Sunday Scribblings ... TOYS.

The Sunday Scribblings girls wanted to make it lighter this week ... the prompt is Toys!

New babies in the family bring to mind how things used to be. Toys are beginning to appear. $70.00 for a plaything for our new girl shocked the socks right off me. A couple of lengths of psychedelic coloured man made material with brightly coloured shapes hanging from it. Add batteries and Bach or Mozart will serenade our little treasure and by the time she's six months old the thing can be adjusted to become a night light with some additional new fangled devices added so the mobile part will rotate ... can you believe it?

I know, I know I sound like that bloody old stick in the mud I swore I was never going to be. At the unveiling of the contraption I didn't express my horror, I kept my opinions to myself, and tried to reassure my doubtful self ... that's how it's done today. I refrained from sounding disapproving or judgmental ... I quietly wished I had shares in a toy factory!

In my day ... I cringe at that term ... I was adamant I'd never use it ... but here it is!

In my day a length of fabric from the bottom of a tattered sheet or thread bare towel strung through a couple of wooden cotton reels was usually baby's first toy. The cloth was long enough to slip over bub's head. Baby would be propped up or sit for hours twirling the cotton reels. A soft fabric ball hand sewn from scraps of fabric thrown into the air, rolled along the floor or gently thown toward the bub was another toy. We scrunched paper to make a noise, we allowed them to play with a spoon and as they got bigger a wooden spoon banged onto the tray of their high chair was all the entertainment needed.

We saved up to buy the first teddy bear. One that made a gentle growling sound when tipped backward or forward. We put soup mix, aka dried peas or beans into the corner of a piece of cloth as a noise maker. We clapped hands, snorted like a pig, blew raspberries, clicked our fingers, goo goo gooed, whistled and laughed ... all without batteries.

As my Dad aged toys of a different kind featured. He wanted what we grew to call his 'boys toys'. First was a new top of the range electric / battery operated shaver. Next he demanded a battery operated CD player, a small battery operated radio, a battery operated toothbrush, a battery operated hand held fan. Eventually the cost of batteries use was becoming exhorbitant as he'd forget to switch his toys off.

The purchase of a battery charger with re-chargeable batteries was going to save time and money. Dear old Dad would invariably plug the unit in then forget about that as well consequently burning the life out of the batteries ... on second thoughts forget the shares in a toy factory I'll settle for shares in a battery factory.

Scribble Soup for Writers Block ...

Stumbled across Scribble Soup for Writers Block ... a great quickie to get the grey matter working ... Thanks Dee ...

Sunday Scribblings ... HEALING.

Sunday Scribbling girls have done it again ... OK I won't repeat my weekly exclamation ...

'Healing' is this weeks prompt ... Gadzooks ... healing ... not round here!

February 25th a renowned surgeon removed a 2.6 cm nodule and my right thyroid. 'It'll only be a 6cm incision' he assured ...

NOT ...

Eleven weeks on ...

Now an MRSA diagnosis ...

Plus I'm fed up with people talking to the gash ...

Before my living bra died they used to talk to the girls ...

Sunday Scribblings - FOLLOW.

The Sunday Scribblings girls write ...
I find this whole concept of following very intriguing. Sunday Scribblings, for example, can be followed in Blogger, in Bloglines and Google Reader to name just a few. Who do you follow? How do you decide what to follow? Do you follow anything else? People, pets, television shows, careers, really slow drivers, toddlers, family lines, rules, regulations, paths, routes, celebrities, all need to be followed in one way or another. Tell us your take on 'follow


In every day life I don't regard myself as a 'follower' I attempt to be unique, I think and see things differently to everyone I know yet in the contenxt of the SS prompt I am a follower of sorts.

I follow many TV shows, yes I'm a self confessed reality fan ... Project Runway, Amazing Race, Big Brother, Biggest Loser, Idol, Trinny & Sussanah ... love them all ... amd more! Some of the changes in my life I owe to Oprah, ten years ago that is, not by the Oprah standards of today.
Now my daytime TV followings are Martha Stewart, Ellen and The View, more down to earth ... yes still contrived but more believably so and much, much more fun!

The blogs I follow are numerous. I adore being motivated by the plethora of talented women around the world in blogland. My one and all time favourite is Corey of Tongue in Cheek . This beautiful woman and her photography, her thoughts, her opinions, her ideas, plus her values all full of beauty, ooze an integrity that fills me with joy when I pop by.

