09 December, 2014

Grumpy Rant Face from Hell.

I've been awake today since 3am, so there's a good chance this post isn't going to be coherent, articulate or free of spelling or other typographic errors.  I am, however filled with something of a fury.  So I can promise that there is definitely something I intend to say, and with purpose.  So grab your listening eyes if, indeed you care to engage, and jump on, particularly if you are up for some mixed metaphors and jumbled imagery.  I've got a lot of that going on right now in my delirious and irate brain.

But first, let me set the scene.

This morning I was awoken in the wee small hours by the sounds of my father who was very very unwell.  So unwell, in fact that I was prompted on checking him to pretty much call an ambulance within a few minutes.  The paramedics arrived promptly and on hooking Dad up to all the blinkers and beepers ascertained that he was, yes, in a very bad state.  I'm sure he won't mind my telling you that his blood pressure was hovering around 60 on 40 and his heart rate while they were with him was dropping, and got down to 30.  

You can pretty much ask anyone, and they'll tell you that vital signs like this are not bright, although just one look at him could've told you he was in trouble.

It took about half an hour for the paramedics to stabilise him to the point where they were confident they could get him onto a trolley and in transit to hospital, and to their credit, as always, they were great.  Big round of applause for the ambos who always do an incredible job and should without a doubt have pay and conditions to reflect the amazing and indispensable work they do - this announcement was not paid for by any political party).

So we arrived at the hospital at about 4.15/4.30ish and Dad was handed over and  shunted into a cubicle by around 5am.

It was not a busy morning at the hospital, thankfully.  There was a dementia patient who had repeatedly fallen on his head, poor old love, and another man, who I think was drunk, who kept insisting he couldn't breathe, although apparently all the monitors were indicating he was getting plenty of oxygen.  And that was all there was on our side of emergency.  Sadly, our side of emergency wasn't actually equipped with the monitors necessary to deal with assessing what the suspected was Dad's issue, that is, is his heart.  So for two hours we were parked in a cubicle with no equipment.  

Oh, but there was blood on the floor, blood from a former occupant.  And a few droplets inside one of the stainless steel drawers where they keep the sterile syringes, swabs, etc… Lovely.

Sure, questions were asked of Dad.  Bloods taken.  X-rays.  More questions.  People typed into databases. Bla bla bla.  More staff came in, more questions were asked.

And then Dad was moved to the other side, where there were monitors.  Lots of empty cubicles with monitors and I wondered why the hell we weren't sent over here in the first place.  Dad was hooked up to the machines immediately and blip blip blip, you could see and hear what was happening with him straight away.

And then the nurse on the well equipped side commented that Dad was sent over without any paperwork, but that didn't matter.  He went on to read some notes (apparently) in prep for hand over to the next shift, and conservatively got thirty percent of what he told the new nurse wrong.  But that wouldn't've been his FAULT only because he didn't consult the computer.  Instead, you see, in his wisdom, he chose the superior technology of his MEMORY. (!!! ??? !!!)

In the meantime, the doctor had come back and said that she had received the results of dad's blood tests and they'd not found any markers for heart attack so… and this is the kicker… so he was being discharged.  See you later.

Just like that.

Don't know what caused you to nearly drop off the perch old timer.  But we're crossing one option off the list so you can go now.  Turrah.  And by the way, get yourself out of that bed.  We won't even be bothered putting the sides down for you.  Help yourself.  Hoof it.

I cannot tell you how cross I was.  How cross I am.  He's so unwell still.  Not like he was this morning, but still terribly sick, and they don't even care to investigate.  Or even to put anything in place to begin investigations.  Or even to write up a comprehensive set of notes of what actually occurred so that the GP or anyone could actually refer to it in the future.  The discharge notes are so brief and inaccurate it's a joke.  (But not funny.)

So this is the care my dad received in the ED at the Royal Melbourne Hospital, folks.  Shabby it was.  Shit, in fact.  Really truly not good enough.

And so endeth my rant.

08 December, 2014


So this is my final night in Queensland for this trip.  Members from the other side of the family tree left before lunch and are still apparently struggling to make it home to Sydney, delayed due to some stupidly violent storm activity that's seen their plane rerouted to Newcastle where they were decanted into buses bounded for Sydney airport before somehow, I guess eventually finding taxis home along with the other hundreds of other passengers.  Ah the joys of a three hour journey turned into a 10 to 12 hour epic, eh?

from the ABC website today
Thankfully the forecast for Melbourne is much more benign.  "A few showers clearing." it says.  "Min 15.  Max 21."  That all sounds perfectly civilised.  I always thought Sydney was much too flashy for me.

