48 things about me...

I found this over at Remote Treechanger , so I thought I would give it a go... and share some of me with y'all...
Your day is complete now... right?

(Why it's only 48 and not 25 or 50 - or even one for every year of your life, I don't know.
I imagine someone was writing this up at work, and the boss came in before she could actually get to 50!

48 things about me...

1. What time did you get up this morning? 5am - well, 4:57 actually.

2. How do you like your steak? Rare, baby. Really rare!

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? I don't have a clue.. maybe Calender Girls? It was a long time ago, at any rate. I have no life.

4. What is your favorite tv show? The Farmer Wants a Wife. Or maybe Good New Week ... or maybe even Thank God You're Here. I have trouble sitting still, so I seldom watch anything from start to finish.

5. If you could live anywhere, where would it be? Murphys, California - or almost anywhere in Calaveras County. No Murphys... definitely Murphys

6. What did you have for breakfast? Nothing yet...

7. What is your favorite food? Steak and lobster

8. What foods do you dislike? Guts. Almost anything that comes from inside an animal at any rate... Except venison liver. THAT, I love!

9. Favorite place to eat? I don't know. Maybe Perkos? They have the best biscuits and gravy... other than my moms of course

10. Favorite dressing? Ranch or just lemon

11. What kind of vehicle do you drive? Daiwoo Nubira

12. What are your favorite clothes? my favorite pair of jeans and a Chicago Cubs t-shirt

13. Where would you visit if you had the chance? Yosemite or Lake Tahoe - again and again.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full? Always 1/2 full

15. Where would you want to retire? Murphys California... to be near my son, daughter-in-luv and my grandsons

16. Favorite time of day? Early Morning, around 5-ish

17. Where were you born? San Francisco, California, USA

18. What is your favorite sport to watch? Baseball... or the Superbowl

19. Who do you think will not tag you back? Don't know

20. Person you expect to tag you back first? Don't know

21. Who are you most curious about their responses back to this? Every one of you!

22. Bird watcher? I love watching the parrots and Magpies in my yard - does that count?

23. Are you a morning person or a night person? Morning. Early morning. Definitely

24. Do you have any pets? At my house... 6 cats. At the Old guys, another 2 cats and 2 Jack Russells

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share? It's Hump Day, so only 3 more days 'til the weekend!!

26. What did you want to be when you were little? Bigger

27. What is your best childhood memory? My Mom and Dad, and the whole extended family. LOTS of good memories there...

28. Are you a cat or dog person? Cat

29. Are you married? No, but I have a "long-term, lives in his own house" partner... affectionatly known as the Old Guy.

30. Do you always wear your seatbelt? yes

31. Have you been in a car accident? Yes, but only one major one.

32. Any pet peeves? Habitual tardiness. To me, that says that you think that you're more important than anyone else.

33. Favorite pizza toppings? Spinach and Feta - every time!

34. Favorite flower? Daphne, Peony Rose and Black Eyed Susans.
Oh, and Lupines and Indian Paintbrushes...

35. Favorite ice cream? Rocky Road or Cookie Dough

36. Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Bell

37. How many times did you fail your driver's license test? Never

38. From whom did you get your last email? Debbie

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? I don't roll that way, baby...

40. Do anything spontaneous lately? Ermmm... no? Oh, maybe it was when I whacked my hair off. Literally.
When you walk into the hairdressers, and the girl calls out "Deb, I think this one's for you", I think it might be a bad sign, eh?

41. Like your job? Most of the time. The kids I love... the paperwork and regulations... not so much.

42. Do you like broccoli? Oh yes. Especially cooked with chicken stock and pepper flakes and mashed a bit.

43. What was your favorite vacation? To California last year...

44. Last person you went out to dinner with? The Old Guy, Kay and Mira. It was his birthday, I think.

45. What are you listening to right now? The heater warming up and the cat yowling at the boys.

46. What is your favorite color? Indigo or Lapis Lazuli

47. How many tatoos do you have? None yet.

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz? I would love for anyone to join in !!!

And she doesn't even want a prom dress...

She just wants to jump right into the dating scene and by-pass all the niceties.
She wants to date. And she wants to date, BAD!

Bad Boys.
Boys that are far older than she is... and boys that have been around the block a time or two.

Men that have already fathered children and who don't even care how hard it is to raise young ones... because they're the 'love 'em and leave 'em" types.

She has no idea what she's in for, and she hates my guts right now for not allowing her to do what she wants, even though I do know what's best for her.

I understand what she's going through, because it wasn't all that long ago, that I was young myself... and I remember the longing for love and the dreaming of someone who would love me forever.
I remember the urges and the excitement and the new-found knowledge that I had the power over the opposite sex.

We've had "the talk", and she said she understood.

I've held her as she's cried... and then she pushes me away and runs off and hides in her room.

The screams of frustration and anger at my saying "no" are breaking my heart, but she doesn't want to listen to a single word I say anymore.

Our close bond and treasured moments are just a memory now, because she's blossomed as a woman, and she's moved beyond my reach.

And I think back and wonder what I must have put my poor mother through, all those years ago...

At least my potential suitors didn't pee on every door in the house.

Geez, I need a day off !

Well... actually it is my day off... kinda, sorta.... but you wouldn't know it.

It's supposed to be my "on" Monday today, but my one and only little one, canceled last night... so I stupidly thought that I could have a nice relaxing day today.
Yeah... right.

I only had one little thing to do, and then the entire day would be mine!

I was just going to get my police clearance signed off and turned in... and I had it all ready to go.
All I had to do was take it to the post office, so that they could witness it, run off copies of my proof of ID, throw it in an envelope, stick a stamp on it, and voila!
The rest of the day to myself! Wooo Hooo!

