It’s amazing sometimes how something long kept secret comes out, even if it is by one’s own hand. The other night I was around at Mum and Dad’s having dinner and over a quiet glass of red or two, Dad and I got around to discussing cars. There’s a not so secret project brewing for me to acquire an early model 911 and it was part in due to discussion of this that the top of Dad’s Triumph Spitfire came up.
Dad referenced the fact that I’d told him about the time that I’d taken the car for a spin and only very much later had ever told him about it. I think it had something to do with the fact that I said if I ever actually owned the Porsche, the keys would travel with me everywhere to prevent my boys from doing the same thing. It was only part way through that conversation that it became apparent that the time that he was referencing was a different time to the one that I was. Oops. The direct result of that of course was that I had to tell him all about ‘the other time’ that I’d taken the Spitfire (and admittedly there really are only two occasions that I recall doing so).
The time he referenced was an uneventful affair when I took Caroline for a spin up to Belair National Park only briefly fearing that perhaps the hills were a bit much for the 1960’s ailing little car.
The ‘other time’ that I had to reveal on this occasion was the day that Ron and I decided to take the car down to the beach. Ron wasn’t so keen, the car only being a 2 seater and the fact that Ally was with us for the ride, but I assured him we’d squeeze him in behind the seats and we’d be all set. Ron insisted that he’d only do so if he could do a ‘Ferris’. Thus, we took off for the beach, Ally and I in the front, Ron in the back. As we cruised down Oaklands road, he sat up on the back of the car all Ferris like.
All was good until we went around the corner onto Diagonal road. As I came out of the corner, I eased off on the clutch and dressed the accelerator only to have the car completely die.
I rolled to the curb and started having a bit of an ‘oh shit’ moment. Let’s face it, I knew less about cars then than I do now and there’s still no way in hell I could ever do much to get it going if the same thing happened today. I decided to do one of the more technical things that I could manage and popped the hatch on the fuel lid. ON the spitfire, fuel is poured in just behind the seating compartment, at the top and in the middle of the car. I peered down and all I could see was bare metal. Not a hint of fluid of any kind. Fortunately we’d stopped directly across the road from a petrol station and so I ran across and grabbed a small tin’s worth of gas.
With that in the tank, I held my breath as I turned the key and uttered a small prayer of thanks when the car roared to life. With the clouds closing in and the weather not perhaps looking quiet as beach worthy as when we’d set out, I took the whole thing as a sign and drove us straight home again, putting the car back in the garage where it belonged and never saying anything of it again. Well, not until a couple of wines and 20 odd years later at least!
One of these days, I’m now going to have to get a copy of Ferris Bueller’s Day off and watch it with Dad. At least we didn’t have an elevated, glass walled garage!
Dec 20, 2011
Nov 28, 2011
13 and 11
Somewhere back in time I started to write posts for each of the kid’s birthdays. This year I’ve been somewhat slack and for some time haven’t written anything at all. It’s one of those odd things where sometimes things happen and scream at you to be written about and other times, life quite simply takes over and you’re too busy enjoying it to stop and write about it.
So what was once almost a weekly endeavour on my part has slipped to be something less than that. I don’t want to stop, it’s probably more about not writing just for the sake of filling space, but continuing to do so when there’s something I want to write about.
The other influencing factor is a widening audience. When I started this thing up in its original form back in about 2001 or so I had no audience in mind. It was somewhat random, full of whatever happened to appeal to me at the time and it was probably only ready by about 3 people. Hell, I don’t even know how many people still read when I post now. The fact is though, that with the advent of facebook there’s a new avenue for keeping in touch with people. It has supplanted a small piece of what this started out as. Casual observation in short form fits very well in the facebook space even though I find myself doing less of that as well. The fact that I now advise of updates via that medium as well as through the list of ‘subscribers’ that I collated before we left for Canada means that all sorts of people have access to what I write – kids, friends of kids, extended family, work colleagues … the list goes on. Being aware of that audience and quite possibly a more mature approach to what I write certainly has limited me some times when I’ve felt like bashing out an expletive laden rant about something that has riled me.
Anyway, none of that was actually the point of why I put fingers to keys. What I realised was that both Sam and Thomas had birthdays back in October and some sad neglecting parent didn’t even mark the occasion. Well not here at least.
So Sam has turned 13, entering the teenage years whilst Tom turned 11 and begins to navigate those in between times, not yet a teenager, but working through double figures.
Sam continues to be himself, pursuing interests that he chooses and not really being influenced by others as to what he should or should not be interested in. He’s mostly a generous spirit, though he seems to reserve a special little criticism for the little sister that knows just how to push his buttons. He’s popular with his peers and more often than not when the phone rings its someone asking Sam over for a play. Despite dropping money on his ‘own PS3’ after the influx of wealth that followed his birthday, he’s not become obsessed with it to the extent that his older brother has. His personal obsession at this time appears to be mine craft. If you don’t find him in his bedroom with a book, he’s likely behind the computer exploring the world that is mine craft and experimenting with what can be done. He’s continued to play tennis this summer, though again, not on a competitive basis. He enjoys it if the two of us can get around to the park and have a hit, especially if no one else decides to come and he doesn’t have to share the court. I think it’s still something of a not wanting to be seen to fail thing that keeps him from playing competitively and perhaps with some coaching we can get him to a point of competence that will see him participate at another level.
Thomas remains the joker. It’s hard to see that changing as he really does like a good laugh. This year he’s been diagnosed with dyslexia, which whilst disappointing, is at least something that can be worked with. When I consider all the problems that people go through in life, this is one that many people have overcome, lived with, conquered etc and I know that Thomas will do the same. He retains his hard work ethic in that regard which is something I’ll always be proud of him for. It means that he works longer and harder to achieve less of an outcome than perhaps his older brothers, but he retains pride in his accomplishments and we’re certainly very proud of them ourselves. He’s played soccer through the winter and is now the last Temby to be playing cricket this summer. I hope that he continues to do so. He’s not been the star of the team, but he continues to improve. He’s bowling less wides (down to about one an over now) and he’s really taken to fielding which has been great to see. Maintaining enthusiasm for that part of the game can be tough, but he seems to love nothing more than an excuse to sling himself across the ground in a slide to stop the ball. Now we just need to teach him that he doesn’t need to slide every time he gets near it. His batting needs work, but mainly on the run-scoring front. He’s been not out in two innings so far, so it will be interesting to see if he can maintain the trend!
So what was once almost a weekly endeavour on my part has slipped to be something less than that. I don’t want to stop, it’s probably more about not writing just for the sake of filling space, but continuing to do so when there’s something I want to write about.
The other influencing factor is a widening audience. When I started this thing up in its original form back in about 2001 or so I had no audience in mind. It was somewhat random, full of whatever happened to appeal to me at the time and it was probably only ready by about 3 people. Hell, I don’t even know how many people still read when I post now. The fact is though, that with the advent of facebook there’s a new avenue for keeping in touch with people. It has supplanted a small piece of what this started out as. Casual observation in short form fits very well in the facebook space even though I find myself doing less of that as well. The fact that I now advise of updates via that medium as well as through the list of ‘subscribers’ that I collated before we left for Canada means that all sorts of people have access to what I write – kids, friends of kids, extended family, work colleagues … the list goes on. Being aware of that audience and quite possibly a more mature approach to what I write certainly has limited me some times when I’ve felt like bashing out an expletive laden rant about something that has riled me.
Anyway, none of that was actually the point of why I put fingers to keys. What I realised was that both Sam and Thomas had birthdays back in October and some sad neglecting parent didn’t even mark the occasion. Well not here at least.
So Sam has turned 13, entering the teenage years whilst Tom turned 11 and begins to navigate those in between times, not yet a teenager, but working through double figures.
Sam continues to be himself, pursuing interests that he chooses and not really being influenced by others as to what he should or should not be interested in. He’s mostly a generous spirit, though he seems to reserve a special little criticism for the little sister that knows just how to push his buttons. He’s popular with his peers and more often than not when the phone rings its someone asking Sam over for a play. Despite dropping money on his ‘own PS3’ after the influx of wealth that followed his birthday, he’s not become obsessed with it to the extent that his older brother has. His personal obsession at this time appears to be mine craft. If you don’t find him in his bedroom with a book, he’s likely behind the computer exploring the world that is mine craft and experimenting with what can be done. He’s continued to play tennis this summer, though again, not on a competitive basis. He enjoys it if the two of us can get around to the park and have a hit, especially if no one else decides to come and he doesn’t have to share the court. I think it’s still something of a not wanting to be seen to fail thing that keeps him from playing competitively and perhaps with some coaching we can get him to a point of competence that will see him participate at another level.
Thomas remains the joker. It’s hard to see that changing as he really does like a good laugh. This year he’s been diagnosed with dyslexia, which whilst disappointing, is at least something that can be worked with. When I consider all the problems that people go through in life, this is one that many people have overcome, lived with, conquered etc and I know that Thomas will do the same. He retains his hard work ethic in that regard which is something I’ll always be proud of him for. It means that he works longer and harder to achieve less of an outcome than perhaps his older brothers, but he retains pride in his accomplishments and we’re certainly very proud of them ourselves. He’s played soccer through the winter and is now the last Temby to be playing cricket this summer. I hope that he continues to do so. He’s not been the star of the team, but he continues to improve. He’s bowling less wides (down to about one an over now) and he’s really taken to fielding which has been great to see. Maintaining enthusiasm for that part of the game can be tough, but he seems to love nothing more than an excuse to sling himself across the ground in a slide to stop the ball. Now we just need to teach him that he doesn’t need to slide every time he gets near it. His batting needs work, but mainly on the run-scoring front. He’s been not out in two innings so far, so it will be interesting to see if he can maintain the trend!
Oct 19, 2011
Wired for Sound
Earlier this year, the family gave me some outdoor speakers to go with the stereo that we’d bought in Canada. It’s been something of a long held dream of mine to be able to take advantage of the feature of the stereo that enables you to listen to two sources of sound in different areas of the house from the one system. In particular, to have speakers for the back of the house so that for events like Spit and Swallow and New Years Eve, I can pump out the tunes.
It’s one of those things that in theory should be a simple process. Buy the speakers, buy the amp that’s required, buy the remote control that’s required, wire it all up and go. We did all of those things except the go bit didn’t happen.
I read instructions, I searched on line, I read internet forums and eventually I even called the company to ask them about it. There was one nagging suspicion that I had regarding the set up that I had to ask them about. You see, the remote control rather than being infrared, works on radio frequency. I bought the system in Canada, the remote in Australia. Could they possibly be different? The answer was yes.
So that meant that I had a ridiculously expensive remote control in my possession that had the potential to be nothing more than a dust collector. Fortunately the store that I bought it from took it back. Now I just had to buy one from the US. Should be simple enough; go online and shop! Except that the online shopping function didn’t allow for delivery outside the US. So I organised for delivery to a friend in the US. Except then the billing address (which had to be a US address) didn’t match my Aussie credit card address so they cancelled the order. So I rang them and finally managed to pay with my Australian card for delivery to the US.
And yesterday I received my new remote control. And you know what? It bloody works! Huzzah!
It’s one of those things that in theory should be a simple process. Buy the speakers, buy the amp that’s required, buy the remote control that’s required, wire it all up and go. We did all of those things except the go bit didn’t happen.
I read instructions, I searched on line, I read internet forums and eventually I even called the company to ask them about it. There was one nagging suspicion that I had regarding the set up that I had to ask them about. You see, the remote control rather than being infrared, works on radio frequency. I bought the system in Canada, the remote in Australia. Could they possibly be different? The answer was yes.
So that meant that I had a ridiculously expensive remote control in my possession that had the potential to be nothing more than a dust collector. Fortunately the store that I bought it from took it back. Now I just had to buy one from the US. Should be simple enough; go online and shop! Except that the online shopping function didn’t allow for delivery outside the US. So I organised for delivery to a friend in the US. Except then the billing address (which had to be a US address) didn’t match my Aussie credit card address so they cancelled the order. So I rang them and finally managed to pay with my Australian card for delivery to the US.
And yesterday I received my new remote control. And you know what? It bloody works! Huzzah!
The Shrinking Family
Ok for some time its been more than obvious to us that by having 4 kids, we don’t fit into the normal family demographic. You know the one, the one where if you buy a family ticket to the zoo you can cover 2 kids and 2 adults. The one where if you win a holiday, you can take 2 kids and 2 adults.
But recently on the radio, with school holidays coming up, one of the local cinemas was advertising a family ticket special. Other than the fact that it still sounded quite expensive, the real shocker in the ad was the announcement that this ‘family’ ticket would entitle 2 kids and ONE ADULT to go to the movies. WTF?
I know that divorce rates are high and that there’s probably a lot of people who may actually fit that demographic, but … well I just don’t think it’s right dammit.
But recently on the radio, with school holidays coming up, one of the local cinemas was advertising a family ticket special. Other than the fact that it still sounded quite expensive, the real shocker in the ad was the announcement that this ‘family’ ticket would entitle 2 kids and ONE ADULT to go to the movies. WTF?
I know that divorce rates are high and that there’s probably a lot of people who may actually fit that demographic, but … well I just don’t think it’s right dammit.
Sep 22, 2011
What came first - the rabbit or the egg?
For some time now we’ve been waiting for the chickens to lay eggs. I’ve been away with work for a couple of days, but as far as I know, we’re still waiting.
In other Temby Menagerie news, following the passing of the little rabbit Grace, we’ve been diligently keeping the replacement, Pepper away from the randy little clutches of the boy rabbit Ginger. On Monday night though as we were headed for bed, Pepper was acting just a little oddly compared to normal and I made comment to Caroline that it appeared she was either trying to dig her way out of the hutch (which was going to prove difficult through the wooden board it sits on) or she was collecting all the straw and other loose material from the main part of the hutch into the sleeping area.
