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From India, With Love

Don't know that I can do justice to the following conversations...

Today, just like any other, I had a call from what was presumably a call desk somewhere in deepest, darkest India. The caller identified himself, and the company he was calling from, but for the life of me I couldn't understand him. I asked him to repeat himself, which he did so of course I still couldn't understand. In the end I just said, look, I don't really have the time, thanks anyway, blah, blah, blah, see you later - before hanging up.

Approximately 10 seconds later, the phone rings again, it's the Guy From India again...

GFI: Excuse me, madam, we seem to have been cut off...

Me: No, we weren't cut off. That was me hanging up on you because I don't want to talk to you.

GFI: But I have something very meaningful to discuss with you!

Me: No, you don't!

At which point the phone was slammed, very purposefully, down into the cradle. Again.

Phone rings again. Again, it's the Guy From India...

Me: NOT INTERESTED!

Phone slammed down again, before the extra words 'just %$^%$%^$ off' accidently emerged. (Note to mother: they wouldn't have. Really.)

Phone rings again. This time, I just slightly raised the receiver, before slamming it down again. Now, I go and see Gary. He has strict instructions to answer the phone next time it rings. Which it does, a short time later. At this point I'm sitting on the floor, putting on shoes and socks. Gary answers the phone, and before the other end has a chance to talk, he puts on his very best Indian accent and tells them that he is 'tinking dat I am very busy doing my tax...' I was rolling around the floor in a fit of laughter by this stage. Not to be deterred, the caller continues. Gary comments, and the phrases 'desperately ill child, heartless, scientologists, no, we killed ours off...' made me suspect that perhaps this was not the GFI.

After he hung up, Gary casually mentioned it was some guy with an American accent, ringing on behalf of Scientologists, about something to do with a sick child, and when he told the guy that we got rid of our kids (!) he threatened to go to the authorities...

Just another boring Sunday...

So I Did

Dance like nobody's watching;
Love like you've never been hurt.
Sing like nobody's listening;
Live like it's heaven on earth. (Mark Twain)

Today I caught the train into the city. I was listening to the radio on my mobile phone, when a favourite song of mine came on - Straight Lines by Silverchair. So up went the volume, and before I knew it, I was singing along... On the train. With other people on board.

It reminded me of our easter holiday. We were part way into the 4 hour drive away from home. Our car at the moment doesn't have a functioning radio, so once again I plugged my headset into my mobile (gotta get an iPod!) and listened to the radio... and sang along. I've really been uninhibited about singing along out aloud since I was introduced to Singstar on Playstation. With Singstar you can turn the volume of the song up really loudly, so no-one can hear you singing just like the sound you make when you run your nails down a blackboard. And up. And down again.

But in the car, no-one but me could hear the music. And Gary turned to me, and started talking. Very gravely:

'When you have your earpiece on, and no-one else can hear the music, you shouldn't sing. Really. I really mean it.'

Of course I stuck the earpiece back in, and started singing again. But it didn't last long, because I couldn't stop laughing at the fact that the world's worst singer had asked me to stop singing. Because although I might sound like nails on a blackboard, at least I"M IN TUNE. That was entertainment value for about half an hour.

Which brings me back to today, on the train. At least the people on the train were polite enough just to look away. But I didn't end up singing for too long anyway, because I couldn't stop laughing...

I've decided I'm going to fulfill every line of Mark Twain's quote. Will let you know how I go... :)

Head Over Heels...

A couple of weeks ago, we celebrated Christopher's 9th birthday with a sleepover. Well, that was the plan. Reality was that when Gary went to bed at 3.30am (I piked out at 2am) the joint was rockin'... as it was at 7am when I got up, and I don't know that any 'sleeping' actually occured. They were all in the lounge room, and to accommodate 5 nine year olds plus a little sister I had to move a substantial amount of heavy furniture around.

