what else they stole

just realised that my big macquarie dictionary was taken, as well as princess's new junior dictionary. now i feel sick again. i LOVED my dictionary. it was a combined birthday present to myself, that i organised, and my family put in the money, a few years ago when i was working as a sub-editor with a publishing company. with that dictionary, i won many a disagreement over word definitions, the most memorable being whether kestrels and petrels are types of birds. one night after dinner at a friend's place, where i was insisting that a petrel was a bird, and she was looking at me as if i was insane, truly insane, i came home, looked it up and texted her straight away.

this is what i wanted to say:

"lk u fuk, i tld u it was! u owe me n aplgy."

what i wrote was:

"hi, i looked it up and petrel is a type of bird [insert definition here, which i don't have cause my dictionary is gone]. so i think you owe me an apology! thanks for dinner, it was great"

i never do the abbreviation thing in text messages, or not conventionally anyway. sometimes i write tmrrw.

i am over text messaging. the phone i have at the moment, while i am ETERNALLY GRATEFUL to the SPUNK WHO HAS LENT IT TO ME, the keys are tiny and i find them annoying. so i am reverting to emails, or just call whoever it is.

but back to my robbery.

what else did they take, and how long will it take me to find out?

yesterday i was worried they might come and steal the gigi.

for those of you who haven't seen the gigi, here she is:
















this is from earlier this year. now she looks like a real lady golden retriever, who is very pale and not golden. she has been doing her thing, that is spreading her love. she is gorgeous and really is a comfort to us when we feel bad. this is not her, but it looks like her. she is prettier though.




















i heard the tail end of an item on the radio yesterday, sounded like a woman had had her dog stolen from outside a shop, where it was tied up. didn't catch the suburb, but she said the police had told her and her husband that it's a bit of a racket. steal a dog. wait for reward to be offered. then call up and say you have "found" the dog. one man apparently went to meet his dog's rescuer with a baseball bat. so now i am paranoid about the gigi. i must relax.

oh, other news. princess and i are moving out. we have found a place with my beloved, and his two children. we are going to do the brady bunch thing, well, more of a semi-bbt, and we sign lease and pick up keys tomorrow. i am having fantasies of dragging my futon over there, so princess, gigi and i can start camping there, away from the bad vibe of here. i have started packing my books - i have 9 medium-sized boxes done already. then there are more boxes of books in the garage. possible more than 9. i am a book freak. and i have to say, having the dictionary stolen is possibly the most hurtful thing that went for me. it's like "don't fuck with my words."

one last thing, last evening my boy and i had dinner at a gorgeous little restaurant, which is like a true italian kitchen, tucked away on an innocuous street, in an ordinary suburb. we had tagliatore sorrentino which was a dish of spaghetti with lobster, scallops and prawns. it was divine. we drank a bottle of white. we nibbled on a gorgeous little pickled starter of tiny onions, serrated-cut vegies and kalamata olives mixed through freshly diced tomato. it was a fab place and i'm not telling you where, because it was already well-patronised, so they don't need the business, and i want to keep it to myself. is that mean? we intend to go there and work our way through the entire menu over a long period. when we are living together we will have to keep the romance alive, of course. fight off that familiarity which can breed pissed-offness and resentment. somehow though, i think we will be fine.

must away to buy big orange gardening garbage bags to start packing clothes etc.

i'm not going to be blogging much over the next two weeks. i have packing to do, and work to push on with. but i will be around.

love to you all. yes, even you. i am working at being in buddhist-mode as much as possible.

mg xxx

what do you think of this?

i heard on the radio that a rugby player's daughter got run over by him accidentally as he was reversing out of his driveway in his 4wd. this was being discussed on the radio yesterday, with experts giving their opinions etc. apparently everyone was blaming the car, because you can't see behind you, or more specifically behind and below you, because of the height and size of the car.

my question is simple:

what was a 19-month-old toddler doing on the driveway behind the car?

was she alone?