Following traditions, mores and values change as we change. I don't decide who to follow, it simply happens. Keeping an open mind leaves the possibility of happening upon something or someone new open to me ... if I followed too closely ... I'd be a stalker then wouldn't I?

Sunday Scribblings #158 Scary ... what scares you?

The Sunday Scribbling girls have done it again ... with their "SCARY" prompt ... they say 'I can't recall if we've done this prompt before, but I'm curious: what scares you?'

From twelve to fifteen I was sent to live with my Grandma ... that's another story ... but the most freakiest, scariest, thing living there was the double door linen cupboard at the end of the hall. When you entered her front door the said cupboard was on your left, dark timber doors, each about two feet wide. Straight ahead was the bathroom down the hallway to the left was the breakfast room, as she called it. Ahead was the "middle door" into the living room through to the bedrooms where beyond, the most panoramic, million dollar view of Bondi Beach took your breath away.

As the weather grew cooler she would insist the middle door, that doorway from the living room was kept closed, 'to keep out the draft' ... I was sure it was to keep out whoever lived in that cupboard. Even walking down that hallway during the day, with the sun behind me, the reflection of the sea making my shadow glisten on those doors I was sure someone was going to leap out at me ...

Nights were the worst. She'd not allow the hall light to be left on. To get to the bathroom I always had to stretch from the middle doorway to the breakfast room to get the light on ... oh golly just thinking about it makes me cringe ...

She had no idea. I wonder why I didn't ever tell her?

That three years was torture ... so was walking into the bathroom where she had a curtain hanging behind the door covering brooms and a ladder ... someone was lurking there too ...

No-one has ever heard me yell " ... turn that light off!"

Thursday night I was scared going in to a tunnel. The taxi driver didn't know I don't do tunnels ... you can overcome anything!

Sunday Scribblings ... #157 CELEBRATE

Sunday Scribblings has done it again ... a prompt so in tune ... 'CELEBRATE.'

The girls ask "what do you have in your life to celebrate" ... my one word reply ...


EVERYTHING!


Hope you're life is as excellent as mine!

Sunday Scribblings ... AGING.

Yet again the Sunday Scribblings topic for this week hits the nail right on the head for me …

This week I became a Great-GrandMaMa (click here to meet Isabella) … yes I know … how can that be you ask, someone so vibrant, so young, yet only 39 with a lot of late nights …


March 25 I was blessed. I’ve said so many times before I am blessed again and again and to be there, no not in the delivery suite, no way could I see my baby have her baby but to be stroking my grand-daughters brow shortly before Isabella made her entrance, was phenomenal!


I’m a cryer, I tear up at movies, parades, sad songs, happy songs, births, deaths, marriages, surprises, graduations, celebrations of any description, jokes both sad and funny, good and bad … you name it I shed tears, get a red, snotty nose …and Isabella’s entrance epitomised what life, tears and aging was all about.


For me aging is only ticking off the numbers. You can’t change it … think old, you’ll be old, worrying about it makes you old, endeavouring to avoid the inevitable simply detracts from what’s impossible to change. So go with it, enhance it, surround yourself with positive, happy, contented people ... trusts me it rubs off. Avoid negative whingers who drain the life out of you, who clog up your pores with their woeful baggage ... choose people who get over it, who don't dwell on what they can't change, people who love being alive no matter what destiny deals.

A dearly departed friend always said she would never hang round with old people, sick people and poor people … that was a funny saying when we were out and about in our prime but not so funny when that same friend died not so old, but sick and poor … says it all doesn’t it?


To have survived, to own a myriad of stories, memories to cry about, to smile, share and hand on to a new generation … makes aging bliss.


To have reached a never dreamt of pinnacle in my precious life allows me to choose a new theme song ... the perennial, somewhat defiant chorus of the Australian 70s group The Masters Apprentices song “Because I Love You” … Do what ya wanna do, be what ya wanna be yeah click here to sing along ... you’ll love it ...

Sunday Scribblings ... I come from ...

Sunday Scribblings has done it again ... given me the opportunity to share with you one of the all time, greatest Aussie anthems ever recorded ...

I Come from the Land Downunder.

See the video here ...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNT7uZf7lew

Follow the words and sing a long ... courtesy of here

Traveling in a fried-out combie
On a hippie trail, head full of zombie
I met a strange lady, she made me nervous
She took me in and gave me breakfast
And she said,

"Do you come from a land down under?
Where women glow and men plunder?
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover.