My back hasn't been the same since. In fact, since then my back has seized up more with each passing day. Can't sit for long. Can't bend over. Can't do lots of housework...hee hee!

Well, today I was leaving work, in rather a hurry to get home, as I had to pick up a car load of kids from dance class before heading off to be facilitator at a meeting. Couldn't be late. As I was about to place my foot on the flagstones on the other side of the road, a fellow pedestrian zipped in front of me, causing me to shift my weight. And yes, one of my new shoes slipped on the flagstones. My biggest concern was falling on the road (and not just any little road - I'm talking Victoria Street!), so I tried to keep it together and managed to fall just on the footpath. It was kind of strange: as I was doing slow motion splits I could hear ooooohs and gasps from people before I even hit the pavement, so I knew it was going to be a goody. I was wearing a crossover top, paired with a new pair of satin bras - and had spent the entire day trying to prevent my chest from slipping out of my top. In trying to preserve my dignity by preventing a humiliating fall, I crash-landed, skinned my knee and of course my breasts leapt right out of my top.

Did any of my students see me?? I couldn't get up from that fall quick enough, and... Hey! I managed to get up from that fall without even noticing my back! Some thing must have popped back in, or out... It may have been humiliating, but it was a darned sight cheaper than the chiropractor...

Let Your Imagination Guide You

I just have to share my absolute favourite ad on the TV at the moment: it's for the city of Melbourne - Let Your Imagination Guide You - where a guy meets up with a giant who shows him around the city. This is just so absolutely me. It shows some of my favourite parts of our city; I love the accompanying music. But I really love it because of the giant. When I was young I had lots of imaginary friends, and they seemed to come in twos: Heather and Feather, Sultana and Raisin were the main ones. They went with me everywhere - talked to me, played with me... what can I say? My sister is almost 4 years younger; I was a bit lonely for a while! She only had one imaginary friend - Cheryl - who usually took the form of a bag of oranges or potatoes. For a while there, it was common practice in our family to ask someone for some help carrying 'Cheryl' when you needed a hand to move something.

But I had a veritable group hanging out with me, helping me to make pies in the sandpit, pushing me on the swing, and running around with me at the back of the oval in primary school, willing me to run just that bit faster so my feet would lift off the ground and I would find myself flying.

I also love the fact that in the ad there is another imaginary friend who appears to be a pixie; it reminds me of a recent conversation with Alexandra about when she lost a tooth a couple of weekends ago. She was camping in the Dargo high country with Gary and some friends (I was working that weekend) when the tooth came out. There's no mobile phone reception around there, so the Tooth Fairy had to wing it. The conversation went something like:

Alexandra: Mum, I was worried that the Tooth Fairy wouldn't find me out there. But (one of the other people camping there) said they saw a white light flying over us and it was the Tooth Fairy.

Me: Yes, I'm sure she always knows just where to find you. She even knows to come when you've lost the tooth that just came out.

A: Yes, and she brought me lots of monies [about $5]. But she didn't bring any Fairy Dust. Why not?

Me: Well, I guess that she only had so much room for such a long trip. I guess it was the money or the Fairy Dust. Would you have preferred less money?

A: Mum, what does Fairy Dust do? Is it different to Pixie Dust?

Me: I'm not sure... What do you think?

A: I think it makes you fly. Does it make you fly?

Me: Well, I don't think it makes me fly. I'm a bit big.

A: So am I. But it could make Erini [the smallest girl in her class] fly...

Here's a photo of A with some class mates; Erini is on the left, Alexandra is on the right:

Sadly, she's probably right. But, I guess she could always get a job as a guide for the City of Melbourne...