i don't want to be an apologist for 4wds. i do drive a rav but i think of it more as a baby 4wd.

but there's something about the public reaction to this that is not right.

open letter to the person who broke through my bathroom window sometime this evening between 5.30 and 8.45

first you used my bottle recycle bin to step up onto once you'd jimmied open my bathroom window, and then climbed in. then you walked around my house, past photos and bills on the table, past my bed, with my pillows plumped. then you took my turquoise and silver ring that my beautiful princess gave me. you also took the vera wang perfume that my beloved gave me. as well as the chanel no. 5 and the christian dior. you took my mobile phone too. my expensive motorola. but it was old. did you realise that? and it wasn't working properly, that's why i wasn't using it.

so there.

you took princess's digital camera, a gift, my slr camera, my dvd player, a gift. also two torches. i mean, didn't you bring your own?

you took my daughter's money box, filled with coins and weighing a ton.

but this is what you DIDN'T get:

my precious brass candlesticks that my great great aunt lizzie brought over on the ship from england. my jewellery that matters. my video recorder. my laptop, cause i take it in the car when i leave.

SO DON'T BOTHER COMING BACK. I HAVE THE STUFF YOU MISSED IN A BOX READY TO TAKE TO MY MUM'S TOMORROW. SHE LIVES UPSTAIRS SO YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO GET IN ANY OF HER WINDOWS.

and this is also what you didn't get:

my spirit.

you made my daughter scared, and cry. you made the other two children with us scared and cry. you have made me unable to sleep just yet. i am here alone. princess sleeps in my bed, she is still but i know in the morning she will still be upset.

the police came, they have found a good print inside the bathroom window, so the prints people are coming tomorrow morning.

DO YOU HEAR THAT? DOES IT MAKE YOU SCARED?

i have to trawl the pawn shops. i have to get the window fixed.

i let my insurance lapse a month ago.

ok so i know you need drugs. times are tough. and really, all that stuff is just stuff. it doesn't really matter. you know what, i could probably find some sympathy, some compassion were you to sit me down and say, look, i am strung out, i need money. but you invaded my home, and you just helped yourself.

oh well. it sucks, but it's ok.

just don't come back. i'm tying the bathroom door handle to the one that leads into the kitchen with rope, so you won't be able to get in that way. i'll be on alert, like back in the breast-feeding days, when a mere whisper of breath in the next room had me up and ready to move. i'll be listening. i'll be wondering. but i won't be scared.

mayday, mayday, urgent assistance required. please SOS, wee oo, wee oo, wee oo, wah, wah, wah, beeeeeeeep, beeeeeeeeeeeep.

now i realise this may completely undo all the gold stars you have been giving me, completely on trust, over my last post about what a nutritional goddess i am, with regards to princess's upbringing

BUT now i will confess i have allowed something quite saccharine, full of preservatives and artificial badness to come into our lives

NEIGHBOURS

yes, we have started watching neighbours. we have watched about four episodes now, but not consecutively.

so tonight we watched neighbours and i have some questions. because princess kept saying things like:

"why doesn't she like him?" and "what's the secret they are keeping from those kids?" "mummy, tell me what's going on!"

and i'm shushing her and saying "I CAN'T HEAR" and "LET ME WORK IT OUT AND THEN I'LL EXPLAIN TO YOU!!"

so i would really appreciate some help to get me up to speed so i can fill her in on what's the go.

i remember some of the names from years ago, so it makes me seem like i know more than i do.

1. why does... oh shit, where's my bit of paper where i wrote down my questions, let me go and get it.

okay:

1. why do Joe and Janelle hate each other? are they brother and sister, or exes?

2. what is Susan's problem with her friend? (This is the guy who is Zeke and Rachels' father?) Is he a goodie or a baddie? Does she know the whole story?