I believe I may have even made comment that it appeared that she was nesting. I though no more of it and went off to work.
Yesterday whilst out and about in remote areas of NSW I received a rather patchy call from Caroline but was able to make out enough to hear that following the potential nesting behaviour, Pepper had been making some strange noises during the day. I can’t say I’m acutely aware of the time line but at some point during the day Caroline put Pepper outside for a bit of R&R and subsequently inspected the hutch only to see something move in there. Pepper was quickly returned to the hutch on the basis that the four little rabbits within might need their mother!
I spoke to an extremely excited Emily last night, but the immaculate conception still remains a little blurry. What we do know is that at times when Pepper has proven to be difficult to locate in the back yard (something about a black rabbit hiding in dark places in fading light in the garden) Emily has brought Ginger out and relies on his base desires to drive him to locate Pepper. I witnessed one such occasion where this occurred and Emily interrupted their brief visit mid-celebration so to speak.
Apparently on at least one occasion, one of these celebrations mustn’t have been interrupted early enough!
In other Temby Menagerie news, following the passing of the little rabbit Grace, we’ve been diligently keeping the replacement, Pepper away from the randy little clutches of the boy rabbit Ginger. On Monday night though as we were headed for bed, Pepper was acting just a little oddly compared to normal and I made comment to Caroline that it appeared she was either trying to dig her way out of the hutch (which was going to prove difficult through the wooden board it sits on) or she was collecting all the straw and other loose material from the main part of the hutch into the sleeping area.
I believe I may have even made comment that it appeared that she was nesting. I though no more of it and went off to work.
Yesterday whilst out and about in remote areas of NSW I received a rather patchy call from Caroline but was able to make out enough to hear that following the potential nesting behaviour, Pepper had been making some strange noises during the day. I can’t say I’m acutely aware of the time line but at some point during the day Caroline put Pepper outside for a bit of R&R and subsequently inspected the hutch only to see something move in there. Pepper was quickly returned to the hutch on the basis that the four little rabbits within might need their mother!
I spoke to an extremely excited Emily last night, but the immaculate conception still remains a little blurry. What we do know is that at times when Pepper has proven to be difficult to locate in the back yard (something about a black rabbit hiding in dark places in fading light in the garden) Emily has brought Ginger out and relies on his base desires to drive him to locate Pepper. I witnessed one such occasion where this occurred and Emily interrupted their brief visit mid-celebration so to speak.
Apparently on at least one occasion, one of these celebrations mustn’t have been interrupted early enough!
Sep 21, 2011
City to Bay
City to Bay
At some point in time this year one of our clients suggested that we might like to get involved with them in the corporate cup. The event consists of 8 runs each of 4.5km length over a period of 16 weeks. With the soccer season getting close to a close I thought it would be a good thing to do and so I signed up for it.
I then promptly managed to be away travelling for the first two of them but did get to the third. With a total of one training run under my belt, I wasn’t really all that sure as to what sort of a time I’d be running. I’d kind of rationalised that something around the 25 minute mark would be reasonable for a first effort and set off with the guys that I’d joined up with. I let them run off ahead of me after the first one and a half kilometres or so and was surprised when I finished with a time of 22 minutes and 2 seconds.
Not too long after that, someone suggested that we should do the City to Bay as well. Now that’s a 12km run. I had actually been considering running it anyway and at one point even thought that I would get Michael to come along. Then I realised just how close the event was (it was under 4 weeks at this stage) and decided that that would probably be silly. Not so silly however that I didn’t get talked into doing it anyway, just silly enough to let Mikey off the hook.
That left me facing the task alone. I did manage to get one more short training run in and one more of the 4.5km corporate cup runs (I even managed to improve my time!).
So on a Sunday morning where the temperature promised to hit close to the 30C mark, I made my way into town to join 30,000 or so ‘close friends’ for a quiet run to the sea.
The first thing that was noticeable was the number of people that were busy running around before the event started. Here I was ever so slightly worried about minor things like potential heart failure and there they were running. Running TO the event! Bloody lunatics I say.
The time came to take up position and I ran off with the crowd, watching some people disappear ahead of me, others disappear behind me, but at a pace that turned out to be pretty quick. I had decided that there were two targets for me. Under 75 minutes would have been acceptable. Under 65 would be the point at which I was truly secretly pleased with my efforts.
I had had a theory at the start of the even that all I would really need was some attractive woman running at about the same pace as me that I could follow to the end. The problem was that it just didn’t work like that. Either they were too quick or not quick enough and so I was left to simply run my own race and see what I could do.
At about the 3km mark there was a bunch of cheerleaders giving everyone a rev up to help propel them along the way. Call me wrong, but there was a minor temptation to simply stop and watch! At 3kms I had surprised myself with my pace as I was at about 15 minutes and 30 seconds. By the time that I had made it to 6kms, I wasn’t ticking along quite so quickly but was still on time to run sub 65 minutes. It was also further than I’d run in any of those very few training runs.
By the time that I managed to get to the 9km part, things were really starting to hurt. At that point I had run for longer than any run I’d undertaken in the last …I don’t know … 10 years or so? The time had slipped a bit further, but I was really starting to want to beat that 65 minute goal. It was around that time that a young girl slowly started to overtake me. She wasn’t zooming past, but inching past. She was the tipping point for me. I was able to say to myself, “No, she’s not going to beat me.” I stepped things up just enough to keep up with her and I have to thank her for that, because for the next 2 kms I paced myself against her, running a couple of metres away, just keeping pace. At least up until the last km that is, because it was around that point that I found that she was dropping off. I worked my way down Jetty Road, which for the record had never seemed so long, dodging around the thickening crowd and pushing through to the end. When I turned the last corner I stepped things up again, pushing hard and running at as close as I could manage to a sprint at that point.
As I hit the button on my stop watch, I was thrilled to see the digital read out frozen at 63 minutes and 41 seconds! I was indeed ecstatic. It turns out that my official time was slightly better than that at 63 minutes and 37 seconds. This translates to 4663rd position overall or 98th out of male 41 year olds. There were174 in the category so I didn’t quite crack the top half, but far from disgraced myself too.
After some recovery that predominantly consisted of very slow walking and some agonized moaning, I walked back up Jetty Road to catch the tram back home. I wsa happy to be there, but did have to wonder whether the air conditioning of the tram had really been designed to cope with the rather powerful smell of a packed tram full of fun runners?
I really felt sorry for the girl that squeezed on at stop 3 from departure, obviously dressed up for a day in town. Boy did she pick the wrong day to get on the tram. As a contributor to the BO of the occasion I could only wonder what it must have been like for her to step into a tram full of it!
At some point in time this year one of our clients suggested that we might like to get involved with them in the corporate cup. The event consists of 8 runs each of 4.5km length over a period of 16 weeks. With the soccer season getting close to a close I thought it would be a good thing to do and so I signed up for it.
I then promptly managed to be away travelling for the first two of them but did get to the third. With a total of one training run under my belt, I wasn’t really all that sure as to what sort of a time I’d be running. I’d kind of rationalised that something around the 25 minute mark would be reasonable for a first effort and set off with the guys that I’d joined up with. I let them run off ahead of me after the first one and a half kilometres or so and was surprised when I finished with a time of 22 minutes and 2 seconds.
Not too long after that, someone suggested that we should do the City to Bay as well. Now that’s a 12km run. I had actually been considering running it anyway and at one point even thought that I would get Michael to come along. Then I realised just how close the event was (it was under 4 weeks at this stage) and decided that that would probably be silly. Not so silly however that I didn’t get talked into doing it anyway, just silly enough to let Mikey off the hook.
That left me facing the task alone. I did manage to get one more short training run in and one more of the 4.5km corporate cup runs (I even managed to improve my time!).
So on a Sunday morning where the temperature promised to hit close to the 30C mark, I made my way into town to join 30,000 or so ‘close friends’ for a quiet run to the sea.
The first thing that was noticeable was the number of people that were busy running around before the event started. Here I was ever so slightly worried about minor things like potential heart failure and there they were running. Running TO the event! Bloody lunatics I say.
The time came to take up position and I ran off with the crowd, watching some people disappear ahead of me, others disappear behind me, but at a pace that turned out to be pretty quick. I had decided that there were two targets for me. Under 75 minutes would have been acceptable. Under 65 would be the point at which I was truly secretly pleased with my efforts.
I had had a theory at the start of the even that all I would really need was some attractive woman running at about the same pace as me that I could follow to the end. The problem was that it just didn’t work like that. Either they were too quick or not quick enough and so I was left to simply run my own race and see what I could do.
At about the 3km mark there was a bunch of cheerleaders giving everyone a rev up to help propel them along the way. Call me wrong, but there was a minor temptation to simply stop and watch! At 3kms I had surprised myself with my pace as I was at about 15 minutes and 30 seconds. By the time that I had made it to 6kms, I wasn’t ticking along quite so quickly but was still on time to run sub 65 minutes. It was also further than I’d run in any of those very few training runs.
By the time that I managed to get to the 9km part, things were really starting to hurt. At that point I had run for longer than any run I’d undertaken in the last …I don’t know … 10 years or so? The time had slipped a bit further, but I was really starting to want to beat that 65 minute goal. It was around that time that a young girl slowly started to overtake me. She wasn’t zooming past, but inching past. She was the tipping point for me. I was able to say to myself, “No, she’s not going to beat me.” I stepped things up just enough to keep up with her and I have to thank her for that, because for the next 2 kms I paced myself against her, running a couple of metres away, just keeping pace. At least up until the last km that is, because it was around that point that I found that she was dropping off. I worked my way down Jetty Road, which for the record had never seemed so long, dodging around the thickening crowd and pushing through to the end. When I turned the last corner I stepped things up again, pushing hard and running at as close as I could manage to a sprint at that point.
As I hit the button on my stop watch, I was thrilled to see the digital read out frozen at 63 minutes and 41 seconds! I was indeed ecstatic. It turns out that my official time was slightly better than that at 63 minutes and 37 seconds. This translates to 4663rd position overall or 98th out of male 41 year olds. There were174 in the category so I didn’t quite crack the top half, but far from disgraced myself too.
After some recovery that predominantly consisted of very slow walking and some agonized moaning, I walked back up Jetty Road to catch the tram back home. I wsa happy to be there, but did have to wonder whether the air conditioning of the tram had really been designed to cope with the rather powerful smell of a packed tram full of fun runners?
I really felt sorry for the girl that squeezed on at stop 3 from departure, obviously dressed up for a day in town. Boy did she pick the wrong day to get on the tram. As a contributor to the BO of the occasion I could only wonder what it must have been like for her to step into a tram full of it!
Sep 3, 2011
The Daisy Duke Theory
Ok, so for those not familiar, a little pop culture reference is probably a good place to start:
Daisy Dukes are form-fitting denim short shorts first popularized by actress Catherine Bach in the late 1970s. Bach played the role of Daisy Duke, the beautiful cousin of lead characters Bo and Luke Duke in the television series Dukes of Hazzard. Daisy Duke routinely appeared in a pair of cut-off denim jeans fashioned into shorts, along with other tailored hot pants and short skirts. These skimpy costumes served primarily to show off Bach's well-toned legs, which were rumored to be insured for at least one million US Dollars.
If you’re not sure what I am on about, then google, it. Google it carefully though and don’t say you weren’t warned!
Right with that out of the way, the next point of interest is that I was at the Royal Adelaide show yesterday. Quite possibly worth a post of its own, but regardless of that fact, the inspiration for the following.
If you’re in Alberta, think Calgary Stampede, if you’re in Elizabeth, think Mum probably wore these.
Regardless of where you live, consider the following theory:
If x = the width of one leg of your daisy dukes and y = the length of your daisy dukes (waistband to bottom of the leg), then if x>y, quite simply put, you probably shouldn’t be wearing them.
Daisy Dukes are form-fitting denim short shorts first popularized by actress Catherine Bach in the late 1970s. Bach played the role of Daisy Duke, the beautiful cousin of lead characters Bo and Luke Duke in the television series Dukes of Hazzard. Daisy Duke routinely appeared in a pair of cut-off denim jeans fashioned into shorts, along with other tailored hot pants and short skirts. These skimpy costumes served primarily to show off Bach's well-toned legs, which were rumored to be insured for at least one million US Dollars.
If you’re not sure what I am on about, then google, it. Google it carefully though and don’t say you weren’t warned!
Right with that out of the way, the next point of interest is that I was at the Royal Adelaide show yesterday. Quite possibly worth a post of its own, but regardless of that fact, the inspiration for the following.
If you’re in Alberta, think Calgary Stampede, if you’re in Elizabeth, think Mum probably wore these.
Regardless of where you live, consider the following theory:
If x = the width of one leg of your daisy dukes and y = the length of your daisy dukes (waistband to bottom of the leg), then if x>y, quite simply put, you probably shouldn’t be wearing them.
Aug 30, 2011
The Hidden Cost of Canada
At the time that you set off on a little adventure to the other side of the world for a couple of years, you understand that there’s going to be some sacrifices. You also understand that some of those things are readily identifiable. The absence of family and friends, departure from sporting clubs, changes of schools amongst what is a much longer list.
You also understand that there’s going to be hidden costs that can’t be predicted when you return and its also understood that they won’t all be immediately apparent.
Whilst we were in Canada, we tried to keep the boys in touch with cricket a little bit by occasionally getting out in the park and entertaining the locals with our crazy antics. Michael and Thomas were the two most keen to play, but then that was true before we left as well.
Michael was very excited when we returned to be able to finally take up cricket again. Unfortunately a couple of things changed in his absence. With the age progression that he went through the game changed. The ball went from a semi hard ball to a true cricket ball complete with all the padding that accompanies it. The pitch stretched out to a full length, taking away some of the menace from his bowling as he had to loop it a little more to get it to a decent length.
