4:30pm work, Thursday
"Hello?"
"Dad, I found a dog"
Silence. Forehead on hand, elbow on desk, thinking "No more animals, please!"
"She was lost so I brought her home and she's sick."
"Uh huh."
"But she had a number on her collar for Hornsby vet so I rang it and they said it's one of theirs and to take it there before seven o'clock"
"You found a dog?"
"Yes, she's sick; her name is Molly"
"How do you know?"
"She's being sick on the floor and she doesn't look good."
"Where are the cats?"
"They're outside. I locked her in."
"So you found a dog, thought it was sick, and brought it home?"
"Yes, it's a Shitzu"
"Right"
"Will you come home and take it to the vet?"
Sigh "yes, I'll leave soon."
6:25pm Home.
"Cailtin! Come on let's go"
"I'm on the toilet"
"Where's the dog? Never mind. Where are your shoes? Let's get going."
Discussion parallel to the phone call. Organising to leave the house.
"She's so cute!"
"No."
"But she's a Shitzu!"
"No."
"But.."
"No."
"What did the cats do when you brought the dog in?"
"They ran off but Murphy bit and scratched me"
"Why"
"I was putting him out and he scratched me and bit my arm"
Shows bandages
"It's swollen here"
"Looks like you're infected, off to the doctor with you."
"It hurts"
"Why would Murphy bite you? Did you tease him with the dog?"
"No! I was just carrying him outside."
Repeat several times.
"But if you just left the door open Murphy would have beat you to it and cleared out by himself?"
"I had to carry him, he was scared."
Right.
We take dog to vet, people in the waiting room assume it's ours, the "nurse" checks it over and confirms it's one of hers and that everything will be okay now, thanks. We leave. I'm thinking, great, they'll call the owners and claim a $50 finding fee OR they'll close up at seven then ring the people in the morning and charge $150 for an overnight stay.
8 :30pm SWMBO arrives home.
Repeat entire episode including cat bite.
"It looks infected, remember when you were bitten by Sam? She'll have to go get a tetanus injection."
"She needs antibiotic, possibly a wash inside with peroxide"
Daughter leaves room quietly.
7:45 am Friday morning.
"Come on, you'll be late!"
"I have to take Caitlin to the doctors."
Sigh.
Work, 4:30pm
"Hi Jude."
"Can you pick up the kids?"
"Ummm, not really I have a few things to finish"
"Well, I didn't get into work until quarter to eleven and I had a client lunch so I'm way behind."
Silence
"Alright, I'll pick up Angus, take him home. Do you want to meet me for dinner before the concert?"
"Thanks Jude. Yeah, Where?"
Arrangements. (6:30 Pasta Deli at Wahroongah, Concert 7:15pm Carmina Burana )
6;10pm Friday, On the train.
"I am almost at the station, meet you there."
"I'm at Abbottsleigh getting Caitlin's soccer gear, then I have to take her back home"
Sigh
"The concert starts at 7:30! If we're late we'll get rotten seats!"
"What can I do, she needs it for the morning!"
"Well why didn't she bring it home with her?"
"She didn't go to school"
"Why not?"
"The Doctor told us she needed to stay home and keep her arm raised above her heart!"
"What?"
"She has an infection, got a tetanus injection and a script for antibiotics"
So, saving a lost dog cost us a small fortune and at least one traumatised cat.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Way, SWMBO and a surprise
Last week The Princess spilled the beans.
SWMBO and I will be "sharing" our 20th Wedding anniversary in July.
20 years, besides being a life sentence, is china. Not paper, not ruby, not wood or something. Just China.
I was thinking of something like a new sugar bowl. Maybe a cat coffee cup.
Y’know, twenty years; it ought to be something special.
So, we're all sitting there, on the way to Granddads’ and the beans, as I said, got spilled.
SWMBO has not only worked out what we're-giving-her for our-anniversary, but she’s been to the jeweller, had it designed and getting it made.
Diamonds, not china. Gold too.
A done deal.
Something called an eternity ring.
Has a nasty sound to it. I signed up for “death us do part” not bloody eternity!
Anyway, justifications met my questioning looks at 60km/hr:
“It’s a nice ring”
“It’s something special”
“It fits in nicely with my wedding & engagement rings”
“It’s the same jeweller who designed my engagement ring who used to work at Rox in the Strand Arcade is now in Wahroonga…”
“I wanted it to be a surprise”
It’s the last one that got me.
Sure was a surprise.
I’ll be buggered if she’s getting a sugar bowl now.
SWMBO and I will be "sharing" our 20th Wedding anniversary in July.
20 years, besides being a life sentence, is china. Not paper, not ruby, not wood or something. Just China.
I was thinking of something like a new sugar bowl. Maybe a cat coffee cup.
Y’know, twenty years; it ought to be something special.
So, we're all sitting there, on the way to Granddads’ and the beans, as I said, got spilled.
SWMBO has not only worked out what we're-giving-her for our-anniversary, but she’s been to the jeweller, had it designed and getting it made.
Diamonds, not china. Gold too.
A done deal.
Something called an eternity ring.
Has a nasty sound to it. I signed up for “death us do part” not bloody eternity!
Anyway, justifications met my questioning looks at 60km/hr:
“It’s a nice ring”
“It’s something special”
“It fits in nicely with my wedding & engagement rings”
“It’s the same jeweller who designed my engagement ring who used to work at Rox in the Strand Arcade is now in Wahroonga…”
“I wanted it to be a surprise”
It’s the last one that got me.
Sure was a surprise.
I’ll be buggered if she’s getting a sugar bowl now.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Way, lunch and two flat batteries.
Why me? Scene: a lazy morning opening Christmas presents and having eggs, ham and toast for breakfast then the cleaning up and stock taking of all the new things in the house. Then it's time to get ready to go to the in-law family Christmas lunch. You've heard the idiom: You can choose your spouse but you can't choose the family? The Princess, two days before Christmas, declares she has nothing to wear for Christmas Day. At age 14 she is certainly primed for womanhood if her wardrobe and shoe sense is anything to go by. So SWMBO and The Princess nip up the road for some credit-wear. There we are, The Earl of Hornsby (aged 10) dressed in his suit but sans tie and jacket, me in mine, SWMBO in a black and white number and The Princess in her new dress sans tiara. Down the stairs to the Hyundai limousine...
I'm looking forward to lunch; it's at the Royal Automobile Club of Australia; a fine place to dine.
The arrangements for the day include collecting the Father In-Law, the right honourable Reverend Harry, from the nursing home in his chariot (wheel chair). So it’s just taking him and the chariot in my larger car, eating lunch and coming home again. I presume we’re going to do the hostage-style gift-exchange at lunch.
It's while trekking down the stairs that SWMBO drops the bombshell... "Dad's getting the taxi home, I've organised it.”
Tick tick…
“Why’d you do that?”
“Because he’s not coming home with us; he’s leaving after lunch.”
“Why? Where are WE going?”
“To So and So’s place, to open Christmas presents.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Yes I did!”
Repeat this a few times.
“They’re not our family” protested I.
“No, the others and us are too far away and So and So is closer.”
So and So are a single child family who hangs onto our Christmas and other major-event family-do’s.
“Great!” say I. Just when I thought I’d escaped the family and not-so-family close-encounter.
We’ve reached the car, all packed in, when I start it. Or rather, I didn’t start it. The battery is flat. “We’ll take the 121.” I say.
“The wheel chair won’t fit” says SWMBO all dressed up in the back seat.
“No problem, I’ll use your car to jump-start mine”
I half get out of the car and push backward so there’s enough room to get to the battery.
“Don’t hurt your back!” says she.
“Argghhh I don’t want to roll down the driveway” yells The Princess.
“Well, it’ll help if you got out, we won’t roll down the drive and I won’t hurt my back”
It’s okay, we’re early (for a change) so it’s just a simple matter of jumping the cars and off we go. The cars are side by side in the garage, but the leads won’t reach so I have to move her car closer to mine... I hop in but it doesn't start it either!
TWO flat batteries?
On Christmas morning…
with Grandad waiting at the nursing home…
and a lunch that’ll be delayed?
A lunch I’ll never hear the end of since it will keep the in-laws waiting?
Oh Baby Cheeses, why me?
“Judy, ring the taxi and see if they can pick your dad up?"
“Why, we’re picking him up.”
“Because if it takes too long to start the cars then at least he won’t be late and we can save time by not having to drive out of our way to get him.” She rings… the wheelchair taxi has another booking on the other side of Sydney.
“arggh!” My brain races at a hundred miles an hour thinking of a way out of this. My car is half-in-half-out of the garage blocking hers. It’s in a rotten position to hill start it down my drive (a feat performed previously) and it’s in the way of SWMBO’s car which could be moved to the right position for the down hill run to battery freedom. The NRMA (road side assistance) will take forever on a Christmas Day to get here…
Ding!
I’ll connect the battery charger to the smaller battery (her car) give it a few minutes before starting it.
Tick tick…
Ten minutes pass and I give it a turn. You beauty! It’s working but doesn’t get a chance to fire before the battery gives out… so I decide to wait 15 minutes. There’s still the problem of my car blocking the way… but no matter, once I have SWMBO’s car started I can back-and-forth until the batteries are close enough to jump it.
Sure enough, in twenty minutes we’re shooting down the road in all our finery.
Oddly, we washed my car the day before. I rarely wash it. Drought, laziness, all that.
Anyway. we pick up granddad from the nursing home with the motor running… funny to see all the old people lined up in the foyer, each in a wheelchair, all dressed nicely… reminded me of planes waiting to take off.
The hanger door opens, we load granddad in and off we go. We arrived in record where the valet looked at my car, a cheap model, with barely hidden amusement as we all piled out. After all, this was the Royal Automobile Club. It occurred to me if my car won’t start then where else better to be?
Surprise! We were the first to arrive at the restaurant a five past noon. The others arrived at twelve fifteen, and marched past us saying hi and merry Christmas in that air-cheek-to-cheek-kissing way they have. They had no sooner sat down that they all arose again and assaulted the smorgasbord of seafood and carvery. I sheltered next to our children and Granddad… whom they all ignored. It was then I realised I’d not warn the valet to park my car on a slope.
Time to decamp as the “family” all filed past like they had arrived; re-performing the same kissing ritual. Goodbye to granddad as he left in the wheelchair taxi. We piled into my car, which, by chance, was parked on a slope and drove off to the Military for “afters”.
The car had travelled 40km so I presumed the battery got over it’s little tiff. I managed to corral a few of my favourite people at the gift exchange and avoid any confrontations; so it wasn’t a bad afternoon in the end.
But it doesn’t end there. We left, the car started well, we drove home and had a lovely immediate family Christmas night together.
