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!
Mar 28, 2011
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!
Dec 24, 2010
Whisperings of a Church Mouse
We were at mass last night and the kids were endeavoring to restrain their excited little hearts and find a way to survive mass without exploding. As usual, I had Emily next to me. Throughout the mass she’d whisper little things to me. Things like “I love you with all my heart Daddy,” or “I love God too,” or “Church isn’t just for rich people, is it Daddy? It’s for everyone.”
As curious as I always am about where some of these little whisperings come from, nothing quite tops the point where she had a curious little look on her face, drawing me to lower my ear to her level so that she could offer up whatever little piece of wisdom it was that she’d been mulling over.
She looked at me, lifted her mouth to my ear and whispered, “I farted.”
As curious as I always am about where some of these little whisperings come from, nothing quite tops the point where she had a curious little look on her face, drawing me to lower my ear to her level so that she could offer up whatever little piece of wisdom it was that she’d been mulling over.
She looked at me, lifted her mouth to my ear and whispered, “I farted.”
Dec 17, 2010
Do you fake it?
The Christmas tree that is, don’t know what the rest of you were thinking.
I grew up with a fake Christmas tree and didn’t know any different. Caroline grew up with real trees and didn’t know any different. So of course at that point where our lives amalgamated decisions had to be made.
Do we have a real tree or a fake tree?
I conceded and so we’ve had real trees for the last 15 years. There have been good trees and bad trees but overall they’ve been alright. Some get a little spindly and all of them forever drop crap all over the floor. Of course, from Caroline’s perspective they all smell nice too. From my perspective, I inevitably end up with stick sap on my hands (which happens to shit me).
The other beef I have with the real tree is that at the end of the process you have to dispose of them rather than just pack them back into their box for next year. And because we’re so good at keeping things neat and tidy that usually means that we have the tree a lot longer than we need to. I mean one year in Canada, when the snow melted, I found the remains of the bloody Christmas tree on the lawn!
At least in Canada we were surrounded by snow and the trees lasted longer. Hell, you could even wander off into the forest and cut down your own (though even that proved to be very hit and miss).
You can well imagine how I reacted just now when Caroline called to tell me that they’d been out to buy a tree and got home to discover that it was more like a poorly groomed broomstick. I can see that we’ll have two trees this year (or at least have paid for them) and yet once again, neither of them will be a repeatable, good every year, fake tree.
I grew up with a fake Christmas tree and didn’t know any different. Caroline grew up with real trees and didn’t know any different. So of course at that point where our lives amalgamated decisions had to be made.
Do we have a real tree or a fake tree?
I conceded and so we’ve had real trees for the last 15 years. There have been good trees and bad trees but overall they’ve been alright. Some get a little spindly and all of them forever drop crap all over the floor. Of course, from Caroline’s perspective they all smell nice too. From my perspective, I inevitably end up with stick sap on my hands (which happens to shit me).
The other beef I have with the real tree is that at the end of the process you have to dispose of them rather than just pack them back into their box for next year. And because we’re so good at keeping things neat and tidy that usually means that we have the tree a lot longer than we need to. I mean one year in Canada, when the snow melted, I found the remains of the bloody Christmas tree on the lawn!
At least in Canada we were surrounded by snow and the trees lasted longer. Hell, you could even wander off into the forest and cut down your own (though even that proved to be very hit and miss).
You can well imagine how I reacted just now when Caroline called to tell me that they’d been out to buy a tree and got home to discover that it was more like a poorly groomed broomstick. I can see that we’ll have two trees this year (or at least have paid for them) and yet once again, neither of them will be a repeatable, good every year, fake tree.
Dec 13, 2010
Top Speed
We played touch football again tonight, something we’ve been partaking in each Monday night since the season began. We’ve had a mixed season, leaning more to the losing side of the balance sheet than I’d prefer, but most weeks there’s something in the game to at least keep me interested.
Tonight we played a bunch of kids who must have ranged from about 12 to 15 in age and early in the second half I managed a break away down the wing. I knew that they were coming to cut me off and deep down, I also knew that there was a chance that I could show up the young bucks and beat them to the line.
I’d claimed in previous weeks that whilst I used to be able to out sprint people over half the line and surprise them with the velocity at which I could propel the lard, that due to increasing age and failing body parts, I was more of a chance over quarter of the field these days. I’ve been run down a couple of times recently you see. Last week I had the ball an inch from the ground when I was caught by some young whipper snapper. Most infuriating, I must say.
This week though, the difference was the kid was only about 15, not 20 and so I put on that little bit of extra speed, getting up on the toes and accelerating that bit beyond what people thought I was capable was. Certainly those that had never seen me really get up and go were impressed (Its probably only 70% of what I could do way back when, if that).
It was greatly satisfying to put the ball down across the line though and was only marred by the subtle reminder from my body as the old and aging hamstring gave me. Its not torn or anything like it, but the next time that I broke the line I knew that it was all over for today’s game.
Looks like next time I’ll just have to avoid truly hitting ‘top speed’.
Tonight we played a bunch of kids who must have ranged from about 12 to 15 in age and early in the second half I managed a break away down the wing. I knew that they were coming to cut me off and deep down, I also knew that there was a chance that I could show up the young bucks and beat them to the line.
I’d claimed in previous weeks that whilst I used to be able to out sprint people over half the line and surprise them with the velocity at which I could propel the lard, that due to increasing age and failing body parts, I was more of a chance over quarter of the field these days. I’ve been run down a couple of times recently you see. Last week I had the ball an inch from the ground when I was caught by some young whipper snapper. Most infuriating, I must say.
This week though, the difference was the kid was only about 15, not 20 and so I put on that little bit of extra speed, getting up on the toes and accelerating that bit beyond what people thought I was capable was. Certainly those that had never seen me really get up and go were impressed (Its probably only 70% of what I could do way back when, if that).
It was greatly satisfying to put the ball down across the line though and was only marred by the subtle reminder from my body as the old and aging hamstring gave me. Its not torn or anything like it, but the next time that I broke the line I knew that it was all over for today’s game.
Looks like next time I’ll just have to avoid truly hitting ‘top speed’.
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