Christmas Prep

It's Christmas next week.  It seems it has just crept up on us and like an alarm the beeping is getting louder; it's almost here!

I have many pre-Christmas memories.  Some years I was caught wrapping presents until the wee hours of Christmas morning.  Yes but not anymore.  All our presents are wrapped days in advance if not weeks!

I have previously been the one seen wandering the aisles of department stores unable to decide between the ladies pamper pack and the manicure set as they close the doors on Christmas Eve.  In haste I pick up both and scoop up numerous other gifts while bolting for the check out!

Like the wrapping that has also been sorted.  Yes all the presents have been bought, sorted and wrapped and placed under the tree.

The small tree complete with optic fibre branches which sparkle and change colour, keeps our attention.  The paper chains have been strategically arranged.  An interesting array of singing and talking Christmas animals and Santa adorn the buffet where the Christmas cards fall off at the whisper of a breeze through the window.

It promises to be a hot Christmas.  The weather bureau suggests it will be 35 degrees.  Stinking hot, I am not impressed.

I have a problem with everything almost done my mind is in overdrive and today after attending my second Christmas party in two days I am washing windows.  Not just the inside but also the outside.  My reason?  They are dirty, dusty and other descriptive words.

I washed all the windows and doors at the back of the house.  Tomorrow I will do the front of the house. It is only one storey, thank goodness!

Tomorrow it will be 40 degrees (Celsius), I am not looking forward to it.  You can't have dirty front windows and clean back windows.  Can you?

Then I figured the dead ants which I sprayed two years ago with fly spray are still stuck on the cornice above the exhaust fan and should be finally laid to rest.  (If you visit pretend you can't see them, no one else have mentioned them).  It means a ladder job and balancing all of me on the gas hob.  Not looking forward to that either.  Clean windows, clean cornices. 

I refuse to think about cleaning the pantry.  It will have to wait hopefully until next Christmas!

After the cleaning comes the cooking.  Shortbread star cookies, more cakes to try and lots of yummy Christmas food!

      

Wine Tasting Diet

My poor health resulted in no exercise and a more than healthy appetite.   My scales snickered at me, it wasn't good! With Christmas parties and get togethers looming there was nothing to do but admit defeat and begin dieting.

I began the day yesterday by taking Merv to the local shops which had advertised a full-on market in the car park.  My first stop was wine tasting.  Not a good start to the diet.  During the rest of the day I munched through salad veggies, delighted in lean protein and finished the day with a chocolate biscuit.  I lost 600 grams, I was stoked.

I began to think about the whole dieting thing.  When did it begin for me?  I remember the kids were only toddlers when I bought my first fad diet book, 'New Beverley Hills Diet.'  It was crazy.  I can't remember if I got results.  I can only remember buying fruit from the farmers market.  The owner offered me some fruit to taste and I refused it because it wasn't an allowable fruit that day.  He questioned my diet and shook his head.  If only I had done the same.

In 2012 I began a committed relationship with protein shakes, mainly the OPTIFAST ones.  I didn't like the taste but I did lose 5kgs.  I plateaued and Dustin suggested, 'Body Trim.'  He had recently lost 5kgs on it.  I dug in my heels and also lost 5kgs but I became bored with eating so much protein. 

Mel was also on a weight loss regime and had joined Weight Watchers.  It was a god-send for her.  She has lost over 18kgs since February 2013.  I also put into practice the pro-points program and lost further weight.  Before 2012 I would lose 5kgs or more but after whatever reason I lost it for I soon stacked it back on.  I needed a better plan and stopped making the goal an upcoming event but a life long commitment.

I lost 12kgs in total and though I have put on a kilo or two over the last couple of years it is not difficult to become inspired and lose it and get back to my goal weight.  The hard work was losing the 12kgs and committing to keep it off.
I wrote a list of the crazy diets I have tried in the last thirty years, fifteen altogether.
The Cabbage Soup Diet was a community craze.  There wasn't a cabbage to be bought anywhere and while we gobbled down our soup we craved for food we could chew instead of slurp.  The craze was short lived.

Then I stumbled accidentally on the Blood Type Diet.  It said lamb was good for me.  Lamb and I are close friends; roast lamb, lamb chops whatever comes my way.  The diet didn't make sense to me so I gave this one away as well.

The Low GI diet seemed a sensible diet which wouldn't change my habits to the extreme.  It, like many of the others was short lived.  I returned to munching on chocolate and sipping numerous glasses of wine.

