Monday, March 30
He supposed the table top was from his mother's days in this house. Before she died. He wondered why his father hadn't got rid of it, or changed it. He wondered if his father even saw it these days. He looked at the little dent marks he had made with his pocketknife on day when his father was not home yet.
His gaze lifted to the smudged widow, the swipe marks where someone had tried to wipe it clean, but had only succeeded in smearing whatever it was, in arc. He glanced at the filthy curtains, the red & once-white check now grimed, & almost permanantly pleated with stiffness. He could remember the last time his sister had washed them, ironed them, & hung them back in the windows.
It was before he went away, & he was shocked to suddenly notice that the two little pot plants she had placed on the windowsill were still there. Brown skeletons, both of them, with dried soil now almost turned to concrete, or perhaps dust.
His vision shifted out the window, across the long grass, to the leaning stakes from old tomato plants. The overgrown & thigh high weeds which had overtaken the once neat vegetable garden.
He remembered weeding it, watering the vegetables, helping his father plant the new seedlings. That was three years ago now. He had been gone for a year. He had been home again for six months. If he could really call this home.
He looked at the plum tree, now stripped of most of it's leaves. He remembered the evenings in the early summer when they had lain beneath the magic of the cotton candy tufts of pink plum blossom. He remembered how they had talked for hours. Her long hair lying on the grass,Little petals of plum blossom, like confetti on her hair. Her easy laugh, their happy discussions of books they had both read. He had felt no one would love the books he liked, but she did. She seemed to see them, understand them with his understanding.
"Where the hell did you go last night?"
His father, standing in the doorway, his face wearing an expression as sour as his after-sherried breath. His eyes red, pouches of too many nights of drinking sagging under his faded blue eyes.
He turned to fill the jug, & turned on the element on the stove under the disgusting frying pan, which looked as if it might never have been washed. It seemed he lived on whatever food came out of that pan.
"I hope you didn't get stupid, & go making trouble at the girl's place. The old Lady doesn't need that nonsense, at her age."
"What makes you think I went there? I just went out for a run. I might play footy."
"Not with your build, your'e too slight. They want big buggers, the Maori boys would flatten you in the first five minutes."
"I might make those Maori boys my mates, then they wouldn't flatten me!"
Why did his father always have to make him feel worse about his size. Why couldn't he have inherited his father's height, not his mother's slight build. He could feel his face burning with the shame, the sense of inadequacy his father just had the knack to bring out. He wished his blond hair & white skin did not make his blushing so obvious. He felt a rage burn over him again.
"Do ya want some bacon? Eggs? May as well have some, seeing I'm cooking. What about a cup of tea, eh?" As if to soften the remark about his size.
His father didn't take milk in his tea, & he knew there was no milk in the fridge. The old man never remembered to buy it, & it rotted in the fridge when he did. He never forgot his sherry flagon though, as the stack of empties out the back testified.
"Nah. I prefer coffee."
"Well if you get a real job, you can buy your fancy coffee, can't you?". He put the hot water in the teapot, swirled it about, tipping it out and adding the tea leaves from the packet.
"Old man Purdy said I could help stack the hay in his shed today. He'll pay me."
"You can come & work with me. I can teach you house painting, you'd do ok."
"Dad, we both know it wouldn't work, me working with you. I piss you off too much. Besides there wouldn't be enough money. You knock off too early, to get into your piss every day."
The older man turned back to the frypan, flicking the fat over a couple of eggs. Pretended not to hear the last remark.
"Just stay away from that girl, I'm warning you. I don't want any more scenes like there were here that night. Understand?"
He waited a minute or so, dishing out the dripping eggs onto the fatty bacon, some dry bread & butter.
"What the hell were you thinking? I thought you were trying to kill her!"
"Let's leave it eh, Dad? I will see if I can get the mower going, & mow the lawn later this afternoon?"
"Please yourself. I don't care anymore."
He could see his father meant it. He seemed to have lost all care about the yard, the house, his life. It was a wonder he still had any jobs, but he was still regarded with some respect, even though he 'drank' and his only son had been sent 'away'.
Lenience was given, after all the poor man had lost his wife, in childbirth, when she was very young.
He still managed to work, he kept that much dignity.
This is so old it has a beard!!! It goes with the time of the story.
Saturday, March 28
He had never liked ski type jackets, but he was glad he had accepted this from her Grandmother, even though he had not wanted to take a dead man's jacket.
Her Grandmother was practical, and had not wanted it "to go to waste", as she said. He was actually quite surprised at how often he had worn it.
He wished he had worn the pantyhose, under his jeans, like the others wore for their footy training, The girls teased them about cross dressing, but hell, on cold frosty nights, like this one, they needed something to keep them warm initially.
He walked briskly, watching the puffs of his breath, in the bright moonlight. This was the second night he had headed off briskly, telling himself he would just take a training run. His feet felt cold still, in his cross trainers, but he knew they would warm as he walked on, the soft spongy soles rolling under the balls of his feet, cushioning his heavy heel footfalls.
He saw the lights knifing through the darkness, as they approached the bend in the road. He quickly crouched down in the ditch, among the long grass, and bracken, that tickled his nose, until the lights had passed, going too fast on the gravel road, the tyres spewing out stones as the driver swung the ute around the curve. He knew who the driver was, knew he was returning home and would be in a foul mood, as his father-in-law-to-be would have come out to order him home. It was a standing joke, in the dressing room, about the "Blue Balls".
Almost there now, the first fingers of frost tipping the grass, the bracken. It would be a heavy frost, and he felt the cold of it biting at his nose and teeth.
Here was the wide wooden gate, never closed, it hung slightly askew, growing more lichen with each year.