Even more telling, he went from being of average height to seemingly a foot shorter than most of his contemporaries. That foot proved to quite possibly be the single most telling fact as when he went in to bat, the ball was harder, coming faster and often, bouncing up around the rib cage of a reasonable length. It meant that when he went in to bat he felt incompetent and with his bowling not being as threatening, he was more often than not bowling fourth change or so and hence fielding whilst only being rewarded with 2 overs when the captain thought he could afford it.
It’s meant that he’s now declared that he no longer wants to play cricket. I completely understand, but it rips out a little piece of my heart. The hardest thing for me is not so much that he doesn’t want to play cricket, its that by playing soccer all year round in Canada, he’s been limited in his exposure to other sports. I don’t really mind what he chooses to play, I just really really want him outside and exercising and deriving all the benefits that come from working with a team to achieve a goal and simply socialising with ones peers outside of the immediate school environment.
For now, all we can do is encourage his participation and offer what ever support he needs when he decides to go down a new path.
You also understand that there’s going to be hidden costs that can’t be predicted when you return and its also understood that they won’t all be immediately apparent.
Whilst we were in Canada, we tried to keep the boys in touch with cricket a little bit by occasionally getting out in the park and entertaining the locals with our crazy antics. Michael and Thomas were the two most keen to play, but then that was true before we left as well.
Michael was very excited when we returned to be able to finally take up cricket again. Unfortunately a couple of things changed in his absence. With the age progression that he went through the game changed. The ball went from a semi hard ball to a true cricket ball complete with all the padding that accompanies it. The pitch stretched out to a full length, taking away some of the menace from his bowling as he had to loop it a little more to get it to a decent length.
Even more telling, he went from being of average height to seemingly a foot shorter than most of his contemporaries. That foot proved to quite possibly be the single most telling fact as when he went in to bat, the ball was harder, coming faster and often, bouncing up around the rib cage of a reasonable length. It meant that when he went in to bat he felt incompetent and with his bowling not being as threatening, he was more often than not bowling fourth change or so and hence fielding whilst only being rewarded with 2 overs when the captain thought he could afford it.
It’s meant that he’s now declared that he no longer wants to play cricket. I completely understand, but it rips out a little piece of my heart. The hardest thing for me is not so much that he doesn’t want to play cricket, its that by playing soccer all year round in Canada, he’s been limited in his exposure to other sports. I don’t really mind what he chooses to play, I just really really want him outside and exercising and deriving all the benefits that come from working with a team to achieve a goal and simply socialising with ones peers outside of the immediate school environment.
For now, all we can do is encourage his participation and offer what ever support he needs when he decides to go down a new path.
Aug 22, 2011
Three Chooks Forward, Two Chooks Back
Last night I came home to be told that we had three new chickens; that and the fact that there had been something of a disaster. I wasn’t quite sure exactly what the disaster was likely to be and all sorts of things went through my mind not even related to the chickens.
It turned out that it was actually chicken related. When I put the chicken pen together, I put an outdoor roost in place as I’d read somewhere that the chickens liked that but that it should be lower than the inside roost. It was about a foot off the ground, which happened to put it about 3 feet below the top of the fence. Apparently when Caroline went in to introduce the three new chickens, Breakfast Lunch and Dinner took various levels of offence which resulted in two of them leaping first to the outdoor roost and subsequently they flapped their way to the fence.
Caroline had Thomas with her and sent him running around to try and scare them back to our side and home where they belonged. Thomas, doing the right thing, rather than run straight around, went to the door to ask permission. By the time that he go there, things had progressed and one of the chickens not only jumped the fence between our properties, but also managed to get over the fence out the back of the neighbours as well. That would be the house with the pool. Of course, this is the same house that also has a dog.
Caroline and Thomas jumped in the car and raced around to the next street to see if there was any chance of a rescue. Caroline sent Thomas in whilst she waited out the front, worried that someone might think that she was trying to break in seeing that no one was home.
Thomas came back after a bit of reconnaissance and shook his head.
“Is it dead?” Caroline asked. Thomas just nodded. “How did you know?” she asked. Apparently it had something to do with the fact that it wasn’t moving at all and there was a dog standing over it. Thomas said that he did take an extra step or two, but the dog started to take a bit more interest in him that he thought was desirable and at the point that it moved toward him he gave the chicken up for dead and high tailed it out of there. For reference, it was in fact Dinner.
The following day after having heard this story I came home and went out the back to check on the chickens after work and was just ever so slightly surprised when one of the newbies was gawking at me from the roof of the aviary. After a couple of seconds consideration, I whipped around to the neighbours, grabbed a big stick and was sure to scare it back off the aviary and into the safety of the chicken pen. Returning home I then spent the next five minutes chasing the little buggers around the pen until I had them all safely locked up back in the aviary.
Caroline did some research and finally got around to clipping those flight feathers after that episode. Thus, there were five. Three guaranteed females, one suspected female and one suspected Rooster.
The rooster has gone to the farm (literally) leaving us with four. And for the record, we’re still waiting for the first egg!
It turned out that it was actually chicken related. When I put the chicken pen together, I put an outdoor roost in place as I’d read somewhere that the chickens liked that but that it should be lower than the inside roost. It was about a foot off the ground, which happened to put it about 3 feet below the top of the fence. Apparently when Caroline went in to introduce the three new chickens, Breakfast Lunch and Dinner took various levels of offence which resulted in two of them leaping first to the outdoor roost and subsequently they flapped their way to the fence.
Caroline had Thomas with her and sent him running around to try and scare them back to our side and home where they belonged. Thomas, doing the right thing, rather than run straight around, went to the door to ask permission. By the time that he go there, things had progressed and one of the chickens not only jumped the fence between our properties, but also managed to get over the fence out the back of the neighbours as well. That would be the house with the pool. Of course, this is the same house that also has a dog.
Caroline and Thomas jumped in the car and raced around to the next street to see if there was any chance of a rescue. Caroline sent Thomas in whilst she waited out the front, worried that someone might think that she was trying to break in seeing that no one was home.
Thomas came back after a bit of reconnaissance and shook his head.
“Is it dead?” Caroline asked. Thomas just nodded. “How did you know?” she asked. Apparently it had something to do with the fact that it wasn’t moving at all and there was a dog standing over it. Thomas said that he did take an extra step or two, but the dog started to take a bit more interest in him that he thought was desirable and at the point that it moved toward him he gave the chicken up for dead and high tailed it out of there. For reference, it was in fact Dinner.
The following day after having heard this story I came home and went out the back to check on the chickens after work and was just ever so slightly surprised when one of the newbies was gawking at me from the roof of the aviary. After a couple of seconds consideration, I whipped around to the neighbours, grabbed a big stick and was sure to scare it back off the aviary and into the safety of the chicken pen. Returning home I then spent the next five minutes chasing the little buggers around the pen until I had them all safely locked up back in the aviary.
Caroline did some research and finally got around to clipping those flight feathers after that episode. Thus, there were five. Three guaranteed females, one suspected female and one suspected Rooster.
The rooster has gone to the farm (literally) leaving us with four. And for the record, we’re still waiting for the first egg!
Jul 19, 2011
Ménage a Chook
I thought that I’d mentioned the chickens here, but maybe that was over on Facebook. Some time in the last 8 weeks or so we added three chickens to the burgeoning menagerie that is Chateau Temby. Caroline’s wanted them for quite some time and we finally managed to get around to building a coop and fencing etc and even putting some chooks in it in the hope of one day extracting some eggy goodness.
The local kindergarten had them from chicks and we picked them up for free when they were about 6-8 weeks old or so. Two white, one black that I lovingly refer to as Breakfast, lunch and dinner (I’ve got the names for the next two picked out – first comes fried, then Kentucky).
Now the only problem with free chickens is that no one has been able to tell us if we got the sort that will grow up to be hens or the sort that will grow up to be roosters. Not being much of a chicken sexer myself, I’ve opted for the wait and see approach. If it crows, its off to the zoo for dinner (for something lucky) otherwise, if it lays an egg, it stays.
As they grow, we keep looking for signs. No crowing yet, but the two white ones seem to do a lot of posturing and might just have slightly pronounced combs coming up. The black one doesn’t seem to have that development going on and doesn’t quite seem to be doing the posturing.
Every time that one goes out at night to shut them back in the coop, there the three of them are, up on the roost. White, black white. I think we’ve got a couple of roosters.
Ménage a chook.
The local kindergarten had them from chicks and we picked them up for free when they were about 6-8 weeks old or so. Two white, one black that I lovingly refer to as Breakfast, lunch and dinner (I’ve got the names for the next two picked out – first comes fried, then Kentucky).
Now the only problem with free chickens is that no one has been able to tell us if we got the sort that will grow up to be hens or the sort that will grow up to be roosters. Not being much of a chicken sexer myself, I’ve opted for the wait and see approach. If it crows, its off to the zoo for dinner (for something lucky) otherwise, if it lays an egg, it stays.
As they grow, we keep looking for signs. No crowing yet, but the two white ones seem to do a lot of posturing and might just have slightly pronounced combs coming up. The black one doesn’t seem to have that development going on and doesn’t quite seem to be doing the posturing.
Every time that one goes out at night to shut them back in the coop, there the three of them are, up on the roost. White, black white. I think we’ve got a couple of roosters.
Ménage a chook.
Free TV
I’m puzzled. I don’t subscribe to pay TV here in Oz because I figure there’s enough crap for me to watch on the free stuff that I don’t need to pay. Lately though, as I watch free TV I keep seeing this commercial telling me how good free TV is.
I don’t get it.
I mean, what are they trying to do?
If I see the ad, then I am already watching free TV.
If I don’t watch TV, then I’m not going to see it. If they’re trying to attract people that don’t watch TV, they’re using the wrong bloody medium to advertise!
If I watch pay TV, then I’ve already made a decision to pay more than the nothing that I have to to watch what I want and so I’ve already decided that the free content that they’re advertising isn’t good enough for me.
What’s the frickin’ point? It must simply be there to annoy the crap out of me, because that’s the one thing that the ad is successfully doing!
I don’t get it.
I mean, what are they trying to do?
If I see the ad, then I am already watching free TV.
If I don’t watch TV, then I’m not going to see it. If they’re trying to attract people that don’t watch TV, they’re using the wrong bloody medium to advertise!
If I watch pay TV, then I’ve already made a decision to pay more than the nothing that I have to to watch what I want and so I’ve already decided that the free content that they’re advertising isn’t good enough for me.
What’s the frickin’ point? It must simply be there to annoy the crap out of me, because that’s the one thing that the ad is successfully doing!
Dressing in the dark
One of the joys of the combination of winter and school holidays is that I practically get dressed in the dark to avoid waking anyone up too much. This morning I did so and because I was feeling lazy, threw a vest on over an unironed shirt (oh the horror) so that I’d hide the wrinkles.
It wasn’t until about 10am that I looked down at the cuff of my sleeve and noticed what appeared to be white paint. Further inspection confirmed the fact that somehow the old shirt that I’d given to Emily to use as a painting smock had made its way back into my wardrobe and worse, in the dark it had made it onto my back!
It wasn’t until about 10am that I looked down at the cuff of my sleeve and noticed what appeared to be white paint. Further inspection confirmed the fact that somehow the old shirt that I’d given to Emily to use as a painting smock had made its way back into my wardrobe and worse, in the dark it had made it onto my back!
Jun 22, 2011
Bye Bye Grace
I am sad to report that things did not go well for our poor little bunny Grace. The vet tried inducing her to see if that would bring on the contractions and help and the first of the two babies was apparently delivered, but the second was simply too large and little Grace didn’t survive the birth.
I managed to beat Emily home and needless to say when she arrived she came through the door in tears and dissolved into a blubbering mess in my arms. Caroline had hockey, I was trying to cook dinner and then I was told that I would need to go and collect the body. So I whipped out and hid her in the garage so that we could try and get through dinner.
I’d cooked steak, veg and chips and when Emily sat down, she wasn’t prepared to eat the meat because “It reminded her of Grace.” She sat slowly eating her chip, occasionally sobbing, but when it came to the veg, it only took one look at a carrot for her to decide that she wasn’t going to be eating those either.
There was already talk of a replacement bunny and it was interesting (and heart breaking) to watch Emily oscillate between the hope that would come with a new bunny and the devastation that was associated with the loss of the lovely little bunny that had just died.
After dinner we went out into the yard, found a nice spot under the fruit trees where Grace had liked to explore and dug a hole. Emily laid her to rest in the hole herself and then we buried her, said a prayer and marked the spot with a rock and some flowers. The boys were good enough to come out as well and I don’t think there was a dry eye when we quietly went back inside.
The rest of the night was hard, Emily continuing her emotional roller coaster and eventually I had to lay with her in bed to get her off to sleep, letting her talk her way through the issues, hearing her note that she and her brothers would have spent the money for the caesarean, but that Mummy wouldn’t. I had to assure her that I couldn’t spend the money either and that Mummy had had to make a tough decision that she didn’t like and that we’ll both second guess many times even with the sum that was involved.
I did have to laugh though when a little later Emily said, “Imagine if we had thousands of bunnies and had to bury them and when one died you tried to dig a hole and were like, ‘Oh we’ve dug up another bunny, guess we’ll have to try a different spot!”
Eventually she slept and thankfully didn’t wake up during the night. This morning she was philosophical, but still sad of course and asked me to take her out to where Grace was buried so that she could say hello.
I managed to beat Emily home and needless to say when she arrived she came through the door in tears and dissolved into a blubbering mess in my arms. Caroline had hockey, I was trying to cook dinner and then I was told that I would need to go and collect the body. So I whipped out and hid her in the garage so that we could try and get through dinner.