The next morning I go out to my car which doesn’t start again.
Nor does SWMBO’s car.
I was going to take the Earl to the skate park.
Bugger.
So I set up mine to charge over night and forget the skate park.
We’ll have to go tomorrow.
This morning the car fails to start. So I try my same trick with SWMBO’s car and the charger. No luck. Both batteries are dead as door nails. We call the NRMA. 30 minutes and $282.00 later our cars start without a whimper…
I'm looking forward to lunch; it's at the Royal Automobile Club of Australia; a fine place to dine.
The arrangements for the day include collecting the Father In-Law, the right honourable Reverend Harry, from the nursing home in his chariot (wheel chair). So it’s just taking him and the chariot in my larger car, eating lunch and coming home again. I presume we’re going to do the hostage-style gift-exchange at lunch.
It's while trekking down the stairs that SWMBO drops the bombshell... "Dad's getting the taxi home, I've organised it.”
Tick tick…
“Why’d you do that?”
“Because he’s not coming home with us; he’s leaving after lunch.”
“Why? Where are WE going?”
“To So and So’s place, to open Christmas presents.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Yes I did!”
Repeat this a few times.
“They’re not our family” protested I.
“No, the others and us are too far away and So and So is closer.”
So and So are a single child family who hangs onto our Christmas and other major-event family-do’s.
“Great!” say I. Just when I thought I’d escaped the family and not-so-family close-encounter.
We’ve reached the car, all packed in, when I start it. Or rather, I didn’t start it. The battery is flat. “We’ll take the 121.” I say.
“The wheel chair won’t fit” says SWMBO all dressed up in the back seat.
“No problem, I’ll use your car to jump-start mine”
I half get out of the car and push backward so there’s enough room to get to the battery.
“Don’t hurt your back!” says she.
“Argghhh I don’t want to roll down the driveway” yells The Princess.
“Well, it’ll help if you got out, we won’t roll down the drive and I won’t hurt my back”
It’s okay, we’re early (for a change) so it’s just a simple matter of jumping the cars and off we go. The cars are side by side in the garage, but the leads won’t reach so I have to move her car closer to mine... I hop in but it doesn't start it either!
TWO flat batteries?
On Christmas morning…
with Grandad waiting at the nursing home…
and a lunch that’ll be delayed?
A lunch I’ll never hear the end of since it will keep the in-laws waiting?
Oh Baby Cheeses, why me?
“Judy, ring the taxi and see if they can pick your dad up?"
“Why, we’re picking him up.”
“Because if it takes too long to start the cars then at least he won’t be late and we can save time by not having to drive out of our way to get him.” She rings… the wheelchair taxi has another booking on the other side of Sydney.
“arggh!” My brain races at a hundred miles an hour thinking of a way out of this. My car is half-in-half-out of the garage blocking hers. It’s in a rotten position to hill start it down my drive (a feat performed previously) and it’s in the way of SWMBO’s car which could be moved to the right position for the down hill run to battery freedom. The NRMA (road side assistance) will take forever on a Christmas Day to get here…
Ding!
I’ll connect the battery charger to the smaller battery (her car) give it a few minutes before starting it.
Tick tick…
Ten minutes pass and I give it a turn. You beauty! It’s working but doesn’t get a chance to fire before the battery gives out… so I decide to wait 15 minutes. There’s still the problem of my car blocking the way… but no matter, once I have SWMBO’s car started I can back-and-forth until the batteries are close enough to jump it.
Sure enough, in twenty minutes we’re shooting down the road in all our finery.
Oddly, we washed my car the day before. I rarely wash it. Drought, laziness, all that.
Anyway. we pick up granddad from the nursing home with the motor running… funny to see all the old people lined up in the foyer, each in a wheelchair, all dressed nicely… reminded me of planes waiting to take off.
The hanger door opens, we load granddad in and off we go. We arrived in record where the valet looked at my car, a cheap model, with barely hidden amusement as we all piled out. After all, this was the Royal Automobile Club. It occurred to me if my car won’t start then where else better to be?
Surprise! We were the first to arrive at the restaurant a five past noon. The others arrived at twelve fifteen, and marched past us saying hi and merry Christmas in that air-cheek-to-cheek-kissing way they have. They had no sooner sat down that they all arose again and assaulted the smorgasbord of seafood and carvery. I sheltered next to our children and Granddad… whom they all ignored. It was then I realised I’d not warn the valet to park my car on a slope.
Time to decamp as the “family” all filed past like they had arrived; re-performing the same kissing ritual. Goodbye to granddad as he left in the wheelchair taxi. We piled into my car, which, by chance, was parked on a slope and drove off to the Military for “afters”.
The car had travelled 40km so I presumed the battery got over it’s little tiff. I managed to corral a few of my favourite people at the gift exchange and avoid any confrontations; so it wasn’t a bad afternoon in the end.
But it doesn’t end there. We left, the car started well, we drove home and had a lovely immediate family Christmas night together.
The next morning I go out to my car which doesn’t start again.
Nor does SWMBO’s car.
I was going to take the Earl to the skate park.
Bugger.
So I set up mine to charge over night and forget the skate park.
We’ll have to go tomorrow.
This morning the car fails to start. So I try my same trick with SWMBO’s car and the charger. No luck. Both batteries are dead as door nails. We call the NRMA. 30 minutes and $282.00 later our cars start without a whimper…
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Way, LAX and two lifts
This is an old Way moment from 1991.
Oh man, I got stuck in two separate lifts on the same day, alone, at LAX, without a visa or ticket to my ultimate destination, during the first gulf war. The loud speakers were making security announcements, all day, about unattended luggage and vehicles etc. Things I'd never heard back home.
I didn't need a visa because I was in-transit through LA on my way to Detroit thence into Windsor (Canada). It meant I couldn't leave the airport.
I didn't have a ticket for the domestic leg as I was told I could by standby tickets for a fraction of the cost of booking one at home. Then when I went to buy one, Northwest said they didn't do stand-by anymore and I'd have to buy a full fare. I gave him my credit card to book a rather expensive one way ticket... but by the time the exchange rate took effect the card was rejected and then LOCKED. So I had no money, no ticket, no visa and trapped in the first lift of the day.
It stopped at a restricted level and would go no further. It just arrived, stopped, the doors opened, then nothing. Except a big sign on the opposite wall saying something like
DO NOT ENTER
RESTRICTED AREA
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
This to me, accompanied by the PA going on about being aware of suspicious things had me in the terrors... I didn't want to attract attention to myself until at least I had cleared the ticket problem....
To be found without a visa, without money, in fact trying to tender a credit card with insufficient funds & no ticket was just asking for trouble from the famous US Customs.
So I stood there.
Alone in the lift.
Facing the open doors for what seemed like ten minutes.
That was my first option. If facing something dreadful, like car headlights, just stand still and let it go away by itself. Of course, that failed. People who were obviously “authorized” passed the lift from time to time. I dreaded any of them doing it more than once and noticing something amiss. When that dawned on me I acted. I pushed that alarm bell on the panel with decisive action. Some may call it panic.
Cruel people.
The alarm button did just that. The alarm went off.Loudly.
Crickey!
I remember jumping out of my skin. Now people stopped at the lift and asked if I was okay.
Frack!
Before I could answer; the “help” person’s voice came out of the little speaker, so I just waved the Authorized people on.
Saved!
About half an hour later a big guy with utlility belt comes tramping up the hall way, enters the lift, introduces himself with “Where you from, pal?” and inserts a key into the hole and takes us home.
Free!
I spend the rest of the day, and my few US dollars on phone calls arranging a ticket from home to cover my flight and get me the heck out of here. But, being on the wrong side of the planet I am making calls very early in the morning. SWMBO, newly married I might add, to me, I further add, managed to get a travel agent out of bed and into his office at 7am to book me a ticket from Australia so I could get on a flight from LA to Detroit. He arranged it so I could collect the ticket from the Northwest desk.
As it turns out it’s the same guy at the Northwest desk.
Like 6 hours later.
When the entire area is deserted.
He sees me coming and he must see the dread on my face as I recognise him.
I walk up to him and ask if he has a ticket for me. He, naturally, knows exactly who I am and exactly knows my “alien” presence. So far, the only person in the US who knows I am still there, and that I shouldn’t be, and he knows for a fact I have no money to buy a ticket with. I tell you, he had this smart arse look on his face. Like I am half trouble and two parts idiot. And he’s very sure he has the power to imprison me shortly before my deportation back to Sydney.
Now remember this is before the internet. I couldn’t simply find an Internet kiosk and book my own ticket, even if my credit card had worked.
And if you buy a ticket in Australia for domestic travel you are actually supposed to be in Australia when you do it.
I am clearly not in Australia. And he’s clearly dubious as he’s looking up the flight and seeing if I am on it. That moment was one I cherished in the whole-trip-to-Canada thing. The look on his face when suddenly my name was there with a ticket bought moments ago in a foreign country was worth the day's anxiety.
Almost.
He argued the problem of being here when I should be there, and in the end came to the conclusion it was best if he just turned a blind eye and give me the ticket.
So, ticket in hand, seat allocated, boarding pass issued and enough money to get my luggage out from the cloak room, plus a little extra for some coffee and pizza hut slice I relaxed. (Note, the kiosk-style Pizza Hut was a novelty as we only had full restaurants in Aus at that time)
I remember sitting eating my slice of pizza (the first I’d eaten all day because I was worried I would need the cash) and puking at the boiled coffee while watching William Shatner doing 911 on the overhead TV.
Thirteen hours I was in that airport.
At the twelfth hour I decided it was time to collect my luggage and head over to the domestic terminal and wait in the departure lounge. That was until I was caught in another lift 40 minutes out from the red-eye flight… thinking, panicking, that at 11pm at night there’s going to be a slow reaction for help.
The lift, this time, left ground floor and then stopped. Nothing. No grinding noises, no jarring, no little electronic “pings” to say it had achieved something and was pleased with itself. Just a Stephen King sort of silence and dedicate inaction on it's part.
I decided in one nano second that the previous method of waiting ten minutes was not a wholly great idea. It lacked a certain urgency that was coursing through my veins.
Instead I hit that mother of a button like there was no tomorrow. The thoughts of missing the flight, of facing that same Northwest guy again, the thought of no money, no food, horrible coffee and a long night in LAX on a metal seat were fighting for priority in my tired mind.
Lord have mercy upon me!
And he did, in the static voice of the man in the speaker… the very same man who’d come to my aid earlier.
I just banged my head against the cold stainless steel elevator as he asked:
“Hey, are you that same guy I let out today?”
“Yes, it’s me”
“You got something in your bag that’s breaking our lifts?”
"Only a Philishaver, could that do it?”
“Nope. Don’t think so...”