"Buying bread from a man in Brussels
He was six foot four and full of muscles
I said, "Do you speak-a my language?
"He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich
And he said,

"I come from a land down under
Where beer does flow and men chunder
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover.

"Lying in a den in BombayWith a slack jaw, and not much to say
I said to the man, "Are you trying to tempt me
Because I come from the land of plenty?"
And he said,

"Oh! Do you come from a land down under? (oh yeah yeah)
Where women glow and men plunder?
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover."

So what does it all mean?

According to Wkipedia ...

The term Down Under is a colloquialism referring to Australia and New Zealand. It locates Australia as "the land down under" because it lies totally within the southern hemisphere. "Down Under" is also attributed as the inspiration for the underwear brand Gilly Hicks, from the internationally recognised American lifestyle brand and company Abercrombie & Fitch.[citation needed]
The persistence of the media use of the term has led to its wide embrace and usage. The Men at Work song "Down Under" became an instantly recognisable, patriotic rallying song. The famous Australian boxing champion Kostya Tszyu was nicknamed "The Thunder From Down Under".

So now y'all know ... I come from the land downunder ... and mighty proud of it too!!

Sunday Scribblings ... Listen up etc ... My Dad's health ...

The past week has been turmoil with the unexpected decline of my Dad's health.

Last December a bout of flu became pneumonia. Dad also had a mild heart attack resulting in heart failure which has slowly worsened and confusion has become dementia. Dad's conscious, his breathing is laboured, he knows who's around, he tells the staff to 'get nicked' when they tend to him! Palliative care has started.

This pic was on his 92nd birthday surrounded by staff at the nursing home. His major priorities, wine, women and food remained foremost despite his age!

Listen up this is important ... it doesn't matter about the man he once was, it's of no consequence what's transpired in the past ... he's my Dad. He did what he thought was right, he worked hard, he was a good provider, he did the best he knew how with what he had!

Now his dignity, peace and most of all his comfort are paramount. I'm sitting with him every day. This isn't a sad time.

Sunday Scribblings #152 ... LOST ...

My previous post reminds me of how losing things, obvious things, everyday things, increases with age hence my cynical suggestion that a small keepsake purse might have been a good idea at surgery.


Women in our great grandmothers era wore a chatelaine round their waist. What a splendid idea. A belt with the then necessaries of life attached. The scissors, pencil, thimble, keys, watch, spectacles all suspended from an individual chain. Todays chatelaine might have your mobile phone, digi camera, credit cards and other essentials in easy reach yet individually attached so as to never become lost!


How can you put keys down, glasses, scissors, a pen, the lid of a jar or bottle, an implement that you’re in the process of using and in one nano second they’re lost?


Is it age? Is one side of your brain slowing down? Does someone have an answer?


This week I’ve lost my right thyroid and the attached 2.6cm nodule, as well as my keys, the cover to both my camera and mobile phone, two sheets of paper with addresses written on them plus my reading glasses … please don’t reply till the glasses turn up!

SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS ... Somewhere

Somewhere ... over the rainbow ...

Aww c'mon, you all wanted to ...

Sunday Scribblings 122 - Do I have to ?

DO I HAVE TO?



My new best friend sends me a photo of her chidren ... Awwwww

I click on Sunday Scribblings to see if the weekly prompt is up ...

Synchronicity !

Sunday Scribblings -~ Chance Encounter.

I've been flummoxed with this prompt. Will I, won't I, contribute this week? You see I don't believe in chance encounters. I believe mysterious, sudden and unexplained events happen in my life for a reason. For me there's no such thing as a coincidence or a chance encounter ... it's synchronicity, it's meant to be, it's planned to possibly teach me something, to maybe connect or lighten my soul, to give me strength for something greater.

Even in the face of a trauma for me it makes no sense to dwell on the negative, to look to blame, what's done is done and who suffers by going on about it? Life is too precious. What happens happens. Of course everything in life isn't going to be peaches and cream. Whether good or not so good it's better to learn from the experience, the catastrophe, the encounter? From a bad situation make the necessary changes to not repeat what might have caused that particular drama ... and get on with life!

Wonderful things happen to me every day. Recently on a new writers site I wrote I was enthused about getting back to writing and contemplated beginning another writing dedicated blog. I took a break, trawled round the net, found a site where a free blog template competition was offered, I entered, I won. I put it out there. My problem with the original blog description was solved, my motivation was given a new spark, it wasn't a chance encounter it was meant to be.