Super Powers

One of the benefits of being a mum is that you grow eyes in the back of your head. How else would I know who poked who? Or who hid their broccoli in a basket in the play tent? But that's not all. I happen to have other extraordinary powers... Gary calls me 'Detective' because I can be away for 5 days, and within 5 minutes of being home give a rundown of everything that transpired at home while I was gone, right down to how much toast was burnt and who came over for a play, and where they played that's off-limits. [It helps if your child takes photos with your camera when you're not there...:)]

But my dad really has got super powers. He can find you. I can be out somewhere, a place I didn't even know I'd be, and my dad will walk in. And not because he just happened past - because he just knew I'd be there. Over the years he's put it to good use in large shopping centres: we'd hear his particular whistle through the throngs of people, and sure enough, there he'd be.

Gary has an unique ability to remember every inch of every outback track he's ever travelled. And every moment of every trip we've ever taken. Ask him what he had for dinner last night and he'd be hard-pressed to remember.

And Alexandra has her own set of super powers to counteract mine. She has this ability to know exactly which of my buttons to press, at the most (in)appropriate time, two steps ahead of me. Either super smart or not, depending on what life expectancy she has in mind. Although she does know when to step in with a well-timed, sugar-coated, 'I love you Mummy'...

What super powers do you possess?

That Halo Effect

Considering how tall I am, it should come as no surprise that for years I have had difficulty buying shoes. Well, I guess more than that, I can't actually find shoes that fit me. It's not so bad over summer, when I can get by with my toes or heel hanging over the edge of the shoe. But in winter, when shoes are closed in, I have lots of trouble getting something to fit. This winter, it had been 2 years since I had bought shoes, and I was getting desperate. I knew I would be paying full price for shoes, and it annoyed me that I would have to pay through the nose and and they would still not fit well.

However, I had been listening to radio ads for Gilmour's Comfort Shoes, who specialise in fitting hard-to-fit-feet. I guess that I qualify for that, so off I went, only to discover that they needed to add the word 'nanna' into their ad somewhere. I honestly wished that I could quietly back out of the store when I saw that their shoes catered especially to those seen on the bowling green or in aged-care facilities, either on the residents or on the nursing staff. However, I was there, I held a 'number' in my hand, and before I knew it I was being checked for size.

I have to admit that even I was shocked. I had originally started off adult life as a size 10.5 (ladies), and then seemed to grow to 11 after I was pregnant with Christopher. Since I had Alexandra, I could no longer squeeze into 11's, so I was always on the search for 11.5. Well, lo and behold, it seems that I am actually a size 13. Yes, that's right, T-H-I-R-T-E-E-N. A 13 N to be exact. Very long, very skinny. I knew I wouldn't be getting any shoes in a regular department store anymore. I scanned the shelves - all the shoes were lace-up or velcro-strapped. Inside of me a voice was screaming - crying for all the high heeled, strappy shoes I knew I was destined to no longer wear. I didn't care about comfort, I only cared about how I looked.

Slowly I was surrounded by shoe boxes. Pair after pair of shoes came out from the store room, all with the label 13 N on them. I had been quite explicit about what I wanted - a nice pair of shoes to wear out: dressier than runners, more casual than courts. The people from Gilmour's were kind enough to show me their entire range for my size - including sandals. In winter. Just in case, so I knew I could get something in summer. I started to eliminate them one by one. Too ugly. Not stylish enough. Didn't fit properly. Things were not looking good. Eventually, they came back to a shoe they had shown me first off. I had dismissed it as being a typical 'nanna' shoe, and refused to even try something so ugly. Now, things were grim. I was running out of shoes. One of the people serving me, Joe, told me that these shoes were special. They had a Halo Effect. This Halo Effect meant that although I cared more about how I look in the shoes before I put them on, once on - feet comfortably in heaven - the Halo Effect would kick in and I would feel good all over, and not care how they look.