“My flight boards in minutes, how long?”
“Oh, I’ll be right there.”
And he was.
I made the red eye, and funny enough the Northwest guy was there in the lounge, acting like he wasn’t watching me.
On board I sat between a young girl about 12 years old and a grunt on his way back from Guam. She asked where I was from etc whilst her mother kept an eagle eye on me and the grunt from few seats up. Finally after she stopped asking questions I asked her to show me the outline of Michigan; holding up an in-flight route map. It came out quite awkward, I was very tired
“Where is Michigan”
Everyone within earshot turned to look at me. Except the grunt who was so pissed it would take a nuke to wake him up.
I realised what I’d asked… after all I was on a non-stop flight from LA to Detroit… the capital of Michigan.
Ahh the moments.
Then we landed, I met my Canadian hosts who then gave me the fright of my life by driving on the wrong side of the road on the wrong side of the road.
arrghhHHHH
Monday, November 06, 2006
It's that time of the year
...when day light saving comes into effect and SWMBO starts with the "but it's really only ten o'clock" business. It drives me to distraction. Distraction with a smile; the woman is the light of my life. Frustrating logic I grant you. Oh, and a bit of a nag at times too. So, okay, she can give a dragon a run for it's money, but hey, I am in love with her.
Daylight saving.
It starts the night before with "We have to go to bed early because we lose an hour's sleep tonight." followed the next morning by "I am so tired because we lost an hour's sleep last night"
Later that day, this year like every year, as the sun starts to set later and our perception of time still isn't quite right she starts with the "But it's only really 5 o'clock" business.
This day-light-saving-jet-lag lasts about two weeks. Something will happen, the kids will squabble for example, and she'll excuse them with "They're tired. It's really only seven o'clock"
Daylight saving.
It starts the night before with "We have to go to bed early because we lose an hour's sleep tonight." followed the next morning by "I am so tired because we lost an hour's sleep last night"
Later that day, this year like every year, as the sun starts to set later and our perception of time still isn't quite right she starts with the "But it's only really 5 o'clock" business.
This day-light-saving-jet-lag lasts about two weeks. Something will happen, the kids will squabble for example, and she'll excuse them with "They're tired. It's really only seven o'clock"
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Cat Catch up
Here's a few photos of the captives. They'd run away but life is too good in the Way household. The first is Mycroft in yet another of his sleeping poses.
then Murphy with Lestrade.
Mycroft... tough cat, eh?
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Spider and Child
Following on from the spider dance story below, The Daughter came home from school the other day feeling very proud of herself.
During class the children had noticed a Huntsman on one of the walls. Some of them weren't too happy about it so The Daughter volunteered to help out.
She's telling me the story of how scared the other kids (and teacher) are but I am ahead of her by thinking she'd do what I do and grab a container with lid and do the deed. So here's a proud dad relieved that something is finally rubbing off. True, just spider catching techniques, but hey, there's a lot more exciting stuff I can teach her in life; we have to start somewhere!
Then she tells me she let it walk onto her hand and she calmly shows it about before taking it outside and releasing it.
Surprised I ask how big it was.
"Oh, about this big" says she as she traces a finger around her palm... about 7.5cm (3") across!
I asked her if she was frightened and she replied at first she was, but it just sat there.
"It tickled when it walked up my wrist"
Crickey!
During class the children had noticed a Huntsman on one of the walls. Some of them weren't too happy about it so The Daughter volunteered to help out.
She's telling me the story of how scared the other kids (and teacher) are but I am ahead of her by thinking she'd do what I do and grab a container with lid and do the deed. So here's a proud dad relieved that something is finally rubbing off. True, just spider catching techniques, but hey, there's a lot more exciting stuff I can teach her in life; we have to start somewhere!
Then she tells me she let it walk onto her hand and she calmly shows it about before taking it outside and releasing it.
Surprised I ask how big it was.
"Oh, about this big" says she as she traces a finger around her palm... about 7.5cm (3") across!
I asked her if she was frightened and she replied at first she was, but it just sat there.
"It tickled when it walked up my wrist"
Crickey!
Are you sure?
Sorry I've not posted in over a month, some people have emailed me telling me off for ignoring the blog.
Anyway, just tonight, during my chicken risotto, SWMBO did it again. She does it often enough, but just recently the children have become aware of it. It's been a hoot for them!
It's two fold, and each are opposites. SWMBO will offer drinks or desserts around at dinner parties we hold. More often than not I will not be asked if I want a drink, or what I'd like to drink, or if I want dessert, or coffee or something. She'll work her way around our guests and absent mindfully skip over me. It's quite amusing when we're all sitting at the table with our desserts except me.
Then the opposite happens.
She asks "Do you want ice cream with your dessert?" or "Would you like a cup of tea?"
I'll answer either way.
A few minutes later she'll ask again.
"Would you like a cuppa?"
"umm, yes please."
A few more minutes, sometimes half an hour or more, "Did you say you wanted a cuppa?"
"Yes"
"Yes what?"
"Yes please, but this is the third time you've asked and I've answered."
A few more minutes...
"Did you say you wanted a cuppa?"
"Yes"
"Are you sure?"
I mean, I can understand distraction, and forgetting the answer, especially over the course of now what seems several hours, but to then ask "Are you sure?" really tops it off.
So tonight, over the risotto, she begins again "Who would like watermelon for dessert?"...
Anyway, just tonight, during my chicken risotto, SWMBO did it again. She does it often enough, but just recently the children have become aware of it. It's been a hoot for them!
It's two fold, and each are opposites. SWMBO will offer drinks or desserts around at dinner parties we hold. More often than not I will not be asked if I want a drink, or what I'd like to drink, or if I want dessert, or coffee or something. She'll work her way around our guests and absent mindfully skip over me. It's quite amusing when we're all sitting at the table with our desserts except me.
Then the opposite happens.
She asks "Do you want ice cream with your dessert?" or "Would you like a cup of tea?"
I'll answer either way.
A few minutes later she'll ask again.
"Would you like a cuppa?"
"umm, yes please."
A few more minutes, sometimes half an hour or more, "Did you say you wanted a cuppa?"
"Yes"
"Yes what?"
"Yes please, but this is the third time you've asked and I've answered."
A few more minutes...
"Did you say you wanted a cuppa?"
"Yes"
"Are you sure?"
I mean, I can understand distraction, and forgetting the answer, especially over the course of now what seems several hours, but to then ask "Are you sure?" really tops it off.
So tonight, over the risotto, she begins again "Who would like watermelon for dessert?"...
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Spider dance
You've heard of the spider dance, right?
It's a condition of human nature to do a little, but panicky, jig one nano-second after walking into a spider web. That moment of sheer terror as you realise it must be on you and ready to strike. You wave your arms about, hop from foot to foot, look left, look right, look over your back, brush your hair wildly with both hands and stare manically at anyone who can tell you exactly where it is.
It seems to me that no matter who you are, or where you're from, we all do the exact same dance.
I didn't know cats did it too.
For the last few days we've had a huntsman spider visit us. The novelty has worn off as they aren't uncommon in our bushland home . We have adequate fly screens so there's not much for the wayward spider to eat. If I don't pack them up and walk them outside they will disappear or die a hungry death on their own accord.
The family is dead against me killing them for convenience sake.
I walked into our bedroom to find three cats lined up against the wall waiting for the spider to come down and play. Obligingly, I used a small paintbrush to push it off the wall.
It landed on Mycroft.
He did a spider dance.
It only lasted about 10 seconds but to him it must have been an eternity. He ran backward a little, forward a little, shook his head madly, shook his tail and paws, spun around and generally panicked. He backed away from it when it fell on the ground.
Anyway, a few moments later I returned to the room to see all three cats staring at the wardrobe.
SWMBO's side of the wardrobe.
I debated whether to tell her. What sort of trouble will I be in now?
Later I told her the story and she freaked. It's all my fault, naturally. Now she needs to shake clothes out when she pulls them from the wardrobe but she'll never really know if there's a spider hiding.
I await another spider dance, this time from SWMBO.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
24 hours
It all started about 24 hours go. One of those days when things just don't go your way.
Last night, after leaving work late I was off to do the grocery shopping at Woollies. I arrived just after 9:00pm, the place is deserted, just how I like it. I grab a trolley, pull out the list SWMBO wrote, (yes, a list, go figure) and set off down the aisles after the fortnightly supplies.
I make it into the fourth aisle before I realise I've missed the Radox bath salts . Bath salts are another story. Anyway I go back to where I left the trolley.
It's gone.
There's about a half dozen shoppers and the odd, lurking employee in a not-quite-white shirt. The point being there's not a lot of trolleys to get confused over. In fact I made a mental note that I was the only shopper in the aisle at the time.
So I go trolley hunting.
Nothing.
No one has my trolley.
If you're an alien abduction conspiracy theorist then you might have some news for me, but to my everyday mind either another shopper has mistaken it for theirs, or the lurking employee thought it abandoned and un-packed it at lightening speed (yeah, right). I give up, Radox in hand, I return to the front of the store. I need to leave the Radox at the counter so I can leave the store for a replacement trolley. I explain why I am doing this to the gum chewing check-out chick but the return conversation is a indifferent shrug. Hmm. Must happen all the time?
So, I re-start my shopping from aisle one. I pass the Radox. I realise I've left it at the counter.
Sigh.
I get home, start un-packing when SWMBO tells me we have a tour at one of the prospective schools in the morning. I have a huge day at work and really can't afford the time, but SWMBO's look tells me I-need-to-go-along-too. In-case I miss the look she tells me in long hand that I have to-go-along-too.
SWMBO drops The Daughter off at school a little while before I drop The Son off at his school so she goes to the Coonabarra Café and waits for me. We have a bit of time between school drop-offs and school-tour so it would be nice to meet over coffee.
A school mum walks past the window, waves and comes into the café inquiring about my back. SWMBO's eyes dart back and forth, she can't remember School Mums name and can't quite place her. During my year working from home I got to meet all the stay at home mums.
After she's left, SWMBO gives me the third degree with questions like "How does she know about your back?"
Sheesh!
We do the tour, nice school and all that then return to her car parked outside the Café. She's locked the keys in.
Sigh.
I make it to the railway station to commute to work, but as the 11:06 train arrives the station master announces that a tree has fallen across the tracks further down the line and delays are to be expected.
Sigh.
I board the train in hope it will take me as far as possible at which place I can either get a taxi or bus for the remainder. Well, the utter confusion of what to do was so funny I almost had a fit. I got out of the train, and back in several times before the railways settled on what they were going to do with a train filled with mostly old people on their way out during pension week.
Enough to say I managed to get a train to one station, a bus to another, then a taxi across the Sydney Harbour Bridge and downtown into work.
