk.

Cara can come with me and be stealth, as she is today.

I can drive to the office in less than 45 minutes.

The people I work with are a nice bunch…I haven’t found any stand-outs as yet, but they are pleasant enough. I don’t have to work with the woman behind me, so she has no affect on me except I feel I need to channel warm, happy feelings in her direction. Being in such close proximity I haven’t seen any glimmer of smile crack, I am afraid though that I may cause damage if she does smile….so maybe I should stop that?

All in all, I don’t have a problem getting out of bed each morning at the moment. I even thought about putting my swimming cosie in the car for an after work swim at Homebush, then forgot this morning.

Things are on the up! :-)

Hell’va Weekend

My weekend felt like it started on Wednesday last week. Not because I wasn’t working, but because my Sister, Little, arrived from Melbourne for a few days. Her flight landed fifteen minutes early, just to keep me on my toes.

We haven’t stopped, since. She, even though she has a cast on her left wrist, due to a DIY accident last weekend, clean my house from top to toe on Thursday while I was at work. She was supposed to put her feet up in the sun drenched garden and read, but she decided to clean the windows in the kitchen instead. Incidentally, you have to stand on the bench tops to get to my kitchen windows. D’Oh! And that’s all I have to say about that. Except, thanks for cleaning Little.


On Thursday night, we popped to OfficeWorks to get new school stuff. Pencil case, pens, highlighters and Post-its®. Just like we did as gals. Muv would take us to WHSmith before the start of the new school year and stock us up with the required goodies. This may be where I got my love of stationary from, by the smell of new pencils, rubbers (erasers) and the sight of protractors and set squares are like heaven to me. Anyway, we stocked up on things to write with and in.

On Friday we caught the train to North Sydney and commenced our training to be Wedding Celebrants. There were 14 of us in total in the class, four boys, ten girls and the teacher. I was, quite frankly, the most exhausting weekend I have had in a very long time.

We listened, we shared, we role played, we conducted ceremonies. I got married twice, held the hands of a stranger and Little was my son. It was weird. But we passed that part of the course.

Now begins the paperwork part.

Reading, writing and filling in online forms.

But first, I need to catch up on my sleep because 12 days with no weekend is taking it's toll.

Poor Service

I have been confused by the apparent lack of ‘service’ in Sydney. Being somewhat service orientated I am often surprised that business manage to survive, let alone thrive, considering treating their customers as an inconvenience rather than a precious commodity to be nurtured in order to keep them coming back.

I experienced two such examples today in a 45 minute period.

The first was a SheepSkin sales place that have the rather lovely heeled Ugg Boots. When I went in to ask the price last week I was told, ‘two fifdy’ by the Asian lady behind the counter. I went back today to try on and purchase, ‘two seventy nine’, I was told, less than a week and they had gone up in price by $29…pretty good inflation rate.

As I have been looking at them for so long I requested to try them on…’you lean’. I was told, ‘no seat for try on’. So I found myself perching on the sideboard removing the shoe and sock from my left foot. This is no mean feat for someone with the balance of a wobble toy. The shoe that I had selected (my size) was tiny, I couldn’t even get my heel through the ankle part of the shoe. When I asked if they had a larger size, she yelled to the guy in back in Cantonese, he appeared, looked at the boxes lining the wall behind me and said to me, ‘no big feet shoes’.

I replaced my own sock and shoe and left.

The next incident was in a discount store, I needed a small box for people to put money when they buy eggs (I have chickens, I sell the eggs at work). I knew the discount place had those little gift boxes, which are perfect for my need.

I selected a box, about 10x5x5cm and took it to the counter. The girl scanned it, the machine bleeped and she turned to the Indian guy on the phone next to her. He snatched it from her, placed it on the shelf behind him and said, ‘no sale’, completely ignoring the dumbstruck customer (me). The girl informed him that a customer wished to purchase the box. He yelled at her, ‘we don’t know price, we might get wrong, no sale!’

I was a little ticked off by this and said, ‘you can’t do that, the product was for sale, I wish to purchase that box and there are no others like it or even that size.’ He tutted and waved his hands at me as if shooing a fly away. I decided to ignore him and deal with the girl. I paid $1 for the box. Seemed fair to me considering how rude the manager had been.

These are two stores I shall not patronise again. I do that you see. Provide me with woeful service and I take my money elsewhere.

Just like there are plumbers, electricians, and petrol stations I will not frequent.

I don’t understand how in this time of a record decline in retail sales why every shopkeeper isn’t doing everything their power to lure and keep customers. Think people:

happy customers = good word of mouth recommendations = good sales = you don’t lose your livelihood

Facebook

Facebook has it moments.

Moments of annoyance; such as when you click on a video that you friend posted, only to find it’s actually a virus that is self replicating, and you realize you have to warn all your friends not to click on the video you just posted.

Moments of sadness; when you read that a friend has lost a loved one. Even ‘friends’ that you have never met, you still feel a pang of grief, because inside you know what they are going through, but you know you can never express how you feel for them.

Moments of jubilation; A baby has been born, a child has graduated, the test results where negative (in the good way), the rescue puppy has stopped peeing on the carpet. These are time when you happily click the ‘like’, because you genuinely feel a glow inside.

Moments of hilarity; that picture your friend posted made you laugh so hard, you wet your pants slightly. pmsl has never been more apt.

Moments of disappointment; when you realize that ‘random’ you added because they made you laugh on other friends profiles, turns out to be a God-bothering psycho that is just trying to convert everyone.

Moments when you just want to delete your profile; no-one has commented on anything you’ve posted, for HOURS!

And then there are moments when if forces you to reflect. A status update today gave me such a moment.

