Mr. Boots

A friend died today.


I use the word friend because of the effect this news has had on me is unexpected, tear producing and a general feeling of overwhelming grief.

The thing is I have never met this friend or even spoken to this friend. We’ve exchanged a few postcards and until this morning I only knew his parents as ‘the fatties’. Their names where only revealed to me through messages of condolence on Facebook. Yes, this is a Facebook friend.

The power of social media has revealed it more bonding side.  The power to make friends from those you are yet to meet.

I know this is going to sounds daft, but I’m devastated that Barney Boots has passed away after an accident on the farm a few days ago. I know he was a dog on the other side of the planet, from a town I’ve never been too (and unlikely to go to). I know that the character I looked forward to posts from was the human in his life, his adoring Mum, Deb. I really like that woman’s sense of humour.

No matter how down I was, a post of ‘I’ll be outside now’ or I’m up now’ brought a smile to me face.

And those damned giant pumpkins!

I can’t explain to you why this has upset me so much, it’s irrational and some, I’m sure will think ridiculous, but you know what, I cannot control my emotions over this, when I do try snot starts pouring from my nose and water leaks from my eyes.  I feel for the man and woman behind the dog we loved.  Really, I'm having this outpouring of emotion for them.

Has the death of a small brown dog remained me of Muv, John and Cara. All I have lost in the last few years. I know Cara isn’t dead, but the mystery of her disappearance remains. I like to be able to mourn her, but I can’t, I know she’s out there still.

I feel for the Boots family at this time, the devastation of having to make such a hard decision and then having to tell the world, his nearly 5000 online followers.

Deb and Paul, while we didn’t know each other, my thoughts are with you at this terrible time. Grieve your boy Barney and don’t let anyone tell you ‘he was just a dog’.*  We know that isn't true and anyone who says it doesn't understand the unconditional love a dog can give. 

Barney Boots, corgi and farmer, Rest In Peace, in your astral vegetable patch, and may you enjoy an endless supply of bacon, cheese curd and gravy.

*Yes, I’ve been told that many times and I’m sure they will get the same.

 

Picture from here and here...I had nothing to do with it's creation, but it's very pretty don't you think?

An odd question

I’ve come to the conclusion that some people have a strange notion of morality.

Today I was asked while making myself a cup of tea, ‘What would do if you found out a disabled child had Cara?’

Everyone in the office knows I'm looking for my dog and often it's used as a conversation starter. You know the sort, 'how was your weekend?' 'have you found your dog yet?' etc.

Today it was about my ethics.

It was easy to answer, ‘I’d take her back and give the parents a bollocking for teaching their child it's ok to take something that isn't theirs’.

The woman that asked me the question is the mother of an autistic child and thought it was awful that I would deprive the child of a loved pet and have the nerve to talk to the parents about how to raise their child.

I tried to explain that had the parents done the right thing in the first place the child would not have had time to get attached to the pet and therefore would not be suffering with her being returned to her rightful owner.

The woman remained adamant that I was in the wrong.

So I asked her. ‘What would you do if someone took your child and didn’t return it, and it become the companion to a child in the new house, what would you do?

‘I’d take my child back.’ She replied.

‘My point exactly.’

‘Oh, it’s not the same’, she said, ‘It’s just a dog.’

At that point I turned to walk away, but she called me back and said, ‘You treat your animals too much like they are human.’

All I could say as I walked away again, was, ‘at least animals aren’t arseholes’.

I don’t think she’ll be speaking to me in the kitchen anymore ;)

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.

Anniversary

Yesterday saw the third anniversary of a day that affected my life in a way that cannot be described. I became motherless. Clearly I had a mother, but on the 4th July 2008 mine, Sally, ceased to exist in this world and moved into one where she could wear red shoes all the time, drink G&T with more more G than T and cook up a storm at any time of the day.

In memory of my Muv, I finally figured out her Bread and Butter Pudding recipe, I think.



The weather wasn't rainy in Sydney, in fact the sun was shining, but I thought I share this picture of Muv and me on the Isle of Wight in the early 80s, because it reflects the feeling in my heart on the day that marks her death. Rain, muddy knees and a desire to stop waiting

Retail Therapy

On Wednesday last week I took Bessie for a little jaunt down to Victoria. The intention was to see Little and maybe hire a motorbike and have a look at the Great Ocean Road. The motorbike didn’t happen and as it turned out I had a bit of a bug, so I wasn’t feeling on top form, so even if it hadn’t have fallen through I wouldn’t have been able to ride anyway.