My workload tripled due to my lateness and compounded by my in-experience in using Cinema 4D modeling programme. I'm working to a tight deadline later in the afternoon.
Then the alarm goes off for a fire drill.
Sigh.
10 floors down and it's blowing a cold gale outside.
Anyway, I am home now, kids are all in bed, SWMBO has returned from Choir rehearsals and the 24 hours are up.
I hope.
Last night, after leaving work late I was off to do the grocery shopping at Woollies. I arrived just after 9:00pm, the place is deserted, just how I like it. I grab a trolley, pull out the list SWMBO wrote, (yes, a list, go figure) and set off down the aisles after the fortnightly supplies.
I make it into the fourth aisle before I realise I've missed the Radox bath salts . Bath salts are another story. Anyway I go back to where I left the trolley.
It's gone.
There's about a half dozen shoppers and the odd, lurking employee in a not-quite-white shirt. The point being there's not a lot of trolleys to get confused over. In fact I made a mental note that I was the only shopper in the aisle at the time.
So I go trolley hunting.
Nothing.
No one has my trolley.
If you're an alien abduction conspiracy theorist then you might have some news for me, but to my everyday mind either another shopper has mistaken it for theirs, or the lurking employee thought it abandoned and un-packed it at lightening speed (yeah, right). I give up, Radox in hand, I return to the front of the store. I need to leave the Radox at the counter so I can leave the store for a replacement trolley. I explain why I am doing this to the gum chewing check-out chick but the return conversation is a indifferent shrug. Hmm. Must happen all the time?
So, I re-start my shopping from aisle one. I pass the Radox. I realise I've left it at the counter.
Sigh.
I get home, start un-packing when SWMBO tells me we have a tour at one of the prospective schools in the morning. I have a huge day at work and really can't afford the time, but SWMBO's look tells me I-need-to-go-along-too. In-case I miss the look she tells me in long hand that I have to-go-along-too.
SWMBO drops The Daughter off at school a little while before I drop The Son off at his school so she goes to the Coonabarra Café and waits for me. We have a bit of time between school drop-offs and school-tour so it would be nice to meet over coffee.
A school mum walks past the window, waves and comes into the café inquiring about my back. SWMBO's eyes dart back and forth, she can't remember School Mums name and can't quite place her. During my year working from home I got to meet all the stay at home mums.
After she's left, SWMBO gives me the third degree with questions like "How does she know about your back?"
Sheesh!
We do the tour, nice school and all that then return to her car parked outside the Café. She's locked the keys in.
Sigh.
I make it to the railway station to commute to work, but as the 11:06 train arrives the station master announces that a tree has fallen across the tracks further down the line and delays are to be expected.
Sigh.
I board the train in hope it will take me as far as possible at which place I can either get a taxi or bus for the remainder. Well, the utter confusion of what to do was so funny I almost had a fit. I got out of the train, and back in several times before the railways settled on what they were going to do with a train filled with mostly old people on their way out during pension week.
Enough to say I managed to get a train to one station, a bus to another, then a taxi across the Sydney Harbour Bridge and downtown into work.
My workload tripled due to my lateness and compounded by my in-experience in using Cinema 4D modeling programme. I'm working to a tight deadline later in the afternoon.
Then the alarm goes off for a fire drill.
Sigh.
10 floors down and it's blowing a cold gale outside.
Anyway, I am home now, kids are all in bed, SWMBO has returned from Choir rehearsals and the 24 hours are up.
I hope.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Notebook time!
Hurrrah! Father's day. Our children treated me to a great day today with lots of hugs, breakfast almost in-bed and a selection of gifts including a brand new notebook! Yippee!
The Son (age 8) wrote a really nice card:
and his full name.
We built a train track between us:
The Son (age 8) wrote a really nice card:
Dear Daddy
Thankyou for being such a good dad to me.
You are the greatest Dad of all time.
You are fantastic, awesome, strong, smart, funny, handsome, and
great!
I love it when you tuck me in at night, when you play games with me and most of all when you love me more than anyone else in the world!
From the best son in the world
your son
and his full name.
We built a train track between us:
While two of the cats, Mycroft and Murphy, found it an exhausting day...
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
The fun begins
Ever heard of the axiom "Under sell and over deliver"? It means you promise less to someone then when the time comes you give them more. It makes you look good and makes the other person very happy.
Dell did this to me.
They said I could expect delivery of the notebook on the 5th of September. So they deliver it today.
Today off all days.
Let's start from earlier today...
We managed to catch the train to work together.
She started the 30 second conversation. That's where she says something every thirty seconds whilst I am reading.
Anyway, today is THAT day so I new to be cautious. Soon enough she asks what the children should get me for Father's Day. I consider my options. Do I tell now, on PMS-Day, or do I say nothing? Do I drop a hint? Can I afford a "debate" on a crowded city commuter train?
"A laptop would be nice."
Silence.
"I don't think we can afford it this week." is her evasive reply.
Conversation ends, thirty seconds pass and the next subject comes up.
Phew, that was close.
Then later in the day the notebook arrives by courier a whole week earlier than expected.
I'm so excited I unpack it straight away and turn it on... ooooh it's so sweet!
I repack it, bring it home and leave it in the kitchen next the the briefcases & schoolbags.
Lingering.
SWMBO is downstairs watching Crossing Jordan and hasn't seen it yet.
My tactic of broaching the subject of the contents and origin of the large cardboard box was based in humour "Look what followed me home, honey." But it didn't work... She was in the other room watching TV.
I've one eye on this blog and the other on the door. As soon as she passes I have to wander up the stairs behind her...
I've decided to take the Father's day angle, coupled with the extra freelance work I've done, and the tax deductions and GST claim-back thus reducing the outlay for the notebook to around $400.00.
I sit here wondering if she'll buy it...
... she has no choice, but she might keep it until Sunday so the children can 'give' it to me for Father's Day. Oh the wait is going to kill me!
Dell did this to me.
They said I could expect delivery of the notebook on the 5th of September. So they deliver it today.
Today off all days.
Let's start from earlier today...
We managed to catch the train to work together.
She started the 30 second conversation. That's where she says something every thirty seconds whilst I am reading.
Anyway, today is THAT day so I new to be cautious. Soon enough she asks what the children should get me for Father's Day. I consider my options. Do I tell now, on PMS-Day, or do I say nothing? Do I drop a hint? Can I afford a "debate" on a crowded city commuter train?
"A laptop would be nice."
Silence.
"I don't think we can afford it this week." is her evasive reply.
Conversation ends, thirty seconds pass and the next subject comes up.
Phew, that was close.
Then later in the day the notebook arrives by courier a whole week earlier than expected.
I'm so excited I unpack it straight away and turn it on... ooooh it's so sweet!
I repack it, bring it home and leave it in the kitchen next the the briefcases & schoolbags.
Lingering.
SWMBO is downstairs watching Crossing Jordan and hasn't seen it yet.
My tactic of broaching the subject of the contents and origin of the large cardboard box was based in humour "Look what followed me home, honey." But it didn't work... She was in the other room watching TV.
I've one eye on this blog and the other on the door. As soon as she passes I have to wander up the stairs behind her...
I've decided to take the Father's day angle, coupled with the extra freelance work I've done, and the tax deductions and GST claim-back thus reducing the outlay for the notebook to around $400.00.
I sit here wondering if she'll buy it...
... she has no choice, but she might keep it until Sunday so the children can 'give' it to me for Father's Day. Oh the wait is going to kill me!
Monday, August 28, 2006
Bedside notes and logic
We were going to bed one night and SWMBO wrote a note on a slip of paper then placed it in front of her clock-radio, brushed her teeth and jumped in. All the while I am there propped up against the pillow wondering what she wrote on the note.
She's an avid note and list writer. I suppose anyone living a busy lifestyle, such as we do, realises notes and lists are important tools; they help us make it through the week. She normally leaves notes in that spot in the kitchen every house seems to have.. the place where the post sits, bills fester, school permission slips lurk until the-night-before...
But not this note.
This note is sitting in front of her clock-radio.
I'm not a home-note person. I write notes at work in my diary, but not at home.
Lists are worse. I hate lists with a passion because they're all about control. Write a list and suddenly it has a mind of it's own, not unlike a Ouija board. The worst travesty of lists is their ability to leave things out. Take a shopping list. First it demands you go grocery shopping (the control thing) then it tricks you into relying on it.
It works like this; I return home to where SWMBO is bound to ask "Did you get the toilet paper?"
"Was it on the list?"
"It should have been."
"Well, it wasn't on the list."
This short but regular dialog is followed by the "You're a forgetful twit." look.
You can see what I mean. People automatically rely on lists. And lists let you down.
But this is a note, not a list and its on the clock radio, at night, at the wrong end of the house.
It can't be for anyone but her, if it was for me, say a romantic note, then she'd leave it on my pillow, or if not, then out next to the forgotten permission slip.
I lean over her, reach out and snatch the note.
It reads: "Wake up early."
...and it's on the clock radio.
I give her my best Commander Spock raised eyebrow.
"It says 'Wake up early.?"
"Yes dear, I have to get up early in the morning."
"You don't find anything wrong with this?"
"No."
I hand it back to her, and she replaces it.
We read for a bit. I read the same paragraph until I realise I'm reading the same paragraph.
"That note doesn't make sense."
"Yes it does."
"How?"
"I want to wake up early."
"But it's a note."
"Yes." I can tell she's getting frustrated at reading the same paragraph as well. She stops reading then she sighs with a "I am patient with you" look. She turns to me and explains "I wrote the note to remind me to wake up early in the morning so I wont be late."
I think about this. SWMBO is an intelligent person, one whose intellect I respect.
"Darling, how can a note help you wake up early in the morning.. what about the clock-radio?"
"What about it?"
"Use it. Set the alarm earlier..."
"I have."
"And you've written a note?"
"Yes."
Now it's my turn to sigh.
I start to giggle in both amusement and frustration.
"But why have you written the note?"
"When the radio goes off, I'll hit the snooze button. When I do I'll read the note and remind myself that I have to get up early."
Snap.
Logic.
Later, lights out and I am lying on my side enjoying the complexities of SWMBO's mind and the way it thinks.
I start.
Something's wrong.
That's it.
Sigh.
SWMBO's clock-radio has always been set fast. It never tells the right time...
She's an avid note and list writer. I suppose anyone living a busy lifestyle, such as we do, realises notes and lists are important tools; they help us make it through the week. She normally leaves notes in that spot in the kitchen every house seems to have.. the place where the post sits, bills fester, school permission slips lurk until the-night-before...
But not this note.
This note is sitting in front of her clock-radio.
I'm not a home-note person. I write notes at work in my diary, but not at home.