It's happened not facing this screen too. We've lived across the road from each other for yonks, we're so alike it's scarey, we're like two peas in a pod, totally independent, totally content with our lots, we don't suffer fools, our cats are our darlings, we're both writers, collectors, scroungers, cynics, with no excess baggage, not looking for a new friend ... but kindred spirits have collided ... not by a chance encounter ... it's synchonicity it's meant to be! I'm blessed.

Sunday Scribblings # CURVES 113

Friday night TV after 10pm usually sucks … Sunday Scribblings prompt up on a Friday night is perfect … Curves … tonight no different.

Mmmmm … while pondering, channel changing … shazam … a program on SBS “Love Me, Love My Doll” … a doco made in 2006 in California and the men who love their one hundred pound, curvy, not the blow up type girls …what a perfect prompt!

There’s the guy who lives with Kelly and Ginger, when he dies he wants them buried with him, the guy shopping for an outfit and a new wig for one of the eight dolls he has living in crates in the garage … his new living girlfriend wonders what part they play in his life now they’re together, she wonders if he’s “not telling her something” ! There's the guy dressing his honey to go on a picnic, spraying her with perfume, then he pops her in the passenger seat of his truck, puts on her seat belt, then takes her for the day out …

Pubic hair patches are the norm. Someone’s mother takes the orders at the company and tells viewers of the customer requests … how someone wanted an 80 year old doll, someone else wanted a doll with pubes to - well, all over … they sent the patches.

Curves … there’s the DaveCats gal, click here to see for yourself, who after six years living together is going for repair, the longest time they’ve been apart … he’s broken hearted as he packs her in the crate.

The repair guy finds her in good condition, compared to the ones who arrive with private parts worn out, especially as he’s running out of replacements. The repair man’s curvy, living / live-in girlfriend, found them intimidating at first, she got over the jealousy … I kid you not … all true …

In a creepy way the manufacturer is doing womankind a service ... I think???

When you stop laughing, read more Sunday Scribblings Curves here ...

Sunday Scribblings - Quitting

QUITTING ... when the big five O candles were blown out, the ice melted, the the balloons burst, the drunks departed and the hangover subsided, quitting began ...

Drunks
Bums
Losers
Booze
Partying
Jealousy
Drama
Temptation
Depression
Inherited attitudes
Learned behaviour


Over time the list grew ...
Cigarettes
Benzo's
Perfume
Wheat
Gluten
Dairy
Caffeine
Red meat
Excusing bad behaviour
Whingers
Back stabbers
Guilt
Liars
Cheats


Lately ...
Taking life and loved ones for granted
Crossing roads


When I get to the other side of the road there'll be more ...

Sunday Scribblings # 111 - SOAR / SORE

Soar / sore

Gadzooks - have you gals been on the same wavelength – flabbergasting prompt!

Soar – when a silly old woman hit me, causing me to soar across the front of her 'vintage' car. Judging by the contusions on my right side plus the gaping hole in my new black top, the said motor vehicle was equipped with rear vision mirrors attached to each side of the bonnet … I contemplate … were they specifically designed to gouge my flesh, break my fall or as an aid to soar?

OR ::

Sore – splayed across the bitumen, my eyes opened, flummoxed, I heard the too old driver of the said motor vehicle exclaim “she broke my windscreen” … imagine how sore she could have been had I been capable of rising and punching her in the nose?

Sunday Scribblings # 103 - I Just Don't Get it ...

Yayyyy Halleululjah I thought ...

I'm constantly bamboozled, flabbergasted and gob smacked at why people Just Don't Get It ...

Some that spring to mind are ...

that the law is an ass ...

why people don't answer a question with an answer ...

why people talk loudly on their mobile phones in public places ...

why people don't hear or read the question ...

why people don't get that life's not a dress rehearsal ...

when people don't get that 'charity begins at home' ...

that people trip over their ego's ...

when people make a comment that has no bearing on the topic ...

when people are rewarded for bad behaviour ...

why people just don't get it ...

why people only see the negative side ...

why people who have so much still thrive on being miserable ...

why people revel in martyrdom ...

why people believe the media ...

why people relish being the scapegoat ...

why people don't seek the root cause ...

how people can be cruel to children and animals ...

why people allow non life threatening illness' to encompass their whole being ...

why petrol prices rise when the stuff has been in the undergeound tank all week ...

why people don't either - Get It or Get Over It ...

why people take everything so seriously or literally ...

why some people think they're never wrong ... Oooops ... hang on ... ...