HAHAHAHA! Fat bloody chance!

We went to the post office at 9am this morning, waited in line for 20 minutes, only to get up to the clerk, who said to me:
"We don't do these here. You have to go to the "main" post office."

So we did.

We went to the "main" post office.

Stood in line for another 30 minutes while the 3 clerks on duty argued over which one of them was going to have their break first.
They finally decided who would be having their break ... so it was now time to begin serving the long-suffering customers... and the line began moving again.

By the time I was third in line, I pulled out my drivers license, credit card, utility bills and proof of insurances ( totaling 115 points, thank you very much - which was 15 points more than I actually needed, but hey, I'm thorough and organized, eh?) as well as the poor dog-earred and crumpled copy of my police clearance application.

So we finally get to the head of the line... and I handed all my paperwork, with the original copy of the application for my police clearance right on top, to the lovely woman serving me.
The one who wasn't on a break a mere hour after she started.
Only to be told
"Sorry, but we don't do these anymore."

But see here? I have this form, and it says that this can be done at any Australia Post post office, by any employee who has been employed by the post office for 5 years or more".

Sorry, but they changed that ruling last year.
You now need to go to the police station to get it done.

So after picking up 632 pages of documentation and cards to prove that I am who I say I am, off we traipse again...

And I'm more and more grateful that I've got the Old Guy with me, because chances are, that he'll hold me back when I threaten to hurdle over the counter and throttle someone by their stupid, little, turkey wattled neck.
Preferably the person who isn't on her break, but I'm offering no guarantees.
But I would be dealing with the police on an entirely different matter then, wouldn't I?

So off we head to the police station.

And all those free "15-minute police business" car parks are full, probably by druggies who have shown up on Monday morning to have their drug tests done... so we have to park a block away, and slog through the rain.
Only to stand in another interminably long line, but this time with people who smell of week old sweat and alcohol breath.
Oh joy...

Now... you would think that if a form says it can be done at a police station, you would assume that that means that the police working in that police station are pretty much trustworthy people... and they could be entrusted with witnessing my signature and checking off copies of documentation.. right?

No.

I have to get in the other line and talk to that old lady with tufts of blue hair on her balding pate and with black hairs sprouting willy-nilly on her chin... Who's seated at the far side of the office.
So I do.

And she's helpful.
She says to me:
"These are the original documents, aren't they?"

Yes... yes they are.

"Oh, but dear, I don't want to see the originals, I only want to see the photo copies.
You can go across the street to have them copied, and then come back here to me."

So we left.

Only to find that the one and only person who is running the Quik Copy is on his break, and won't be back for 15 minutes.
The sign in the window said so.
But it lied.
We waited 27 minutes, and finally gave up.

So we get back in the car and drive all the way back across town to the Tattslotto agency, where they'll happily do all the copying I need done, for only 40 cents a copy.
And they did. Happily and nicely. Which went a long way to calming me down and dissipating my urge to kill someone.

Then back to the police station.

Where the lovely dear old lady is now on her break.
So we wait and wait... which is probably a good thing, because it allows my blood pressure to return further to somewhat normal.... and my urge to kill someone, well it slowly begins to ease off.

Then the old lady comes back.
After waiting for everyone in front of us to ask her inane drug testing related questions, only to be sent elsewhere, I'm next in line.
So I hand her all the copies, the proof of identity paperwork, the application for my police clearance, the money order and everything that she could possibly want.

Except for the original copies of the stuff I had photo-copied.
It's back in the car, parked a block away.
Because I didn't need them now.

Well, I guess I must have looked near tears or more than a little psycho, because she says
"Oh alright, I can just do it from these, but I really should have seen the originals."

You DID see them, you silly old chin-hair sprouting bat... when I was in here a short while ago.
You thumbed through each and every copy, humming and hawing, and seeing for yourself how much I spend on my utilities every month and raising your eyebrows and tut-tut- tutting... before telling me that you only wanted to see photo copies.
Which I then went off and did.
Just for you.
Because you told me to.
At great monetary expense to myself, not to mention the loss of what little sanity I had left...

So eventually, after looking back and forth from me to the police officer standing a short distance away (she was signaling him with her eyes. I swear she was) she signs and dates everything...

Like she's killing time before the grim reaper comes to take her away...

And there's no fear that that will be anytime soon, because he won't take her until every last i is dotted, and every t is crossed on my photo-copied, no original copies anymore because it's in the car, paperwork.
And she checks and then double checks each and every page, and each and every piece of documentation and all the photo copies...
At least 6 times.

And that's when she suddenly realizes that she doesn't have her stupid litle frigging rubber stamp thingamajig, and she totters off to find it.
Because her signature isn't good enough.
Oh noooooo...
She needs a stupid frigging red-inked rubber stamp vowing and declaring that she's an honest to goodness certified Justice of the Peace, to make everything all legitimate and colorful.

So, eventually, we got it all done and we head home... where I can finally relax and pretend that I have the whole day off... even if it's just half of it now.

And I no sooner sat down to relax, than the office rang me, asking if I had any available vacancies for a special needs 6 month old - starting next week.
Yak yak yak.. yada yada yada...

I eventually got off the phone, kicked my shoes off, turned the kettle on and checked the fridge for a leftover scone ( biscuit) from last nights dinner, and then I planned on sitting down, breathing deeply and just enjoying the peace and quiet and what's left of my lovely relaxing day off.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh !!! It'll be heavenly!

And then someone knocked on the door.
My 3 after-schoolies have arrived.... and I haven't had a single, solitary moment to myself all day...
Excuse me kids, while I go beat my head against the wall....


So tell me...
How was your day?
;-)

More translating English to English... ;-)

Lol... the translation service continues...