Lists are worse. I hate lists with a passion because they're all about control. Write a list and suddenly it has a mind of it's own, not unlike a Ouija board. The worst travesty of lists is their ability to leave things out. Take a shopping list. First it demands you go grocery shopping (the control thing) then it tricks you into relying on it.
It works like this; I return home to where SWMBO is bound to ask "Did you get the toilet paper?"
"Was it on the list?"
"It should have been."
"Well, it wasn't on the list."
This short but regular dialog is followed by the "You're a forgetful twit." look.
You can see what I mean. People automatically rely on lists. And lists let you down.
But this is a note, not a list and its on the clock radio, at night, at the wrong end of the house.
It can't be for anyone but her, if it was for me, say a romantic note, then she'd leave it on my pillow, or if not, then out next to the forgotten permission slip.
I lean over her, reach out and snatch the note.
It reads: "Wake up early."
...and it's on the clock radio.
I give her my best Commander Spock raised eyebrow.
"It says 'Wake up early.?"
"Yes dear, I have to get up early in the morning."
"You don't find anything wrong with this?"
"No."
I hand it back to her, and she replaces it.
We read for a bit. I read the same paragraph until I realise I'm reading the same paragraph.
"That note doesn't make sense."
"Yes it does."
"How?"
"I want to wake up early."
"But it's a note."
"Yes." I can tell she's getting frustrated at reading the same paragraph as well. She stops reading then she sighs with a "I am patient with you" look. She turns to me and explains "I wrote the note to remind me to wake up early in the morning so I wont be late."
I think about this. SWMBO is an intelligent person, one whose intellect I respect.
"Darling, how can a note help you wake up early in the morning.. what about the clock-radio?"
"What about it?"
"Use it. Set the alarm earlier..."
"I have."
"And you've written a note?"
"Yes."
Now it's my turn to sigh.
I start to giggle in both amusement and frustration.
"But why have you written the note?"
"When the radio goes off, I'll hit the snooze button. When I do I'll read the note and remind myself that I have to get up early."
Snap.
Logic.
Later, lights out and I am lying on my side enjoying the complexities of SWMBO's mind and the way it thinks.
I start.
Something's wrong.
That's it.
Sigh.
SWMBO's clock-radio has always been set fast. It never tells the right time...
Friday, August 25, 2006
SWMBO and that logic
Women are funny things. I'm sure someone out there has remarked as much and certainly more eloquently.
SWMBO, as mentioned, uses logic in a way that never stops bewildering me.
Take the weather.
"Gee, the weather's funny today" she'll say from our bathroom at 7:00am, before she's left the house, only minutes from waking. I make these points because I expect any judgment on the day's weather to be borne with experience. I am sure you couldn't really make comment on the weather until, at least, you've been out in it for a bit. And you've something to compare it, requiring you be out in it long enough for a point of reference. To put your tooth brush down and come up with a gem like "Gee, the weather's funny today" strikes me as odd.
Naturally, I am compelled to respond, which for quite a while now goes along the lines of "Well, weather is not a stable system; it's in continual change. Some-days the change is rapid, others slower, but it's always changing. It's also very unpredictable much like the way dice will roll."
"Yes, but, yesterday it was windy and rainy and today it's sunny."
Sigh. "But why is that funny?"
"Well, it changed. Yesterday was windy and rainy, today it's the opposite."
Calling the weather funny because it changed defies logic.
SWMBO, as mentioned, uses logic in a way that never stops bewildering me.
Take the weather.
"Gee, the weather's funny today" she'll say from our bathroom at 7:00am, before she's left the house, only minutes from waking. I make these points because I expect any judgment on the day's weather to be borne with experience. I am sure you couldn't really make comment on the weather until, at least, you've been out in it for a bit. And you've something to compare it, requiring you be out in it long enough for a point of reference. To put your tooth brush down and come up with a gem like "Gee, the weather's funny today" strikes me as odd.
Naturally, I am compelled to respond, which for quite a while now goes along the lines of "Well, weather is not a stable system; it's in continual change. Some-days the change is rapid, others slower, but it's always changing. It's also very unpredictable much like the way dice will roll."
"Yes, but, yesterday it was windy and rainy and today it's sunny."
Sigh. "But why is that funny?"
"Well, it changed. Yesterday was windy and rainy, today it's the opposite."
Calling the weather funny because it changed defies logic.
Twilight Zone
The first day of deceit ends without SWMBO being aware of the notebook. Of course she doesn't know because I've not breathed a word.
It's a strange feeling living this double life, which Dell informes me should end on the 5th of September; the day the notebook arrives.
Naturally, I am torn between the excitement of receiving a new toy and the fear of facing her with the news.
It's a strange feeling living this double life, which Dell informes me should end on the 5th of September; the day the notebook arrives.
Naturally, I am torn between the excitement of receiving a new toy and the fear of facing her with the news.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Way, a LAN, snow, a dining cabinet, and speed shopping
Life with SWMBO is never dull.
I’ve been toying with buying a notebook computer for a few weeks now. I could use it on my twice-a-day 40 minute train trip to do work stuff, learn new modelling and CAD programmes I am behind on, plus the odd movie and music. I’ve read through nearly all of the novels in the house so I'm bored.
This is how things are developing…
Two weeks ago I drove with a mate up to Brisbane from Sydney for queensLANder; a TOG LAN party where we got together with 60 players for a great weekend playing computer games and catch-up. I started organising it ov
er four months ago. It was a fantastic success due mostly to great volunteers and TOGgers themselves. Anyway, SWMBO was giving me my week's spending plus extra to go away. She had $200.00 in her hand and asked, "How much did you spend on petrol?" We'd recently changed our banking policies to avoid horrendous VISA bills. She now withdraws cash for the week. I get $25 spending, plus $32 train fare, and about $20 for petrol each week. Somehow this always appears as a single $50 note.
Hey! She's a lawyer, not an accountant.
I argued $25 was less than the $40 I used to get but she countered that "the bloody internet" cost about $15 per week and that came out of my "spending".
"But you buy all those vitamins, herbs, and that Rhodesian swamp water stuff! PLUS you go to the Gym and then there's all that Nutrimetics you buy"
"I need the vitamins & herbs to help me, and it's not swamp water; it's medicine that stops PMS each month. You don’t want a return of that, do you?" The horrors of a mad woman going through her cycle each month was worth $100 bottles of swamp water. "And the Nutrimetics keeps my skin wrinkle free and beautiful; you want me to look lovely, don’t you?"
One of the big errors in my life was to marry a lawyer. I've rarely won an argument since. Marrying SWMBO was wonderful; it’s just the Lawyer bit.
"Well, that's still a whole lot of extra stuff you get that I don't".
Bad move.
I can play a fair game of chess but I'm out of my depth with SWMBO.
She takes her usual "hand on hips" victory stance.
"Well, if you want to spend some money on gym fees I suppose we can find it; you do want to go to the Gym, don't you?"
Busted.
Cornered.
If my eyes were beady they'd be darting back and forth looking for a way out of the room as quickly as possible, but no, they had to be content with the wild-eyed-look-of-fear instead.
"Well, no, but I still get less than you, and the internet is mainstream now... like the telephone, electricity, water. Why should I have to pay for a utility when all those others come out of general revenue?"
I had her with logic. She's not strong in it, which I can't determine if it's purposeful or not. I am suspicious she uses false logic to advantage.
Either way, as financial director, she still has the purse strings.
The conversation ended, and two weeks later I'm still only getting the $50 note that’s magically worth $77.00.
Anyway, I tell her I had to fill the car up and it cost $60. She whips the $60 from the $200 and hands me the change. Sigh. A weekend away on $140.00.
Naturally, once safe in Queensland, nearly a 1000 kilometres away, I withdrew another $100 from an ATM. Actually, Demon_Keeler withdrew it for me.
It took a while after queensLANder, and the long drive home, and a busy week at work catching up on the two days I had off; before it dawned on me that SWMBO and our children were going away for a weekend in the snow.
Hmmm… I could use that to help broach the subject of a notebook. They returned late Sunday night. After the luggage had settled I asked, “How much did the scout skiing weekend cost?” She was a bit cagey with the answer trying to add up this and that and making comments like “It was good value since we got two breakfasts, two lunches…” etc.
Ha! I had her justifying the “cheap” weekend away with the scouts. Turns out it was about $1050.00 plus “shopping, takeaway and some ‘other things’” Total somewhere around $1300.00.”
I’m working on the thought this is a good softener for my next big idea, but it can wait until Monday night. I don’t want to be too obvious.
Monday night, “I’ve been thinking of buying a notebook to use for work.”
Things got a little out of hand after that. Not by the words spoken but those which weren’t. It was a very short discussion mostly from me justifying the purchase. Surely she’d see the “fairness” on the basis she spent nearly as much on the weekend. I made no mention of the conversation the night before…
I needn’t.
She did.
Who was I trying to fool?
It ended with “You asked about the ski trip just so you could argue for a notebook.”
Dang.
I wasn’t going to give up so easily, it’d just take time, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting an agreement on Monday night anyway, just enough to seed the idea and wear her down with persistence.
But then I am dealing with a woman, a wife, a lawyer and above all an expect shopper.
We’ve been married eighteen years. You’d think I’d learn?
SWMBO was given a bonus in July for all of the long hours spent covering poor staffing levels. Our wages have always been consolidated so there’s no argument about petty things like bills and expenses or in-equities. The idea behind it is what’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. And to our credit we’ve never had a word about who contributes more or less. And it’s not happening now. Either way, the proceeds from mum’s estate will arrive soon to add to the coffers in a small way, but one thing I want to do for myself with the inheritance is get this notebook. Still, under the rules of consolidated revenue administered by the financial director this purchase needs both our signatures.
I’ve been toying with buying a notebook computer for a few weeks now. I could use it on my twice-a-day 40 minute train trip to do work stuff, learn new modelling and CAD programmes I am behind on, plus the odd movie and music. I’ve read through nearly all of the novels in the house so I'm bored.
This is how things are developing…
Two weeks ago I drove with a mate up to Brisbane from Sydney for queensLANder; a TOG LAN party where we got together with 60 players for a great weekend playing computer games and catch-up. I started organising it ov
er four months ago. It was a fantastic success due mostly to great volunteers and TOGgers themselves. Anyway, SWMBO was giving me my week's spending plus extra to go away. She had $200.00 in her hand and asked, "How much did you spend on petrol?" We'd recently changed our banking policies to avoid horrendous VISA bills. She now withdraws cash for the week. I get $25 spending, plus $32 train fare, and about $20 for petrol each week. Somehow this always appears as a single $50 note.Hey! She's a lawyer, not an accountant.
I argued $25 was less than the $40 I used to get but she countered that "the bloody internet" cost about $15 per week and that came out of my "spending".