I’d cooked steak, veg and chips and when Emily sat down, she wasn’t prepared to eat the meat because “It reminded her of Grace.” She sat slowly eating her chip, occasionally sobbing, but when it came to the veg, it only took one look at a carrot for her to decide that she wasn’t going to be eating those either.
There was already talk of a replacement bunny and it was interesting (and heart breaking) to watch Emily oscillate between the hope that would come with a new bunny and the devastation that was associated with the loss of the lovely little bunny that had just died.
After dinner we went out into the yard, found a nice spot under the fruit trees where Grace had liked to explore and dug a hole. Emily laid her to rest in the hole herself and then we buried her, said a prayer and marked the spot with a rock and some flowers. The boys were good enough to come out as well and I don’t think there was a dry eye when we quietly went back inside.
The rest of the night was hard, Emily continuing her emotional roller coaster and eventually I had to lay with her in bed to get her off to sleep, letting her talk her way through the issues, hearing her note that she and her brothers would have spent the money for the caesarean, but that Mummy wouldn’t. I had to assure her that I couldn’t spend the money either and that Mummy had had to make a tough decision that she didn’t like and that we’ll both second guess many times even with the sum that was involved.
I did have to laugh though when a little later Emily said, “Imagine if we had thousands of bunnies and had to bury them and when one died you tried to dig a hole and were like, ‘Oh we’ve dug up another bunny, guess we’ll have to try a different spot!”
Eventually she slept and thankfully didn’t wake up during the night. This morning she was philosophical, but still sad of course and asked me to take her out to where Grace was buried so that she could say hello.
Bunny on hold
I think that the last time I mentioned the rabbits that had been added to our family it was because we’d just brought home a female of the species (Grace) and there was speculation about how long it would be before the burgeoning bunny love resulted in the pitter-patter of tiny paws.
We’ve been suspicious for a while now that this mile stone was evident and just a few days ago, things seemed to have been confirmed when young Grace was spied gathering straw from around the hutch and taking it into the darkened area. That is, she was nesting. Days later and there didn’t seem to have been any change though, so we continued to wait.
Today, Caroline called at work to say that there was blood in the cage and that Grace was making funny noises and she wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t know if the rabbit was just in labour or whether she was in trouble and wanted advice on whether there should be a vet involved. It might seem strange to seek advice on whether to involve a vet, but for anyone that’s ever had pets, I’m sure you can understand the dilemma. This particular rabbit cost us about $60. That’s how much you pay to walk in the door at the vet and then if anything needs to be done … hand over your savings.
Clearly though, this was one of those occasions where professional help should be sought out and so despite our experience with Jack the Cat some years earlier (Must try to remember to link that sordid tale) I advised that she should go. To which the question was asked, “What’s the limit?”
Tough call. How much money do you spend to save a rabbit? Even if that rabbit is one of your little princess’ very first pets there has to be a limit. I couldn’t say. I advised that it would be best to go, find out and then make the judgement call when we knew where we stood.
Well, now I know where we stand. Grace is up the duff, there’s a big baby blocking the way and it would appear that she needs, get this, a caesarean.
Which of course leads directly to the question – What would it cost for a dwarf bunny of about 3 months in age to have a caesarean?
Answer: $1200.
Thus, the answer is no. Now I just have to wait to find out what happens next:
Bring the rabbit home and hope for the best? Or
The rabbit get’s put down and one explains the cycle of life to their 8 year old daughter.
Look's like tonight is going to be one of those fabulous character building opportunities.
We’ve been suspicious for a while now that this mile stone was evident and just a few days ago, things seemed to have been confirmed when young Grace was spied gathering straw from around the hutch and taking it into the darkened area. That is, she was nesting. Days later and there didn’t seem to have been any change though, so we continued to wait.
Today, Caroline called at work to say that there was blood in the cage and that Grace was making funny noises and she wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t know if the rabbit was just in labour or whether she was in trouble and wanted advice on whether there should be a vet involved. It might seem strange to seek advice on whether to involve a vet, but for anyone that’s ever had pets, I’m sure you can understand the dilemma. This particular rabbit cost us about $60. That’s how much you pay to walk in the door at the vet and then if anything needs to be done … hand over your savings.
Clearly though, this was one of those occasions where professional help should be sought out and so despite our experience with Jack the Cat some years earlier (Must try to remember to link that sordid tale) I advised that she should go. To which the question was asked, “What’s the limit?”
Tough call. How much money do you spend to save a rabbit? Even if that rabbit is one of your little princess’ very first pets there has to be a limit. I couldn’t say. I advised that it would be best to go, find out and then make the judgement call when we knew where we stood.
Well, now I know where we stand. Grace is up the duff, there’s a big baby blocking the way and it would appear that she needs, get this, a caesarean.
Which of course leads directly to the question – What would it cost for a dwarf bunny of about 3 months in age to have a caesarean?
Answer: $1200.
Thus, the answer is no. Now I just have to wait to find out what happens next:
Bring the rabbit home and hope for the best? Or
The rabbit get’s put down and one explains the cycle of life to their 8 year old daughter.
Look's like tonight is going to be one of those fabulous character building opportunities.
Jun 21, 2011
Thugs
I’ve been playing organised soccer since I was about 8 (yes, a bloody long time ago) and have seen some crazy shit in that time. I’ve been involved in two games that were abandoned, one due to its descent into an all out fight (that I didn’t bother getting involved in) and another because it was only a trial and the opposition were so far from playing within the spirit and rules of the game that our coach called it off early before someone got hurt.
They are the only two times in my career that I can recall not shaking hands with the opposition. This weekend makes it three.
The last couple of games we’ve played, we’ve played some thugs. Guys that don’t particularly go out of the way to stay within the laws of the game and that will take every advantage accorded them when the referee is lax on a rough tackle. I’m kind of getting used to be kicked and pushed and held every time I go near the ball. After all, it’s not tiddly winks and I’ve played some hard games of soccer in my time. Hell, I’ve even hurt some people with some tough tackles, but it’s always been accidental as I’ve always gone for the ball.
This weekend the ball was down the far end of the field, our opposition having cleared it out and I was making my way back to the half way line as the defence pushed us out when someone decided that it would be a useful tactic to come from behind and plant a full-blooded fist into the middle of my back. It fucking hurt. I didn’t see who it was as I dropped to the ground in pain and because it was so far behind the play, no one else saw what happened either. It pissed me off even more than it hurt and it still pisses me off a couple of days later.
This is amateur sport. I don’t get paid to be there but I show up because I enjoy the game. It’s actually the first time I’ve ever really even remotely considered the ‘R’ word (that would be retirement of course) and even then simply because of how much it destroyed my enjoyment of the game. I mean, had I been scoring a heap of goals, or even threatening to, or perhaps been the most outstanding player on the pitch, I could consider it a compliment that someone thought they needed to go that far to take me out of the game. Had I been an utter bastard and previously crash tackled one of their players or something, I could explain it as revenge. The reality is though, I can’t think of a single thing that I did during the preceding 20 or 30 minutes that warranted such an attack.
It was quite simply utterly piss weak and gutless of the fucking wanker that did it; behind play and without provocation and perhaps that is what shits me most of all.
The Pub with no Grub
On the Queen’s birthday weekend, with no sports commitments for once, we decided that we’d drag the caravan and the kids away and go see something other than the inside of our house for a day or so. After much debate we decided to stay in Meningie on Lake Albert. We left reasonably late in the afternoon, and arrived just after sunset, setting up in the fading light before heading into town to find something to eat.
I was looking forward to a good country pub counter meal and was happy when it was actually open as it hadn’t appeared to be when we’d driven past it an hour or so before hand.
At the outset, things looked good. Not a bad menu and 6 choices of kid’s meals as well. It was when we started to order that we became a little suspicious. Sam decided he’d have the mini hot dogs, but they were out. Neither did they have the mini pizzas, nor the chicken satays. By the time half of the kid’s menu had been eliminated, he’d basically given up and settled for a bowl of chips and some garlic bread.
We went to the salad bar whilst we waiting for our food to arrive, but that was a short-lived revelation. They’d run out of bread rolls (more were in the oven) the salad selection was less than desirable and the vegetables … well let’s just say that I didn’t bother.
I think Emily’s food was the first to arrive, a plate of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. That’s it. No chips, no sauce, nothing; Just a pile of little dinosaurs on a plate.
Sam received his bowl of chips and happily there wasn’t too much wrong to report in that little piece. Michael’s schnitzel was fine and Thomas had a score. The kid’s schnitzel had been delivered as an adult meal. Twice the food, 1/3rd of the price!
My steak arrived next and I have to say there’s nothing quite like splashing out on a nice piece of fillet … and having them serve up over-cooked porterhouse. At least the pepper sauce was ok. Caroline was good enough to complain on my behalf whereas I was at that point already where I was just going to eat, run and never return. Somewhere between my almost finishing my steak and Caroline’s arriving Sam was informed that they didn’t have any garlic bread!
After wondering if Caroline’s steak was still at the abattoir, it finally arrived, resplendent in it’s seafood sauce, though strangely, lacking anything else. Mine came with chips, Caroline’s did not. One wonders if they’d run out. Her fillet was also a porterhouse and whilst she ate it, we listened to the table next to us complain about all the issues that they’d had with their meal to the poor waitress who had to cop all the crap. Apparently there also wasn’t any pavlova.
The kids were keen to stay for dessert, but Caroline and I vetoed, telling them we’d go to the service station and buy them an ice cream, because at least there was a good chance that they wouldn’t have run out! We were probably right, but won’t ever know because it had closed. D’oh.
On the way back to the caravan park we did find somewhere else open (ironically a lot closer as well) and they even did dessert. So we stopped and bought the kids ice cream. A shame that when Sam and Thomas ordered the lime topping that they’d run out though!
So that was our adventurous first meal in Meningie. Suffice to say that for the second night, we went to the supermarket, bought some nice fillet steaks and I cooked them perfectly at the van.
I was looking forward to a good country pub counter meal and was happy when it was actually open as it hadn’t appeared to be when we’d driven past it an hour or so before hand.
At the outset, things looked good. Not a bad menu and 6 choices of kid’s meals as well. It was when we started to order that we became a little suspicious. Sam decided he’d have the mini hot dogs, but they were out. Neither did they have the mini pizzas, nor the chicken satays. By the time half of the kid’s menu had been eliminated, he’d basically given up and settled for a bowl of chips and some garlic bread.
We went to the salad bar whilst we waiting for our food to arrive, but that was a short-lived revelation. They’d run out of bread rolls (more were in the oven) the salad selection was less than desirable and the vegetables … well let’s just say that I didn’t bother.
I think Emily’s food was the first to arrive, a plate of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. That’s it. No chips, no sauce, nothing; Just a pile of little dinosaurs on a plate.
Sam received his bowl of chips and happily there wasn’t too much wrong to report in that little piece. Michael’s schnitzel was fine and Thomas had a score. The kid’s schnitzel had been delivered as an adult meal. Twice the food, 1/3rd of the price!
My steak arrived next and I have to say there’s nothing quite like splashing out on a nice piece of fillet … and having them serve up over-cooked porterhouse. At least the pepper sauce was ok. Caroline was good enough to complain on my behalf whereas I was at that point already where I was just going to eat, run and never return. Somewhere between my almost finishing my steak and Caroline’s arriving Sam was informed that they didn’t have any garlic bread!
After wondering if Caroline’s steak was still at the abattoir, it finally arrived, resplendent in it’s seafood sauce, though strangely, lacking anything else. Mine came with chips, Caroline’s did not. One wonders if they’d run out. Her fillet was also a porterhouse and whilst she ate it, we listened to the table next to us complain about all the issues that they’d had with their meal to the poor waitress who had to cop all the crap. Apparently there also wasn’t any pavlova.
The kids were keen to stay for dessert, but Caroline and I vetoed, telling them we’d go to the service station and buy them an ice cream, because at least there was a good chance that they wouldn’t have run out! We were probably right, but won’t ever know because it had closed. D’oh.
On the way back to the caravan park we did find somewhere else open (ironically a lot closer as well) and they even did dessert. So we stopped and bought the kids ice cream. A shame that when Sam and Thomas ordered the lime topping that they’d run out though!
So that was our adventurous first meal in Meningie. Suffice to say that for the second night, we went to the supermarket, bought some nice fillet steaks and I cooked them perfectly at the van.
May 28, 2011
Open for Inspection - Part 2
There are times when I’ve probably been considered to be over-sharing information. Just so you’re warned; this is likely one of them.
As noted previously, I left work early enough to go home and go through the preparation process in the splendour that is home rather than at the office. I had been considering attending soccer training prior to the actual experience though I was a little concerned that my energy levels would be low having not eaten for most of the day.
The time came around for the first part of a 3 step process of ingesting ‘cleansing agents’ for want of a better word and I mixed up this substance that looked kind of like milky water. After staring suspiciously at it for a while, I faced my demons and skulled it. I couldn’t face the thought of starting slowly only to find out that I couldn’t stand it and yet be faced with the ingesting the remainder.
It was probably a wise choice. Although not overly offensive in terms of taste, it didn’t sit particularly well and did rebel enough to put the thought of puking in my mind. I managed not to though and went back to sitting around to wait for it to take effect.
Well before we reached that point though I had to go through preparation ‘b’; another concoction that this time had to be drunk over the course of an hour … a whole litre of it.
It had a kind of lemon flavour to it was a little more viscous than water and quite simply, didn’t hold any sort of appeal at all. A bit later again and I had to do a second dose of preparation ‘a’. Second time around I knew what to expect. The fear of the unknown had been resolved only to be replaced by the fear of the memory that was still so recent in my mind. I survived.
Then it was back to the waiting. It’s not a fun waiting time because you know what is supposed to happen. You’re just not quite sure how long it will take or just exactly how it’s going to be.