Miz N. called me twice yesterday morning, trying to figure out what she needed to buy at the grocery store in order to make biscuits and gravy for breakfast today... and try as she might, the clerk at the grocery store just couldn't understand what she was asking for, when she said she was looking for "biscuits in a can".

He was showing her Arnott's biscuits in decorative tins... and he insisted on taking her up and down the biscuit (cookie) aisle a dozen times, trying to find what she was looking for... but she didn't have any luck.

And the only biscuits in the refrigerated section are actually packaged cookie dough, (Aunt Kath's) with M&M's in them. (which she bought anyway. Smart girl.) But if cookies are biscuits, why is the Australian product called "cookie dough"?


Then she called back, asking what the difference between ground beef and beef mince was, since they looked the same to her - and to tell me that there was no pork sausage or bacon anywhere to be found... and what section would they be found in?!

And it just dawned on me, just how used to things and certain terms, that I've become. They're just words... but when it comes right down to it, it can almost seem like you're suddenly being asked to speak a foreign language and it can become confusing as hell. Especially when you're not used to it, or someone throws a spanner (monkey wrench) into the works.

But it got me thinking. I guess I've always been a bit of a stickler with using the words I grew up with. I guess we all do that, to one extent or another, no matter where we come from...
I still say stuff like chesterfield for couch, dinner at lunch time, supper for the evening meal, soda or soda pop for soft drink and "I feel peckish" at about 8pm. And I still sit on my fanny when I'm not working.

But I've noticed that I use words like beef mince instead of ground beef...
brekky instead of breakfast,
play lunch instead of morning snack...
lounge for living room
tap for faucet...
And if anyone says "fanny" outloud to me nowadays? OMG... I blush like an old nun in the men's locker room.

So yeah, I guess words evolve over time, and sometimes I wonder how much of it - here in Australia anyway - was due to the vast influx of Americans into this country back in the 1800's.
Yeah, I know it's happened all over the world, but the "U.S. to Oz" thing is all that I've actually experienced myself.

See, most Australians aren't even aware that the famous Cobb and Co stagecoach company was actually founded by American's... Freeman Cobb, John Murray Peck, John B Lamber and James Swanton – and that it was originally called the American Telegraph Line of Coaches, until someone decided that was too much of a mouthful, so they simplified it to Cobb and Co(Company)...


Fosters Beer... the great "Aussie icon", was actually started in 1887 by 2 Americans - William M. Foster and his brother Ralph R. Foster- They had sailed from New York, USA with the dream of starting a successful brewery on the other side of the world. And they did... with Fosters now being known around the world.


Not that it actually makes any difference in the big scheme of things, but I do find it fascinating to think of all the words and terminology - and products - that exist in Australia today that people consider to be 100% Australian... that aren't actually Australian after all, when you come right down to the base root of it all.
Or at the very least, they weren't originally founded or - in the case of words - used by Australian's.
And I just wonder if anyone even knows (okay, maybe "cares" is the better word) where the words or brands that are considered purely Australian, (or any nationality in the world, for that matter) originally originated from. I just find it fascinating, is all...
But maybe I'm funny that way.

And who in the hell decided that a fanny was now in the front of a body, instead of the back?

Words... A rose by any other name...

Words.... I just love 'em, don't you?

I love everything about them.
I love how words and their meanings and definitions can change with time...
I enjoy studying up on the origins of words...
The look of them marching across a printed page...
and mainly just the feel of words on my tongue...

I love the power of words and the sheer evocative-ness of them.
And okay, my head and spell-check knows that "evocative-ness" isn't a correct word, but you get what I'm saying...right?
And isn't that the whole point of words? To convey what's in your heart and mind? To get your point across?

See, I love big words and little ones, archaic ones, modern ones, plain speech and just using words in general.

I've been told that I write just like I speak and that people can hear my voice when I write... and I guess that's true.
But you see, the words are always whirling around in my head, and I'm just a tool for getting them down on paper.
They use me sometimes... rather than the other way around.
So to speak anyway.

I can clearly remember my first words, or rather my first sentence, from when I was about 18 months old.
I remember it clearly... because, for about a year or so, it was about the only thing I did say. Because I said it on a daily... no... make that probably an hourly basis for over a year or two.

"Beebee cy'in, pweese make stop."

Which leads me to believe that my baby sister was born a sooking, whining, pain in the ass patootie... and that some things never change.
She's been gettin' on my nerves for nigh unto 53 years now, so I guess she'll never change at this late date. And neither will my attitude towards her.
Which is kind of sad, innit?

Oh, this "word stuff" is always floating around in my brain, but what really brought it home to me last week, was meeting another American who's over here for a few weeks... and I've been simply lovin' just sitting and listening to this 'friend of a friend', say words...

Now don't get me wrong, I love the Aussie accent and I love most Aussie words, but it does my heart good to hear words pronounced the way I'm used to hearing them pronounced - you know what I mean?
Not that one is better than the other - because they're not .
But it's just different.
You know... just having the chance to hear the words that I listened to and learned when I was growing up.
Just the plain ol' homey-ness of it all.

Words like Nokia being pronounced as No-Kee-a, (that might be a California thing... I'm not sure) rather than Knocky-a.
Or hearing Nike pronounced as Ni-key instead of Nike (rhymns with "like")
Adidas ( A-DEE-das) instead of Added-ASS.
Celica, not Suh-LEEka,
Tortilla instead of tor-tiLLa.
(that one just makes me {{shudder}} when I hear it on cooking shows)
Taco instead of Tack-o...

I get so busy with just listening to the old 'familiar and well-loved' words rolling off Miz N's tongue, and right outta her mouth, that I've actually lost track of what she's saying...
Which has earned me some puzzled looks, I can tell you true, when I sit there listening, and then say things like "Wow! I LOVE this" "This is so cool!" (Hey, I'm very erudite when the occasion calls for it, whot?)... while she's recounting the details of a car crash she witnessed!
But see... it's not what she's saying... it's more how she's saying it.

