Yo, keepin’ it real…

I’ve been with Glen for about six years. That’s a fairly long time. That’s long enough to really know that person and to have routine, to exist together. There’s really no surprises at this point of the relationship, so you feel comfortable and relaxed.

This should be the case for inlaws and inherited relatives. Alas, it is not. They don’t have a clue who I really am and they don’t know my tastes in things. This results in birthday and Christmases being very disappointing and demoralising.

I’m continually starring in a recuring role on Pleasantville. We all know the movie. It’s set in picture-perfect-nobody-has-any-real-problems land. We’re all pleasant and polite. No one has a mean thing to say about the other and we put on a persona when in the presence of such company.

This is hard for me. I consider myself to be a very real person. To say it like it is. I wasn’t blessed with the gene of subtly. I don’t know what that word means. I grew up in a very relaxed family which consisted of me and my mother. The lines of parent and child were blurred to become friends and accomplices in life. It was how it had to be. The tap needed fixing, we were both there fixing it. Dinner had to be made, we were both there peeling the potatoes and cleaning up. Ironing and washing had to be done, we both endured it.

More to the point, if there were issues, she told me off and I had my say (to a small point). We sorted it out. We kept it real.

Suddenly, I am thrust into another world where such relationships were never formed. Where affection towards each other wasn’t as paramount as it was in my family. That is not to say it wasn’t there, because I am sure it was. But the degree to which you say I love you etc is not as present. In this new world, people do not say what they think, they keep it to themselves. If you have an opinion that others do not concur with and the situation presses enough buttons, you are told to shut up - like a small child that you were 20 years ago.

I don’t want to disparage this family, because for all the things I whinge about, the produced the man I am spending the rest of my life with. The man who has so much love to give, there is never enough time to receive it. He is perfect, despite the issues that surround us today.

Having said that, it has been refreshing for my partner and his sister to get an ‘outsider’s’ take on the situation. To give an objective appraisal of the situation. To say that for others, this is not a normal family dynamic. People do talk back, they do express discontent and annoyance to each other and the lines of parent/child become blurred as the child becomes an adult and the parent just becomes another adult. Children at the age of almost 40 are not told to ‘do be quiet’ as they were when they were 10. They aren’t silenced because the parent has ordered it. The dynamics are supposed to changed. We are allowed to question our parents. It’s ok.

So, this family dynamic has become a bit of an issue for me and for my partner and his sister. It’s been a stressful week and I feel as if there is great expectations placed on me to sort it out, to bite the bullet.

Life is so much simpler when you pretend in your everyday life that no one but you and your partner exist. It is very selfish, but less complicated.

Something to brighten your day

Giggle Pot

My day would have been better served sleeping in.

Humiliation at work, excited people screaming happy birthday to me. People I do not know. People I don’t see outside of work. Chocolate cake. Not so good. It should have been. Card with well meaning wishes.

ANZ presentation. All staff in organisation listening. Well meaning manager announces “special” day. More humiliation and embarrassment. Shrink off to lunch with friend whose birthday it is tomorrow. She understands. Had a good chat. Wandered back to work.

On table, a gift voucher and potted orchid from manager and colleague. Very sweet and a little overwhelming. Who spends $100 on someone they don’t know too well? It was very appreciated though.

Stumbled through the rest of the day with headphones.

Don’t feel older. This isn’t about age. Just not enthused about birthday celebrations like I once was. Part of me is pleased that many people forgot. That is fine.

Scored a heart-smart grill and a lovely JAG wallet from Glen, plus $50 from mum. Might score something else on the weekend from other.

Big hugs to the crazy chick in Sweden. Thanks for the morning b’day wishes. It was sweet Thanks to Di for never forgetting, no matter how much is on her mind

Can’t wait for Friday evening to arrive Sleep ins and relaxation, Greek dinners and voucher-spending.

31 aint a bad number. It kinda means nothing actually. I’m going to have trouble remembering it. 30 was much easier to remember.

Very cute

Mother hen coming home to roost

Thanks to everyone who sent messages and made comments in my blog. It means a lot to know there are people who are reading and who feel compelled to respond. It’s nice to know my blog entries compel some people to respond.

I hopped back on the treadmill yesterday. It’s been a week since I ran and I made the mistake of not stretching afterwards and also taking up Glen’s offer to massage my calves. So, yesterday after I ran, Glen massaged my legs and I stretched and it was good. So, I treadmilled tonight and although I couldn’t manage much running, I did walk a total of 30 minutes, so it’s nothing to be scoffed at.