07 December, 2014

All you need is...

Today was all about love.
Two lovers dedicating their lives to one another. 
Parents' love for their kids.  
Sibling love.
Love amongst friends.
Love amongst the cousins and uncles and the aunts and grannies.
(I don't think there were any grandpas there, today :( )
Love in all the nooks and crannies.
Love on the dance floor.
Love in the pudding.
Love love love…
The Beatles sang about that a few times.

06 December, 2014

Two hands.

When something is hideously wrong at the very core of things on one hand while one is surrounded by great celebration and familial coming together and happiness on the other, it can be the cause of schizoid conflict and confusion.

What the hell and I talking about, you ask?  Let me explain...

I'm sitting amongst my family: beloveds, acquaintances and new folk – all gathered at Ken and Merri's, on the night before their eldest gets married, and it's truly the happiest of nights.  Impossible not to be swept up in the fun and buzz and excitement of what will be a benchmark event in our family's life.  I wish my Mum was here.  I wish Milo was here.  I wish Hec was here.  I wish Ev and the girls were here.  But instead I am here.   And I'm soaking it all up for all of them.  And it's lovely and I'm lucky.  And so glad to be the chronicler for all of them.  Tomorrow I will be going crazy with the camera (mental note to plug it in before I got to bed).

But then there's the other thing, on the other hand, occupying me simultaneously.  The great evil.  The thing that doesn't personally touch me but that's done in my name and by my country that is so despicable that I can't, I just can't believe we are so so low as to have let it happen…  Shame shame shame shame shame on us for allowing Scott Morrison to manipulate/blackmail the Senate into passing his draconian migration legislation.  Such an evil and anti-human manoeuvre.  Such a dreadful man.  Such a horrible indictment on this society and community and country to be capable of such cruel barbarity, selfishness, paranoia and shortsighted idiocy.

If I was my friend, I wouldn't want to know me any more for what this represents..

So even though I will be loving my family and celebrating the most momentous of days tomorrow, a part of me is sickened by the the society in which my family is situated because I know the materials the framework of the society is constructed from, are rotten.

And it didn't have to be that way.

05 December, 2014

Please don't take a-fence

A very bad photo of a truly awful fence.
A metaphor for a pretty shabby post on a terrificly* fun day.

I know. I know.  I was going to try and go to sleep with that being my entry for the day and I just can't.  I've just read "Wendy of the Rock" and now I feel I need to put in a bit more of an effort before my head hits the pillow, even though it's already tomorrow.

I'm sure today (yesterday officially) is/was not what it is/was supposed to've been.  I've had too much fun even though much of it is/was punctuated by my dodging and weaving around a migraine.  You see, my girl Jorj is here.  And when Jorj is here there is giggling and lightness and often mayhem.  Also pondering, confusion, reminiscing and general feelings of buoyancy and good will.  

It's a bit like the circus is in town when Jorj comes visiting.

So that's why I haven't had time to write.  I've been having too much fun.  It's not as though we've been swinging from the chandeliers or anything.  Far from it.  Dropped off the motorhome for a service, doctor visit, coffee, pizza lunch at Milo's school, ran a few errands, dinner, hang out the washing, just stuff, you know.  But gosh, what larks stuff can be when it's done with your identical triplet.  As Jorj and I are.  As evidenced by the snap in the previous post.  Born just 5 days apart to completely different families, with completely different ethnic backgrounds, body types, colouring, features and wholly and completely different interests in every way except some music, we are indistinguishable from one another.  It's uncanny.  

We are also conjoined despite the fact that she lives mainly in NSW (but is something of a gypsy now) and I live here in Victoria.  Extraordinary.

So there you have it.  That's my excuse for not writing a post today.  Sorry.  I'll do better tomorrow. 

03 December, 2014

You get what you get but you don't get upset...

Today, despite my best efforts, I did not buy a new dress.  Nor did I buy a pair of neat (or even funky) slacks, or pants or other legwear.  Or a top.  Or a scarf.  Or earrings.  Or a necklace or a bracelet.  Or any footwear, headwear, shapewear, or even underwear.  It could, in fact, be said that I came home empty handed and empty bagged, except that wouldn't strictly be true.  Because I did buy a book.  