NO I DON'T ... ;)

read other I don't get it's here ...

Sunday Scribblings #100 TIME MACHINE

Sunday Scribblings #100 prompt is Time Machine!

Is it cheating using a previously submitted Writers Island piece on the same topic ???

No way - it's much needed respite to ogle my time machines and go elsewhere to do other equally worthwhile tasks ... Thanks Sunday Scribblings ... and a HUGE Happy 100th ... Yayyyyyyy!!!

Read my TIME MACHINE contribution here

Sunday Scribblings & Writers Island, TIME MACHINE

The often theoretical and much discussed definition of time travel as the concept of moving to and/or fro in different points in time through space, for me, in reality is too far fetched. Fascinating theory if it’s jollied up for kids stories as a some brilliant scribes have written in this episode of Writers Island …

My interpretation of time travel encompasses the journeys we take in life. To-ing and fro-ing, emotional wrangling, physical constraints, times of life, personal experiences, the listening and hearing of other people’s spatial perceptions make a conglomerate of accomplishments to astound, educate and delight. That’s my kind of time travel.

The rest is a bunch of gobbledogook derived by thinkers with too much time on their hands. Check out the grandfather paradox … what did that dude eat the day he made that one up? Worse still academics are arguing the hogwash … cynical, yep that’s me.

Cyber space is as close to the theorised perspective of time travel I’ll get!! To know it’s Sunday here, yet only Saturday on the other side of the world where someone is reading my writing is cool. That’s the kind of time travel I’ll contemplate knowing we’re all travelling in time from the now to the immediate … enough of that codswallop, enjoy your journey if you get in one of those new fangled time machines otherwise ... what’s for dinner … or is that breakfast for YOU???

Sunday Scribblings # 97 FRIDGE SPACE

Frequently I refer to home " ... as like living in a fridge. In winter it's so cold you can hang a side of beef in the joint for days without fear of it going off." The winter heating bill is massive ... reminder ... check economic heating before winter ... I digress.

Sunday Scribblings prompt reminded me of times when there was no fridge space. Childhood days when we'd hear the clip clopping of the horses hooves on tar roads, knowing the ice man was coming.

In those days fridge space was never a problem, they were a rarity. Ice chests kept food cold. Shopping was done daily. Mother's cooked by the seasons, the weather and the affordability of ice. She's prepare accordingly so by the time father was due home his dinner to be on the table as he walked in the front door.

The ice chest was revered. A wooden cupboard about 15 x 15 inches by three feet tall. There was a top section, insulated with some kind of material that is probably illegal now, where a hinged door lifted up to hold the block of ice. Ice insertion could be compared to turning a fridge on ... NOT!

The door was only opened as needed, ice cost money. No standing in front of it with the door ajar, the light on, peering in, deciding on a cold treat. None of that. The ice chest held the milk, the meat, fish if Dad had caught any, butter if you could afford it and little else. Other food was stored at room temperature. If there was no ice chest a meat safe, a wooden cupboard, with the sides, top and door covered in wire mesh, kept the flies off the meat.

The days the ice man delivered we waited, jiggling for spots, yet scared to death of a hiding if our mother saw us on the road. As the clip clopping drew closer our hearts raced, round the corner came the huge thundering horse, our excitement level rose, we watched, temporarily mesmerised as the lithe, ice man, slung a block of ice up over his shoulder onto a hessian bag all the while, his feet moving, in step with the moving cart then running. As he took off we'd scramble onto the road behind the cart, scavenging for a slither of the glistening ice to suck on, to numb out lips and tongues, to saturate our sleeves.

The scrawniest kid was the lookout. As soon as 'the ico' reappeared we'd be the innocent, angelic Bondi kids, lurking, walking quietly in the gutters, not too close to the horse, waiting, wishing, willing, ice to drop to the roadway. The littlest kids took the biggest risks darting in and under the moving cart. The horse never stopped, it knew the delivery route, it ambled on, bridle and reins dragging, as deliveries were made, while mouths and hands jostled for the drips of freezing water, the nectar of the day. Small feet followed the cart, like a procession, to feel the cold, wet rivulets between our toes.

The naivety and bliss of it all ... enough ... I'm off to Google a heater price the temperature is only twenty degrees tonight ... winter's round the corner ... is that hooves I hear?