I have thrown out all my ‘big’ clothes and promised myself not to return to my former 2012 weight.  So far so good.  As for all those crazy diets, they provided me with a laugh, crazy memories and the authors; a better bank account!

 

No Crime Please

As we waited for my X rays to develop we share our family news.  My dentist George is now in his 70's, except for his weathered appearance you wouldn't know.  We chatted about a range of topics and somehow we strayed to house burglaries and local news.
We bemoaned the attack of an elderly man in his own house by a trio of young thugs.  They beat him, ransacked his house and stole a paltry $15.  The elderly gentleman is too scared to return to his house.  We agreed such things happen far too often in our otherwise friendly city.  It was a senseless act of violence and thuggery. We shared our personal burglary stories.  I recounted the much told story of how both my wedding and engagement rings were stolen when we went out for dinner one night many years ago.  Not long after we had a security alarm installed.  Fortunately we have not had a break in since.  George had similar tales to tell.
The X rays developed and George diligently inspects the results.  He tells me my infection is still licking my gums and more penicillin will need to be prescribed.  My tooth is cracked and is in need of repair but today I am saved from the dreaded drill.  I sigh with relief but I know it will be short lived.  I have an appointment for next month!

We discuss other things after losing our line of thought of the victimised old man.  We do not bother to offer solutions for our aimless youth.  We have both heard it all before and know there are answers but we neither have them or know how to implement them. 

We both know many young people who live good lives, work and study hard and are a joy to their families. 
I leave the surgery and George carries on with his work. 
I take Mel to an appointment an hour later and crime once again is discussed.  It just happens, I can't remember what initiated it. I know we should look out for each other and be concerned about the issues before us but is there nothing good or inspiring to talk about?   Too much crime chat in one day.  I am looking for something good to say. I just want to live happily and safely in a caring and supportive community.

The Door Rattle

The sun had long ago cast it final shadow.  The night had no moon to show the way.  I had given up on anyone at my door.  I was comfortable in my recliner lounge chair when abruptly the security door began to rattle and voices boomed out.
   I knew what to expect but I had hoped it would not be so late.  With confidence I opened my front door expecting older children, even teenagers.  There stood before me were two little mites shouting out, 'Trick or Treat.'  They didn't appear to be any older than three or four.  I turned on the porch light and noted their Dad standing a few feet away.  Usually I just give away the lolly pops which I have ready at the door before wishing them well and closing the door.  Tonight I directed a question at the adult standing in the darkness.  I mentioned they were so young to be out so late at night. I suggested a torch. I noted they made a lot of noise and could scare the elderly ladies living alone further down the road.
   I could hear their Mum further away thanking me for the lollies.  I did not reply.  In previous years the little mites will come knocking on the door hours before darkness with their parents standing on the road to ensure they are safe.  Some parents come to the door.  I am happy to pop lollies in their bags and smile nicely at them.

   My kids were too big by the time Halloween became fashionable in Australia.  I never had to worry about Halloween outfits, lolly bags and door knocking.  I like to think we wouldn't have participated, but I am not entirely sure.  Australia appears to have embraced the Halloween celebrations.  Older Australians find it questionable and often scary.  Even Merv was subjected to Halloween celebrations at the HD club on Wednesday.  The staff dressed in scary outfits, complete with make-up.  He came home with a plastic spider on a cotton wool web on his shoulder.  He was not impressed and the spider went in the bin.
    I continued to think about the little kids rattling on my door.  What if a total stranger invited them into their house, no matter how innocent it maybe?  How would the parents hiding behind the hedge or standing in the road react?  Would the children be marched back home with an ongoing fear of what had started out as an innocent outing?

    Memories of my Brownie Days (Girls Guides) brought back the dangers of door knocking.  It was called 'Bob-a-Job,' 10cents (a shilling in those days) for each job which helped the home owner. Innocently I was knocking on doors in my local area.  Selling my services as a; car washer, sweeper, dishwasher or whatever the home owner had in mind.  This was the years long before selling Girl Guide cookies became popular. I was fortunate I was given jobs suitable to my small size and strength.  My only bad experience was being bitten by a dog keeping guard at his front door.  There was no one home at the time.  I was always proud when we handed in our little envelopes stuffed with shillings at our weekly meetings. 