There’s been a bit of a time lapse in starting this entry. I was interrupted by a phone call from my mother.

A bit of background here. Mum has been developing some health problems which have been severely affecting her life. She has been diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis and something associated with it called Sjogran’s Disease - I think. Anyway, she’s feeling down and it’s becoming harder for her to do things

Glen and I have been talking about this idea for a while and I guess I’ve always known that being the only child, there might come a time when I might need to take care of mum. Afterall, I am the only child and there is no Mr Sam’s Dad. I mean, there is - I am not the product of an immaculate conception and my father is out there somewhere, but I have lost track of him and I dare say, he could give a shit about me. So, I kinda always knew that mum and I would stick together until the end.

So, about two weeks ago, I pitched the idea to Glen who was completely supportive. I pitched it to a friend who also thought it was a good idea and then spoke to our pseudo financial advisor, who said it was a terrific idea.

I pitched the idea of mum selling her home (which she is already doing) and moving down here (which she is already doing) and moving in with us - so to speak. Not literally moving in with us, but the big picture plan is that she will sell her house in BFN, give us the money so that we can buy another place that has big enough land so that we can subdivide and build a townhouse at the back of the house. The townhouse would be mum’s home and we would live semi-separate lives. The benefits for us would be that we would rent out our current property and it would be negatively geared (a concept that I am yet to really get my head around) and that when mum might pass on, we would have the subdivided property that was sellable. We would sell both properties and move to a single house block again. However, we would have earned a nice portfolio of property etc and Mum would benefit from a lot more amenities, being close to us and vice versa and having access to all services, people and opportunities. My intentions were spurned from concern for mum and wanting to be closer to her, not increasing my property portfolio - in case you wondered.

I’ve lived with the fear of losing those I love. I lost a lot of family and friends as a child and I was particularly scarred from the loss of my grandmother and then of my only sister, so you can imagine that I have serious separation anxiety issues. Ask Glen. Maybe he’ll blog about it, who knows.

You know what her response was to this seemingly ‘to good to be true’ offer?

She got shitty and told me that wasn’t going to happen. She thanked me but was emphatic. I was hurt, but I let it drop.

Glen told me to let her think about it and let the topic go for a while. In the meantime, I spoke to my good friend Di, who suggested I write to mum and explain my case. Talk about the positives and the compelling evidence or wahtever. I agreed and had planned to do it. I knew Di was right because my mother can’t go one minute whilst I am pitching an idea without flapping her gums! So, that was the plan.

Skip ahead to tonight when she called and one of the first things she said was, “I’m starting to think you are right about moving there, so alright”. It was more or less a defeated resignation of her next move to a city. She hates cities, she compares Melbourne to Sydney and she hates Sydney. She grew up there and loathed it. But let’s face it, Melbourne is not Sydney and everyone loves Melbourne, don’t they?! hehe

Anyway, it’s a start and I’ll work on mum to realise that she isn’t giving in to the inevitability of moving into a city area. I know she’ll enjoy it and she will find that it’s more suburbia than a city and she will realise that it’s more interesting to her.

So, that’s my news and I have to say, it’s taken me a little while to realise she has said yes, but at the same time, it’s a bitter sweet occasion because she’s not entirely happy about it.

So, maybe I should still write that letter to her? Explain to her that having family nearby is important. Having your mother nearby when you have kids is important. Having your only parent and close relative nearby is good, right?

Right.

I need to pee.

Buttons

I bought this rather nice and expensive winter coat last year. It is black, woolen and lined and is adorned with fake, vintage buttons. You know, the type that look weathered, but really aren’t? They have a gold tarnished look to them that screams fake, but nonetheless, it’s a warm coat. Like with most articles of quality clothing purchased, the buttons have been slowly falling off and although I have managed to capture a couple of them to resew back on, there are others that are forever lost in the outside world, never to return home. My coat mourns their loss and has held a solemn vigile, in the hope that they would return.

Alas, they haven’t and I have had to face the harsh reality that my coat will need to throw out the old and embrace the new. So, with that in mind, I headed off to a national haberdashery chain in the city, in the hopes of finding a good assortment of buttons.