We’ll chalk it up as ‘not fun’. You know those horror days in your life when you manage to contract diarrhoea and can poop through the eye of a needle? When you have no choice but to shit even though its really only going to produce a warm stream of unpleasantness from the anus? Yeah, well now you’re getting the picture. Now you know how I spent the rest of the night. Afraid to fart because quite simply, nothing good was going to come of the experience, not wanting to crap but having too, knowing exactly what’s coming out and knowing that as much as you might like to hope so, it’s not the last time.
Caroline and the kids ate dinner, I hid in another room, biding my time between visits to the dunny and wishing that it was all happening to someone else. At least I was eventually allowed to sleep.
I’d hoped that by morning I’d have been done with it all because I’d cleansed the system enough the night before. Such wishful thinking! Of course I wasn’t done. I was mostly done, but like Miracle Max said, mostly dead isn’t all dead. Neither is mostly done all done.
Eventually it was time to go in for the actual inspection.
Having undressed the lower portions of my body and donned that stunning piece of attire that is the hospital gown, I was wheeled into the room where all the action was to take place. The anaesthetist stuck a needle in my vein, pumped something into it and waited a while to ask me if I was feeling sleepy (I was supposed to be sedated, not complete zonked). I hadn’t noticed a thing and told him as much. This resulted in something else being stuck in my vein and beyond that I really don’t recall a thing until I woke in the recovery room. I’m quite happy about that, as should you be. It means no graphic description of the actual inspection itself.
After a while, when I felt less woozy I got to see the specialist who advised that they’d only found a single polyp that had been removed and that would be sent to the lab for analysis. Only one is possibly good, none would have been better. And couldn’t he have asked if I wanted to see it rather than just waving the little sample jar in front of me?
Then came the rest of the day which involved eating again at last as well as waiting for that joyful moment when would be able to once again let rip with a joyful toot without fear of soiling myself! What a wonderful moment it was.
Now it’s the wait for the results.
As noted previously, I left work early enough to go home and go through the preparation process in the splendour that is home rather than at the office. I had been considering attending soccer training prior to the actual experience though I was a little concerned that my energy levels would be low having not eaten for most of the day.
The time came around for the first part of a 3 step process of ingesting ‘cleansing agents’ for want of a better word and I mixed up this substance that looked kind of like milky water. After staring suspiciously at it for a while, I faced my demons and skulled it. I couldn’t face the thought of starting slowly only to find out that I couldn’t stand it and yet be faced with the ingesting the remainder.
It was probably a wise choice. Although not overly offensive in terms of taste, it didn’t sit particularly well and did rebel enough to put the thought of puking in my mind. I managed not to though and went back to sitting around to wait for it to take effect.
Well before we reached that point though I had to go through preparation ‘b’; another concoction that this time had to be drunk over the course of an hour … a whole litre of it.
It had a kind of lemon flavour to it was a little more viscous than water and quite simply, didn’t hold any sort of appeal at all. A bit later again and I had to do a second dose of preparation ‘a’. Second time around I knew what to expect. The fear of the unknown had been resolved only to be replaced by the fear of the memory that was still so recent in my mind. I survived.
Then it was back to the waiting. It’s not a fun waiting time because you know what is supposed to happen. You’re just not quite sure how long it will take or just exactly how it’s going to be.
We’ll chalk it up as ‘not fun’. You know those horror days in your life when you manage to contract diarrhoea and can poop through the eye of a needle? When you have no choice but to shit even though its really only going to produce a warm stream of unpleasantness from the anus? Yeah, well now you’re getting the picture. Now you know how I spent the rest of the night. Afraid to fart because quite simply, nothing good was going to come of the experience, not wanting to crap but having too, knowing exactly what’s coming out and knowing that as much as you might like to hope so, it’s not the last time.
Caroline and the kids ate dinner, I hid in another room, biding my time between visits to the dunny and wishing that it was all happening to someone else. At least I was eventually allowed to sleep.
I’d hoped that by morning I’d have been done with it all because I’d cleansed the system enough the night before. Such wishful thinking! Of course I wasn’t done. I was mostly done, but like Miracle Max said, mostly dead isn’t all dead. Neither is mostly done all done.
Eventually it was time to go in for the actual inspection.
Having undressed the lower portions of my body and donned that stunning piece of attire that is the hospital gown, I was wheeled into the room where all the action was to take place. The anaesthetist stuck a needle in my vein, pumped something into it and waited a while to ask me if I was feeling sleepy (I was supposed to be sedated, not complete zonked). I hadn’t noticed a thing and told him as much. This resulted in something else being stuck in my vein and beyond that I really don’t recall a thing until I woke in the recovery room. I’m quite happy about that, as should you be. It means no graphic description of the actual inspection itself.
After a while, when I felt less woozy I got to see the specialist who advised that they’d only found a single polyp that had been removed and that would be sent to the lab for analysis. Only one is possibly good, none would have been better. And couldn’t he have asked if I wanted to see it rather than just waving the little sample jar in front of me?
Then came the rest of the day which involved eating again at last as well as waiting for that joyful moment when would be able to once again let rip with a joyful toot without fear of soiling myself! What a wonderful moment it was.
Now it’s the wait for the results.
May 27, 2011
Open for Inspection
I went to the doctor recently just because I needed to be told that I’m fat again to have a check up and although there was nothing really wrong with me (I won’t bore you with the intimate details) due to family history, we decided that it was probably time that certain things were checked.
Now when I say certain things, let’s be specific. We’re talking about the last bits of the digestive system. Yes, its time for a colonoscopy. Can we say excited? Today is preparation day which means that since 10am I have been unable to eat (good for the diet, not for the soul?) and later today I get to drink some fluids that will apparently assist with the cleansing of the bits to be inspected. Given that this commences during work hours, I made the decision to leave the kit at home and meet it there, rather than bring it to work and experience the full joy in the confines of the office environment. It’s probably kinder for everyone that way.
So there you have it. Part 1. Before the real fun begins. I’ll be sure to keep you updated.
PS – some posts here just lend themselves open to way too many titles. This was one of them!
Now when I say certain things, let’s be specific. We’re talking about the last bits of the digestive system. Yes, its time for a colonoscopy. Can we say excited? Today is preparation day which means that since 10am I have been unable to eat (good for the diet, not for the soul?) and later today I get to drink some fluids that will apparently assist with the cleansing of the bits to be inspected. Given that this commences during work hours, I made the decision to leave the kit at home and meet it there, rather than bring it to work and experience the full joy in the confines of the office environment. It’s probably kinder for everyone that way.
So there you have it. Part 1. Before the real fun begins. I’ll be sure to keep you updated.
PS – some posts here just lend themselves open to way too many titles. This was one of them!
May 25, 2011
Over Excited
Saturday night just gone was the Swiss Club of South Australia’s annual fondue night. It’s something that we’ve been going to for a number of years with the obvious pause in attendance due to living out of the country. It’s always been a pretty good night and certainly guaranteed to get you just about the best cheese fondue that you can.
Last Saturday though, Caroline had spent most of the day in bed with flu-like symptoms and I had played a game of soccer in the afternoon and I simply didn’t really feel like making the effort to get there.
Caroline dearly wanted to go, but wasn’t sure that her health was up to it, but in the end we both soldiered on, knowing that once we dragged our sorry arses out of the house that we’d have a good time.
The cheese lived up to expectations and all was good up until the point that Caroline’s mum had a bit of a turn. One minute she was sorting out money for cocktails, the next her hand was shaking a little and suddenly she blacked out. I immediately grabbed my phone and called for the ambulance whilst Caroline propped up her mum.
The last time that I had called an ambulance it had been for Thomas when he’d managed to spurt blood in large quantities from his head on a wet and rocky path near Port Lincoln. I was caught somewhat by surprise when they started asking for the address. I knew that we were at the Austrian Club, but they wanted a specific address. Having rushed outside so that I could be heard when making the call, I then had to run around inside to find someone that knew the actual street address, the whole time not being able to check on how Connie was doing particularly because as with any crisis a crowd had gathered.
It seemed somewhat counter productive to me, when someone is clearly in distress, to surround them and add to the confusion, heat and noise in the room, but there wasn’t a lot I could do whilst on the phone to the ambulance. Fortunately by the time that I had finished talking to them, Connie had already regained conciousness, though was sick and disorientated.
The Ambos duly arrived, did their thing and loaded her into the back for ride into hospital to be checked out and monitored for the night. Given the riot of emotions that accompanies such events, the rest of us decided to call it a night.
Happily I can report that after the night of observation that Connie returned home, though it was certainly more excitement than we’d bargained for from a fondue night!
Last Saturday though, Caroline had spent most of the day in bed with flu-like symptoms and I had played a game of soccer in the afternoon and I simply didn’t really feel like making the effort to get there.
Caroline dearly wanted to go, but wasn’t sure that her health was up to it, but in the end we both soldiered on, knowing that once we dragged our sorry arses out of the house that we’d have a good time.
The cheese lived up to expectations and all was good up until the point that Caroline’s mum had a bit of a turn. One minute she was sorting out money for cocktails, the next her hand was shaking a little and suddenly she blacked out. I immediately grabbed my phone and called for the ambulance whilst Caroline propped up her mum.
The last time that I had called an ambulance it had been for Thomas when he’d managed to spurt blood in large quantities from his head on a wet and rocky path near Port Lincoln. I was caught somewhat by surprise when they started asking for the address. I knew that we were at the Austrian Club, but they wanted a specific address. Having rushed outside so that I could be heard when making the call, I then had to run around inside to find someone that knew the actual street address, the whole time not being able to check on how Connie was doing particularly because as with any crisis a crowd had gathered.
It seemed somewhat counter productive to me, when someone is clearly in distress, to surround them and add to the confusion, heat and noise in the room, but there wasn’t a lot I could do whilst on the phone to the ambulance. Fortunately by the time that I had finished talking to them, Connie had already regained conciousness, though was sick and disorientated.
The Ambos duly arrived, did their thing and loaded her into the back for ride into hospital to be checked out and monitored for the night. Given the riot of emotions that accompanies such events, the rest of us decided to call it a night.
Happily I can report that after the night of observation that Connie returned home, though it was certainly more excitement than we’d bargained for from a fondue night!
HI ho, hi ho, its off to camp we go
This morning, Michael left for camp. It sounds like it will be a fun camp, though I can understand that he has some trepidation. After all, they’re hiking in the Flinders Rangers and have to carry everything with them. That means that all the water that they’ll be drinking for three days is weighing down his back pack. Part of me wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he’d drunk 5 litres of water today just so that he didn’t have to lug it the entire distance.
I wasn’t impressed when the 7:30am drop off that I was expecting this morning was shifted to a 6am drop off, especially because that meant getting out of bed at 5:20am on a day when I would be driving several hundred kilometres for work.
We chucked the back pack in the car and headed off to the school only to have Michael say 5 minutes up the road that he had forgotten his packed lunch. Given that we were on something of a tight time line to get him there on time, I advised him that he’d just have to dip into the additional muesli bars that he’d taken along and deal with it.
It was all good until we got to the school, drove inside and found that there wasn’t a single, bus, teacher, student or parent anywhere to be seen. We quickly whipped around to the alternate entrance, but there was still no sign of anyone. I started questioning Michael as to whether he could have the time wrong, or the location only to find out that he wasn’t sure. So we called Caroline at home because the piece of paper we needed wasn’t in his locker and was suspected to be on the floor of his bedroom.
Well guess what? It wasn’t there. What was there however was the cutlery, plate and tea towel that Michael was supposed to have packed with his gear. At this point the emergency measures kicked in and Caroline put together a lunch, grabbed his remaining gear and set off to deliver it even though we were still unsure as to whether we were in the right place or not.
Fortunately in the time that it took Caroline to get there other people slowly started to arrive and when the first bus showed up I think we both breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Caroline made it in time and off we went, abandoning him to his adventure.
I just hope the raspy throat that he said he woke up with doesn’t turn into the flu that seemed to have hit Caroline over the weekend given that I’ve been driving somewhat close to the Flinders Ranges today and have seen nothing but patches of light to very heavy rain. With the weight of all the food that Michael packed, I’m not sure that he was overly generous with the whole clothing concept!
I wasn’t impressed when the 7:30am drop off that I was expecting this morning was shifted to a 6am drop off, especially because that meant getting out of bed at 5:20am on a day when I would be driving several hundred kilometres for work.
We chucked the back pack in the car and headed off to the school only to have Michael say 5 minutes up the road that he had forgotten his packed lunch. Given that we were on something of a tight time line to get him there on time, I advised him that he’d just have to dip into the additional muesli bars that he’d taken along and deal with it.
It was all good until we got to the school, drove inside and found that there wasn’t a single, bus, teacher, student or parent anywhere to be seen. We quickly whipped around to the alternate entrance, but there was still no sign of anyone. I started questioning Michael as to whether he could have the time wrong, or the location only to find out that he wasn’t sure. So we called Caroline at home because the piece of paper we needed wasn’t in his locker and was suspected to be on the floor of his bedroom.
Well guess what? It wasn’t there. What was there however was the cutlery, plate and tea towel that Michael was supposed to have packed with his gear. At this point the emergency measures kicked in and Caroline put together a lunch, grabbed his remaining gear and set off to deliver it even though we were still unsure as to whether we were in the right place or not.
Fortunately in the time that it took Caroline to get there other people slowly started to arrive and when the first bus showed up I think we both breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Caroline made it in time and off we went, abandoning him to his adventure.
I just hope the raspy throat that he said he woke up with doesn’t turn into the flu that seemed to have hit Caroline over the weekend given that I’ve been driving somewhat close to the Flinders Ranges today and have seen nothing but patches of light to very heavy rain. With the weight of all the food that Michael packed, I’m not sure that he was overly generous with the whole clothing concept!