I tried them on. Joe was right. One and a half hours after entering the shop I came home with them, and they have barely left my blissful feet since:

 

The Two Me's

Just musing recently about how things change. I used to be excruciatingly shy, infact I would still say that on the inside, I am basically a shy person. Whenever I mention this to friends, they are inevitably rolling around on the floor, laughing their heads off. Couldn't possibly imagine this person who can't keep her mouth shut as shy at all. I made a concious decision to change when I started at university: I could either continue on as my painfully shy self, or make an effort to approach others. I could start a new life. I can still remember the day clearly - waiting in the corridor for one of my classes, I nervously struck up a conversation with the other two people waiting there. The girl's name was Ja, and we are still friends today, 20+ years later. The second person, a guy called Andrew, asked me out on a couple of dates (we're not still friends today, lol). It became obvious fairly quickly that this was the right way to go. Join in or get left behind. Nowadays, I don't have a problem approaching people, and if I decide to be the old me, friends think that I'm unwell. There aren't many people left in my life who witnessed the old me; not even Gary. But we're going away in January, camping with my cousins who live interstate. I don't see them very often, and they remember me as that shy and awkward girl. Boy, are they in for a surprise. Or I may just take the opportunity to chill out and revisit my past.

And isn't it funny how age changes you too. I have often been left open-mouthed at the things old people clearly have no compunction in stating. No sign of diplomacy. No hint of contrition. Every now and then, I catch myself saying things I once never would have. Nothing that bad, but not the usual me. I wouldn't say that I'm that old yet, but I think I can now see which direction those old people are coming from.

But some things never change. I am the ideal person to play poker with - I wear my heart on my sleeve. When it comes to how I'm really feeling, you'll always get the honest truth from me, something that's never changed. Usually I manage to do this tactfully, but sometimes... (see second paragraph). Life's too short to waste time.

Doing My Head In

Do you ever have days when you just crave a bit of piece and quiet, so that you can concentrate (and in my case, finish work and/or assignments)? Do you ever find that when you need it, that's when it just never is quiet?

Case in point: today, there is a !$*#!*&#!^ bird outside who just won't shut up. I'm presuming it's an indian minor, probably a mama, looking out for family or friends. But it just sits there, chirping incessantly, with the regularity of super-nano-logic-digital-clockwork.

And to top it off, our cat Whingey - oops, sorry - that was meant to be Tiger - just won't shut up either - meowing incessantly despite having been fed/cuddled/let out/let in. And he insists on shadowing me wherever I go. I thought it would be a good idea to get him and the bird together, as Whingey-Tiger is quite a good bird hunter, but he wasn't keen on the idea, as I wasn't following. Here's a picture of Whingey-Tiger:

I would have posted a photo of the bird if I could get close enough to get a photo, but in that case I would have wrung its neck anyway, and it wouldn't have been a pretty picture...

Living in Parallel Universes

This week I have been paying the consequences for living in parallel universes last week.

Just like this time every year, I have so much on my plate at the moment, and regularly get so little sleep it's a wonder that I let my head operate on its own for choosing breakfast cereal, let alone anything more important.

Nearly every arrangement I made for this week, over the past week, was done without referring to my diary - using my head to commit dates to work and social activities. So far this week, I've managed to get a calligraphy society meeting, a scrapbooking crop, a client meeting, and a clothing party double booked. I'm still waiting to find out what I've actually missed. It's only Tuesday.

One thing I did manage to do today was get to my dance class at the gym, for my weekly dose of hysterical laughter combined with uncoordinated movement supposedly passing for dancing. But I suppose it doesn't really matter what it looks like, when the idea is just to get a cardio workout. The temperature in Melbourne overnight was about 25 deg celsius, and it got to about 36 degrees today, so it shouldn't be a surprise then that even half an hour after the completion of the class, and after a shower, my face was the same colour as my top, a wonderful shade of beetroot. I'm guessing it passed the test for a workout...

Do You Know What This Is?

It's the assessment of my teaching session today - I'm competent! Only one more assignment at home, another in class, and ONE more week to go, and hopefully I'll then be fully qualified to teach at a TAFE college anywhere in Australia. And the best thing is that as a result there may even be a possibility of teaching classes at this venue. I'm still doing the Happy Dance!