I just love the wordiness of it all... The homeyness
(as opposed to what the Aussies call homely-ness.
Like in:"Oh what a homely little house you have here." Which is supposed to be a compliment.
And which took some getting used to, believe me... when someone once told me I had a very nice, homely face!)

Now... what had me laughing and pondering last week, was hearing Miz N tell us about an Aussie congratulating her on picking up the Aussie lingo so quickly. After just two days, she was now speaking genuine "Aussie"... and she couldn't figure out what they were on about...

Because the word she had said, was simply "reckon".

See, Miz N and I are both from California, with our parents originally coming from the South... so we've both been saying "reckon" right from the get-go.
It's not a word we learned here in Oz... it's a word we were born and raised with.
Millions upon millions of Americans have been using the word "reckon" for hundreds of years.

And with me loving the meanings and roots of words like I do, (which kinda makes me a self-styled, self-promoting, etymologist, doesn't it?) well... I've almost always known that "reckon" is originally from the German word rechnen.
(I'll spare you the details, okay? But it was my 6th grade teacher that started my life-long love affair with wordiness)

But "reckon" has been a part of the general American language for nigh unto 300+ years now..
("Reckon" is mainly used in the midwest, northwest and southern U.S., while "consider" is used extensively or exclusively on the upper east coast, as well as in parts of the northern U.S.)

Yeah.. I love my words, and I just figure if I've gone to the trouble to listen and learn all about them and absorb them, and because I love the joy that they bring to my life, the least I can do is let them out every once in awhile... and let them dance across the pages.

Do y'all know what I'm sayin'?
What do you reckon?

Ear Ye... Ear Ye...

Hey, I just wanted to reassure that Jazzy and I are doing just fine, with our respective ear problems, so 'ears the latest update.

Jazzy's ears are healing up beautifully and - fingers crossed - the stitches come out in another couple of days! Plus, she seems to be enjoying living the life of Riley around here, laying on the couch and only getting up to have a "special" can of food twice a day.
You know... the little expensive, " I could have made the car payment with what these are costing me for 10 days" ones... like shredded chicken and egg in truffle aspic and duck liver with cream and chives... which are totally unlike the el-cheapo cans of Whiska's the other poor cats are getting.

I can see a revolt coming... and I've even seen several of the other cats sitting in the window trying to sun their ears, in hopes of getting them fried, so that they can have that special food too.
Little do they know...

And me? With the antibiotics and other crap the doctor has given me, I'm doing just fine. I'm still a bit scatter-brained, but I think that's just my normal little ol' self, and at least the dizziness is much better.
I haven't found the urge to clutch at any strangers for the last few days, anyway.

Reading is still a bit of a hassle, with words and letters dancing around like spit on a hot iron, but it's getting better day by day...
Geez, I just can't wait until things are back to normal, and I can get back to catching up on y'all!

I have ears! Isn't that wonderful??

Or is it? I don't know anymore.
Nowadays, I don't know if I'm coming or going.
I don't know if I'm Arthur or Martha...
If I'm Tom or Jerry...
Frick or Frack...
Laurel or Hardy
I honestly don't.

I've been snowed under with one thing or another and it seems like the faster I go, the behinder I get.
I take 3 steps forward, and two steps back.... and nothing, but nothing, is getting accomplished around here.

I thought it was just me.
You know... just terminal laziness or lack of concentration on my part.
Overwork, or maybe even a brain tumor.
You know the kind of stuff.
(well maybe, I'm the only here with those silly hypochondriacal thoughts running through my head.)

The stuff that has you folding a heap of towels and then leaving them to just sit on the kitchen table for days on end, because putting them away seems like so much effort.
It just all seems so overwhelming and you almost want to cry because nothing is getting done.

Doing stupid stuff... like getting out of the shower only to realize that all the towels are still in the kitchen and you left the blinds open and you have no chance in hell of dashing across the living room in your birthday suit, without someone seeing you through the windows (which would cut down on peeping toms, I'm telling ya, if there were any out there) and laughing their arses off... leading to feeling of worthlessness and shame on my part.

And then to top it off, I've been feeling just a titch under the weather.
Nothing serious, and certainly nothing that I could put my finger on, but just not feeling 100%, ya know?

Sticky oozy eyes in the morning... a sore nose like I had been punched in a cat-fight over Tom Selleck or something, and a head that just felt a little more than a little top-heavy.
Trouble reading... in bed or otherwise, which was making taking first aid and child protection tests and quizzes a real chore and a worry... and wondering if the entire class would get the chance to practice first aid on little ol' me.
Being put into the recovery position, if I fell outta my chair and hit the floor, had me worried, let me tell ya, and I was so busy worrying about it, that I got behind... and that isn't like me at all. I'm usually pretty much "on the ball" and focused when it comes to class work and studying.
The teacher even asked me last night, if I had a history of epilepsy... which scared the chit out of me!


And then this morning, it hit me.
Literally.
I've been a bit dizzy and light-headed for days ( I said dizzy, not ditsy, so let's not be going there. We already know about the ditsy part.)
Anyhoo.... I got up this morning, made my usual mad dash to the tootie, and realized that the room was spinning a bit. Well, actually more than a little. I felt like I had had a night on the wine, without the tummy upset.
And instantly I said "AHA!

It's not me... it's my ears!
I've got that freakin' Labyrinthistis back again.

You know, the inner ear problem that throws your balance off and has you clutching madly at cute, spunky doctors and threatening to swoon in their strong manly arms.