The word ‘Haberdashery’ brings back another childhood memory of growing up in BFN (trans: Bum Fuck Nowhere), where the local haberdashery had everything, from knitting supplies, sewing needles, threads, ribbons to craft goods and so on. It was run by a noisy woman who aspired to be a Christian. She failed in that regard, although she probably disagrees. Rosemary was just one of those woman who took it upon herself to dish out gossipy goodness to those she believed shared that past time. To us kids, she was a sticky beak who you felt passed judgement on you because you were out ‘urban surfing’ or merely playing ‘car tag’ on a Friday night to ease the burden of boredom, instead of pursuing good christian past times.

I digress. Haberdashery. I spent a good 20 minutes in the buttons sections, becoming more and more disillusioned by the lack of choice and quantities of buttons. If I found a button tube (yes, they come in tubes), it did not hold enough buttons for what I needed to replace the buttons on the coat. And then I had the added dilemma of finding identical buttons, but at a smaller size for the coat cuffs. That became my worst nightmare and soon it became a matter of survival, rather than choice. I hastily picked two tubes and paid for my purchase. Forty-two freakin’ dollars later and I was back to work, proud to have found some matching buttons.

During my mental dilemma in the buttons aisle, a strong memory came back to me and I stopped my search for the allusive buttons and pondered the memory.

When I was a kid, my mother was an avid sewer. She had cotton, wool, fabric and needles for almost everything imaginable. She would be what those in the industry would term, a “Bowerbird” - she never threw anything away and as a result, our three bedroom house was really a two bedroom with a junk craft room piled high with half finished projects and old toys and furniture. Amongst the rubble were bazillions of random buttons, largely kept in old-fashioned cake tins. You know the type? Those that are called antique these days, prized possessions for anyone who loved to back cakes and cookies.

During my mother’s fit of cleaning (very random and rare), she would drag out every button she could find and ask me to put them all together into one container - something that would fit them all. However, I became so fascinated with these buttons, I would set about matching them to other buttons, creating families of the same buttons and counting them. It would take me forever and it occurred to me, whilst searching for buttons yesterday, that this was a bit of a game for me, as I have more than one memory of doing this.

I remember buttons with lady beetles, butterflies and other pictures on them. I remember big fat buttons and a lot of clear buttons of many sizes. I used to sit and look at these buttons for hours at a time, appreciating their patterns and coveting them. I really don’t know why though, because thinking back on it, these buttons weren’t special and the best they could hope for, was a home on a small child’s shirt.

I don’t know what happened to all those buttons, but as I was lost in the masses of buttons yesterday in the store, the memory came flooding back to me. It was comforting and made me realise that I could, in fact, have clear and complete memories of being a kid - a rarity for me. It was nice. Makes me wonder if my kids will have similar, strange fascinations and subsequent memories.

Back to the present. I went back to the store today and returned the buttons. The coat declined to wear the buttons - the buttons were too bright and stark for the coat. I did find new buttons to replace the now old new buttons. So, hopefully when I introduce them to the coat tonight, they will hit it off instantly. Stay tuned.

I think this says it all

Aella2

Originally uploaded by Sams76.

Still don’t really feel like blogging.

One of these days, I might explain.

Right now, I’m dealing with the residue of a migraine and vomiting from yesterday. I’m fine. Just dealing with the shit of being a female who skipped her period for three months, at the suggestion of the doctor.

Funny thing is, I haven’t got my period yet.

Holy Folks Mary!

Holy Folks Mary!

Originally uploaded by Sams76.

I was in Kmart today with mum looking for some toys for Sonnet’s kids when I saw this.

If you can’t see the small writing on the front, it says “Your Play and Pray Pal”. Scary, huh?

What’s scarier is that there’s a Noah!

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Hiatus…

Life’s a bit up in the air right now. I haven’t felt much like blogging. I just can’t force myself, so I am not going to.

I’m sure I’ll start blogging again at some point. Maybe in a couple of weeks. I’m really not sure. I may even get my shit together and merge this blog and my other blog. Suffice to say, I’ll be back, just check back every now and again. Hopefully, I’ll stop feeling like I’m in a funk, like I’m in a haze or cloud and maybe I won’t feel so left-behind.

Mostly, everything is ok. Don’t be too alarmed. Just can’t be bothered too much. Everything is fine. Glen and I are perfectly fine. Life is just a bit blah, it’s changing too much and part of it depresses me.

Stay tuned.