What my Mother taught me:
Religion: ‘You better pray that comes out of the carpet’.
Logic: ‘Because I said so, that's why’.
Irony: ‘Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about.’
Wisdom: ‘When you get to my age you'll understand’.
Justice: ‘One day when you have kids, I hope they turn out just like you’.
Repost if your mother taught you right

I added, Discipline: ‘You’re never too old to be put over my knee’, because it felt right.


Here’s the situation where each of these (or near as) happened to me.

I was given some silly putty as a gift for Christmas. I decided to take an impression of my hair crown because, as it’s on the back of my head, I had never seen it. The silly putty got so stuck in the hair, nearly two hours of combing, Surfega, sunflower oil and finally diesel, saw it out. But at the beginning of the two hours Muv said to me, ‘You better pray this come out or all you’ll be left with is a tuft of hair.’

‘Why shouldn’t I shave my legs Muv?’ ‘Because I said so, that why. Plus, do you want your legs to feel like this?’ Quickly followed by a hand being run up her stubbly leg.

When I started my periods, I bit*hed and moaned about the pain and cramps. ‘Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about.’ I kept crying, so Muv took me to have my ears pierced. That hurt much more.

I like to think I understand a lot more now I'm the age she was once. Life does indeed suck, and yes, you will die.

I’ve never had two legged children (as discussed in other posts) but my fur and feathered kids, sleep like me, eat food like me and love me to bits. Even the chookens. So in many ways…they are just like me.

When I was 18, we where having a laugh about something…I can’t remember what it was, but clearly I over stepped the bounds of the Mother/Daughter freedom of speech act, because she said the line. Despite being a couple of inches taller and wider than Muv, she could still say the words, 'You're never too old...', and I knew it was true.

So I had many moments all rolled into one today, and for that I an thankful to Facebook and a random add friend that didn't turn out to be a psycho, God-bothering or otherwise.

Moral Compass

There have been a few items in the news recently that have got me thinking about my own level morality.

I like to believe that I was dragged up by the scuff with quite a high moral grounding. My Muv and Dad instilled in my brother and sisters a belief that lying was bad, stealing was wrong because you have to earn the things you have and being a pyromaniac, while it fun to watch flames licking around logs in the fireplace, it’s not good burn things that aren’t in the hearth.

We were also taught to respect your elders, even if they are being a git. Smile and move on.

Don’t put your feet on seats, in public or your own home, you don’t know what you’ve stepped in. I never really understood this one, I got the public part, but I was pretty sure I didn’t have mud (or dog poop) between my toes. So I often engage in feet on sofa heresy, but never with shoes on.

***

I recently read that with the hike in banana prices in Australia, people using the self serve check out are putting bananas through for the price of carrots, or whatever is seasonally cheaper than $17 per kilogram. The question the press was asking was, is this stealing?

I say a resounding yes. It is stealing.

But when surveyed, the general public leaned more towards no, it’s not. The reasoning was that they had been paid for, even if not the full price, therefore it was OK. Before I read about the banana switch, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I could just press a different button in the check out. Even now it has been planted in my mind, I find the idea deplorable. I know that big business will bear the brunt of the theft, but do I know what other the consequences are?

Will the check out chick who’s supposed to ensure the self serve checkouts aren’t abused retain her position, if not job? Will prices elsewhere in the store rise? Will the banana farmer be screwed down on price? Will the truck driver who delivers them to the store be expected to drive that little bit quicker to ensure timely delivery…did I suddenly get into the Butterfly Effect?

My point here, is: I don’t do it, because it never occurred to me in the first place, but when I think about it, it makes my brain hurt.

***

Meanwhile, in the UK, scumbags where rioting in towns across the small island. One victim was Aaron Biber, no relation to Justin. The 89 year old barber survived the Second World War only to see his shop ransacked by looters, just for the hell of it. He didn’t have anything of value to steal, no plasma telly on the wall, no expensive hair product and even his scissors and certainly his door curtain, would have been older than most of the vandals.

Why would people do this. To me, and most of my peers, it’s unfathomable. We simply cannot comprehend the idea of trashing a place just because.

Don’t get me wrong, I have felt the rush that illegal activity gives you, but I’m a firm believer of ‘Make love, not war’. ;-)

It’s a thrill, but running through the streets setting fire to things, stealing things, smashing, just to smash and worse, running someone over that was trying to protect their property, leaves me scratching my head in a way that could leave scars.

Where these people not taught basic morality in their formative years? Video of a boy being helped with the right hand and being robbed with the left hand makes me think not.

Can we blame politics for taking away the rights of parents to give their kids a good clip round the ear? I had many, and worse, and it never did me any harm.

I know several people that have been too afraid to speak up in adverse situations for fear of harm. Instead, they have put their head down and kept quiet, unnoticed.

Are adults now being bullied by children in a passive aggressive way? Sometimes that’s how I feel. I have been on trains where teenagers in a group have had their feet on the seats, I desperately what to tell them to put their feet on the floor, but simple eye contact has lead me to think that I would be smacked or verbally abused if I dare to say something. Isn’t that bullying? We’re too sacred to stand up and say, enough is enough.

In the UK, they have. We used to complain about CCTV camera popping up all over the place like mushrooms. ‘It’s an invasion of privacy,’ was a common cry. Now they are being praised.

People are taking up brooms to battle and clean. It’s fabulous. In some ways I wish I was on the tiny island right now.

From a few nights of bedlam a mighty uprising of good has occurred. I hope this continues. People of all nations coming together to improve relations and the moral fabric of society.

I would never dream of saying my moral compass faces a firm North, but I do believe in thinking about my actions and the outcomes before I do them. I hope we can all learn a lesson for the last few weeks, think about the outcome of your actions. You’ll be surprised how often you cease to do what you were about the do.

Thank you to the following for the images:
Compass
Aaron Biber (this is a good story too)