May 3, 2011
Eeek
Easter at Pt Hughes was a little different this year to those gone by. Normally, we along with our families, friends and acquaintances occupy about 7 or so sites at the caravan park and of course contribute significantly to the population of the park over the Easter Weekend.
This year, we may have been outnumbered and all because of the rain. After several years of drought, there’s been quite a bit of rain in the last 12 months or so and this has meant that the crops are doing well, the insects are doing well and of course there’s plenty of food around for mice. The mice are doing particularly well.
Apparently they were about last year, but we were traipsing around the USA, so didn’t have to worry about them. This year, as dusk fell and we sat about having a quiet drink, they quickly became apparent as they’d hop along under the cars, or dart about seeking a bit of sustenance. We didn’t really worry about it much until the morning following our first night of cards. We’d left a pack of Cheetos in the annex (unopened) without really thinking about it as we stumbled off to bed. That following morning we found the bag of Cheetos and it had been substantially attacked, the foil wrapper nibbled through in several places. That certainly put us on alert.
Over the course of the weekend, we discovered just how pesky the little blighters could be and it was with much mirth (on my part at least) that you’d hear the occasional screech as one of the women in the party would discover a little field mouse somewhere unexpected. Michael and Sam weren’t particularly enamoured with them either given that they were sleeping in an extension of the annex and had quite a few visitors.
At one point I decided that we needed to clean up to ensure that they weren’t getting to cosy with us and lifted up the flap of the annex. Well, bugger me if 8 of the little blighters weren’t having a quiet little rest under there. You should have seen (and heard) Caroline as they all scrambled for another place of safety! Almost every single one of them seemed to runs straight for her.
Even our kayaks weren’t safe as when we unrolled one to put it in the water, there was a dead mouse in the bag. That meant that the second one needed to be unrolled the following day to be sure that we weren’t taking any home. Imagine my surprise when four were discovered.
When we packed up, we were very careful to shake everything and inspect it closely (not always sufficient as I found one morning after shaking Caroline’s shoe violently – nothing came out, but when I stuck my hand in, there was indeed a mouse clinging to the lining!) so that we could hopefully get home mouse free.
Well, boy did we fail that little test!
The morning after our return, Caroline informed me that the kids had left some bags of lollies in the car overnight and that it was very clear that mice had been at them. The holes in the bags were a definitive clue. I suggested that some mouse traps might be required and they were subsequently set. Over the course of the next 3 days, we managed to trap 9 mice in the car! NINE! Bloody ridiculous, but we got them and now the car is significantly more pleasant to be in than it was for a couple of days.
So far, there’s been no sign of any in the caravan and I sure as hell hope it stays that way!
This year, we may have been outnumbered and all because of the rain. After several years of drought, there’s been quite a bit of rain in the last 12 months or so and this has meant that the crops are doing well, the insects are doing well and of course there’s plenty of food around for mice. The mice are doing particularly well.
Apparently they were about last year, but we were traipsing around the USA, so didn’t have to worry about them. This year, as dusk fell and we sat about having a quiet drink, they quickly became apparent as they’d hop along under the cars, or dart about seeking a bit of sustenance. We didn’t really worry about it much until the morning following our first night of cards. We’d left a pack of Cheetos in the annex (unopened) without really thinking about it as we stumbled off to bed. That following morning we found the bag of Cheetos and it had been substantially attacked, the foil wrapper nibbled through in several places. That certainly put us on alert.
Over the course of the weekend, we discovered just how pesky the little blighters could be and it was with much mirth (on my part at least) that you’d hear the occasional screech as one of the women in the party would discover a little field mouse somewhere unexpected. Michael and Sam weren’t particularly enamoured with them either given that they were sleeping in an extension of the annex and had quite a few visitors.
At one point I decided that we needed to clean up to ensure that they weren’t getting to cosy with us and lifted up the flap of the annex. Well, bugger me if 8 of the little blighters weren’t having a quiet little rest under there. You should have seen (and heard) Caroline as they all scrambled for another place of safety! Almost every single one of them seemed to runs straight for her.
Even our kayaks weren’t safe as when we unrolled one to put it in the water, there was a dead mouse in the bag. That meant that the second one needed to be unrolled the following day to be sure that we weren’t taking any home. Imagine my surprise when four were discovered.
When we packed up, we were very careful to shake everything and inspect it closely (not always sufficient as I found one morning after shaking Caroline’s shoe violently – nothing came out, but when I stuck my hand in, there was indeed a mouse clinging to the lining!) so that we could hopefully get home mouse free.
Well, boy did we fail that little test!
The morning after our return, Caroline informed me that the kids had left some bags of lollies in the car overnight and that it was very clear that mice had been at them. The holes in the bags were a definitive clue. I suggested that some mouse traps might be required and they were subsequently set. Over the course of the next 3 days, we managed to trap 9 mice in the car! NINE! Bloody ridiculous, but we got them and now the car is significantly more pleasant to be in than it was for a couple of days.
So far, there’s been no sign of any in the caravan and I sure as hell hope it stays that way!
Apr 28, 2011
Fourteen
The 28th of April saw the commencement of Michael’s 14th year on the planet and as has become the norm, I thought I’d share a couple of thoughts on the milestone.
At 14, Michael is still transitioning from boy to young adult. I wouldn’t say that he’s an early bloomer, but he’s certainly maturing. As with most teenagers I suppose, he flicks between the states of responsible and regressive. He flicks from being happy to help out with chores (when requested) to utter outrage over some minor infraction of inconvenience. I guess its one of the true markers of this part of his life as hormones tear around inside with little regard for the rational.
Michael continues to do well at school, though is perhaps a little scarily like me in that he does well at the things that he’s good at, whilst not perhaps maintaining the focus in those things that are seen as peripheral to his immediate interests. He continues to devour books rather than simply reading them and all I can say is at least Sam, Caroline and I all read them as well so that we get value for money when we destroy the Australian publishing industry by shopping online!
Something new this year and somewhat unexpected is that Michael is now the current reigning school Junior Chess Champion. It was something of a surprise to us given that we didn’t even know that he’d entered. Apparently one of his friends was entering and as that reduced his options for something to do at lunch time he decided to have a go as well and went through undefeated! Nerdvana?
Overall there’s a lot to be proud of with where Michael’s headed. So far, he even continues to appreciate my humour, something that surely cannot last, but which I will enjoy for as long as it does. Although he’s a thinker, he still enjoys getting outside and playing sport, even though cricket was probably a disappointment for him this year (something about not being up with the growth spurt rate of his peers and having had 3 years off the game in Canada I think). The soccer season is coming and I think that he’ll get a lot more enjoyment from that, so we shall wait and see, cheering from the sidelines.
Happy Birthday Michael.
At 14, Michael is still transitioning from boy to young adult. I wouldn’t say that he’s an early bloomer, but he’s certainly maturing. As with most teenagers I suppose, he flicks between the states of responsible and regressive. He flicks from being happy to help out with chores (when requested) to utter outrage over some minor infraction of inconvenience. I guess its one of the true markers of this part of his life as hormones tear around inside with little regard for the rational.
Michael continues to do well at school, though is perhaps a little scarily like me in that he does well at the things that he’s good at, whilst not perhaps maintaining the focus in those things that are seen as peripheral to his immediate interests. He continues to devour books rather than simply reading them and all I can say is at least Sam, Caroline and I all read them as well so that we get value for money when we destroy the Australian publishing industry by shopping online!
Something new this year and somewhat unexpected is that Michael is now the current reigning school Junior Chess Champion. It was something of a surprise to us given that we didn’t even know that he’d entered. Apparently one of his friends was entering and as that reduced his options for something to do at lunch time he decided to have a go as well and went through undefeated! Nerdvana?
Overall there’s a lot to be proud of with where Michael’s headed. So far, he even continues to appreciate my humour, something that surely cannot last, but which I will enjoy for as long as it does. Although he’s a thinker, he still enjoys getting outside and playing sport, even though cricket was probably a disappointment for him this year (something about not being up with the growth spurt rate of his peers and having had 3 years off the game in Canada I think). The soccer season is coming and I think that he’ll get a lot more enjoyment from that, so we shall wait and see, cheering from the sidelines.
Happy Birthday Michael.
Apr 24, 2011
A Very Special Vintage
We’d been drinking the night before and I had left what I thought was an empty bottle of white wine in Jason and Bel’s annex. As I’d thought it empty, I was somewhat surprised when Bel brought it back in with about a glass of wine left.
Not thinking anymore of it at the time and being busy with the dishes, I put it next to the sink and forgot about it. Later in the day Caroline said something about the fact that it should probably be in the fridge, but neither of us bothered to act at the time.
It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when Jason came in and asked to have a quiet word. As I was in the middle of getting changed, I wasn’t in a position to leave the caravan and asked him what he needed. He quietly asked if I had the bottle of wine that Bel had given back to me earlier in the day. I did and showed him at which there was something of a relieved look before he started laughing and explained that he’d been up in the middle of the night and didn’t want to face the walk down to the amenities block, so had picked up the empty wine bottle and quietly relieved himself.
He’d then gone fishing with Caroline early in the morning with neither Bel nor I any the wiser.
Thank all that’s holy that I hadn’t tossed it in the fridge and opted for a quiet glass at lunch time!
Not thinking anymore of it at the time and being busy with the dishes, I put it next to the sink and forgot about it. Later in the day Caroline said something about the fact that it should probably be in the fridge, but neither of us bothered to act at the time.
It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when Jason came in and asked to have a quiet word. As I was in the middle of getting changed, I wasn’t in a position to leave the caravan and asked him what he needed. He quietly asked if I had the bottle of wine that Bel had given back to me earlier in the day. I did and showed him at which there was something of a relieved look before he started laughing and explained that he’d been up in the middle of the night and didn’t want to face the walk down to the amenities block, so had picked up the empty wine bottle and quietly relieved himself.
He’d then gone fishing with Caroline early in the morning with neither Bel nor I any the wiser.
Thank all that’s holy that I hadn’t tossed it in the fridge and opted for a quiet glass at lunch time!
Apr 20, 2011
Another Easter holiday
After the spectacular trip that we took last Easter, taking in the Grand Canyon, some rather tall trees and the like, it might be considered a little mundane to be towing the caravan off to Pt Hughes, but in reality, there was probably more excitement amongst the family this year than last.
That excitement translated to an off and on again decision as to when we should depart – Tuesday night after work or Wednesday morning? Three out of four children decided that Tuesday night would be the better time to go and so it was to be.
Now anytime you think that you’re going to leave for a trip straight after work, you hope that everything is going to be packed and ready other than all those really awkward and heavy things that become the job of the family pack horse to get into the caravan. With a 2 hour drive to reach our destination, I’d secretly hoped that we might have been able to get away before 6:30pm, but of course am a little more realistic than that given our history with departures. At 7pm I was still comfortable, but by the time we actually left at 7:40pm, tempers were starting to fray (well mine was).
At least we were underway. It was on Main North Road that things got a little sticky. We were cruising along quite happily when an apparently juiced up cat decided to streak from the side of the road and play chicken. Given the weight that we had behind us, swerving and stopping were equally undesirable in the sort of time frame that could have made any difference.
Feeling three solid hits as the cat used up nine lives in very quick succession, I felt pretty terrible, but was in something of a quandary as to what to do. There was no way in hell the poor little bugger survived and we were in the middle lane, so I couldn’t exactly stop without having a massive impact on traffic anyway. Not to mention that had I stopped there would have been all sorts of questions as to why it was that we were stopping.
I really didn’t want to have to tell Emily that we were stopping so that I could scrape the pancaked remains of some poor family’s pet cat from the road. I felt bad enough without adding that to the occasion. So we continued on a somewhat less merry way at least as far as a dinner stop, where I made the mistake of crossing the road. Only when I went to come out again did I realise that you couldn’t turn right to get back to where we were headed. Hence, a scenic detour ensued, through the back streets of North Adelaide, weaving the caravan through bloody annoying speed restriction devices.
We did get here though. It was late and it was windy, but we managed to eventually get to a point where we could sleep in the van, ready to tackle the full set up in less windy and daylight. We at least got the daylight part of the equation right!
That excitement translated to an off and on again decision as to when we should depart – Tuesday night after work or Wednesday morning? Three out of four children decided that Tuesday night would be the better time to go and so it was to be.
Now anytime you think that you’re going to leave for a trip straight after work, you hope that everything is going to be packed and ready other than all those really awkward and heavy things that become the job of the family pack horse to get into the caravan. With a 2 hour drive to reach our destination, I’d secretly hoped that we might have been able to get away before 6:30pm, but of course am a little more realistic than that given our history with departures. At 7pm I was still comfortable, but by the time we actually left at 7:40pm, tempers were starting to fray (well mine was).
At least we were underway. It was on Main North Road that things got a little sticky. We were cruising along quite happily when an apparently juiced up cat decided to streak from the side of the road and play chicken. Given the weight that we had behind us, swerving and stopping were equally undesirable in the sort of time frame that could have made any difference.
Feeling three solid hits as the cat used up nine lives in very quick succession, I felt pretty terrible, but was in something of a quandary as to what to do. There was no way in hell the poor little bugger survived and we were in the middle lane, so I couldn’t exactly stop without having a massive impact on traffic anyway. Not to mention that had I stopped there would have been all sorts of questions as to why it was that we were stopping.
I really didn’t want to have to tell Emily that we were stopping so that I could scrape the pancaked remains of some poor family’s pet cat from the road. I felt bad enough without adding that to the occasion. So we continued on a somewhat less merry way at least as far as a dinner stop, where I made the mistake of crossing the road. Only when I went to come out again did I realise that you couldn’t turn right to get back to where we were headed. Hence, a scenic detour ensued, through the back streets of North Adelaide, weaving the caravan through bloody annoying speed restriction devices.