The problem that has you feeling like you're on a roller coaster, tilt-a-whirl combination and you stagger around like you've been into the booze cupboard at 6am in the morning.
Throwing yourself into any available arms... manly or otherwise, just to keep from hitting the deck.
Not that it's that bad yet, but if it runs it's course like it has in the past, I'll be taking some time off work, rather than trip and fall on small smelly persons...
And of course cooking or housecleaning will be out of the question as well.
Good thing I have a helpful man around the house, eh?
(Oh Lord, just shoot me now...)

It's not a brain tumor, epilepsy, or early onset, senile dementia problem... or me losing my mind and going around the twist because of the hippy-dippy lifestyle I lived in 70's... like I thought it was... it's just too much juice in my head and ears.

I should have seen this coming, but with worrying about Jazzy and all... and running my arse off with stupid unnecessary night classes, and just the day-to-day drivel that goes on around here, it just never entered my pretty little head that it was anything actually physical.

So instead of working today, I think I'll take the day off and go see what cute manly doctors I can throw myself on.

I hope and pray that I get the cute spunky one and not the old guy with the bad comb-over and terminal dandruff. {{{shudders}}}
If I'm going to faint, I want someone cute and strong to be there for me...
I don't want to clutch at the old dandruffy doctor and end up with both of us on the floor.
It would ruin the day for both of us....

(Disclaimer:
I didn't re-read this at all to check for making one tiny little iota of sense, or do any spell-checking, so if it's absolute rubbish and totally incomprehensible... tough titties.
I have a good excuse.)

Hissssssssstt.... I'm back!

Well, it seems that my mom wasn't waking up after all. She just rolled over and did one of those bottom burp things and then started snoring again, so here I am... back again.
I just wanted to share some of the photos that I took of me.

Now, I wanted to try and use her webbed-foot cam or whatever it's called to get some pics of my beautiful face and my poor, poor ears, but her chair is too low and it just kept taking pictures of air!
So I told Willow to get her furry little butt over here, to take some photos of what mom paid those people to do to me.
And the stoopid cat did as she was told, but then again, she certainly knows who's the boss around here!

Here I am before... and I think I look just fine the way I was.
I have to admit my ears did hurt when I flicked them, and pieces kept falling off though...

And this?
This is what they did to me!!
Can you believe it?
I'm seriously hissed off here!
And yes, that's blood on the wall. When my slave mom wakes up, she'll wash it off, because like Willow, she does as she's told!
(by the way, I've had cat flu, so that's why my eyes look the way they do. I'll be back to normal in no time.)

All I can say is, I'm not happy with my photos.
Not happy at all!
It may take me a long, long time to get over what she did to me!

Now don't forget to read that last post I did, because I put a lot of time and effort into it and when I do something, I like people to pay attention!!
At least now I understand why my mom is always bitching about her nails when she types on here, because typing on this box is just so hard on my nails!
Maybe that's why she's always carrying on about getting a peticure!
And as for a manicure?
Thank you very much, but I'll pass!


Oh.. and I remember now, why I know I'm Royal.
My mom was a Queen... that's why!
Which makes me a princess.... and princesses are royalty, isn't that right??
I thought so!

You can hiss off now.
I'm going back to bed.

Meow meow meow...

Hello everyone. It's Jazzy here...

I actually prefer using my proper name - Jasmine - but for some ridiculous human-type reason, my mom uses "Jazzy", which sounds dumb as mice to me, but what can ya do? She feeds me, so I let her get away with a lot of things. It just makes it easier, if you know what I mean.

Now I wuz gonna tell ya something, but I'm still a bit groggy and woozy this morning, so bear with me okay?

Mom is still sleeping, which I think is pretty silly, since it was me who underwent the tortures of hell yesterday, not her.
Humans are such dogs when it comes to stuff, aren't they?
Yap, yap, yap all day long... Sheesh!

But then again, she was up and down all night, checking on me, patting me and kissing me and she even picked my ... ahem... up off the blanket when I missed the cat box and put it in the flushable drinking bowl.
She even gave me my favorite fresh tuna before she went to bed, but she sure as heck didn't give me enough.

You know how fish is brain food, right?
Well, I needed more than she gave me last night, because I think they scrambled my brains when I went in that awful, dog-pee smelling place.
Here I was... stumbling around like a demented dog... weaving around the room like I had been into the booze, falling over like one of those turtles you see on the magic box... and I just laid there like an idiot waving my legs around in the air, while they laughed at me.
They laughed!
How rude is that?

Oh yeah... Now I remember what I was going to tell you!

Do you know what they DID to me?
What my so-called mom who claims she loves me, let them do to me?
In fact, I vaguely heard that she even paid them money to do what they did, and I doubt if I will ever, ever, ever forgive her.

All that talk of "oh, this will make you feel so much better... this will extend your life... this will make you feel so much more comfortable"...
Holy Cheeses and Mice!
They PAID someone to cut my gorgeous little pink ears off!
Can you believe that???

I feel like crap, and I can't stand upright... they shaved the fur off my head so that I look like one of those stoopid French poodles.... and my ears hurt... so where's the benefit in what she put me through?
I think I'm gonna have to put on my oh-so-perfected disdainful look and do a lot of tail flicking and growling in the weeks to come, just to let her know how hissed off I am about the whole situation.

And this whole "mom and dad" thing? What a load of codswallop! (mmm... I love me some cod, don't you? With or without the wallop. Whatever that is.)
I want you to know that these people are NOT my parents.
I tolerate them, because I like the food they give me and the soft minky blankie they give me to sleep on, and it seems to make them happy to think that I'm their baby... but I think it's pitiful.

See, the truth must be told... my real parents are royalty.
Yes, you heard me right.
I'm Royal.
Well, at least on my dear mother's side of the family.