I helped Wynnie out in her shop for three days.

Wynnie is also known as Sally, or Little Sally. She’s my sister or rather my step-sister. My Muv was also Sally, so when we moved in with the step family, Muv was Big Sally, Little was...well, little. She’s still petit, but not so little, being my big sister ;-)

She has a used furniture store in the Dandenong’s township of Emerald. Wynnies Used Furniture is housed in a old stable with a beautiful pressed tin ceiling. Everyday, except Monday, she opens up at 10am by placing piece on the grass outside under the awning. She dresses a mannequin up in clothing to suit the weather and places her in a position to watch over the roadside stock. At five PM she brings the goodies that haven’t sold back in and locks up. After the shop shuts, she does the odd house clearance or delivery, pretty much every night.

On a Saturday she rises before the sun and jumps in her beaten up white van with her three legged dog, Peg and drives for thirty minutes to a different town to go around the garage sales to see if anything worth having is on offer before getting back to Emerald to open the shop at 10am.

After doing all this, she also tarts up new stock items and deals with members of the general public.

And this is where I really take my hat off to her, not that I don’t admire everything else as well, but I’ve worked retail in my time and I’ll confess to hating it.

One customer, I’ll call her Fleur, because I can’t remember her real name. She’s been going into Wynnie’s for nearly three years and telling the same long winded sob stories about doing the lounge in blue and the bedroom in green.

I was sat behind the counter writing up the last sale, when Little handed me a note: Don’t get into a conversation with the woman in the front room, she’ll talk at you for hours.
Suddenly the woman was standing in front of the counter asking Little if she had something or other in green, because she was renovating the bedroom in bedroom. While she was banging on, Sally very discreetly picked up her mobile phone and flicked it open. Without taking her eyes off the customer and all the time nodding and making affirmative noises dialled a number with her thumb.

The shop phone rang.

I picked it up passed it to over. ‘Good Afternoon, Wynnie’s Used Furniture. Yes, we do do house clearances...’ The one sided conversation continued as a disappointed Fleur wandered towards the door.

Little raised her hand, waved and smiled. Fleur looked back just before stepping out into the sunshine.

I had trouble keeping a straight face as Little clicked the phone off and put it on the desk as she said, ‘she has never brought anything.’

It was all class, a fabulous way to get rid of the annoying customer that EVERY shopkeeper has encountered, and such a polite way to do it considering she must be exhausted.

Update

Ta Dah!

I’m back briefly, mainly to give you an update of what’s going on with my Mum.

When I last wrote, I said she’d started treatment. That turned out to be a lie. The Spanish hospital was hopeless, as were my family at passing on Information. The only thing they got right was the cancer thing.

Two weeks ago my Mum cracked the sh*ts with the Spanish hospital and went back to the UK. It would seem that the language barrier was the main cause for here receiving woeful treatment. So now, she’s under an English doctor in and English hospital (oh err!)

When I spoke with her Doctor on Friday last, he informed me that she was doing well and they were hopeful that they could arrest the cancers (yes multiple, lungs, throat, pelvic bone). When I asked if my planned trip for end of June would be soon enough he said it should be ok, but thing can change.

Last night they did. She was rushed to hospital (she’d been staying with my Nan) to have an operation to open her airway, because she couldn’t breath.

So, I’m off to ole Blighty this weekend. I’ll keep you posted if you are all interested.

Apart from that, the new house is OK, I’m coping with the commute (despite a feral train trip) and Puss has settled in. Thanks for asking.

My Mum

It's confirmed, my mum has lung and throat cancer, chemo has started, so fingers crossed she'll get through this one like she has the others.

Happy Australia Day

I sent a select few a Happy Australia Day, Possum message today, what with it being Aussie Day and all. Most of the people where graceful and sent return greetings messages, but one sent a 'who are you?'

It was my sister who lives in Melbourne.

Lovely, don't you think?

Indulgence

A few things have happened recently that have led me down the path of another self indulgent blog post. The last time I put my feelings down I lost a friend, so I would like to clarify that I’m not having a go at anyone, this is my blog and about how I am currently feeling.