We did get here though. It was late and it was windy, but we managed to eventually get to a point where we could sleep in the van, ready to tackle the full set up in less windy and daylight. We at least got the daylight part of the equation right!
Mar 28, 2011
Going Shopping
In the brief 2 weeks that I had in Australia prior to the arrival of the rest of the family I was living in an apartment, all on my own and without any of the household goods and luxuries that one becomes used to having. Simple things like shampoo and toothpaste.
Not a large problem, simply a matter of stopping in at the supermarket and picking some up. It all sounds so simple.
What I realised as I stood there in the aisle was that normally I have a choice of one type, that being what ever has been procured by my lovely wife. I simply remove the shampoo from the rack and wash.
But standing in the aisle of the supermarket, the choice was significantly greater. It was bloody enormous in fact. All sorts of fruity and fantastic concoctions lined the shelves before my eyes, each professing to be the ant’s pants in their chosen line of hair care. Oily hair, dry hair, coloured hair, over exposed and under nourished slightly toxic hair. There only seemed to be two versions lacking as far as I could establish. Shampoo for those with no hair (possibly called soap) and shampoo that has been formulated to quite simply wash hair.
I remain grateful for the persistence of those hairs that continue to cling to my head and their efforts at covering the dome beneath and I don’t really stop to consider where it fits in the scale of dry to oily etc. I’m sure that that little bit of colour I had applied to the tips of my hair once about 20 years ago is no longer and issue. And that natural grey colouring that’s starting to creep in probably doesn’t need any chemical assistance or maintenance either. So really, when it comes to trying to identify a shampoo to suit my head, I’m really not looking for anything special.
Regardless of all the procrastination, a choice had to be made. I thought about spinning randomly in the aisle with eyes closed and arm extended (due to the lack of darts in my possession to assist with the random selection) but really, I’m strange enough without behaving like that in a supermarket. I might have been committed! I scanned one more time and decided that perhaps prevention would be a way to go. So I grabbed the head and shoulders anti-dandruff stuff and headed to the counter because apparently, its good for ALL sorts of hair!
Not a large problem, simply a matter of stopping in at the supermarket and picking some up. It all sounds so simple.
What I realised as I stood there in the aisle was that normally I have a choice of one type, that being what ever has been procured by my lovely wife. I simply remove the shampoo from the rack and wash.
But standing in the aisle of the supermarket, the choice was significantly greater. It was bloody enormous in fact. All sorts of fruity and fantastic concoctions lined the shelves before my eyes, each professing to be the ant’s pants in their chosen line of hair care. Oily hair, dry hair, coloured hair, over exposed and under nourished slightly toxic hair. There only seemed to be two versions lacking as far as I could establish. Shampoo for those with no hair (possibly called soap) and shampoo that has been formulated to quite simply wash hair.
I remain grateful for the persistence of those hairs that continue to cling to my head and their efforts at covering the dome beneath and I don’t really stop to consider where it fits in the scale of dry to oily etc. I’m sure that that little bit of colour I had applied to the tips of my hair once about 20 years ago is no longer and issue. And that natural grey colouring that’s starting to creep in probably doesn’t need any chemical assistance or maintenance either. So really, when it comes to trying to identify a shampoo to suit my head, I’m really not looking for anything special.
Regardless of all the procrastination, a choice had to be made. I thought about spinning randomly in the aisle with eyes closed and arm extended (due to the lack of darts in my possession to assist with the random selection) but really, I’m strange enough without behaving like that in a supermarket. I might have been committed! I scanned one more time and decided that perhaps prevention would be a way to go. So I grabbed the head and shoulders anti-dandruff stuff and headed to the counter because apparently, its good for ALL sorts of hair!
Mar 23, 2011
eight part 4
This week marked the commencement of the little pink thing’s eighth year of influence over the planet upon which we live and more importantly over that little piece that she so graciously shares with the rest of the family.
The seventh year of her rule held some significant changes for the little mite that are worth reflecting on just very briefly. She finished her first year of school in Canada, travelled a little bit (tick off Skiing at a world class resort, Disneyworld, Cruising the Caribbean, scaling the Eiffel tower, a traipse through Venice, the Swiss Alps, the Dutch Windmills …) moved back to Australia, started her second year of school (and completed it at the end of the same term) and started her third year of school and finally, become a mother to a couple ofunderground chickens rabbits. *breathe now*
Needless to say that having managed to get through all that and cope with three other brothers besides, she’s a confident little thing. Spoilt? Most certainly. Opinionated? You’d better believe it. She has already mastered the eye-roll (predominantly I believe due to a father’s lame sense of humour). “Da-ad!” she’ll say as the eyeballs rotate and the cute little face flicks sideways to look at me.
She’s taken up softball and has managed to do quite well, connecting with the ball and managing to work her way around the bases. Winter will see her attempt netball, which should be interesting given the lack of exposure to the game in this part of the family.
She has already lost the Canadian twang with her immersion in our home culture, though just occasionally a word or two will slip out with that little bit extra in it. She’s fitted in like a pea in a pod at school, readily finding herself a collection of girl-friends and mixing well. I’m not sure if they let her be the boss or not, but just perhaps in amongst her peers she’s managed to find a way to be part of the group sometimes rather than being the one that orchestrates all that happens around her.
Despite the fact that there are three older brothers influencing her, Emily shows no signs of turning into a tomboy at this point in her life. With an almost overwhelmeing collection of ‘stuffies’ as she calls her stuffed animal menagerie she can often be found in front of the computer with a Taylor Swift song belting out as she dances away for her own amusement or hosting a tea-party for a couple of rabbits whilst the brothers are off shooting anything that moves on the PS3 in the background.
But for all that goes before, she’s still a precious little girl at heart with a big capacity to love and plenty of hugs to dish out (when she feels like it of course). Generally happy, with possibly one of the best little girl giggles when tickled, the little pink thing is certainly a wonderful part of our family.
Happy Birthday Emily.
The seventh year of her rule held some significant changes for the little mite that are worth reflecting on just very briefly. She finished her first year of school in Canada, travelled a little bit (tick off Skiing at a world class resort, Disneyworld, Cruising the Caribbean, scaling the Eiffel tower, a traipse through Venice, the Swiss Alps, the Dutch Windmills …) moved back to Australia, started her second year of school (and completed it at the end of the same term) and started her third year of school and finally, become a mother to a couple of
Needless to say that having managed to get through all that and cope with three other brothers besides, she’s a confident little thing. Spoilt? Most certainly. Opinionated? You’d better believe it. She has already mastered the eye-roll (predominantly I believe due to a father’s lame sense of humour). “Da-ad!” she’ll say as the eyeballs rotate and the cute little face flicks sideways to look at me.
She’s taken up softball and has managed to do quite well, connecting with the ball and managing to work her way around the bases. Winter will see her attempt netball, which should be interesting given the lack of exposure to the game in this part of the family.
She has already lost the Canadian twang with her immersion in our home culture, though just occasionally a word or two will slip out with that little bit extra in it. She’s fitted in like a pea in a pod at school, readily finding herself a collection of girl-friends and mixing well. I’m not sure if they let her be the boss or not, but just perhaps in amongst her peers she’s managed to find a way to be part of the group sometimes rather than being the one that orchestrates all that happens around her.
Despite the fact that there are three older brothers influencing her, Emily shows no signs of turning into a tomboy at this point in her life. With an almost overwhelmeing collection of ‘stuffies’ as she calls her stuffed animal menagerie she can often be found in front of the computer with a Taylor Swift song belting out as she dances away for her own amusement or hosting a tea-party for a couple of rabbits whilst the brothers are off shooting anything that moves on the PS3 in the background.
But for all that goes before, she’s still a precious little girl at heart with a big capacity to love and plenty of hugs to dish out (when she feels like it of course). Generally happy, with possibly one of the best little girl giggles when tickled, the little pink thing is certainly a wonderful part of our family.
Happy Birthday Emily.
Mar 22, 2011
Price Check on Bunny Love
You may recall that a couple of weeks ago Emily adopted a new member into the family by way of a small ginger-colour rabbit appropriately called “Ginger”.
Well it was always intended that the little mite not be left to the sole attention of Emily, but that it would at some point in time receive a little rabbit companion to help it while away the hours (you know, those ones it spends in blissful peace whilst Emily is at school).
On the weekend, that companionship became a reality with a brand new ball of fluff coming home. It’s a tiny little grey haired girly rabbit, placid as the day is long. We spoke at some length to the people that we bought the rabbit off, considering amongst other things, the best way to introduce the two of them to each other without there being much in the way of territorial issues. It is Emily’s hope and desire that the two be very very good friends and in fact produce more little bunnies. Caroline seems to think that a litter or two would be ok. I have reservations, but will go along for the ride.
One of the surprising things that I learned was that a rabbit can have a new litter every 31 days. Ye gods! Talk about getting back on the horse … no wonder they call it rooting like rabbits (for the Canadians that read this, rooting is a whole different ball game over here … you just keep cheering). We also of course asked about when we could expect the young male thing (Ginger) who was already in the house to first start having amorous feelings. We were told that this would be at about 12 weeks. We figured Ginger to be at about 10. That should provide a small buffer whilst they got to know each other.
Anyway, we decided that we’d introduce them to each under the front verandah, on neutral territory as had been suggested. So tiny little Grace (the new addition) was allowed to explore whilst Emily went inside to get Ginger. Well, it wasn’t really until she brought him out that we realised just how much he’d grown. The size difference was rather pronounced, but we ploughed on regardless, really having no choice.
Ginger was set free to go and nosed his way around the verandah, completely missing the little bit of fluff that was cautiously nosing past him in the other direction. Then there was that moment where a scent must have drifted across the young boy’s nose and his attention was suddenly diverted elsewhere. Suddenly there was a bit of sniffing going on as Ginger investigated this interesting phenomenon. The next bit was like watching pheromones to hormones in seconds or less as Ginger, just a young little rabbit himself was overtaken by hundreds of years of instinct as he jumped the poor little Grace from behind and did what rabbits do best. Given that Ginger is currently about 2-3 times the size of his new playmate, it looked like it just may have been a little scary for the new girl on the block. They were quickly separated and Emily needed some reassuring that Ginger wasn’t hurting Grace.
Several more attempts at introduction made it very clear that there really was space for one thing in Ginger’s head and he was going to do what ever he could to get it. At one point, after Grace had been hopping about and exploring in the living room (sans Ginger of course) Ginger found the cushion that she’s spent some time sitting on and decided that if he couldn’t have her, then he’d at least have some good old fashioned cushion loving fun. Must have smelt good, that’s all I can say.
Needless to say, the single little rabbit hutch that we bought clearly wasn’t going to cut it until we’d determined that young Grace was up to the trials and tribulations of mother hood and so a hasty ‘insta-hutch’™ was produced from one of our left over moving boxes so that the boy could be separated from the girl.
He pines for her, it must be said. He’s been found sleeping outside of his hutch, right alongside that box and if you look carefully inside, she’s not far away. Being the adventurous rabbit that he is, its going to take some planning to keep these two bunnies apart for a couple of weeks until she’s ready. He’d previously been found lazing about on the arm of the couch, having hopped his way up there progressively and then last night he managed to find his way up onto the top of the A-framed hutch. Given that it’s a piece of wood about an inch wide, he did well to last as long as he did before falling back down again.
This morning he managed to find his way onto the top of the box that has become the ‘insta-hutch’™. Of course, there’s a rather large flap been cut into the top for the purposes of extracting and inserting litter trays. He didn’t know this. He found out rather quickly though as the floor of the world dropped away from beneath him and deposited him inside the hutch. Fortunately Grace wasn’t in there at the time.
So, watch this space, because it’s not likely to be long before nature takes it course and Bunny Love becomes more bunnies than this one man might be able to handle!
Well it was always intended that the little mite not be left to the sole attention of Emily, but that it would at some point in time receive a little rabbit companion to help it while away the hours (you know, those ones it spends in blissful peace whilst Emily is at school).
On the weekend, that companionship became a reality with a brand new ball of fluff coming home. It’s a tiny little grey haired girly rabbit, placid as the day is long. We spoke at some length to the people that we bought the rabbit off, considering amongst other things, the best way to introduce the two of them to each other without there being much in the way of territorial issues. It is Emily’s hope and desire that the two be very very good friends and in fact produce more little bunnies. Caroline seems to think that a litter or two would be ok. I have reservations, but will go along for the ride.
One of the surprising things that I learned was that a rabbit can have a new litter every 31 days. Ye gods! Talk about getting back on the horse … no wonder they call it rooting like rabbits (for the Canadians that read this, rooting is a whole different ball game over here … you just keep cheering). We also of course asked about when we could expect the young male thing (Ginger) who was already in the house to first start having amorous feelings. We were told that this would be at about 12 weeks. We figured Ginger to be at about 10. That should provide a small buffer whilst they got to know each other.
Anyway, we decided that we’d introduce them to each under the front verandah, on neutral territory as had been suggested. So tiny little Grace (the new addition) was allowed to explore whilst Emily went inside to get Ginger. Well, it wasn’t really until she brought him out that we realised just how much he’d grown. The size difference was rather pronounced, but we ploughed on regardless, really having no choice.
Ginger was set free to go and nosed his way around the verandah, completely missing the little bit of fluff that was cautiously nosing past him in the other direction. Then there was that moment where a scent must have drifted across the young boy’s nose and his attention was suddenly diverted elsewhere. Suddenly there was a bit of sniffing going on as Ginger investigated this interesting phenomenon. The next bit was like watching pheromones to hormones in seconds or less as Ginger, just a young little rabbit himself was overtaken by hundreds of years of instinct as he jumped the poor little Grace from behind and did what rabbits do best. Given that Ginger is currently about 2-3 times the size of his new playmate, it looked like it just may have been a little scary for the new girl on the block. They were quickly separated and Emily needed some reassuring that Ginger wasn’t hurting Grace.