    No longer can we safely subject our children to this style of fundraising.  It has long ago been replaced with selling confectionery, raffle tickets and sporting events.  I am happy to donate
    There is ongoing discussion on how today’s children are wrapped in cotton wool and not allowed to go out and explore their world.  I know when my children were primary school age I always had to know where they were.  It was a long time before mobile phones.  I did allow them to walk to their friend’s house but never in the dark.  Today many children are driven everywhere or a parent or older sibling will walk with them. 
    How far is too far? We are often confused.  We want our children to grow up to be independent and able to think for themselves. Unfortunately we hear continuously on the news about predators enticing children and teenagers into their cars, parks or homes.  There is no easy answer.

 

Never Get Lost

I laughed, had this man forgotten about social media?  His throwback question was not so relevant for today’s world.
Sean asked; 'What if we were marooned here with a broken boat with only each other and little else?  The last apple and cinnamon muffin had been consumed by hungry tourists. Lunch seemed a long way off but we thought about his not so relevant question.
I shouted out; "I had Optus coverage a few minutes ago, I would just ring emergency services!"  The man behind me confirmed my outburst, stating he had received all of his messages before morning tea.  Sean rolled his eyes and soldiered on with his question time.
"What way would you walk out of here?" he persisted after a few more leading questions.  Answers came from all directions and it was agreed we would head west towards Augusta the nearest town where rescuers would be found.

My fear of being lost stems from a school excursion in my early primary school years.  We had gone to the beach for a school excursion and somehow I had wandered from the group and found myself alone. I began to cry and two old ladies (everyone is old when you are young) pointed out my school group heading for the bus. I scampered up the beach as fast as I could go and was at the end of the line before I was even missed.  I had visions of living on the beach for years to come with no one to help me.  It is a story never shared until this day. The deep dark secret of inattentive childhood!

Needless to say getting lost anywhere, anytime is my number 1 'no, no!'

People who suggest it being a possibility soon lose their favour with me.  My new, 'Map My Walk,' app gives me much mis-guided confidence. It works by GPS and gives me a little map of where I have already walked.  My Google Maps app shows me where I'm going and even how long it will take me to arrive!  Miss Google Maps has a sadistic habit of taking me half way around the country to reach my destination, adding hours upon my otherwise short journey. I gather she does this in revenge. I am sure her job is on the line and she no longer cares.

Back to Sean on his sinking boat. No one else has mentioned the life- saving benefits of a EPIRB; compulsory equipment on boats.  They have successfully guided emergency services to many a boat in distress.   Sean rolls his eyes again.

Next time I book a cruise I will ask about their safety equipment and make sure my mobile has coverage.

Getting lost and the ramifications will never be an option for me!

on the sandbank with the ocean in front of us

The ocean to the left and the boat is on the sandbank of the Donnelly River mid-picture

Inside the Donnelly River Cruise Boat
 



Respite without Joy

I have spent weeks, maybe even months getting ready for today. 

A day to get everything ready, to check everything, to pack everything and make sure Merv has everything because today he goes into respite for two weeks which allows me to have a little 'me time.'

This has been happening twice a year for four years.  I used to take it for granted.  I travelled or just sat somewhere.  Just being what I said to my counsellor:  normal.  Normal people don't wash their spouses, clean their teeth and never have the choice to ask for their help.  Or maybe I am wrong.

I read magazines with amazing stories of people overcoming their disabilities and the joy they bring.  I find it difficult to find joy. 

Merv has Huntington's Disease, a challenging degenerative disease.  His health has declined steeply in the last six months.  His mobility is declining.  I wonder what the person in the street thinks as Merv stumbles by.  Only the other day he got up from his recliner and lost his balance bringing the side table crushing to the floor.  Fortunately he was better off than the table, which has been demoted to the bin after a crack the width of the table disabled it completely. 

Merv looked at my sheepishly as I helped him off the floor.  I suggested he used the lift chair for what it is!  The lifting part will help him stabilise his balance. I smile to myself. It is a good sign he can think and fight and not give in.

We were twenty minutes late in arriving for his respite.  I had packed his suitcase, wrapped a seatbelt around his shower chair (yes, we are asked to bring our own), dissected his wheelchair into little bits only to put it all together once we arrive.  I collected a pile of books and magazines for him to look at, none of them library books which would never be found again.  Our local library sells non fiction books a couple of times a year.  Merv has varied interests of not only sports and footy but Australia and places around the world we have visited together.  Books on these places are eagerly sought.