3. i know this goes back a way, but why did Carl and Susan break up.

also, if anyone could give me a groups precis, ie who belongs to who family wise.

much appreciated.

for real

things that some kids take to school for lunch:

* fairy bread (100s and 1000s in a sandwich)

* lolly bags

* chips

lolly bags!?

this is what my daughter took today:

* sliced rissole with tomato sauce sandwich - sourdough
* one apple
* one banana
* one half salada with vegemite, no butter
* one cheese stick
* water

is she deprived? she knows that what they are taking is crap and she is [almost] as horrified as me. she knows that it's a case of their parents not loving them enough [ok, i admit to slight brainwashing and propoganda here]. she also knows that these parents can't say NO to their kids. or are irresponsible. or stupid. or lazy. or negligent. or...

so, because i don't want her to grow up on the outer of the school clique, you know, that can be horrible, she has to feel she can belong [and this is usually not achieved by her giving free nutrition seminars to her classmates at playtime], this is my compromise:

* vegie chips [she gets these once in a blue moon, and she is thankful. so thankful]

and when she has a lunch order every second friday, i let her have a... doughnut, or a gingerbread man.

i am disgusted with parents who let their kids eat this crap.

THERE IS NO EXCUSE

WHO IS THE PARENT IN THE RELATIONSHIP?

WHO IS IN CONTROL OF THE HOME? THE SHOPPING LIST?

this is party food. it should be eaten at parties. not at school. every day. for lunch and play lunch.

grrrrrrrrrrrrrr

honey, i take it all back

for over a year i have been ragging my man about his car. it's a real boy car. it's bright, big and has turbo. it takes off so fast, and makes a different noise to my rav. and it's got a spoiler. i hate spoilers. it's impractical for a family which we are becoming - the three kids squish in the back and bicker.

BUT THEN

a couple of weeks ago, i drove it for the first time.

i'd been calling it the beast, in a slightly derisory way, but you know that way when there's something more to it?

that something more was envy i think. turbo envy.

this is what happened the first time i drove it:

my thoughts: ok, so i've gotta move the seat forward, well he is tall. my man. ok, so there we go, key goes in there, start her up, okay, just like my car. adjust the rear view mirror. i'm glad it's an auto, if it was manual i'd be dangerous, i have never really told him i used to like to drive really fast, what do you mean never really, you mean never.

well it does sound a bit louder, all right i'm turning right here, oh yeah, this is comfortable, and i feel so powerful, i can feel it... what happens when i press the accelerator just a little more, omigod feel THAT!! and what's that POPPING NOISE??!! is that the TURBO??? let me get onto dandenong road, i'll be able to go 70 there, i wish i could take it on the hume, this baby would FLY. oh wow, it's a low ride but i'm feeling really STRONG and ALIVE

it's exhilarating, to have this POWER, this SPEED. what a RUSH
[melbourne girl pulls up at the lights, face flushed]

[tradesman in car next to her whistles at her through the open window]

[light turns green, melbourne girl drags him off, laughing with joy]

do you have a need for speed? (and i don't mean pharmaceutically speaking)

DISCLAIMER - PARTS OF THIS STORY ARE UNTRUE. ESPECIALLY THE BIT ABOUT THE TRADESMAN, WHISTLE AND DRAGGING OFF.

what do you make of this? the old back-handed compliment

i have 8 minutes to write this and then go and pick up princess and her friend from school. friend is coming back for a play.

yesterday morning i saw a friend of mine. a girlfriend. she is older than me, and single, and depressed. just to put it in context. also, she is turkish so she has little hope of marrying again unless her parents find her a man, which they have refused to do.

as soon as she saw me, she was telling me how great i was looking, how well, how my skin was glowing, asking how my bf was, and i told her really good, we are going really well, and she said my HAIR was looking great, and i said i'd had it done, that's why

and then she said, have you put on weight?

at that moment i was cramming into my mouth a lovely little ricotta and polenta cake-y thing her mum had made, and was about to have a sip of my turkish coffee.