Several more attempts at introduction made it very clear that there really was space for one thing in Ginger’s head and he was going to do what ever he could to get it. At one point, after Grace had been hopping about and exploring in the living room (sans Ginger of course) Ginger found the cushion that she’s spent some time sitting on and decided that if he couldn’t have her, then he’d at least have some good old fashioned cushion loving fun. Must have smelt good, that’s all I can say.
Needless to say, the single little rabbit hutch that we bought clearly wasn’t going to cut it until we’d determined that young Grace was up to the trials and tribulations of mother hood and so a hasty ‘insta-hutch’™ was produced from one of our left over moving boxes so that the boy could be separated from the girl.
He pines for her, it must be said. He’s been found sleeping outside of his hutch, right alongside that box and if you look carefully inside, she’s not far away. Being the adventurous rabbit that he is, its going to take some planning to keep these two bunnies apart for a couple of weeks until she’s ready. He’d previously been found lazing about on the arm of the couch, having hopped his way up there progressively and then last night he managed to find his way up onto the top of the A-framed hutch. Given that it’s a piece of wood about an inch wide, he did well to last as long as he did before falling back down again.
This morning he managed to find his way onto the top of the box that has become the ‘insta-hutch’™. Of course, there’s a rather large flap been cut into the top for the purposes of extracting and inserting litter trays. He didn’t know this. He found out rather quickly though as the floor of the world dropped away from beneath him and deposited him inside the hutch. Fortunately Grace wasn’t in there at the time.
So, watch this space, because it’s not likely to be long before nature takes it course and Bunny Love becomes more bunnies than this one man might be able to handle!
Feb 28, 2011
On Turning 40
Turning 40 didn’t worry me.
Back when it happened, there were several people that asked me about it and I truly found that when it came down to it, it was a bloody good reason to have a big birthday bash and that was about it.
Now Caroline has turned 40 and I had more reason to stop and think about it again. I still haven’t changed my mind. Caroline seemed to think that it wasn’t a particularly big deal, but did note that she really wasn’t looking forward to turning 50. There’s that little part of me that backs away from thoughts like the fact that 40 might be half way and the spiralling path toward my own mortality, but let’s not go getting all morbid.
When I did stop to think about it long enough, it came down to where I was at with my life. Did I have any significant regrets? Did I feel that I’d missed out and was running out of time? Not at all.
When I looked at where I was at the age of 40, I was in a good place (this hasn’t changed, by the way, its simply that this is retrospective!). I was (and am) married to an amazing woman, we have four kids that so far seem to be on the right track and not causing too much stress and grief (of course most of them aren’t teenagers yet) and we were living on the other side of the world and getting to do some pretty darn cool things with our lives.
Had I not been married, or had we not had kids or travelled, then perhaps there would have been something in the regrets column to tick off. Perhaps not having owned a car that goes 0-60 in the blink of an eye could be listed there, but it’s so material that it really doesn’t stack up against all of the things that I do have. About 10 years after I’d left Singapore, I did start to wonder whether I’d ever have more stories to tell to compare to those that I’d taken away from that experience. I didn’t want to be 20 years past my time there and still telling those same stories, at least, not without something from later on to spice it up.
And fortunately for me, I’ve even managed to do that. Canada was an amazing experience and even more so for the fact that I was able to share it with my family. I’ve filled up on stories, seen more of the world and of course been left with a few more things that I’d like to add to the bucket list. After all, the more of the world you see and the longer you live, the more things you hear about that you’d like to get to do.
So 40 wasn’t a big deal. Just watch out for the next time that I feel that my stories are getting a little stale. Who knows where that might take us.
Back when it happened, there were several people that asked me about it and I truly found that when it came down to it, it was a bloody good reason to have a big birthday bash and that was about it.
Now Caroline has turned 40 and I had more reason to stop and think about it again. I still haven’t changed my mind. Caroline seemed to think that it wasn’t a particularly big deal, but did note that she really wasn’t looking forward to turning 50. There’s that little part of me that backs away from thoughts like the fact that 40 might be half way and the spiralling path toward my own mortality, but let’s not go getting all morbid.
When I did stop to think about it long enough, it came down to where I was at with my life. Did I have any significant regrets? Did I feel that I’d missed out and was running out of time? Not at all.
When I looked at where I was at the age of 40, I was in a good place (this hasn’t changed, by the way, its simply that this is retrospective!). I was (and am) married to an amazing woman, we have four kids that so far seem to be on the right track and not causing too much stress and grief (of course most of them aren’t teenagers yet) and we were living on the other side of the world and getting to do some pretty darn cool things with our lives.
Had I not been married, or had we not had kids or travelled, then perhaps there would have been something in the regrets column to tick off. Perhaps not having owned a car that goes 0-60 in the blink of an eye could be listed there, but it’s so material that it really doesn’t stack up against all of the things that I do have. About 10 years after I’d left Singapore, I did start to wonder whether I’d ever have more stories to tell to compare to those that I’d taken away from that experience. I didn’t want to be 20 years past my time there and still telling those same stories, at least, not without something from later on to spice it up.
And fortunately for me, I’ve even managed to do that. Canada was an amazing experience and even more so for the fact that I was able to share it with my family. I’ve filled up on stories, seen more of the world and of course been left with a few more things that I’d like to add to the bucket list. After all, the more of the world you see and the longer you live, the more things you hear about that you’d like to get to do.
So 40 wasn’t a big deal. Just watch out for the next time that I feel that my stories are getting a little stale. Who knows where that might take us.
And so it begins ...
…One little rabbit’s battle for survival.
Emily is about to turn 8 and the thing that she’s wanted more than any other thing in the whole entire world is a pet. She would go totally insane if a little puppy dog was to ever front up to this house and be a permanent resident.
Let’s face it though, we’re horrible, evil parents who can’t be bothered cleaning crap off the lawn and living with a dog’s life span, so that’s simply not going to happen. Instead, we’ve opted for a pet that will provide a little bit of joy and entertainment (at least for the first week?) but that won’t live quite as long. We’re not wishing that the poor little mite finds and early grave or anything, we’re just investing in a shorter term option.
So today a tiny little bunny arrived in the house much to the utter delight of a nearly 8 little girl. Named Ginger (with the possible alternate of General Flopsy), its’ currently found itself wrapped in a towel and being toted around the house. I’m not convinced that by the time that we return from purchasing a hutch for it, it won’t have managed to flee to the far corner of the garden and beyond as its instincts for survival take charge!
Of course the greatest danger to the little blighter is the very real chance that it gets loved to death!
Emily is about to turn 8 and the thing that she’s wanted more than any other thing in the whole entire world is a pet. She would go totally insane if a little puppy dog was to ever front up to this house and be a permanent resident.
Let’s face it though, we’re horrible, evil parents who can’t be bothered cleaning crap off the lawn and living with a dog’s life span, so that’s simply not going to happen. Instead, we’ve opted for a pet that will provide a little bit of joy and entertainment (at least for the first week?) but that won’t live quite as long. We’re not wishing that the poor little mite finds and early grave or anything, we’re just investing in a shorter term option.
So today a tiny little bunny arrived in the house much to the utter delight of a nearly 8 little girl. Named Ginger (with the possible alternate of General Flopsy), its’ currently found itself wrapped in a towel and being toted around the house. I’m not convinced that by the time that we return from purchasing a hutch for it, it won’t have managed to flee to the far corner of the garden and beyond as its instincts for survival take charge!
Of course the greatest danger to the little blighter is the very real chance that it gets loved to death!
Jan 28, 2011
Hoping for a musical gift
This year, as the kids prepare to embark on their scholastic journey once more, we find two of the tribe learning instruments as part of the school curriculum. On the plus side, its Thomas and Emily, who both spent some time learning the piano over the last year that we were in Canada. It should at least give them a little bit to work from with regards to reading the music etc.
Now I used to learn the guitar. It was a long time ago and I like to think that after 6 years of lessons, what I worked out was that I was rubbish. Well maybe not complete rubbish, but I learned to play one note at a time and with little to no artistic flair. I play the guitar like an engineer. Well, when I say I play it like that, I used to. I think I remember one chord and couldn't read a sheet of music to save my life.
So I am hoping that from somewhere within the genetic mix, Thomas and Emily will find themselves with some of that non-tone deaf magic that good musicians have.
After all, Thomas is learning the Trombone and Emily is Learning the Violin.
Can we say cruel and unusual punishment?
(I might have to insist that all practice is done straight after school)
Now I used to learn the guitar. It was a long time ago and I like to think that after 6 years of lessons, what I worked out was that I was rubbish. Well maybe not complete rubbish, but I learned to play one note at a time and with little to no artistic flair. I play the guitar like an engineer. Well, when I say I play it like that, I used to. I think I remember one chord and couldn't read a sheet of music to save my life.
So I am hoping that from somewhere within the genetic mix, Thomas and Emily will find themselves with some of that non-tone deaf magic that good musicians have.
After all, Thomas is learning the Trombone and Emily is Learning the Violin.
Can we say cruel and unusual punishment?
(I might have to insist that all practice is done straight after school)
Jan 26, 2011
Hello 2011
Clearly its been a while since I last managed to sit down and put fingers to keys for this little part of my world. Its been both relaxing and busy since Christmas and that’s at least part of the reason.
After the ultra-success that was Turducken for Christmas Dinner – what’s not to love about getting to carve three birds in one go with nary a bone in the way? It was time to focus on the serious business of life – relaxing. The days between Christmas and New Years were spent sorting a few things out around the house, reviving sprinkler systems and so on and continuing the seemingly endless task of recovering from the move back home. There was also a little bit of thought about the planned trip to Aldinga on the 2nd.
We saw 2010 off in fine style, enjoying once again being able to host a party at home, with the BBQ outside and with the finally assembled pool table inside and the weather accommodating enough to enjoy it all. The blender got a workout, keeping things well lubricated, even if at one point someone said that they weren’t alcoholic enough! I believe that was subsequently well taken care of, hey Belinda? We even had visitors (or displaced locals) from Canada for the occasion and it was great to catch up with Jim and Annie after last seeing them across the ocean whilst also catching up with good friends from Adelaide again.
The 2nd saw us off to Aldinga for the week which was of course incredibly tough. Sun and sand and an ocean less than 50 metres from the front door was always going to be a big ask, but we held in there, re-uniting with friends in a week of fun that had become tradition prior to our departure from these fair shores. The inflatable kayaks were introduced to the Aussie beach with much success, including Caroline managing to lure a few squid from the oceans depths and Michael and Sam were re-introduced to the concept of sun-burn. Copious amounts of sunscreen were applied, but it only takes that one lapse. I don’t think it will be happening again any time soon.
Off the back of that week, its been back to work, frantically moving towards the real kick off of this project, which will see me in Broken Hill for a couple of days soon as we look to commence the physical work. It will be great to get out of the planning stages and be able to go ‘touch and feel’ things again.
And of course there’s the much anticipated virgin trip in the new Caravan which is somewhat exciting. Nick managed to come through for us in spectacular fashion, seeing us become proud owners of a Pajero on the eve of Christmas which finally meant that we had the capacity to tow at last. We had somewhat hopefully booked some time away in mid January, but it simply wasn’t going to work for me, so we had to cancel at the last minute. The new opportunity came out of the blue and I for one can’t wait to finally get away again, though I am sure we will oft-lament the fact that we didn’t end up bringing back the van from Canada!
After the ultra-success that was Turducken for Christmas Dinner – what’s not to love about getting to carve three birds in one go with nary a bone in the way? It was time to focus on the serious business of life – relaxing. The days between Christmas and New Years were spent sorting a few things out around the house, reviving sprinkler systems and so on and continuing the seemingly endless task of recovering from the move back home. There was also a little bit of thought about the planned trip to Aldinga on the 2nd.
We saw 2010 off in fine style, enjoying once again being able to host a party at home, with the BBQ outside and with the finally assembled pool table inside and the weather accommodating enough to enjoy it all. The blender got a workout, keeping things well lubricated, even if at one point someone said that they weren’t alcoholic enough! I believe that was subsequently well taken care of, hey Belinda? We even had visitors (or displaced locals) from Canada for the occasion and it was great to catch up with Jim and Annie after last seeing them across the ocean whilst also catching up with good friends from Adelaide again.
The 2nd saw us off to Aldinga for the week which was of course incredibly tough. Sun and sand and an ocean less than 50 metres from the front door was always going to be a big ask, but we held in there, re-uniting with friends in a week of fun that had become tradition prior to our departure from these fair shores. The inflatable kayaks were introduced to the Aussie beach with much success, including Caroline managing to lure a few squid from the oceans depths and Michael and Sam were re-introduced to the concept of sun-burn. Copious amounts of sunscreen were applied, but it only takes that one lapse. I don’t think it will be happening again any time soon.
Off the back of that week, its been back to work, frantically moving towards the real kick off of this project, which will see me in Broken Hill for a couple of days soon as we look to commence the physical work. It will be great to get out of the planning stages and be able to go ‘touch and feel’ things again.
And of course there’s the much anticipated virgin trip in the new Caravan which is somewhat exciting. Nick managed to come through for us in spectacular fashion, seeing us become proud owners of a Pajero on the eve of Christmas which finally meant that we had the capacity to tow at last. We had somewhat hopefully booked some time away in mid January, but it simply wasn’t going to work for me, so we had to cancel at the last minute. The new opportunity came out of the blue and I for one can’t wait to finally get away again, though I am sure we will oft-lament the fact that we didn’t end up bringing back the van from Canada!
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