Anyway, I’ve been sick. All last weekend was spent in the bathroom, so my mood perfectly matched the weather, grey and stormy. I think this sickness has been brought about by me not getting enough sleep/rest because I am currently working two jobs. My normal 8.30 – 5 office job still happens, but straight after I go off to work until 2am as a receptionist. I get paid a pittance, but because of the Christmas/New Year office shutdown I had a two week enforced holiday and as a contractor I don’t get paid, but I still have to feed Puss. So second job it is. On the nights I am at home, Puss is pis*ed off with me and I hit the hay about 9.

On top of the tiredness I read a friends blog yesterday and it made me cry. He sounds so sad in his writings and I really wanted to be there to give him a hug, even if he would probably say ’Don’t touch me’. He’s alone and I’m alone with only 7500 kilometres and an ocean separating us.

These things came on top of Doughnut dying of tick poisoning and my Mum telling me that she wants to do herself in. Ok, so I know she’s ever the dramatist, but this time I think she really is in enough pain to do it. She lives in Spain and at this moment in time I am in no position, financially, to go to her, slap some sense into her and tell her that the life insurance doesn’t pay out if she tops herself.

I don’t quite know what to do with myself at the moment. Throw myself in the path of more debt and take off to foreign climes to comfort those that need to see me now or continue to grind myself into the floor for a trip that may come too late?

Mother

Thanks to Google Analytics I know when you read my blog. Twice in the last month!

All I have to say is this;
If you don’t read my writing how can I expect anyone else too?

New Sibling

My mum emailed me today to tell me I have a new baby brother. His name is Freddy and he’s seven weeks old.

I don't think my other 'brother' Percy is that impressed. 'Cause Freddy keeps chasing him and trying to bite his tail. Boy will be boys and cats and dogs will fight.

A Town Where I Lived

I went into Analytics today to check my stats and saw that I’d had a visitor from Guildford in Surrey, UK.

Say Hi please, if it’s you, I grew up there!

Distasteful Ironing

It’s all over! They have gone home after five an a half weeks of steak and chips, cheesecake and the same stories over and over again and a bit of sightseeing.

You know the story of the jar straightening. You know the story of the bigotry. I have been selective in the tales I have told because of a) there isn’t enough room in cyberspace to take it all and b)I have a lot to live for and telling the tales, having lived them takes it out of me. There are some the just NEED to be shared, lest my head explore from un-vented frustration.

So to the tales of distasteful ironing. MIL and FIL returned from a jaunt down to Melbourning and felt compelled to do all their washing. Heaven offend that you should take dirty washing home with you after a holiday. So washing they did. Only the didn’t just do theirs. They went into our bedroom and took the few dirty items that were happy festering in the ‘laundry bin’ and put them into to wash with theirs. Now, I don’t know about you, but I shudder at the thought of my knickers (pants, kacks, daks, underwear, whatever you call them) going around in the machine with that of my FIL, much less the tumble dryer (or hanging on the washing line).

But it get worse! MIL irons everything…and I mean everything. So when I visited the house the other day there was a neat pile of washing on the end of the bed with a pair of my knickers, folded (they’re not that big) AND ironed on top of a load of Hubbies t-shirts. Eww! Stay away from my pants!

Calm blue ocean [breath in, breath out].

They have departed now…just back to the UK and they are threatening to visit again, so we are going to have to put up with ‘I can’t find anything on this menu’, ‘they all look the same’ and ‘where are the trains?’ comments all over again one day.

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I like Big Boats...

...does that make me a nerd?

At the weekend The Oriana was in the harbour, on Tuesday both the Queen Mary II and Queen Elizabeth II pulled into the harbour. The QMII was so big she didn’t fit into Circular Quay and had to moor in down the road while QEII nabbed a sweet spot at the International Terminal.

Tonight I happened to be in Kirribilli (opposite Circular Quay, for those not in the know) as the QEII was leaving, so I got the first chance to see her moving since 1982 in Southampton when she got back from taking troops to the Falkland Island. I remember sitting on Hythe pier with my Mum and Nan watching her return home and my Nan being really excited about it.