chewing with bits of crumbs falling out, i said "maybe, i don't know"

she said, "keep it like that, it suits you"

i will leave you with this, please let me know if you have friends who do this to you

it's annoying isn't it?

it's a fuck funy

this is what has been tickling me nicely the last day or so. kranki has a wizard staying with him, and he can do all sorts of magic.

it is, as a mediterranean friend i once knew, who seems to have gone awol, would say, a fuck funy.

my hair

[consider this a whisper: it's been a tough week in our family because of a death. i have been grappling with how to balance my blogging. when i write full-on posts it seems people don't comment. perhaps they are too confronted? or it's boring? i am just trying to connect. i am reading other people's blogs and they are great. perhaps that's where i can find my comfort. and not expect to find it here. here can be where i purge... perhaps. anyway today i am writing on the superficial. it's not so scary for people perhaps. hair. we all have it.]

i have got the thickest hair. any hairdresser i have ever been to comments like this:

"you have got SO much hair"

or sometimes this:

"your hair is SO thick"

my favourite hairdresser jeff called it horse's hair the first time i went to him. luckily he picked me and my sense of humour, and my reasonably unshakeable self-esteem. this is why i still go to him, because he knows hair, his wife has hair like mine, and he knows how to cut it.

however, i have been growing it long the last four years or so, so he hasn't been cutting it, just colouring it. then when i became a full-time student 18 months ago, i started to do the colouring myself. it's not great, but it works for me. i even cut it myself the other day. i had all these dried ends so i divided my hair [dry] as if i was to plait it, then pulled one clump forward over my shoulder, snip with these huge shears. same with the other clump. [i can hear girls wailing in horror right now]. but it looks fine. and got rid of those nasty ends. and it didn't cost.

then on saturday i went to a girlfriend's hairdresser just for a wash and blow. she blowdried it the best i've ever had. it is flat. it is sleek. it is shiny. everything that my normal hair is not.

everyone says how good it looks. how young i look. princess keeps saying i should get it done like this every week. i see in her eyes how she wants her mummy to have nice hair like the other mummies. instead of horse's hair.

so i am duly not washing it until it becomes so itchy, until my scalp is screaming.

care to hair-share? what have you done to your hair?

tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? [words of mary oliver, poet]

the angel of death is in the room. what is she doing here?

i am unsettled, uncomfortable, as her warm feathered wings caress my wet cheek, a lifting of hair on the soft breeze. her wings are as dark as a night-time ocean.

she is not here for me, nor mine, who i hold so dear. they are my precious, precious jewels. not here for us, not yet.

she is here, not as a guest, not welcome, but a one who cannot be refused. she chooses where she goes, and to whom she visits.

she is here as a reminder, of the fragility of life. she sits beside me and whispers, lips not moving.
she tells me that my brother's best friend is gone. he died in the middle of the night, at 3am, the darkest and loneliest time, the time when our souls sometimes slip out of our bodies as we sleep. they breathe away, over the landscape to the places of the mind where perhaps they join a dream, of giggling lightness and fancy, or perhaps to hellish nightmare, where you find yourself alone, cold, unloved.

we don't know what happened to him. there are questions.

why is it that it's only when a person dies, suddenly, that you fully consider them, contemplate their existence in a way that you didn't the day before, or a week ago. sure, other people are in your life, right up in your face sometimes, or hovering at the side. but it's not until they die that you begin to tell the stories about them, the memories, the lived realities that you shared. the rhapsodising, the building of their image, the one you will keep with you forever. you are burying them with your words, and their body may still be warm, the spirit only just departed. this can seem indecently hasty.

this doesn't happen if your loved or liked one leaves slowly, like when there is illness. then you are lucky, yes lucky, to have time, if there is the will and the words, to do the consideration and to tell that person how you will remember them. to have those difficult and emotional conversations, and to tell them that you love them.

i have told my mother that it will hit me with such force, and perhaps bring me to my knees, that at the moment she dies i will feel so alone. and i will be motherless, an awful thing for a person of any age.