The purchase wasn't strictly for me, of course, because the book is for the plane and for the trip to Queensland on Friday for the wedding.  And also, the book isn't the one I wanted to buy today anyway, so it doesn't actually count.*  

So this is where I make my confession.  It is almost impossible for me to walk into a place of books selling (be they old or new) and emerge empty handed.  (There's the most CRACKING thunderstorm going on as I write…).  In my search for the book I was actually after, I came across such jewels that I almost dacked myself, so vigorous was I in shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them a-distance from the itchy credit card in my bag.

If only I were the kind of girl who was as excited by groovy clothes shops (or even knew what some were called or where they were located) as I was by books, then I'd probably be a bit more … oh, I don't know …  I'd have more clothes and fewer books, that's all.  And I'd probably still not have anything to wear to the wedding.** 

*What I was really after was Liam Houlihan's Once Upon a Time in Melbourne. Reviews?  Anyone?
**Even though I do, because I'll wear my nice, black dress that Hollie said'd be fine.  And I believe her.

02 December, 2014

Basketball: When good things go bad.

Our Boys.  The Valiant Runners Up.
Rear:  Alec (Coach) Ollie, Max, AJ, Gus (Coach), Robbie, Harvey
Front:  Caleb, Milo, Jimmy
At the end of the game you could've been excused for thinking there'd been a stabbing  on the court.  The air was so thick you could've cut it.  One of ours and one of theirs had, in the dying seconds, lunged at the ball and collided heavily knocking one another sprawling.  A mother of the other had sprinted onto the court and awkwardly half dragged, half carried the possibly injured, but obviously distressed child off the court, while our lad tried to collect himself while the final siren sounded.  There were poisonous recriminative glances coming from the collected other, directed at our boy.  He'd done it on purpose!  It was clear.  He's a thug.  A bully.  A beast.  

Our brute's mother made her way over and wiped the tears away from his face and offered a warm, comforting hug.  He'd played his heart out.  We'd lost the grand final and he'd been hurt in the dying seconds.  And for his effort those grown ups in the bleachers were collectively shooting him filthy looks en masse while he stood and nursed his aching shoulder.  Sad face.

What we who were observing didn't know at the time was that a giant man-mountain of a man – probably 110kg of muscle (and no sense to speak of) – the father of the other who had collided with our sweet eight year old monster, had approached our boy and threatened that if he ever ran into his son again, he would ensure he'd never again played basketball.

Aha.  Yep.  Because that's what grown ups say to kids at school sporting events.  A huge ginormous man of mega bouncer proportions to a grade two kid.

I can't even believe it.  I don't know what to say.

01 December, 2014

An Eliza Doolittle Moment is Looming...

At the other end of the this week I will be leaping aboard a plane pointed northwards to attend the wedding of my eldest young cousin, to fly the flag for the southern branch of the family.

Everyone is VERY excited.  

Hollie and Matt
To be betrothed on 6.12.2014
Very excited - and so say all of us.

The Groom, Matt, is my uncle Ken's first born and it's the first wedding from that branch of the tree.  (And it's a small family tree.)  Ken's always felt more like a brother than an uncle since he's only 11 years older than me.  And consequently his kids and I have never really had a conventional cousinly camaraderie.  There's a generational time warp and cultural disconnect between all of us that's been inevitable due to the fact that I'm twice their age, ethnic, black-clad Melbourne and they're youthful, Aussie, lamé Gold Coast.  And heck!  I'll try and say this without getting emotional... I'm Blue and they're Bombers – shocking, I know.

So the question has arisen:  what am I going to wear?  My aim is to look nice enough, but not to be notable in the amassed group.

I've got a lovely dress I bought it a couple of years ago and it hasn't had much wear. If the wedding were in Melbourne I'd wear it without a second thought. But me in black to a Gold Coast wedding – particularly with my white glowing calves and I might as well accessorise with a huge neon sign flashing "SOUTH OF THE BORDER".  Not quite the effect I'm after.

I think I'm going to have to go shopping.  

03 October, 2014

Too busy eating my hat...

Ahem, well yes. I take it all back. Andrew is a stirling chap.  Not a thief as it turns out.  Just averse to returning post.  (He's turfed all the other letters that've come for me over the years as it turns out.) 

