LAZARUS

My God, this poor little blog has been abandoned since last October! How disgraceful. I really MUST do better.
A very brief update - my youngest daughter, Tarynne, has been living with her dad since we split up almost 4 years ago. A lot could be said about that, perhaps another time. Anyways, she moved her boyfriend, Graeme in with her and all was fine and hunky dory until they both lost their jobs, just before the ex flew to S. Africa to marry for 3rd time. (After quickie divorce that I so nicely agreed to.)
Ex returns to Oz in February after long and lavish honeymoon in the Kruger National Park, wife in tow. It seems, going by reports passed on to me by my 3 kids, that the new wife has completely changed their father into someone completely unrecognisable to all and sundry - and not in a good way!
She is 20 years younger than he and was once a very large gal who lost a whole shebang of weight (good for her!) Immediately prior to the flight to Perth she had (she brags) $20,0000 of plastic surgery. I have no difficulty with anyone wanting to have cosmetic surgery, although I personally could not be fussed, but it is a bit difficult to swallow the ex's "poor me" story when that sort of money has been splashed around on lavish long honeymoons (including her 3 kids), getting new breasts, and a tummy tuck as well as financially supporting her adult non working daughter in S Africe plus her 2 teenaged sons recently expelled from school for dope smoking and bringing all of them plus mother-in-law out to Oz to live with them in a couple of months.
So, a few days after arriving, new wife convinces ex to boot the boyfriend out of the house and takes possession of Tarynne's bedroom. They come to me (living on an invalid pension) and beg for room and board while they look for their own place and new jobs. I agree, as I see how keen they are to sort themselves out. Not to go into too much detail, but for the last 3 weeks I have extended every help I could to the young couple, including financial assistance and they finally moved out today. Graeme has landed himself a great job in the mines paying about $2,200 per week - so they are planning to get married in about 18months and buy a house,and of course, pay me back. That's great news and they were as helpful as they could be around the house, I had no problem. I guess it's just the extra washing, cooking, tidying, etc that seems to be a drain on my thin reserves of energy. To complicate matters, my eldest daughter, Nat, is 11 weeks into her third pregnancy and almost bedridden with sickness this time, so I have been having her two little boys quite frequently. I worship and adore them, but they can take it out of y ou - especially when they love horsey rides around the house and will only accept me doing everything for them. (A rod I made for my own back, I know.)
Anyway, what prompted me to write this journal entry was the most hilarious experience I have had in a very long time. Helping daughter and boyfriend move out today, we hired a 3 tonne truck (I drove it and didn't kill anyone) and went to collect items like their bed from ex's house. Ex was having a "day off" (most uncharacteristic in my experience) and to fill in a bit of background on new wife, it seems that she is a) very fond of showing all and sundry the surgery handiwork on her new breasts, b) seems to have genetically inherited unfortunately humungous hips that cannot be dieted away, c) prefers not to wear underwear and makes sure that people become aware of this fact and d) is obsessed with sex in the way 14 year olds think they discovered it all by themselves.
So we rock up there (me, Tarynne and Graeme) and there they are lovingly displayed on the sofa, perusing the laptop computer at 12:15p.m. in their nightwear. He has his green silk boxers (that I bought him about 25 years ago) and she has an enormous, but short T shirt on. Tarynne introduced me and I was appropriately pleasant. 19 seconds later, ex decides to introduce me again to new wife. At least I can take small comfort in the fact that he is still deaf and/or prematurely senile. I asked ex if he was having day off work, he barked back that he was. Oh, I said innocently, what are you guys up to today, then. Well, he gruffs, we have got some things to do today. How enlightening!
But not nearly so enlightening as the first class view I was given up Allison's T shirt. I reckon I could see everything she had for breakfast 6 months ago. Not a pretty sight. She seemed fairly quiet and did not move off the sofa for the whole hour I was there. Apparently she's normally quite gregarious and loud mouthed. Perhaps intimidated? Anyway, thinking that I wasn't going to be stupid and childish about this situation, as we left I stepped right up to her, proffering my right hand. I smiled broadly and looked her straight in the eyes and said how lovely it was to meet her and no doubt I would catch up with her again. She was forced to lurch up from the sofa and I got a glimpse of the hips from hell. Poor girl, they really are totally disproportionate to the rest of her.
Of course, I completely resisted the urge to be at all bitchy during the whole experience. Although I do recall that every time I was walking in their view with my back to them, I lifted my top and hitched up my denim shorts that have an annoying habit of constantly slipping because my hips are very small. No, I think I was completely subtle and a lady at all times.

THANKS BUDDIES!