"But you buy all those vitamins, herbs, and that Rhodesian swamp water stuff! PLUS you go to the Gym and then there's all that Nutrimetics you buy"
"I need the vitamins & herbs to help me, and it's not swamp water; it's medicine that stops PMS each month. You don’t want a return of that, do you?" The horrors of a mad woman going through her cycle each month was worth $100 bottles of swamp water. "And the Nutrimetics keeps my skin wrinkle free and beautiful; you want me to look lovely, don’t you?"
One of the big errors in my life was to marry a lawyer. I've rarely won an argument since. Marrying SWMBO was wonderful; it’s just the Lawyer bit.
"Well, that's still a whole lot of extra stuff you get that I don't".
Bad move.
I can play a fair game of chess but I'm out of my depth with SWMBO.
She takes her usual "hand on hips" victory stance.
"Well, if you want to spend some money on gym fees I suppose we can find it; you do want to go to the Gym, don't you?"
Busted.
Cornered.
If my eyes were beady they'd be darting back and forth looking for a way out of the room as quickly as possible, but no, they had to be content with the wild-eyed-look-of-fear instead.
"Well, no, but I still get less than you, and the internet is mainstream now... like the telephone, electricity, water. Why should I have to pay for a utility when all those others come out of general revenue?"
I had her with logic. She's not strong in it, which I can't determine if it's purposeful or not. I am suspicious she uses false logic to advantage.
Either way, as financial director, she still has the purse strings.
The conversation ended, and two weeks later I'm still only getting the $50 note that’s magically worth $77.00.
Anyway, I tell her I had to fill the car up and it cost $60. She whips the $60 from the $200 and hands me the change. Sigh. A weekend away on $140.00.
Naturally, once safe in Queensland, nearly a 1000 kilometres away, I withdrew another $100 from an ATM. Actually, Demon_Keeler withdrew it for me.
It took a while after queensLANder, and the long drive home, and a busy week at work catching up on the two days I had off; before it dawned on me that SWMBO and our children were going away for a weekend in the snow.
Hmmm… I could use that to help broach the subject of a notebook. They returned late Sunday night. After the luggage had settled I asked, “How much did the scout skiing weekend cost?” She was a bit cagey with the answer trying to add up this and that and making comments like “It was good value since we got two breakfasts, two lunches…” etc.Ha! I had her justifying the “cheap” weekend away with the scouts. Turns out it was about $1050.00 plus “shopping, takeaway and some ‘other things’” Total somewhere around $1300.00.”
I’m working on the thought this is a good softener for my next big idea, but it can wait until Monday night. I don’t want to be too obvious.
Monday night, “I’ve been thinking of buying a notebook to use for work.”
Things got a little out of hand after that. Not by the words spoken but those which weren’t. It was a very short discussion mostly from me justifying the purchase. Surely she’d see the “fairness” on the basis she spent nearly as much on the weekend. I made no mention of the conversation the night before…
I needn’t.
She did.
Who was I trying to fool?
It ended with “You asked about the ski trip just so you could argue for a notebook.”
Dang.
I wasn’t going to give up so easily, it’d just take time, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting an agreement on Monday night anyway, just enough to seed the idea and wear her down with persistence.
But then I am dealing with a woman, a wife, a lawyer and above all an expect shopper.
We’ve been married eighteen years. You’d think I’d learn?
SWMBO was given a bonus in July for all of the long hours spent covering poor staffing levels. Our wages have always been consolidated so there’s no argument about petty things like bills and expenses or in-equities. The idea behind it is what’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. And to our credit we’ve never had a word about who contributes more or less. And it’s not happening now. Either way, the proceeds from mum’s estate will arrive soon to add to the coffers in a small way, but one thing I want to do for myself with the inheritance is get this notebook. Still, under the rules of consolidated revenue administered by the financial director this purchase needs both our signatures.
Tuesday morning I find myself at home with The Daughter who’s redecorated the bathroom with the recently internal contents of a 13yo child’s stomach. It’s my turn to stay home and anyway SWMBO has already left for The Son’s athletics carnival.
At about 4pm SWMBO returned home all excited. She’d dropped The Son off at a schoolmate’s house and made a field trip to the local furniture shop. For 13 years she’s been trying to get me to build a dining room cabinet. Now, today, she decides to visit a store. She drags me up to the place and points out a hideous stained-pine glass cabinet. It’s unsuitable to hold dinning room stuff; it’s for glassware, figurines etc.
- It’s made from pine. Like I am going to allow THAT into my home.
- It too narrow.
- It’s ugly.
- It’s about $800.00, Pfft on special it’s too much already!
There's the false logic at work again.
At the time I didn’t know it but now it all comes to light. The shop makes to order as well. After an hour she’s signing an contract for a custom made dining cabinet in Tasmanian Oak. $1730.00.
Wednesday.
24hrs.
It took me nearly a whole day to realise I’d been hoodwinked. Here I am hinting at the cost of the ski trip to help my argument for a notebook thinking I am cunning by playing it slow and calm.
I look so amateurish compared to SWMBO.
When will I learn I am playing with the best of them?
Over night she’d gone from hearing me suggest a notebook to her planning a counter-spend. She’s spent the last of the bonus. She’s beat me to the post. She’s signed the deal and sealed the fate of the notebook in less than 18 hours from Monday night to Tuesday afternoon.
God she’s good.
Thursday. I can't take this lying down so I placed my order for a Dell notebook at the cost of $1675.00.
So, laugh if you like, 18hrs for her to get the gumption up, and 48hrs for me. I figure the inheritance will be though before the credit card bill attracts interest. And there are all sorts of justifications such as value for money, sale ending today, tax deductions under my small business, and GST rebate etc. I even placed it on my personal Visa card so she won’t see it so soon.
It’s all figured out.
Except the part about how I explain the purchase to She Who Must Be Obeyed.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Home from hospital
Dateline: 29th May 2006
I live.
Thank you all for your kind wishes, phone calls, emails, PMs and offers to cut my lawn. My mind was drawn to TOG quite often and wondering how you all were doing just as much as I was with other close friends. I am heartened to see the concern you hold for me in this thread. I arrived home this morning, alone, by taxi, to an empty house, if you'll pardon the three cats who couldn't be bothered to do more than raise a sleepy eyebrow.I am still a bit zonked so you'll need to wait for the anthology of the eventful week I've had.Hmmm Meds...
...later that week... 3rd June 2006
Ah well, I had a low day on Thursday and from Friday afternoon up until and including this morning. Just feel week and unsettled. Not sleeping, waking in sweat etc.Most of the pain had gone but now I find it was the nice meds keeping it away. Now that I've run out of the strong stuff: the pain from the two incisions and swelling has returned. *I must take the anti-inflammatories and panadol more often.*I (we) saw the neurosurgeon yesterday morning (Friday) who gave me the all-clear. He took back some nasty drugs the hospital shouldn't have let me leave with (apparently some form of morphine that they normally only prescribe for cancer patients).He also gave me a DVD with some movie files showing the operation in action. Aww god - all that blood. Even made me feel woozy. (Yes MF I will send you a copy )Looks like I can return to work on Monday, the boss hand delivered a nice wooden gift box of red wine (Margaret River Reds) on Thursday night. Yum.
Here's some pictures:
I live.
Thank you all for your kind wishes, phone calls, emails, PMs and offers to cut my lawn. My mind was drawn to TOG quite often and wondering how you all were doing just as much as I was with other close friends. I am heartened to see the concern you hold for me in this thread. I arrived home this morning, alone, by taxi, to an empty house, if you'll pardon the three cats who couldn't be bothered to do more than raise a sleepy eyebrow.I am still a bit zonked so you'll need to wait for the anthology of the eventful week I've had.Hmmm Meds...
...later that week... 3rd June 2006
Ah well, I had a low day on Thursday and from Friday afternoon up until and including this morning. Just feel week and unsettled. Not sleeping, waking in sweat etc.Most of the pain had gone but now I find it was the nice meds keeping it away. Now that I've run out of the strong stuff: the pain from the two incisions and swelling has returned. *I must take the anti-inflammatories and panadol more often.*I (we) saw the neurosurgeon yesterday morning (Friday) who gave me the all-clear. He took back some nasty drugs the hospital shouldn't have let me leave with (apparently some form of morphine that they normally only prescribe for cancer patients).He also gave me a DVD with some movie files showing the operation in action. Aww god - all that blood. Even made me feel woozy. (Yes MF I will send you a copy )Looks like I can return to work on Monday, the boss hand delivered a nice wooden gift box of red wine (Margaret River Reds) on Thursday night. Yum.