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QEII pulling out with Sydney City behind

QEII with the Opera House peeking out from behind
and two Harbour ferries in front

Tour Guide Extraordinaire – Day Two

The day started earlier with me meeting H and C at their hotel again. Our destination of the day was Bondi Beach. The weather was divine, but due to a little bit too much exposure on Saturday I was required to ‘go granny’. The high necked shirt, long sleeves and hat. I had even worn sunscreen!

We got a cab and arrived at the beach in time for lunch. So we choose to dine at Nick’s on the Beach, a seafood eatery with a great view. The sands that stretched out in front of us were white and covered in bodies. Some were brown and well able to handle the souring heat, but others where quite clearly from red headed stock or far northern Europe and where rapidly becoming the colour of the lobster on the platter we had ordered. Ironically enough, despite the faces pulled at dinner the night before, the oyster were the first things eaten.

After lunch we went for a walk on the surf line. At the end of the beach we sat on rocks and watched the seagulls fishing in the shallows. H and I didn’t feel the need to constantly chatter as we had covered so much the day before and we sank into a restful, comfortable silence.

We wedged ourselves onto a bus for the trip back to the city before H & I went up the Centerpoint Tower. C stayed on the ground and waited for us to come down. We then walked through Hyde Park, down Macquarie Street and through the Botanical Gardens, where H took full advantage of walking on the grass.

Our day and time together ended where it had begun, the City Extra 24 hour café for a cuppa tea.

It was quite sad to wave goodbye as she and her hubby walked through the barriers to the train. I walked back to Oxford Street slowly (two blocks from the flat) for dinner alone and wished, no, reflected for the first time in a very long time that I could get back to the UK more often to see my family. Then I got a text message from my Hubby telling me he was having dinner in Lone Star with his parents and I was glad I didn’t get back to the UK that often, ‘cause I’d have to see them too!

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UPDATED : 12.34 22/2/07

I wrote a poem today about H's visit.

Tour Guide Extraordinaire - Day One

After the late night/early morning on Friday I was kinda glad I had agreed to meet my sister and her hubby at 12.30 in the lobby of their hotel in the Rocks. I wasn’t hungover but I was feeling tired and really like I wanted to have a day in bed. But family called and I answered.

I haven’t seen my sister H for over seven years. In that time she has divorced, met and new fella (C) and married him and lost her eldest son to the disease that made him sick his whole life. So to be truthful I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, but I planned to show them some of Sydney and generally catch up.

We started, in grand British tradition with a cuppa tea and a light lunch. I have to confess to not really remembering what we talked about, but it was lovely and we did decide that we would make the trip over to Manly on the ferry. On the ferry over we talked about B (her son) and how I hadn’t called her because I knew she didn’t need one more person saying ‘sorry’. She understood and said the card I had sent had meant a lot and all the cards and flowers had been buried under a pergola at the bottom of her garden.

Upon our arrival in Manly I introduced H to Copenhagen Ice-cream, with a double scoop of Strawberry and Maple Macadamia I gave her the mission of finishing it before we reached the other end of the Corso. It was Hot on Saturday and as soon as we stepped out of air conditioned shop the ice-cream did it’s best to melt away. By the time we had reached the Beach and far end of the Corso, H had melted, sticky ice-cream covering her hand and down to her elbow. She admitted to having never seen even her children get so messy. The blue-bottles (jellyfish) in the water meant that she and C had to paddle in a tiny hole I dug that filled with water. But they got to stand in water on Manly Beach, so they were happy.

A walk took us to another beach (Delwood) were C sat and had a cigarette and watched while H and I went looked in Rock Pools. The ferry trip back to the city was more chatting and the start of sunset over the bridge and Opera House.

We had dinner at Doyles on the Quay. H and C both tried Sydney Rock oysters for the first time. I don’t think they will go out of their way to eat them in the future, but they didn’t spit them out. We drank some nice 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon from the Coonawarra while we ate and chatted more. We reminisced about our childhood, shared gossip and opinion about our sisters and laughed about the incident with the ice-cream earlier. We even spoke about B but I had to change the subject when she started to look wet in the eyes. C looked on and said several times, 'it's good to finally met you', 'you sound just like your mum' and 'you haven't seen each other for years'.

I saw them to their hotel and agreed to meet them again at ten on Sunday. I walked home thinking about how a mother should never have to see her child die.