Arlee and Mary Anne, have I told you guys that I love you! I laughed at your pictorial vibes, MA. How I broke the shoulder blade? Well, I have severe osteoporosis - the bones (apparently) of a woman of more than 95. Something I have been informed that I am remarkably young to have at all. Just my luck, why couldn't it be something else, like (hmmmmmmmm???? started a bad analogy there - there is NOTHING good about old age). Anyhoo, I can fracture things at the drop of a hat, and frequently do - just ask Arlee. This time, some idiot acned teenage boy working in a supermarket came hurtling out of one of the aisles, glancing behind himself (for what? The boogeyman?) and slammed into me. I didn't fall, but I could feel something go uh oh. Lucky for me I am a very quick healer and am starting to feel a bit better. The worst part is not seeing my boys for ages, cos they just want me to pick them up all the time (and I am a big sucker, I know) and climb all over me and I'm really not supposed to be doing that. I am, however, going to do it next week because I had a miserable weekend missing them and telling myself not to cry every two seconds. The worst part about being a permanently depressed person is that, no matter how good the meds are, you still have to battle with that monster every now and then.

I felt sad for my kids too and I just wanted to go and punch their father's lights out for hurting them. The old mama bear isn't too far from the surface, no matter how old the cubs.

So to log on and read you guys giving me moral support just made me cry, to be honest. I wanted to get on the next plane to Canada and come and hug you to bits, but of course I can't as I haven't got a passport at the moment - but it is an idea that's been stewing in my brain awhile, so you never know.

Just to end on with a pleasant scene for you both with the chill of winter stalking up your driveways, and to brag just a teensy bit, feast your eyes on my best spring show yet of my (appropriately named) Double Delight rose climber:

STRANGE NEWS

Not only do I have a badly fractured shoulder blade (right) impeding my every breath with pain, but have just received an email from my ex to say that he is planning to marry at the end of the year (this will be his third wife). I couldn't give a rat's ass quite honestly, but he hasn't bothered to tell our children about his forthcoming wedding, although he has told them about her. Apparently she just wants to be "friends" with my Nat. Well, excuse me, but I'm afraid the position of mother was filled quite a long time ago, so don't even be letting that little idea in your tiny brain, love!

A FAIRY TALE (WITH A COUPLE OF MYTHS THROWN IN)

Once upona time, there was a young girl who loved to sew. She purchased a brand new sewing machine with her first paycheck and things went along superbly for 30 odd years (some more odd than others). She rarely cleaned her machine, or had it serviced or oiled it or changed the needles, but Old Faithful kept plodding along taking the girl on many journeys through complex dresses made out of silk, fat bulky curtains, over blobs of painted surfaces, foil and did every single task she asked of it.
Then the girl grew up, married a bad tempered old toad, cunningly disguised as a charming Prince, had four babies and sewed and sewed on Old Faithful throughout. Sadly, the girl (woman now) had a nasty accident at her work, but she did receive some money for her injuries. So, she thought "I think I will buy a new sewing machine, a bit fancier than OF, but probably the same make as OF has been remarkably reliable for over 30 years."
The woman bought a fully computerised version of OF which automatically cut her threads, calculated her button holes, had thousands of embroidery patterns and a memory to record them, could work three different alphabets, needled up and down and basically could almost cook dinner, feed the dog and clean the house.
The woman loved the new machine - BUT within a month, something strange started to happen. Now and then, for no particular reason the machine would start to stammer and stutter and then - the bobbin case would lurch out of its position, frequently causing the needle to jam down into the case itself. This was very scary, especially when a message on the computer display screen would say Stop For Safety Purposes. So, the woman marched the machine straight back where she had purchased it (for over $1800!) and explained her problem. To cut a very long and ongoing saga to its nuts and bolts, the woman was made to feel that this had never ever been experienced by any other purchasers of that model (a lie, it was later discovered after a careful internet search), that the problem only occurred for her (maybe she was being too rough?) and after the 79th return to the store, it was sent to the mechanic, who (surprise) found it faultless. Next time the problem recurred the woman was shown how to jam the bobbin case into the machine in such a way that it would be less likely to escape its casing.
That seemed to sort things out for a while, but occasionally the problem crept back, which caused the woman to name the machine You Uncooperative Bitch. Every time she sat down at the machine, she felt nervous and frequently sewed at very low speeds to avoid hiccups. For the next three years, the woman persisted with the machine - carefully cleaning it after every use, changing needles at the drop of a hat and so forth. YUB was handled with kid gloves, but the problems persisted and started to multiply - now YUB would just keep sewing after her foot was removed from the pedal, sometimes for a full minute or two. The woman had very crumbly bones that kept breaking all the time and sitting at the machine became an arduous and painful task for her.
Finally, she reached the limit of her patience and marched into the store, determined to get a satisfactory outcome - i.e. agreement that the machine was a lemon and should have been replaced under warranty in the very first place. The toffee nosed madam who owned the franchise recommended she "upgrade to the next model" (HMMMMM - why would she not suggest a replacement of like for like) that she explained cost over $2000. She looked haughtily at the woman's machine and said she could only offer $400 as a trade in value as YUB was well worn by now (and had problems that would hinder its resale). The woman drew a deep breath and explained that was unsatisfactory and that she felt the company should honour its warranty. Toffee Nose said that warranty issues were handled by the mechanic, offered to call him but said that the company would just want to "fix" the machine. She phoned the mechanic who was busy but would call her back and disappeared into the back room. The woman waited, resisted the temptation to either burst into tears or pick up the nearest heavy object (and there were several close by) and implant it in Toffe Nose's brain. Luckily, the anti-depressant medication was working well that day or another ugly scene may have ensued, similar to one several years back when a clerk threatened to call the police. The woman was the only customer in the store and she noted that the other two retail assistants were making a huge production of looking extremely busy with "stuff" and avoided eye contact. Finally the woman said very calmly but very loudly "Well, I have things to do. I can leave that matter with you, can I? You will call me and let me know." Toffee Nose miraculously appeared from the depths of the back room and tried not to seem too relieved that the woman was going. She even offered to send the machine to the mechanic for an opinion and offered the woman the loan of a machine - a version of OF, no less! A plan was forming in the woman's head. She had lost faith in the company (let's call them Company X) and decided she would inform them in writing about this and the reasons for her extreme disappointment. In the meantime, she might just see what Company Y could offer, as Company Y had been recommended as being a work horse.
The woman has been delighted by using the newer version of OF which does everything she asks of it, even though it has not been oft cleaned or serviced either. Also, despite having a brand new fracture of one of the larger ribs at the upper back, she has been able to sew for quite lengthy periods and even to write a longish posting on her blog - something YUB rarely permitted her.
Notice, dear reader, no names, no pack drill - at this stage. HOWEVER, if the response to the woman's complaint is poor - there will be plenty of naming of names for sure.