Here's some pictures:
Way, a donut, a garden & the Knife
Dateline: 12th May 2006
I’ve had a slippery disc for about five-six years.In January I lifted a bag that was too heavy which set it off, a few days later I did some snorkeling (involving a rip) when I twisted the wrong way, so the only thing to do was come back from holidays and jump off a garden wall, and garden walls around my place are not your average garden variety garden walls. Unfortunately I was not wearing my cape. It was at the cleaners.After ignoring it for a month, after realising it’s not going away after another two weeks or so, after booking myself into a chiropractor & x-rays, after seeing him three times a week for 3 weeks and twice a week for two weeks, after coming to the conclusion that it’s actually not getting better I decide to see my GP, then go to a radiologist for a MRI; after all of that; I’ve finally seen a neurologist who said I need an operation.So SWMBO, the personal injury lawyer, who knows all about back injuries (and everything else), wanted me to get a second opinion.“This is my body, my temple, did I go off at you when you were pregnant? It’s your womb, this is my back.”“I know it’s your body, but it’s OUR problem if something goes wrong” She had me there, after all, the pregnancy became OUR problem shortly after the screaming and pushing ended.“But I fully understand what’s wrong and what will fix it. I’ve even looked it up on the Internet!”“Oh, and the Internet knows what’s wrong with you?” Please, dear reader, visualise the "raised eyebrow of stupidity" and the "tapping foot of impatience".So I said to her; “Fine. Get me another appointment and make me wait weeks in pain” The reverse phycology (sp) laced with a guilt ultimatum didn’t work. SWMBO is a lawyer after all, and from 17 years of marriage you’d think I’d learn?“No problem, I know a guy I use for work”She would.She rings up and has an appointment at 8:30 the next morning with a Neurologist who is so busy he makes appointments MONTHS in advance. He sees me before his daily schedule starts. I am starting to think SWMBO has a life I which I know little.So I saw the second neurologist (just yesterday) who said the exact same thing.$210 for 20 minutes for an opinion that I already had. Arrggghhh!The first guy was only $150 for 30 minutes.The GP was $60 for 15 minutes.The radiologist who did the MRI charged $200 for 30 minutes The Chiropractor reaped it home at $45 for 10 minutes manipulation. I am in the wrong job.I have a badly herniated L4/5 disc. Think of a donut. Pineapple is fine, though I prefer ones with pink icing. The ring of the donut is made from rubber band type fibers and the centre is filled with something akin to silicon (or jam if you like the donut metaphor). The compression on my spine caused the silicon stuff (jam) to burst through the ring and extrude into the area that normally houses my spinal cord. Think of a toothpaste tube being squeezed, just to mix the metaphor. The jam is compressing the right L5 nerve which runs down the outside of my right leg via deep inside my pelvis. If I had a pen I could draw on my skin exactly where the nerve goes until it reaches my small toe just by the pain alone. I could be a walking nerve anatomy mannequin. I’ll change $45 for ten minutes,The pain is constantly bad, with high points so intolerable that I yelp. If you’ve ever tried to walk on a sprained ankle then you can understand the intensity of the pain. Except it is the whole of my leg and groin not just the ankle. It wasn’t this bad at first, but it’s been getting worse each week. And accelerating. I am noticeably worse today than two days ago. Panadine Forte has little effect & the combination of aspirin, anti-inflammatory pills and an empty stomach have caused “internal” bleeding on more than one occasion. I tell you, it scared the crap out of me in the crapper.I can’t sit, lie, walk or, stand in one position for more than a few minutes. Sitting is best; I can do that for about 5-10 minutes, but after getting up I can only walk for two metres before searing pain makes me wince.People on the train to work have moved seats; others just shuffle across and stare.The surgeon has been able to fit me into his schedule so I can be relieved of this ASAP. He operates on Friday next week (19th)The procedure (microdiscectomy) is to make an incision in my back about 1 to 2cm long, move ligaments around, wiggle a tube into place to localise the works. He may need to remove bone to access the offending area, then slice the jam off & remove it, clean up the area a bit then pull the tube out allowing the nerve to expand back to it’s former self.The SAN (hospital) is using equipment brought in for the operation as a trial (he performs this surgery elsewhere) and they have offered to do this free of charge. It’s new stuff involving a microscope with regular lens or whatever plus a real-time scan of some sort showing a different angle so the surgeon can see what he’s doing from multiple angles. I have no real idea what he was talking about so I might have it wrong; my eyes had glazed over at about the “incision” bit.It’s a “day operation” although I will be staying over-night. I hope they don’t expect me to eat the stuff passed off as food there.He expects I will walk pain-free from the hospital (pain-free except for the incision and hip pocket nerve) however I am to rest for a minimum of two weeks (more like a confinement to avoid a fall etc) and be back at work shortly after wards. Not so long ago the procedure meant a four day stay in hospital and slower post op recovery. This is why the hospital is interested in the new procedure.Still, after private health & Medicare refunds the operation will cost me about $4800 or so, not including another $1500 for doctors/chiropractor/radiologist fees plus I had to pass on my night work to a colleague that was worth between $13000.00 to $16000.00. (I come home from my day job as a wreck due to the pain of being active all day and my customer couldn’t wait any longer)Anyway, it’s been five months and hopefully it will be all over in a week or so.No. Not that sort of “all over”. Mind you, if things don’t work out then can you see to it that SWMBO gives me a proper burial? None of this “just quietly” stuff.
Deadmeat
Dateline: 21st Febuary 2005
SWMBO asked to borrow my car so she could take the children to a bike track for some exercise. She wanted me to go too... the family thing... but my physio says not to ride bikes whilst my L4-L5 disc is giving me trouble... which annoys SWMBO to no end.
She was meeting another family at the rendezvous. I fitted the bike rack, pumped up the tyres, checked the bikes over, adjusted seat heights for growing children, and parked it all ready for her. Regardless, she’s running late. SWMBO is a woman who always finds something to do at the last minute so she’s always running late. I say to her, as she’s leaving, “Don’t worry about the fuel light; it’s low but not that low” She gives me one of those wife-type-looks that reduces husbands to mere-moron-level instantly and drives off. I settle upstairs with a fresh coffee and start up my PC to practice in a game of BF1942 for tonight’s ladder match.
The coffee’s cold beside me right now.
Before I could fire up the game, the phone rings: “Hello?”
“Idiot*, the car’s broken down right in the middle of Wahroonga!”
“Oh dear”
“I think its run out of petrol, and I’m on a hill blocking the traffic”
“Oh Dear”
Silence. (Treat this silence as a guilt type silence, I did)
“Ok, um, I’ll be there right away with some petrol”
“Well you better; I am so annoyed”
“Be right there” I was going to add “Don’t go anywhere” but I caught myself just in time. A rummage through the garage reveals the chainsaw jerry-can with some leaded fuel and a bit of oil… 2-stroke. About 2 litres of a five litre can. It’s too much to top up at the service station and too little to get the car started and too much to tip out. I’ll have to risk it and pour it into the tank and hope it's enough.
I arrive at the scene. Its cold for this time of year, but the weather is fine. The source is an icy stare from a very frosty wife. Without ado I pour the fuel into the tank. No go, not enough on this hill to pump up to the motor. I get the children out, and with the aid of a passer-by, we push it up the hill out of the way for now. I advise SWMBO that I’ll be back ASAP with more petrol, she reminds me that our friends are still waiting to be met, they don’t have a mobile phone (WTF?) and it’s coming up to an hour late. There’s one problem tho. I am only buying about $5.00 worth of fuel. I don’t have any cash. The servo won’t accept cards or eftpos under $15.00. So, humbly, I ask SWMBO for some cash to put petrol in my car that I said wouldn’t run out of petrol. I am sure the cash didn’t like being in such an awkward position, I think it would prefer to be in a bank robbery.
I return as the saviour, albeit, ego bruised so the glory can’t be enjoyed, top up the tank, it starts first go, children board, SWMBO drives off leaving me standing in the street smelling like petrol, holding the can and wondering what is install for me after they return home.
So, TOG Cobra Squad on the BF1942 competition ladder: I may be wifed tonight and not be able to make the game.
Murphy
Dateline: Father's Day 2005
Today, as the father’s day breakfast of coffee and lovingly burnt ham & cheese croissant digest in my tummy, I write to you of another head shaking time at the Way household.
I am a cat lover, but of the short hair type, not the long haired flea-farming-fluff-balls that tumbleweed though our home leaving hair over my washing, my carpet, my hard floors and my lounges. You see I married a girl who loves Persians, and I a Siamese & Burmese lover. Nothing wrong with that; we started out married life by keeping (or being kept by) one Persian (Watson) and one Siamese (Holmes) who got on famously as did the Arthur Conan Doyle characters. Sadly they are no longer with us and have been replaced over the years by a succession of cats: Mrs Hudson, the Persian and Moriaty, the Burmese. And lately, the subject of the threads above; Lestrade the Persian and Mycroft the Exotic.
My gripe started earlier in the year when SWMBO and The Daughter bought home the new kittens. Not only did I miss out on the purchase decision but I missed out on the selection process too. Not to mention the sheer expense involved. Subsequently I’ve had to put up with two long haired cats. Mycroft may look like a short hair, but his coat is quite thick and deep.
Lestrade
Mycroft
Over the months since then the two kittens have been dragged to three cat shows. The running joke was the first show was going to be a first and only cat show. Sif that was going to happen. As each show ended SWMBO was keen to do it again. There’s another in the planning. Anyway, they’ve done quite well; the latest tally is Best Kitten, Best of Breed, Third Place Best Kitten, Top Ten and Top Five. There are ribbons & rosettes from the different shows plastered on the walls.
Naturally, being the head of the household, when I’m cleaning the floors, vacuuming the carpets, brushing the lounges and clothes of cat hair I’ve put my two cents worth in. The lines are wearing thin but I complain about the imposition of the extra cleaning, the lack of decision making, the shear cost and vet fees, and the lack of actually not having the type of cat I like as insult to my injury.
“Look at this! All the cat hair on the lounge! And I didn’t even want a long hair!”
“Oh God, not again, I am sick of cleaning cat hair off my good jacket! A Siamese wouldn’t shed like this!”
“Darling, wife, you should have seen the number of vacuum bags of hair I got off the floors today; it takes ages to clean them properly”
It went on.
For seven months.
Today, SWMBO got even.
Father’s Day.
I should have seen the signs, but being merely male I didn’t. After seventeen years of marriage you’d think I could pick it?
On reflection the first clanger was at the birthday lunch in a restaurant for my father-in-law. The Daughter had wanted to get a short haired cat so I would stop moaning. But then she always wants more animals; story about the mice in this household is waiting its turn to be posted. Anyway, over the months SWMBO and I have said no for many reasons. But SWMBO is a bit soft with money, the love of cats and our daughter. So each time they’ve trekked off to another show I have been at home worrying about what they were doing. Thankfully, SWMBO and The Daughter have come home with no change to the cat population.
Anyway, back to the restaurant. Father-in-Law asks how the new kitten is doing. SWMBO is not at the table at the time so my eyes shoot straight to The Daughter. The look of innocence is not convincing but she protests there is no new kitten. I suspect that the truth is out there and pursue the conversation later with SWMBO. After a few days and the absence of any kitten I put the Father-in-Law comment down to the confusion of an 85 year old on his birthday. That was in late July. Just after the last cat show.
Then came the second clanger. About a week ago SWMBO and The Daughter went off on a Sunday afternoon shopping trip leaving me with The Son at his Football presentation day. It was an afternoon of company among friends with picnic food and plenty of wine to go around. The sun was shining, it was a mild end-of-winter day, the kids were playing cricket and all was good with the world. I thought it funny that SWMBO would want to leave so soon to do some shopping but put it down to the fact that she rarely has free time and this was probably the last chance she could race off to get a fathers day gift from the children for me and one for her father. We’re short of money at the moment and short on crockery for the kitchen. The set we have is about ten years old and we’re down to our last three bread and butter plates. To economise I suggested we give me a new crockery set for father’s day. All agreed, except The Son who couldn’t give two hoots about plates and cups. (Last year, for economy reasons, I asked for a new cutlery setting, which “we” received) I am kind to my family, I make sacrifices. I desperately need a new video card, but new crockery will have to do.
So there I am, sitting blissfully and ignorant in the sun whilst SWMBO was off buying gifts. The real destination only came to light this morning.
Just to prove how “male” I am the third clanger went past with the stealth that only women on a mission can deliver. We were to go to a dinner at a friends place last night, and to help economise I arranged earlier in the week for The Son to stay over at a mates place even though it was the night before Father’s Day. At first SWMBO thought it was a dumb idea, as most of my ideas are to her. Nothing suspicious there. Anyway, the next day she agreed and she volunteered to collect The Son before breakfast.
The cat’s probably out of the bag now and you’ve gathered what they were planning, so read on and see how I was duped yet again.