i have told her how much i love her, many times more in the last five years of her cancer, than i did previously. i tell her how beautiful she is, her skin transluscent and relaxed, her smile soft, her laugh girlish. her eyes light up with pleasure when i tell her this, and she loves it.

she loves me.

but when someone goes suddenly, it's even crueller. it's all cruel, but on the old cruelty scale there are notches, degrees of awfulness.

what is the lesson?

live each moment, tell people you love them, OFTEN. be kind to people, let them be kind to you. work every day at developing a kind and loving heart.

goodbye richard.

professor harold winter and michiko ozuka

last week i was at a conference at melbourne university. it was a linguistics conference. it went from sunday to wednesday, and i was getting a little over it by tuesday afternoon when something incredible happened.

i was sitting in the back row of one of the seminar rooms to hear a presentation on 'social networks and language learning: a case study of learners of japanese in australia', i noticed the couple again, in front of me and a little to the right. i had seen these two at a few sessions, but now they took my interest. it was an older man, with crumpled suit, grey brushed back hair, big ears and dirty spectacles sitting next to a gorgeous japanese girl, who was immaculately dressed, perfectly coiffed, petite and feminine.

nothing that odd about it, i hear you say. just a supervisor with his pretty student, his pet du jour perhaps. yes that's what i thought. i was imagining every year he leaves his dried-up old wife to her roses and takes his favourite masters or phd student to conferences. perhaps he has independent means, and they stay in wonderful hotels, they wine and dine, he buys her jewellery in the royal arcade when in melbourne, pearls in perth, you know how it is. she is flattered, and demure, and too scared to stop him when he drunkenly propositions her on the second night.

but then, as i sat there, she wrote something on her note pad and showed it to him.

i could see the words; they were no pan.

michiko smiled at him, and he shifted in his seat.

i could not believe it. i lived in japan for a few years and heard about the no pan bars - places where hostesses would wear short skirts and no underwear so their clients could be aroused by the thought and sight of a flash of quim.

was she really wearing no undies?

was this possible, that this staid looking yet dirty old man was romancing her to the point that she was being provocative like this? actively engaging in the situation?

[2012 note - this is funny. I can't remember if this is real or fiction. I suspect it's fiction, though I was at a conference at that time. Probably it was so boring I started to think about other things.]

the meme - line 5, posting 23

missed it by that much. the orgasm post i mean, that was number 22.

for those of you who missed it, it's at thursday july 14 on this page
[blatant plug, i know]

but for the real one, just to satisfy clokey

it's here at july 18th, where i was remembering frankie, an old aquaintance from years ago who died recently. drank and pilled herself to the grave, and the horrible thing was, everyone who knew her woul have been watching it, like in a slow motion dream. she was on her way all those years ago.

this was line 5:

he was the drummer in a band, that played mildly amusing but very childish songs about poo and football

strangely, i listened to this band on cd a couple of weeks ago, when visiting my brother. he was the hot guitarist in said band. mikey was wearing a chef's costume on the front cover. poor guy, his life has been turned upside down by this.

this posting was heartfelt. i was writing as i thought about how fragile life is, how close we all of us can be to the edge. i remember another friend of mine saying it was frightening how close we all are to that thin line. i didn't really know what she was talking about at the time. she had spent time in a 'health facility' to help her with her madness, her psychosis. she and her then husband had created a weird and scary situation which has a french name and i can't think of it right now [anyone?] where they thought she was going to give birth to a messiah. seriously.

but now i can see how close we all can be. life can be snuffed out in an instant. and that scares me.

the other thing about this post was it received nice comments from fellow bloggers, even the self-absorbed and aloof monsieur maze. this was back when he talked to me. before he was 'famous'. you know how it is.

so here's to a beautiful sunny day. gigi has been walked. the dog next door is... barking. and i have to write two pages of my thesis. just two. to get going on the long journey.

and it has to start today.