So I stand corrected, contrite and suitably chagrined. By way of an apology for the defamation I proffered a nice bottle of cabernet savignon, although I didn't explain explicitly why when he said "you shouldn't have". 

So that's that then. Move along. Nothing more to see here. 

Oh, except the movies.

There are Thieves at Riverside Avenue

So, I ordered some DVDs online and after they didn't arrive I chased up the company and discovered that I'd inadvertently had them sent to an old address. Sheeet!

As the parcel hasn't yet been returned "Not known at this address" to the despatch warehouse (and it has now been a couple of months) I can only assume that the tenants at our former residence have made the most of the Robin Williams themed boon that landed upon their doorstep. (Of course, the parcel could have been "lost in the post", but isn't that something that mostly happens in inverted commas, along with "The dog ate my homework." and "The cheque is in the mail."?  Please correct me if I'm being cynical and unjust.)

So today Milo and I went around to said residence – which, by the by is looking very forlorn and neglected – with a charming hand written note and the proof of purchase showing that the DVDs were indeed purchased and paid for by me, and that they were in fact sent to their address and not ours... 

And I did write that I perfectly understood that the residents wouldn't've known what to do with the DVDs [although I didn't say anything about why they would be opening a parcel NOT addressed to them]. 

And I hoped they would've enjoyed watching them. 

But now, since we have made contact and they now DO have my number, I invited them EVER SO SWEETLY to GIVE ME MY GOD DAMNED PROPERTY. Although yes, I said it much more nicer than that.

But the people weren't home, so I left the note under their door. Hmph!

So I wonder if the people will do the right thing. And does anyone know?  Did they break the law by opening a parcel not addressed to them? Can I rightfully label them bounders and thieves? I want to.  I think I will regardless.

Anyway.  Watch this space.  I'll let you know if I hear.

And mental note.  Update your Paypal account to delete old addresses so you don't fall into that trap. It's a bloody bitch.

27 September, 2014

The Night Sky.

27 September 2014
So I had to dash out and grab myself a laksa for dinner since I couldn't eat the meal I'd made for the family (it's a long story) and when I was backing out the driveway, I was confronted by the silver sliver of moon. 

The moon.  The sky.  My refuge.  

Since I was the smallest girl I always imagined our planet to be just an atom in a molecule in a button on the jacket of a giant...completely insignificant in the scheme of things.  And space, space was just the space in between.

After Hec died the space up there represented the place where the spirit in some form resided, but where it wasn't accessible (unless one was going to hit the ouija board or some such - which isn't my thing).  It seemed vast and empty, whilst populated with infinitesimal entities.  So confusing. I was all discombobulation.

Still I kept looking up. And at some stage something switched. I don't know when it happened.  

The sky began to represented all the wonders of the universe and then some.  I had a friend I would sms.  "Look up!" I'd write when the moon was full or the stars were out. Or "Sunset!" when the sky was awash with colours. Urgent with love and optimism, it was overwhelming to know the great infinite expanse above had no limits and that anything and everything everywhere was possible. 

I had to share. 

I have to share. The night sky remains our ever present reminder.

So on nights like this, when I have to dash out for a laksa and I trip over the glorious silver sliver... Aaaaah!

25 September, 2014

What's in a name?

Milo's nearly eight, but he still calls it Penolopy. I know I'll die a little bit when he realises it's not quite right. I really know I will.

23 September, 2014

The wheel of fortune keeps on spinning...

I was thinking about when things come to an end. And no matter which way you turn the situation, or how nostalgic you might try to be about what has been, the thing that lies ahead is just not tenable.

I'd been trying for a while to bring something I've been working very hard on for a number of years to a close in a way that made me feel like I'd done the right thing for everyone. But the more I tried, the further I came from achieving my aim. Until in the end, the end came, but not how I intended. I suspect the end is peppered with ill-feeling, misunderstanding and exhaustion. And I hate that.

So I have mixed feelings on this day. I'm glad it's done. But sad how it's happened. The whole thing's sad really. I'm reminding myself too that someone incredibly wise remarked that everything happens for a reason...

So to change the subject completely, at least I'm overjoyed and distracted by the fact I finally got my printer working. And I have a new star to follow and a strategy to implement: the

relaunch marketing plan.  
Woo hoo!
And that should keep me busy.

21 September, 2014

What do we want? (and) When do we want it?