We need to go back not to the last cat show but the one before in June. It was probably then, that SWMBO gave in to The Daughter and they decided on a new kitten. Evil are the ways of women folk when they plan. These are the events as best I can squeeze from them:
The Daughter contrives with SWMBO to give me a kitten. Perhaps they did it to stop my whining, perhaps they just wanted another.
They order the kitten from a breeder in Tamworth… six hours north of Sydney.
They arrange for the breeder to bring him to the next show.
They meet at the show in August but the breeder brings the wrong kitten in her haste when packing for the trip.
They arrange to ship the correct kitten down the week before Father’s day to another breeder a few suburbs away. God knows how much that cost!
SWMBO and The Daughter take off on that lovely Sunday afternoon to visit the newly arrived kitten leaving me to drink up the wine. “Mere male is not match for our trickery” must have thought as they drove not to the shopping centre but to the breeder at Mt Colah.
They doubled back and bought the crockery later in the day.
I arrange for The Son to stay at a friends place and SWMBO obviously cottons on that this suits her fine: she can leave the house early on Sunday morning with the excuse to collect The Son.
She wakes early and leaves the house, I hear the car go down the drive.
She drives to the breeder and collect the kitten.
She picks up The Son and some croissants & ham.
I’ve rolled over and gone back to sleep, the red wine from the dinner the night before giving me ample reason.
Some time later I hear noises from the going on with the preparation of the burning of croissants and the waking of The Daughter. It’s a great awakening with my family close to me and very affectionate. They present me with a book and surprise! A crockery set. I read the school made father’s day cards and am content I have a lovely family.
SWMBO returns to the room with a bundle that meows as she walks up the hall. I know instantly that it’s a Siamese meow and not a fluff-ball meow.
In her arms is an impossibly small wide eyed blue point Siamese kitten who immediately snuggles into my waiting arms. He’s so affectionate and purring and all good things that a proper short haired cat can be.
Then the events of the past weeks all flood back into my mind as I wonder where in the world this kitten came from. I shot laser guided “eyes” at SWMBO but they melted before reaching her because of the loving smile she was radiating back at me. Dang, Women.
Anyhow, I’ve named him Murphy in keeping with the Sherlock Holmes theme that’s been running in this family for 17 wonderful years.
Murphy
Fluff-balls Lestrade and Mycroft are quite miffed and are giving us a hard time over the new arrival. No cat enjoys, or will tolerate, a younger cuter kitten. Vanity runs strong in the feline world and these guys realise there’s a new bloke on the block and are sulking.
In the end, my economising ways: cutlery & crockery father’s day gifts instead of the video card, and not fixing the dishwasher, but volunteering to look after it “manually” to save money, the farming out of The Son to save on babysitters, (the list is long) is all out the window with
the purchase of a new kitten, shipping and incoming vets fess, food bills and all the responsibilities of owning a lovely, affectionate and proper cat. :)
Oh, and the twin LCD screens I lusted after? I managed to secure a job and splurge on two 19" screens in June 2005. :)
Today, as the father’s day breakfast of coffee and lovingly burnt ham & cheese croissant digest in my tummy, I write to you of another head shaking time at the Way household.
I am a cat lover, but of the short hair type, not the long haired flea-farming-fluff-balls that tumbleweed though our home leaving hair over my washing, my carpet, my hard floors and my lounges. You see I married a girl who loves Persians, and I a Siamese & Burmese lover. Nothing wrong with that; we started out married life by keeping (or being kept by) one Persian (Watson) and one Siamese (Holmes) who got on famously as did the Arthur Conan Doyle characters. Sadly they are no longer with us and have been replaced over the years by a succession of cats: Mrs Hudson, the Persian and Moriaty, the Burmese. And lately, the subject of the threads above; Lestrade the Persian and Mycroft the Exotic.
My gripe started earlier in the year when SWMBO and The Daughter bought home the new kittens. Not only did I miss out on the purchase decision but I missed out on the selection process too. Not to mention the sheer expense involved. Subsequently I’ve had to put up with two long haired cats. Mycroft may look like a short hair, but his coat is quite thick and deep.
Lestrade
Mycroft
Over the months since then the two kittens have been dragged to three cat shows. The running joke was the first show was going to be a first and only cat show. Sif that was going to happen. As each show ended SWMBO was keen to do it again. There’s another in the planning. Anyway, they’ve done quite well; the latest tally is Best Kitten, Best of Breed, Third Place Best Kitten, Top Ten and Top Five. There are ribbons & rosettes from the different shows plastered on the walls.
Naturally, being the head of the household, when I’m cleaning the floors, vacuuming the carpets, brushing the lounges and clothes of cat hair I’ve put my two cents worth in. The lines are wearing thin but I complain about the imposition of the extra cleaning, the lack of decision making, the shear cost and vet fees, and the lack of actually not having the type of cat I like as insult to my injury.
“Look at this! All the cat hair on the lounge! And I didn’t even want a long hair!”
“Oh God, not again, I am sick of cleaning cat hair off my good jacket! A Siamese wouldn’t shed like this!”
“Darling, wife, you should have seen the number of vacuum bags of hair I got off the floors today; it takes ages to clean them properly”
It went on.
For seven months.
Today, SWMBO got even.
Father’s Day.
I should have seen the signs, but being merely male I didn’t. After seventeen years of marriage you’d think I could pick it?
On reflection the first clanger was at the birthday lunch in a restaurant for my father-in-law. The Daughter had wanted to get a short haired cat so I would stop moaning. But then she always wants more animals; story about the mice in this household is waiting its turn to be posted. Anyway, over the months SWMBO and I have said no for many reasons. But SWMBO is a bit soft with money, the love of cats and our daughter. So each time they’ve trekked off to another show I have been at home worrying about what they were doing. Thankfully, SWMBO and The Daughter have come home with no change to the cat population.
Anyway, back to the restaurant. Father-in-Law asks how the new kitten is doing. SWMBO is not at the table at the time so my eyes shoot straight to The Daughter. The look of innocence is not convincing but she protests there is no new kitten. I suspect that the truth is out there and pursue the conversation later with SWMBO. After a few days and the absence of any kitten I put the Father-in-Law comment down to the confusion of an 85 year old on his birthday. That was in late July. Just after the last cat show.
Then came the second clanger. About a week ago SWMBO and The Daughter went off on a Sunday afternoon shopping trip leaving me with The Son at his Football presentation day. It was an afternoon of company among friends with picnic food and plenty of wine to go around. The sun was shining, it was a mild end-of-winter day, the kids were playing cricket and all was good with the world. I thought it funny that SWMBO would want to leave so soon to do some shopping but put it down to the fact that she rarely has free time and this was probably the last chance she could race off to get a fathers day gift from the children for me and one for her father. We’re short of money at the moment and short on crockery for the kitchen. The set we have is about ten years old and we’re down to our last three bread and butter plates. To economise I suggested we give me a new crockery set for father’s day. All agreed, except The Son who couldn’t give two hoots about plates and cups. (Last year, for economy reasons, I asked for a new cutlery setting, which “we” received) I am kind to my family, I make sacrifices. I desperately need a new video card, but new crockery will have to do.
So there I am, sitting blissfully and ignorant in the sun whilst SWMBO was off buying gifts. The real destination only came to light this morning.
Just to prove how “male” I am the third clanger went past with the stealth that only women on a mission can deliver. We were to go to a dinner at a friends place last night, and to help economise I arranged earlier in the week for The Son to stay over at a mates place even though it was the night before Father’s Day. At first SWMBO thought it was a dumb idea, as most of my ideas are to her. Nothing suspicious there. Anyway, the next day she agreed and she volunteered to collect The Son before breakfast.
The cat’s probably out of the bag now and you’ve gathered what they were planning, so read on and see how I was duped yet again.
We need to go back not to the last cat show but the one before in June. It was probably then, that SWMBO gave in to The Daughter and they decided on a new kitten. Evil are the ways of women folk when they plan. These are the events as best I can squeeze from them:
The Daughter contrives with SWMBO to give me a kitten. Perhaps they did it to stop my whining, perhaps they just wanted another.
They order the kitten from a breeder in Tamworth… six hours north of Sydney.
They arrange for the breeder to bring him to the next show.
They meet at the show in August but the breeder brings the wrong kitten in her haste when packing for the trip.
They arrange to ship the correct kitten down the week before Father’s day to another breeder a few suburbs away. God knows how much that cost!
SWMBO and The Daughter take off on that lovely Sunday afternoon to visit the newly arrived kitten leaving me to drink up the wine. “Mere male is not match for our trickery” must have thought as they drove not to the shopping centre but to the breeder at Mt Colah.
They doubled back and bought the crockery later in the day.
I arrange for The Son to stay at a friends place and SWMBO obviously cottons on that this suits her fine: she can leave the house early on Sunday morning with the excuse to collect The Son.
She wakes early and leaves the house, I hear the car go down the drive.
She drives to the breeder and collect the kitten.
She picks up The Son and some croissants & ham.
I’ve rolled over and gone back to sleep, the red wine from the dinner the night before giving me ample reason.
Some time later I hear noises from the going on with the preparation of the burning of croissants and the waking of The Daughter. It’s a great awakening with my family close to me and very affectionate. They present me with a book and surprise! A crockery set. I read the school made father’s day cards and am content I have a lovely family.
SWMBO returns to the room with a bundle that meows as she walks up the hall. I know instantly that it’s a Siamese meow and not a fluff-ball meow.
In her arms is an impossibly small wide eyed blue point Siamese kitten who immediately snuggles into my waiting arms. He’s so affectionate and purring and all good things that a proper short haired cat can be.
Then the events of the past weeks all flood back into my mind as I wonder where in the world this kitten came from. I shot laser guided “eyes” at SWMBO but they melted before reaching her because of the loving smile she was radiating back at me. Dang, Women.
Anyhow, I’ve named him Murphy in keeping with the Sherlock Holmes theme that’s been running in this family for 17 wonderful years.
Murphy
Fluff-balls Lestrade and Mycroft are quite miffed and are giving us a hard time over the new arrival. No cat enjoys, or will tolerate, a younger cuter kitten. Vanity runs strong in the feline world and these guys realise there’s a new bloke on the block and are sulking.
In the end, my economising ways: cutlery & crockery father’s day gifts instead of the video card, and not fixing the dishwasher, but volunteering to look after it “manually” to save money, the farming out of The Son to save on babysitters, (the list is long) is all out the window with
the purchase of a new kitten, shipping and incoming vets fess, food bills and all the responsibilities of owning a lovely, affectionate and proper cat. :)Oh, and the twin LCD screens I lusted after? I managed to secure a job and splurge on two 19" screens in June 2005. :)
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