I almost forgot the tray of iced chocolate cupcakes I had cooked and frozen on Saturday.  A last moment memory.  I had no room in the car so I rested the tray on the upside down shower chair in the back seat.

When we arrived at respite I spoke with the staff and went through Merv's updated care plan and how to use the new Safe Straws to prevent the scary choking incidents of the last few months.

I emptied his suitcase, hanging his clothes in the wardrobe and finding a home for everything else.  I took him by the hand and showed him where to find his clothes and his beloved treasures.

I kiss him goodbye and hope for the best.  I pass the baton and move away.

I drive to Mel's house.  We are off on the bus to Pemberton tomorrow for a few days.  We have planned a wildflower tour and a boat cruise on the Donnelly River. 

It's going to take me a few days to relax and enjoy, but I know this time around it's a bit more difficult.

It Happened to Me

I was like a noisy mouse scuttling from one room to another.  Shuffling through papers, looking behind the dressing table, checking the same places over and over again.  Where did I put it?

It's not the first time I've been in such turmoil.  I have a four drawer filing cabinet but I still spectacularly lose things of great importance.

The house deeds are in the safe, I am sure of that, along with our passports and even my Singapore pearls (which I forgot to wear to my nephew's wedding).  I have made a mental note to wear them to Dustin's wedding next year, at least I hope!

Last night I was looking for Merv's blood test form.  There are two forms, one in my sweaty agitated hand while the other successfully evaded my hunting instincts.  With every fibre of my being I was going to find that elusive form, there would be no sleep until it lay together on the kitchen table with its other page!

The strange thing is when you are looking for something specific you find other items that you didn't even realise were missing!

During my hunt I found the wedding cupcake and buttercream recipes.  I put them on yet another pile ready for filing, possibly never to be seen again!

I stood, I thought, I retraced my steps, well the thousand steps I have taken since the GP scribbled out the blood test form and like Hercule Poirot I narrowed my search down.  I picked up my jewellery box and spied a plastic A4 envelope hiding underneath.  It looked promising.  Not only was the wayward blood test form folded within, it shared the space with maps of England and other non-related bits and bobs.  I have no idea why. What possessed me?  I will probably never know.

I rejoiced in my victory and sighed as I checked the time.  It was long after my bedtime and a busy day beckoned me tomorrow.

I make a mental note to file (in my four drawer filing cabinet) important papers from now on.  I then pick up a pile of papers and shove them in the bottom of my stationery cupboard.  I sigh and get ready for bed.

I could do with my own filing clerk, possibly a secretary?  Ridiculous, I know, but my mind wanders and thinks about an app to help people like me!  I already have a name for it and a marketing strategy; I just don't know how to create my, 'De-Clutter app.'

 

Fundraising

Life is full of twists and turns, mostly when you're not prepared; definitely when you're not looking!  I thought long and hard about my fundraising efforts in my not so short life.  I have flashbacks of myself as a young woman standing on a street corner rattling a tin for the Asthma Foundation.  Both kids suffered ongoing asthma from a very young age.  Melanie was in Princess Margaret Children's Hospital over forty times until she was twelve, twice in ICU.  I know I rattled that tin at least once, I am not so sure about the following year.

I have cooked umpteen cup-cakes for school fetes and manned the stalls with passionate vigour! I have been involved in car washes for church fundraising, more cake stalls, quiz nights, movie nights and the list goes on.

In 2007 I joined an inspired group of walkers at my work.  We completed the 12kms City to Surf fundraiser at the end of August to raise funds for ACTIV.  Was this the beginning of my passion for walking?

I joined a local Lions Club in 2009 and became involved in fundraising once again.  Fortunately a lot of their fundraising came from a weekly flea market (mainly second hand goods) but there was always something to get excited about.

The not for profit organisation I worked for in the last few years held a few fundraisers.  The Easter Fair at the local river park was the biggest.  I encouraged volunteers to fill shifts, writing their names on my roster sheet.  They willingly filled countless balloons with helium, sold handmade crafts and advertised our role in the local community.  It was fun on the day but a lot of hard work beforehand.  The end result made all the preparation worth-while.

Next year I am on a fundraiser of a lifetime.  I am not doing it alone.  Big sister and possibly little sister and I are walking across England (yes, not a typing mistake) from west to east.  Next July we are booked to complete the Wainwright Walk, a staggering 304km walk through the beautiful Lake District, over rugged mountainous hills to the Yorkshire Moors and finally to Robin Hood Bay on the east coast. 