I remember my dear mother so well... (oh, I still miss that 2nd teat on the right hand side... curling up with my brothers and sisters and having my bottom washed by a rough tongue) but my dad took off before I was born, so I think he's off having his ears cut off or something.
I think my real mother couldn't afford to support us when dad took off, so here I am... living with humans.

It's so unfair, but it does have it's advantages.
I may be hissed off at the moment, but I do know when I'm onto a good thing, do you know what I mean?
All the fresh fish and meat I can eat... and the occasional bit of my favorite Gruyere cheese... and I'm not one to turn my delicate little pink nose up at that... I'm telling ya!

It seems that these people who call themselves my "mom and dad" have some sort of paper or something that says I come from a long line of Royalty, (it says I'm a pedigreed American Long-Hair) but I've seen my so-called dad reading the paper and there doesn't seem to be anything about me in there anywhere.
Just a lot of drivel, and I can't see the importance in that at all!
Now, if he were reading about me and my lineage, I could see the point of reading the paper, but if doesn't have me in it, it's just something to line my cat box with, as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, I hear mom stirring in there, so I better go lay back on the couch and put on my disdainful, "hissed off" look again.

Don't tell her I was on here, okay?
Because if she finds that I was on her typing box, it won't be long before she learns that I've been on-line ordering catnip and a new minky blanket, when she was busy sleeping.

HA! She'll think it's her brains that have been scrambled, when the parcel-post man shows up with boxes of stuff for little ol' me!
And I'll bet you anything, when those boxes arrive, she'll go straight to the kitchen and check the level of her bottle of takillya, and scratch her head.
With the wrong foot!

HolyCodfish... she's dumb!

Stressin' BIG time over my kitty...

Well, my Jazzy headed off to the cat hospital this morning, to get her poor little ears "trimmed", and I have to admit that I'm pacing the floor here, waiting to hear how she's going.
I don't want to be a nervous mama and harass the poor vet people, but Jazzy's my baby... you know what I mean? I want to call so bad, that I can taste it... and it's driving me crazy.

I've bitten my nails to the quick, I've cleaned and disinfected things around that I just did yesterday, I've gone through the house just looking for something - anything- to occupy my mind and keep me from thinking, I've yanked weeds, scrubbed the floor and washed all the lace curtains in the house...
But I'm still stressing!

They said that I could call at about 3 o'clock and see how she's doing... and that she should be able to come home shortly after that, so I'm counting the minutes, believe me!
I want her home, where she belongs !!

It's not that I want her to be beautiful again... because to tell you the truth, I love her to pieces, regardless of how she looks.
But I just want her to be comfortable and content again.
When she cries with the pain of her sore ears, it makes my heart just break for her...
Because she's my baby...

Her sore ear is a little confronting to look at, so if you're at all squeamish, don't look.
I'll take some photos of her after she gets home and settled in, but I suspect the new photos won't be too pretty to look at either - at least for the first couple of days.

My sweet Jasmine...

Catching up...

Well, I managed to get one thing on my never-ending list out of the way last night.

I did the first half of a 2-night first aid course last night, and it was better than I expected.
Way better.
I was really dreading it, with the migraine and all, but I was lucky enough that the headache had eased off somewhat, so it wasn't bad at all. It was still bad enough that I had to wear my sunnies indoors because of the florescent lighting, but I figured that it just made me look cool and mysterious to a bunch of total strangers.
Which is my aim in life...
Which also says a lot about my lack of goals, doesn't it?

And having a good teacher and a bunch of normal people for classmates, helped immensely. Not that the other day carers that I usually take the classes with aren't "normal", but this just seemed to be more focused, and there was less chit-chat and visiting going on, you know what I mean?
It was focused enough, that the class that was scheduled for 4+ hours, was over and done with in a little over 3 hours, and I was tucked up in bed before the class was even due to be finished.
How good is that?

The only problem was, I drank a huge bottle of Coke last night before leaving home, to help with the headache and to help with concentration, (and it helps. It really does.) but the side effect of all that late evening Coke, was a bathroom marathon going on, once I got to bed last night.
I swear, I did miles of back and forth and back and forth all night long, and I spent more time running to the tootie, than I did actually sleeping.
Which in my humble opinion, is the main reason for going to bed in the first place.

Damn this menopause crap...
Once you get past the years of babies and the kids keeping you up and running at night, the girlie works shut down and the bladder stuff starts happening. It's not fair, and it's not right...

Most women, once the kids grow up and move away from home, take up collecting stuff like fancy gee-gaws or salt and pepper shakers and the like.
Me?
I collect directions to public restrooms between here and the border.
Honestly.
I have a notebook filled with directions to each and every toilet between here and wherever we're going.
With ratings.

Because there's nothing worse than hanging on for the last 6 miles to the nearest toilet, and then finding out the hard way, that they don't have toilet paper... or finding that the sink has been used as a barbecue pit for a bunch of young hooligans.
So, with my handy-dandy little guide and ratings system, I know that if we're going from here to... oh, let's say Bendigo, I need to double check that we have a spare roll of dunny paper in the car, and I need to pack an extra bottle of hand sanitizer, because there's no public sink for the next 40 miles or so.

How pathetic is my life?
Why did no one, in all those years of hearing talk about the freedom to do whatever you want once you got older, ever mention that your life would now be ruled by your bladder?

(Oh shit poop... did I actually say "young hooligans"?
I am getting old, aren't I? And here I thought it was just my bladder that was gettin' old....)

United breaks guitars...

A girlfriend sent this video to me several days ago, but I just got around to checking my email account this morning (Yeah,I've been bad)- and man.... I'm LMAO!