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One down, too many to go

The in-laws have been here not quite a day. In fact they had been here little under five hours before they started irritating Before they had even given their son a hug hello Father-in-Law (FIL) was complaining about how heavy the hand luggage was ‘cause of the stuff they had to buy in duty free. They offered, Hubby asked!

(Incidentally who was the cute guy with clown feet checking me out (and vice versa) in Arrivals? He was about 5’10” or 11” with short dark hair, and orange and white striped shirt and black trousers. Nice butt and enormous feet. I recognise him, but can’t for the life of my recall were I’ve seen him)

I drove out of the airport and into the city, FIL in the passenger seat, hubby behind me and Mother-in-Law. FIL starts telling us about the flight and how he ate a pound and half of Werther’s Orignals and hadn’t had any sleep for 36 hours. Then he started talking about his trains bearings (he’s a train nut and is currently refurbing a diesel engine). I asked when he learnt how to speak a foreign language. That went over his head. So I told him I was driving and a microsleep can kill. That went over his head too, So I told him trains are boring and he should wait until I wasn’t driving to tell that story.

I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like playing nice just at the moment.

After we put them in their hotel in the middle of Chinatown, we had to have something to eat. Now normally Hubby and I would go to Don King’s House of Pancakes (really called BBQ King) but FIL doesn’t eat ‘foreign muck’ so we ended up in the only place that did reasonably bland food. Delafrance on the corner of Goulburn and George, it’s open 24 hours for tea and sandwiches. It was gone 10pm so our choice was limited for a Monday night. A egg mayonnaise roll with lettuce and grated carrot proved to be exotic for FIL while MIL raved about a chocolate croissant. Once again we heard about the Werther’s and the lack of sleep for 36 hours before FIL had a go about my driving. When I told him to pack it in, he told the story of the train bearings again and something about Werther’s Orignals and sleep.

We put them back in the hotel at 11pm. I’d missed my swim and was quite frankly exhausted but the last few hours. Today Hubby has driven them to the house for the rest of the week. Of course it’s filthy, so I’m sure they will spend the next few days cleaning my house. As long as they put everything back were they find it, I say Let ‘em. Let's just hope they don’t find my BDSM book stash!

I must swim tonight! Release the tension.

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Something to See

OK, a couple weeks ago I mentioned that my in-laws are coming to town. A couple of days ago my eldest sister announced she would be in town the weekend of the 17/18 Feb. That also happens to be the first weekend that that In-laws are here.

There are now things to see. Hubby and I had our first (of many I’m sure) argument about his parents. My sister does not like his Dad, they met at our wedding and I haven’t seen my sister for seven years or even met her husband, whom she married three years ago. Hubby seems to think that by me not spending my time with him and his parents I’m being selfish, but is quite happy for me to say to my sister, ‘Sorry, I can’t see you after you made the effort to come to Sydney ‘cause I have to spend time with my in-laws.’

Who’s being selfish?

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PS. This is my 200th entry.

Some Groupie Action - Take One

I met my cousin R for drinks tonight. We met in the same pub we met in last year. Our parents give us grief ‘cause we’re not hanging out together on a weekly basis, just because we happen to live in the same city.

He brought along his girl, C too. They have just got engaged, and it’s his birthday soon, so we had to meet up, exchange family histories and the benefits of the English drinking copious amounts of tea.

However, the band I thought I might try and become a groupie for was also playing tonight. They are called Don’t Eat My Lettuce and were chosen by the extremely scientific manner of - they have a daft name.

So after a couple of drinks, and a explanation of my New Years resolution, the three of us walked across town to the Mandarin Club, a delightfully grotty place that does karaoke in the basement, pokies on the ground floor and rather splendid food on the first. As the bands had a while before starting we decided to have a bite to eat. We got to eating and chatting and R and me proved ourselves to be our mothers children by talking so much we completely missed the bands! The only thing lacking (from it being a conversation between our parents) where the fags and tea.

I did put my foot it in at one point when we started on religion, stem cell research and hypocrisy (our families are NOT religious) when I said it was weird and I didn’t get it, only to discover he’d got religion about three years ago and attends church regularly. On the plus side he does think Catholics are tad extreme.

Take One at become a groupie failed.

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