Big sister says she has longed to complete the walk for a few years and decided to make it so much more by fundraising for Huntington's WA.  After hearing her plan, I quipped, "Can I come too?" 

The stage was set, the preparation wheel is turning.  The training has begun!
Today with a slight patter of rain we began our first training walk in Whiteman's Park, a large park reserve in Perth's northern suburbs. 

Big sister had her map ready; we had our hiking gear and poles at the correct height.  Off we went but no matter how many times we consulted our printed map we ended up going the wrong way!  We laughed hysterically as we realised we were just going around in circles!  After walking for two hours we headed back to the car park.

Big sister and I are both very grateful we have booked a guided walk next year.  Otherwise we shudder at the thought of where we could end up!

Our first hike together

 

The Promise

A marriage proposal is a promise between two. 

A few weeks ago Dustin proposed to his girlfriend Grace and she was happy to accept.  Last week they held a lunch at a local restaurant to celebrate their commitment.  It had me thinking about what love means today.  No one bats an eyelid when a couple announce they are going to move in together.  Many stay together for years, sometimes forever without taking it further.
 
On the other hand when a marriage proposal is offered and accepted the world becomes a crazy place.  Whether the planned wedding is large and expensive or small and homely there are ongoing plans and decisions to be made.
A down to earth couple suddenly becomes engrossed in everything white, romantic and grossly overpriced! 

My memory takes a sideways slant as I relive our time in Beijing in 2009.   A young Chinese couple were photographed in the Hutong area in full western bridal attire.  I asked our guide where they would have married.  In a temple, a church or a garden setting?   He replied they would be getting married in a few days, it is their tradition to have their photos taken beforehand!  An interesting twist to a western tradition. 

Merv and I will be celebrating our 38th anniversary later this year.  Our wedding was small and personable.  I hired my wedding dress to reduce costs.  There is nothing I regret. Even our not so glamorous honeymoon.  We travelled to the south west staying in cheap hotels and finished in a two man tent for a night.  Merv began wheezing due to the cold night air and we spent most of the night sitting in the car.  Fortunately his asthma disappeared a few years later!

My nephew is soon to marry his bride in a 'pop -up' wedding.  A glammed up registry office wedding at a fraction of the cost of many weddings.  I like the idea.  It provides a beautifully memorable ceremony which allow the couple to put their hard earned money to life's necessities. My two sisters and I are flying interstate to attend.  Pop up weddings are new to Australia and we are excited to witness our nephew's wedding.  Will the pop up just be a fad?  Time will tell.  Marriage itself will never be a fad.  It is here to stay, to enjoy and to remember.

To Tell or Not

Everyone laughed when Paul Hogan in the movie Crocodile Dundee responded to the question of counselling.  He flippantly remarked in his home town in outback Australia if you have a problem you tell Wally and he tells everyone in town. This brings it out in the open, and results in no more problem!  I had always agreed with this remark.  That was until four years ago.

I first saw a counsellor in 2010 after Merv became ill.  I could not stop crying.  I cried throughout the day, I cried at work, I cried at night.  I cried for four months and then I stopped.  I haven't cried since.  Not because the counsellor, 'fixed me' but with her help I was able to deal with my suddenly changed life in a less emotional way.

We all knew one day Merv would become ill.  He was tested almost twenty years ago when we found out he was HD positive.  As early as 2008 I could see the writing on the wall, there were signs.  I pretended he would just keep on going, but he didn't.  He became unwell and I fell apart.

A counsellor was suggested and I accepted because I suddenly found myself unable to cope.  Kate was lovely.  I thought at first she was too young, she was about thirty.  She seemed so young, what did she know?  Kate turned out to be an angel.  She listened to me as I cried; she gave me strategies to make life bearable again.  She helped me through my trauma.

Kate applied for another job elsewhere and soon she was gone.  I had stopped crying and putting her strategies to work I carried on with life, but I was sad to see her go.

Four years later during one of Merv's many service reviews the question was again raised.  Do I want counselling?  I took some time to think about it.  Much has changed in Merv's life in the last four years.  It's time to talk about it.

Yesterday I met with another counsellor.  Just like Kate, she was calming, listened well and gave me feedback.  I didn't cry.  I will see her again.