It's a true story, so go HERE to read it. ;-)
I've never heard of these guys before, but I gotta say, the guys voice is fantastic, and I love what's he's done with this song.

Take THAT, United Airlines!! Pbbbbbpppppttttt!
*snort*

Enjoy!

Sorry I haven't been around...

I did survive the long stint with 5 children, and I did it with one hand tied behind my back.
Piece of cake, actually...

The problem started after they left, when a stupid friggin' migraine reared it's ugly head, and then things just started building from there.
(if cheap chocolate gives you migraines, I recommend staying away from those little Nestle's chocolate mud cake coffee sticks. They're a killer.)

Then... I have the security lights guy coming out Thursday, and the bill for 2 double security lights, a power point and a wall sconce, not to mention partially re-doing the shed wiring, is gonna set me back approx. $300.

Then Jazzy, my sweet oldest cat, has problems with her ears, so a trip to the vet cost me $52 yesterday and we ended up scheduling a total ear resection for Friday, which is gonna be a further $500 or so.
More like the "or so" and it wouldn't surprise me to find that another $200 needs to be added to the original quote.
"Ear re-section" doesn't sound like too much does it? But what it means is removing about 80% of her ears to get rid of the dead and dying tissue.
To put it in layman's terms, they're gonna whack her ears off, and my stomach turns, even thinking about it.

And tonight? Like I said, I've been dealing with a killer migraine, and with the bills mounting, I have no choice but to continue working, so I work a full 8 hours today with 4 children, finishing at 5:30... and then at 6, I need to present myself for a 4 hour first aid course and see if I can survive until 10:30 tonight.
Only to get up at 4:30 tomorrow morning and start it all over again. And again and again...

Bills, taxes, sore pussy cats, headaches, paperwork.... It's all just got me snowed under right now, and feeling sorry for myself...
But when and if things settle down, I'll be back with my usual inane drivel.

Lucky you, eh?

Shhhh... don't wake the kids.

Because if we do, my day will start a little earlier than I want it to... and my sanity hangs in the balance, I'm tellin' ya.
So let's just whisper, okay?
Lean close, so I don't have to raise my voice.

This is the final week of school holidays, and we're actually into "hump day" today, but I think that term is a bit relative, considering what starts tomorrow night.
I've been up to my eyeballs in kids for a week and a half now, and although I have to admit that they've all been excellent, I've just about reached the end of my tether, you know what I mean?

Cooking, cleaning, tidying, scrubbing, replacing toilet paper 27 times a day, emptying the garbage bin twice or even thrice a day, breaking up arguments over a lousy plastic tractor and cow...
I want on the computer, no I want on the computer, it's my turn now.Taters... Clinton is laying on the floor again and he snatched the balloon off Jesse and can I have some of that chocolate cake we made?

Whine, whine whine... And that's more me, than it is the kids...

I'm tellin' ya, my get up and go has got up and went.

And what's coming tomorrow night?
OMG, I don't know if I'll survive the coming days!
Well, I will, because I do... but surviving with my sanity intact, is something else altogether.

Tomorrow night, I get a family of 5 children, and I get them for FOUR (oops, I forgot we're whispering ) four bloody days, while the parents head to Queensland to see the dying grandpa.
They're all good kids, excellent kids in fact... but because they're kids, they act like kids.
And they need to be tended to, and fed on a semi-regular basis.
For four bloody days!!!

Thankfully, my part-time-permanent care child leaves at 5 o'clock Thursday night, to be put into a respite facility for a couple of days... so that's one less hungry mouth to worry about.

And then I'll no sooner get this looong nerve-wracking, yet joyous weekend over and done with, and my regular work-week will start all over again.
Minus school aged kids of course., so less cooking in the kitchen and less changing of toilet rolls...

Lord 'ave mercy...

Send help.

Smiles and laughter, through the tears...

Thank you everyone !!

I mean that.
From the bottom of my heart!

Yesterday was a bit of a rough day for me, with it being Jake's birthday and all....
But you know, I also did a lot of smiling and I laughed out loud several times, just thinking about all the good memories - and it did my heart good to share them with you all. Your comments yesterday, touched my heart and made me smile ( and yes, I even snorted coffee through my nose a time or two!)

I guess it's true what they say.

"A burden shared, is a burden halved"...
and I honestly felt like you helped to lighten my load yesterday - so thank you again!

See, when I really, really thought about it, I realized that I had been blessed with 18 years of good memories and only the one heartbreaking one.
And by focusing on the good, by remembering and sharing the joys and the laughter, the funny little stories and just the ordinary wonderful days and years we had together... well, I just realized that I have a lot to be thankful for.

Jake left me a precious gift. The gift of his memory...
And to do anything but honor that gift and to look at it with thankfulness for what I've had, rather than with sadness for what I've lost, well, I'm doing Jake a disservice, and I'm letting him, and his memory down.

When my children were born, God gave me the greatest gift I've ever known...
The gift of joy.
But he never promised me that they - or that joy - would be mine forever.

But he did promise to be by my side through whatever this life threw my way... and he promised to be my rock and my comfort.
And he's never let me down yet!

So while I was just sitting and thinking of Jake yesterday afternoon, I asked God to give me a sign from above, to let me know that he heard my crying heart and to let me know that my son was safe in his hands.
And suddenly, the room lightened somewhat (it's been pretty dark and dreary here all week, with heaps of rain) and a beam of light came through the window, so I went outside.

Suddenly, two parrots swooped right down at me... coming within inches of my head before they turned, and as I followed their flight, I saw the rainbow!

Now, if those aren't all signs from above, I'll eat my hat!