On the news, they said we were 20,000.  Not a bad start, (Mr Abbott, given you're too busy to get to the Climate Change conference in New York later this year).  It was a beautiful day.  A sunny day and it was an honour to hear Professor Tim Flannery.

An interloper jumped on stage and grabbed the mike at the end of the speeches claiming to be a representative of Leonardo di Caprio.  It was an awkward moment.  No-one knew whether to listen or shuffle him off.  In the end he realised he'd gone further than he ever thought he would and he didn't have anything to say.  So he whooped and urged us all to walk.  It was actually very funny.  And very Australian.

The marching party was very committed (obviously) but wasn't particularly rowdy: it certainly wasn't full of the usual complement of anarchists and ferals. We were instead a sea of very composed and concerned Es for the E (Elders for the Environment), families and more anti (or were they pro) cow Vegans than I ever thought there were.

After lunch and Milo's perfunctory ice-cream (for his throat, of course) I discovered a beautiful but recently deceased native bird by the pool - which due to the recent rains has turned into a swamp.  I armed myself with tissues for the tears that always, always flow whenever I am confronted with handling dead creatures (despite my impeccable technique with plastic bags and tongs which mean I never have to touch or feel anything) and I began disposing of the corpse.

Somehow though I managed to complete the job without shedding a drop.  You see, there were triffids.  They'd taken over the garden beds around the pool. 

I don't know how and I don't know when, but there was no pretending they weren't there.  And there was no way they were staying.  

So with even greater reluctance than tackling the bird, but with slightly greater satisfaction, I slashed, pulled, ripped and tore.  Bare hands.

Did you hear that?  I. Got. Dirt. Under. My. Nails.

I have truly done my duty today.  Civic and domestic.  

Tomorrow I relaunch my business.  These are the days on which tomorrows are founded.  I hope tomorrow will be good.

Tonight I plan to sleep well.

20 September, 2014

Treasure #1

forgotten in my camera until  just now
the Morning Moon, 16 May 2014 @ 0811, from the kitchen looking west

Minecraft. It's hell in there.

It's school holidays.  And Milo's been watching endless videos about the possibilities of Minecraft on the computer as opposed to the limitations of Minecraft on the iPad.  So we did a deal.  If he promised (pinkie swore) to eat his veggies (not bok choy or butternut pumpkin, but everything else) and not to groan when asked to do things and very importantly didn't enter the multiplayer zone (I am eagle eyed) I would download the computer version of the game.

So the deal was done.  I downloaded the game.

But there's a problem with the expletive (and you know by that I mean a short word starting with "f") code.  And I don't know how to fix it.


So instead of having a relaxing afternoon while Dad has taken Milo to the opening of an envelope, or an exhibition, or some such, I am going to be doing battle with something about which I know more than nothing and I will more than likely be very cross.

Glad there will be no-one around to know that the usually very sunny and lovely me has a very dark and angry side.


19 September, 2014

It's been a while but the place hasn't changed a bit...

I'm reading Milo a marvellous book at the moment about Molly Moon who everyone knows has amazing hypnotic abilities.  BUT, in this instalment, she learns how to time travel.

The cover depicts Petula the Pug and Petula the Pug puppy from the past.
It's an inter-dimensional adventure and we like that sort of thing before we go to sleep.

And strangely, as I clicked on the little, much overlooked bookmark button marked PSH (Porter Street House) at the top of my screen I felt just like Molly clutching her red time travel crystal when I saw that my last entry was 12 September 2012!  WHAT THE FLIPPIN' HECK DO YOU MEAN 12 SEPTEMBER 2012?!?  How can that be?  What have I been doing?  Where has the time gone?  What's going on here? 2012? 2-0-1-2?

Once I smoothed my hair and reinstated my teeth, I realised it's been an oh my heavens non-stop, drama-filled 24 months between then and now.  And as I sit on the not-so-white-as-it-was-in-the-last-post-sofa, due to a whole raft of reasons, many of which are upheavals which aren't the most jolly (so one wouldn't really want to broadcast details right now without the risk of floods ensuing) there are a whole lot of exciting changes afoot.

So thanks to W, who herself has just begun to blog, and was the inspiration for my pressing of the PSH button, I am reminded I can come here and chat and tell.

So now the ice is broken, I promise to be back.  And maybe I'll actually say something next time.  Who knows.... Ooooo!