It is good to talk with family and friends about my life and receive their love and support.  I can't do without it. 

My counsellor can see things which I can't and maybe others close to me find difficult to share.

                                                              

Sassy Subi

This morning I took the train to Subiaco to catch up with a friend.  We met in a cosy coffee shop, taking possession of a corner table as the warming winter sun danced upon our table. We chatted about our lives, our dreams, our kids, even our coffee while the streams of people outside walked, sauntered or beat the footpath to their next stop. Our conversation entertained us. We enjoyed our coffee and shared half a raspberry and white chocolate muffin of mammoth proportions.  Our hour together passed quickly and we parted promising to do it all over again sometime in the future.


Sassy Subiaco

I had promised myself a walk along Rokeby Road in the warm winter sun.  The main shopping precinct in Subiaco.  In my youth (oh so long ago) Subiaco was a poor cousin of the affluent surrounding suburbs.  Years later an influx of younger people, the well known yuppie population bought numerous brick or weatherboard Victorian houses, renovated them into lustre gems and Subiaco was reborn with a much improved price tag.  One real estate
 agent advertises Subiaco as;
'Stylish Subiaco - Subi to her friends - is a sassy inner-city neighbourhood just west of downtown Perth.' 

Along with the new price tag came multitudes of villas, townhouses and apartments.  Once boring Subiaco was reborn.  While Rokeby Road is no Rodeo Drive it boasts a eclectic range of boutiques, cafes, book shops and quirky shop fronts.  



My bargain buy

I was drawn into one of the quirky shops which appeared to have been invaded by anyone and everyone passing by.  It was like a Myer Christmas Sale!  The biggest surprise of all was this overflowing shop is a well-known second hand store, Good Sammy's.
Thinking it was overrun by grey haired grannies I did a double take.  A young girl on school holidays was rummaging through a cardboard box as she was calling to her friend.  She pulled out a tiny green bikini with great delight.  A young man held up a beige overcoat for his girlfriend's approval.  There were young men everywhere carefully selecting their second chance clothes. Mothers and their children (its school holidays) rummaged through the boxed games, bangles and jewellery.  I was caught up in the excitement and found myself rummaging through the handbags.  Mel goes through a handbag every six months.  I have bought her handbags worth over $100 and they last no longer.  I find an amazing brand new specimen.  I check the price tag and rejoice.  It is $5.50!  A great bargain.  I check out a few racks of clothing but find nothing which inspires me.  I pay for my treasured find and congratulate myself.  Others line up with their spoils.

I am surprised, this most ordinary shop is not only smack bang in the middle of Rokeby Road but it is teaming with bargain hunters! 

I continue on my walk reaching the end of this iconic road.  I cross over to the other side and head back the way I came.  I pause at the old screen door of Ogilvie's Café and enter with expectation.  I have been here before and delight at the French Provincial charm, the wooden tables, jars of jams and chutney and the displays of aged and charming treasures.  I order yet another coffee and a chicken and salad baguette. I sit at a small wooden table and read today's paper as I await my freshly made coffee.  All thoughts of my otherwise stressful life depart while I relax and enjoy my lunch.

My day is almost complete and I make my way back home.   It has been a day to remember. 




Quirky Ogilvie Café

 

Rejoicing the Voice

Last Monday evening the ABC Australian Story ran an interview on Australian singing artist Megan Washington.  It wasn't about her singing, it was about her stutter.  It hit a chord.  I know the horror and the anguish of stuttering.

The program interviewed relatives, friends and people with whom she had worked.  A few of them, like Adam Hills from Spicks and Specks remarked they were unaware she stuttered. 

In 2006 I told my son I was going to a speech therapist for my stutter he looked at me in complete surprise and said, "you don't stutter mum."  Stuttering rarely happened to me in the comfort of my own home but I was still surprised at his comment.

From my late teens I had winged clear speech at times and other times I would contort myself in spitting out the sounds which so often evaded me.  Many times I said nothing because it was just too hard.  Megan in her interview talked about the time she was conversing with another stutterer, I also had that experience.  I couldn't become too close to her, it was just too difficult to have a conversation.

My life had suddenly turned in 2006 and I was working toward employment as a community service coordinator.  It meant I had to talk to staff and clients.  I wanted to talk without blurting, stammering or tying myself in knots.  I have attended social gatherings where I came across people who did not know how to deal with my stutter and made fun of me and others who carefully avoided me.  In my work experience as I stuttered over the phone or face to face the employer or client allowed me my speech performance as if it didn’t occur.  Sometimes they just added the words I was trying so hard to say.  I am never sure if that made me feel better but at times I was relieved.