LITTLE THINGS THAT ARE DONE

Ta da!! I have finished hand embroidering the burnt piece I was working on, mounted and framed it with an old frame I hotglued some shells from Broome onto.

This is just an indulgent photo of my youngest grandson, Kieran, who thinks it hilarious to crawl away from his grandmother as soon as he is removed from the bath. Look at those gorgeous curls!
Now, my news and what has kept me from this blog. I have had some baddish news from the bone specialist that they have not managed to stop the deterioration of my skeleton. I kind of knew anyway from the level of the pain. God help me, I appear to have now passed the skeletal age of 95!!! So, it now becomes a matter of priority for me to move into a much smaller residence which means this house must be sold. That of course means that I have to carefully remove any trace of personality and (shock horror) colour and neutralise to appeal to the mass buyer market of bland loving home owners. I have started by painting out the glorious purple with pearlised swirls in my bedroom and have replaced it with a pale green, actually not so bad, almost a duck egg blue. Today I painted the back toilet and the laundry room in the same colour. Both were pains as there was so much to be taped out. Anyway, I have given myself a year to get this done and a year to find a new place. I am in discussions with my daughter and son-in-law about possibly building a "granny flat" at their place. Maybe, we shall see.

SPECS CASE

Here are images of the spectacles case that I promised to post. I bought this in Broome at the Monsoon Gallery - no idea who the artist is otherwise I would acknowledge, but I got rid of the packaging. The website is :www.monsoongallery.com.au and I am sure they could give more information about the artist. The middle photo shows the front, right is the back and to the left is the inner workings part that shows lining and a large thingo (press studs we sometimes call them). Pieces of monotoned shiny/sparkly fabric have been joined diagonally into a rectangular shape, with some embellishment in the form of yarn and beads. Some of the individual pieces have been irregularly ruched to give texture. Pics don't do it justice, really. Do go to the website, she (the artist) had some stunning pieces in the gallery - it was a question of what I could afford really.

YES - IT'S OFFICIAL!

I am definitely in love with this whole thing! And thanks so much for the boost Arlee! May good things come your way (tee hee).

Here's where I am at, having had to FORCE myself to stop this afternoon. I am doing a bit of mulling about embellishment and I feel it needs a frame of some kind.

Now, just a little tip for any would be pyros out there. Of course you know that the fumes are somewhat toxic and one should of course wear a mask. I was evah so careful about this, but annoyed to find that every time I did this I got an instant migraine from the chemically pong. Determined not to let this small hazard deter moi, I approached a friendly gent at the hardware and divulged some (but not all) of my dilemma. He said I should be using a P2 rated face mask, which are a bit more expensive than the cheapie ones at the supermarket, but still paper and so worth it if you suffer like me. Bit of a shame in a way really, I used to get the same side effect from using chemical oven cleaner - hence abandoned the practice of cleaning said oven entirely. I also pretended not to know thing one about green cleaning, which of course I can do and I think is way better. Now I really cannot profer this excuse any more.

Appropos of nothing, weird dream last night that the nun who taught me Art and English in High School had left a comment on my blog abhorring my spelling! All I was scared about (and I was scared) was the swear words she had come across. And of course now I am getting paranoid about my spelling!