The Rainbow

Mama Crimson Rosella and her teenager

It's pretty unusual for them to be around here at this time of year, so I really feel blessed.

~~~~~~~~~~

I didn't realize that I still had pictures on my card, so when I did the rainbow and bird pics, I found another 30 or so photos that I hadn't even gotten around to downloading yet.

And wow... I simply love the ones of the Big Tree over in Guildford!!
That tree is just massive and breathtaking but there's no way that a mere photo can do it justice!!!

I mean... just look at this baby!

It may not look like it, but that burl is absolutely HUGE!
It's actually bigger than the bed of the Ford truck we were driving, but I stupidly forgot to take a photo with the truck in it!

~~~~~~~~~~
And to finish... Just some stuff from around my house...

Happy Fourth of July, everyone!

4th of July, and Happy Birthday, Jake !

Growing up, the 4th of July was always my favorite holiday, beating out Christmas and Thanksgiving... hands down.
There was just something special about summertime, warm weather, good food, the company of relatives... and to top it off, setting off our own fireworks while we waited for the "big" display that the town always had.
I just loved everything about it.

But in 1981, the 4th of July came to have a new - and even more special - meaning to me.

It was the day that my gorgeous little firecracker... my Jacob Christopher came into my life.
The day my son Jake was born.

Now, he was due to be born in mid-June, but he always was a stubborn little guy and he waited until the 3rd of July to even decide to come into the world.
And by then, I was more than ready to have him present himself, let me tell you!

It was a hard labor, and I was more than ready for him to come out, but my husband at the time (the infamous "he who shall remain nameless") thought it would be cool if we had a 4th of July baby, so he kept telling me to hang on... it's only another 7 hours until midnight.
Hang on... only another 4 hours.
Hang on... hang on....
I wanted that baby out, and I wanted it out NOW, but he wasn't born until 14 minutes past midnight.
Because Jake always did things in his own time.
But it was always worth the wait.

I had my very own little firecracker and life was good. Jake was a good baby and a sweet child, and I couldn't have asked for more.
Except for maybe more time with him.

I have great memories to look back on, and there are times that I feel that Jake and God gave me those good memories, to help ease the pain of what was to come.

Like the time when Jake was about 7 and he came running downstairs, naked as a jaybird, right after his bath.... only to skid to a total stop, when he saw that Pastor Gary and one of the church ladies were visiting...
Now, I raised my kids right, and I raised them with manners, so what did Jake do?

He covered his privates with both hands, then stuck his one hand out to shake Pastor Gary's hand, saying "it's nice to see you sir", while keeping his doodle covered with the other.
Then he high-tailed it back upstairs, making sure to keep his doodle covered... but his shiny little bottom was still in full view of everyone.

Thanksgiving 1990, my dear penpal from New Jersey - Elise - had come for a visit, and she and my daughter and I were in the house having a good old time, putting on a fashion show, videoing it, and just acting silly, you know?
Jake was outside, keeping himself occupied climbing the old Oak tree at the top of the driveway.
Well, I guess he climbed up there, took off his belt to sort of tie himself to a big old branch, not even realizing that there were red ants in that tree.

The ants started biting, Jake couldn't get the belt undone, so he had to shimmy out of his pants and climb down the tree, starkers.
The first we knew of it was when he burst into the house naked from the waist down, screaming:

"Ants were biting me and I yelled and yelled for you, and you never came! You're nothing but a bunch of GIRLS, and I HATE you! LOOK AT MY PENIS! The ants bit my penis, and if it falls off, it will be YOUR fault, you stupid girls!!! I'm gonna tell my teacher on you!

Of course, we were just rolling on the floor with laughter at the thought of him going to school and telling the teacher, and the more we laughed, the madder he got...
So his parting shot as he stomped upstairs was:

"I hope the ants bite YOU on your stupid penis's, so YOU know what it feels like, and then I'll laugh at you! I hope ALL your penis's fall off!!!

When Jake was little, he always thought that everyone celebrated the 4th of July in his honor, so when he would go with his dad and sister and brother to "man" the Fireworks booth for the CHP ( California Highway Patrol) he would invite everyone to his birthday party.
As he got older, he would would hint and beg for people to donate some kind of firework for his party, so that he could celebrate in "style". That was his actual word...

"Gee, wouldn't it be nice if I had one of those packs of sparklers (roman candles, Chinese Wheels etc) for my birthday? I could really celebrate my birthday in style..."

And you know, coming from a small town like that, there were always folks who would buy extras, just so Jake could have one!

Like I said, I raised my kids right, and I was prouder ... am still prouder - of all of them, than any mother has a right to expect.

Jake loved nothing more than going to the post office with me, and if he saw someone with their arms full of packages, he loved to run to open the door for them.
Old ladies were escorted to their cars, while Jake carried their extra packages for them... and if they attempted to pay him for his efforts, he always said
"No thank you mam... I'm just using my manners, and I don't need the money."

The last time I spoke to Jake on the phone, he told me that he had met the girl of his dreams, and he was going to marry her.
He kept saying that "She's a living doll, Mom, and you're going to love her."
It was Cheyenne this... and Cheyenne that... and it was clear that he loved this girl... and it did my heart good.

Jake was good and kind and funny and warm-hearted... and he would stick at something, never giving up, until he had accomplished it.
And he always had a heart of gold.

His final act on this earth, was to jump into the ocean and try and save his girlfriends brother.
Only this time, Jake didn't accomplish what he set out to do... and we lost both him and Mason that day. Cheyenne barely survived herself, because she had jumped in as well.

I lost my beautiful, sweet, youngest son on October 10th, 1999... and my world has never been the same since.

Now, on the 4th of July - Jake's Birthday - I always set off an entire box of sparklers, in his memory... and for the time it takes for them to fizz and sparkle and burn away, I get to live in another time and place.
If only for a while.

Happy Birthday Jake.

Your Mama misses you more than you know.