My community services course was due to finish soon and I was looking for employment in my chosen field.  It was time.

I gathered my confidence and made an appointment with a middle aged, matronly speech therapist.  She was surprised I was almost fifty and had never had speech therapy before.  She asked me what it was like at school.  I could not remember stuttering as a child only in late high school.  She asked me questions I couldn't answer.  I returned home, thought about what she had said and asked my mother.  

I already knew all the answers but I was blind to them.  When I was sixteen I became very ill, so ill I could not stand, I had no energy to open my presents at Christmas (just after I got sick).  My big sister thought I was going to die.  When I finally looked in the bathroom mirror my eyes were hollow and I looked like ‘death warmed up’.  Three months later most of my hair fell out and I needed iron and thyroid tablets to regain my health.  I don't remember visiting the doctor but my mother said she was told my brain was going too fast and it affected my speech!  Goodness me, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  Upon returning to the speech therapist, she simply said, 'trauma.'  She gave me smooth speech exercises to do.  It didn't seem to make any difference so Google and I did some research.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures and desperate I was!  I filled in the form, gave away my credit card number and pressed the 'buy' button.  It was done.  I waited in anticipation never believing it would actually help. 

A week or so later it arrived in a brown paper parcel.  It arrived from oversees and cost me, from memory about $30.  I was hesitant to use it, but what is life without a risk or two?  Being a Christian was hypnotherapy safe to use?  I didn't know but I was going to try it.

I opened my CD player, placed the CD in and pressed the play button.  I listened to the whole recording while I sat on my kitchen chair.  It talked about what caused the stuttering to happen.  I had my answer.  I revisited my illness and my embarrassment of losing my hair and the fear of losing control of my health and independence during my illness.  The illness only lasted a couple of weeks but it had devastating results.

The CD was to be played at night before sleeping.  Every night I put it on, rarely was I awake when it finished. 

Then the most amazing and unexpected thing happened.  I didn't grow two heads or showed disturbing behaviour  but I could connect words together without stuttering for sentences at a time.  I was hooked.  Some days I would play the CD at home, I would recount my trauma, I would give it away and not take it back.  After three months I didn't use the CD anymore, I was almost stutter free.  Sometime later I had what I thought was a relapse and out came the CD once again.  I listened to it again for a week.  Since then it lives in my top drawer, I haven't played it for seven years but I know where it is.

Megan Washington's story brought me back to my days of stuttering.  This week I listened to myself, how do I speak?  I was surprised there is still a slight stutter in my voice but it is infrequent.  If you asked me I would say I am fluent in my speech.  I am never afraid to speak up because I know I will no longer embarrass myself, or others.  It took me over thirty years to do something about my stutter, in hindsight, it was too long.

Going Up, Up, Up

The old saying, 'What goes up must come down' is just about right for everything to do with gravity but for the cost of living it is:  'What goes up, keeps on going up.' 
Once again it's the end of the financial year and the average Australian citizen is being slugged with increases in utility, transport fees and reduced funding for many charities and community groups.  This doesn't appear to be balanced with an offset somewhere.  People are being made redundant and fear has gripped our community.  No one seems safe.  Not the worker, nor the retiree or pensioners.   Seniors are being informed they will lose their senior supplements which provide concessions on numerous utility bills, council rates and transport costs.  The information is confusing with some reports saying it will only affect people with the Commonwealth Seniors Health Card and not the aged/disability pension.  Other accounts are covering pensioners in general.
I know the community is living in fear when my regular breakfast routine was interrupted with much banging, hammering and drilling.  It sounded like a barrage of tool men on my roof.  As I slid open my back door with my full washing basket wedged firmly under my arm I witnessed two quite delightful workmen fixing solar panels on my neighbour's roof.   We are half way up a hill and the neighbour's roof is our not so pleasant view from our patio.  Now we have a row of five shiny black solar panels glaring at us.  I quickly get my brain into gear and work out how much it will cost to add a wooden fence (complete with weeping flowering plants) to change our view.  My budget is already blown so I ditch the idea and convince myself I will get used to their intrusion. 
I know things are bad when my neighbour pays out money. When we were confronted with the 2YK bug on the eve of 1999 he bought himself a water tank and filled it with tap water.  He was convinced life as we know it would abruptly end and our taps would run dry.  Come the first morning of 2000 I confidently turned on my tap and was rewarded with flowing water! Hurray!
My neighbour (he is a good neighbour, never noisy or nosy) is coming up to retirement age and I know he is concerned about his supplements.  He has waited all his life to get a discount on his rates.  What he might lose on his rates he will win on his electricity bill.   I rarely hear his air conditioner in the summer and his electricity bill is often paid with lose change.  He is either  running scared or very smart to invest in solar panels.

Candles and Smoke

Today is my birthday.  I've had fifty six of them previously, this is just the next one!  Like most people with as many annual celebrations under their belt I no longer give two hoots about the celebration itself. 

As a child each year I received a birthday card with one dollar. Back then one dollar was paper money and worth so much more than it is today. Chips wrapped in paper cost only 20 cents and a small coke or ice cream was 10 cents. I also received a letter and ten shillings (more paper money) from my English grandparents. The letter always said I could use the money to buy an ice cream. When I was under ten it sounded like good advice but as I added the years my shopping list was replaced with a new selection of wishes.

I don't remember other birthday parties but in 1970 at the age of 13, I was allowed a 'hippy party'.  I was dressed in flower-power flares teamed with a cheesecloth top trimmed with cotton lace and sporting short puffy sleeves! We danced with flowers in our hair and nondescript scarves wrapped around our heads.  My beloved multi coloured flares were eventually snatched from me and demoted to the rag bag.  How I loved those flares!

 

I was married before I was twenty one. Dustin was eighteen months and instead of a party, family and friends visited and stayed to enjoy a drink with a slice of cake made by Merv's delightful Auntie Daisy.  I have continued to successfully avoid parties.  I celebrated 'big birthdays' with trips to Geraldton and other not so grand places. My fiftieth was celebrated on a cruise from Sydney to the South Pacific with Merv and both children.   We had a wonderful time especially the added benefit of warm sunshine in the middle of June. Mel's ongoing sea sickness was the only hiccup.

Merv always tells the story of his grandparents visiting each of their grandchildren on their birthday. It was their family tradition.  My grandparents lived on the other side of the world and our children's grandparents lived too far away for them to visit.  To keep the dream alive it was up to us to make a fuss over our offspring and we did.  There were parties, expensive BIG presents with the wow factor and the cake (of course).  I have baked numeral cakes, humpy dumpty, strawberry shortcake, the list goes on. 

 

Today I shared lunch with a lovely  group of carers.  The group meets each month to gain information on caring and catch up with each other, many of them now friends. I invited big sister.  Thank you for sharing my birthday with me. 

 

On Saturday Mel, Dustin and Grace join us to enjoy home made pizzas and the proverbial cake!  I am happy that we will share a meal and catch up on news.

 

Master Who?

Four nights a week we are the captive audience of MasterChef Australia.  It's about the food and the passion.  It's about the contestant's journey and the scrutiny of the judges.  It's better than watching the home renovating program, which makes me cringe. Home renovation is so much worse than medicine and best avoided at all cost! 
I fantasize of creating a Marco Pierre White gourmet delight in my very own kitchen.  It is unlikely to ever happen.  I am sticking to the tried and true Shepherds Pie and Sausage Hot Pot followed by slightly caramelized pancakes with rustic edges.  A little like burnt offerings.  
Now we are empty nesters our weekly menu is more geared to whatever is in the fridge or pantry but mainly depends on how much energy I have to create.  A tin of soup often come up trumps. 
If the kids give me enough notice they are visiting at meal times I will scour the recipe books aiming for something amazing to create and whip up in my small but efficient kitchen.  Shopping for the ingredients is a major event. I begin with an elaborate list of, 'must haves' and other bits just in case they are needed.  What if they are still hungry? 
Preparation and cooking time are carefully planned and scheduled and then the fun begins.  There are pots, pans, cooking utensils of every description which clutter up the bench tops and overflow on the kitchen table.  There is mess everywhere with no room in the sink and the dishwasher grunting in protest.  Thank goodness for the dishwasher!  The family meal is cooked and ready.  The dishes stacked and the benches cleaned. 
Is it a Heston Blumenthal or even comparable to a Kylie Kwong?  Not likely!  It is just good home cooking with a fancy name fit for the table to show my family I love them.