He could see the sliver of light, like a blade on the ghostly grass, thrown from the gap in the drapes that never quite closed. He edged closer, cursing softly as his trainer sank into soft soil. The old lady must have weeded the flower bed.
He peered into the room. He could see the old Grandmother sitting in her chair at the top of the table, seemingly staring right at him. He pulled back, then realised she could not see him in reality, the net curtains prevented sight out into the dark. Not so, the reverse though.
He could hear the murmur of their voices, watched as her hair fell across her neck and face. She brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear. She said she was going to have it all cut short. He had asked her not to have it cut.
She said something, and her Grandmother laughed. She laughed too, lifted her knitting, to measure the length, with a tape measure, on the table top.
He had often wondered about the fact that they chose to sit in the dining room, rather than the lounge room. True, it was more cosy and easier to keep the smaller room warm, on cold nights such as this. The younger brother would be in bed, sleeping the sleep of the young, the innocent.
He stared, his heart thumping inside his chest. He could feel the burning pain of her rejection. His fingers dug into the window sill to steady himself, as a surge of pain and yes, rage, passed shudderingly through him.
He stifled the urge to scream out her name. He thought of her Grandmother's soft eyes, when she had learned that it was all over.
He wanted to reach out, smash the window. Pull down the drapes, the curtains, leap the windowsill, grab her and.... then what? The pain washed over him, the feeling of helplessness.
A dog began barking furiously, somewhere over the paddocks. He could hear the chain rattle, carry in the still frosty night's air.
He looked at his foot prints, a darker green grey in the frost on the lawn. They would surely re-freeze. His footprint in the soft earth would remain.
Thursday, March 26
What’s the Premio Dardos Award?Premio Dardos means “prize darts” in Spanish. It is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing.What do you do once you’ve received one?There are some rules to be followed.
• First, accept the award by posting it on your blog along with the name of the person that has granted the award and link to his or her blog.
There are quite a few rules & regulations attached to this award. I am a notorious rule breaker, & the thought of having to limit my choices to 15 recipients makes my head hurt.
I feel all the blogs I read are worthy of some award, or I would not read them. Some are gentle, & full of art & pleasure. Some are sad & soft. Others are full of Swash & Buckle ~can one say that? Please take the award if you would like it, or award it to some blog you consider worthy.
I was reminded, on the weekend, of a character from the past.
I have thought of her often lately, & I think she wants to be written about.
I would almost bet that she is departed this life, now. She was not young, when I encountered her.
Miss Tee was a tall slightly faded recently tinted red~gold blonde. Rather in the style a rose, whose fresh bloom of youth is gone, the full blown petals not quite wilting, but showing the slight sag of the heaviness of the bloom.
Not that Miss Tee was buxom. Not at all. In fact she was rather angular, & slim. She wore her hair fastened up at the back, & it looked quite rigid during the day, as if she perhaps used those many-toothed metal bulldog clips at night to press the rows of waves into the front lines, that swept back from her slightly wrinkled forehead.
Because her hair must have really been that red-gold colour naturally, her eyebrows were also that colour. Miss Tee used a black pencil to accentuate them, which relulted in a somewhat comical expression on her face. Her
raddled rouged cheeks were a bright red, with a matching lurid red lipstick.
She had strange blue piercing eyes set a tad too close together. When the lines on her eyebrows were particularly rakish she had a very fierce look.
Miss Tee ran a Boarding House for Young Gentlemen.
Miss Tee had very strict Rules & Regulations. No young Ladies were to be taken to any bedrooms.
Young ladies could be brought for Dinner, if permission was prearranged.
Miss Tee did all the cooking, & provided a full nightly meal for all her Young Gentlemen boarders. For a small extra cost, she would also cook for ~& grill & vet, with gimlet eye, & probing questions~ the young Lady of choice.
Miss Tee occasionally entertained a Gentleman herself. She & the Gentleman would retire to her private Sitting Room, to partake of their meal, while the Young Gentlemen were left a pre-plated meal, they could reheat, or a cold salad, to be eaten, as they were ready. They were not to eat their meals in the Communal Sitting Room, they must eat in the Dining Room.
When Miss Tee entertained the Young Gents would turn the music, or the television low, & listen for any grunts, thumps & noises of a mystic nature to come through the walls from the Private Sitting Room.
The Young Gents were usually disappointed in this regard, as Miss Tee's bedroom was a room further away.
Miss Tee rather liked a tipple, & she could often be seen, hair in disarray, makeup slightly smeared, eyebrows even more askew, farewelling her Gentleman Caller.
Of course this occasioned much speculation, & laughter on the part of the mostly sex starved Young Gents.
As it happened I was 'seeing' one of the Young Gentleman boarders. I had got to know several of the other young men, as they were all friends, & would often come to the house where I shared accommodation with some other girls.
One evening we were told we were invited for Dinner at Miss Tee's. We all concluded that we were to be checked out for suitablility for Miss Tee's young Gentlemen.
One of the Young Gents, we shall call Al, was engaged, & his fiancee was invited to attend the Dinner. Miss Tee had learned that Al's fiancee loved classical music, & she startled all of us by loudly playing Henri Mancini music all evening, declaring that she "Just love Classical Music!" Miss Tee had a Special Voice, she would use when, entertaining.
I dont remember much about the meal, but from memory I think it was roasted meat & veg with some thin gravy, with fruit & custard to follow. I disgraced myself by refusing the custard, & I am sure I was marked as 'not suitably well mannered'. We all sat about in awkward silence as Henri Mancini crashed about our ears.
I saw Miss Tee years later. She was more faded, a little thinner, her brows crooked, as ever. She told me she still ran her boarding house, for Young Gentlemen, though they were less refined than they used to be. To my knowledge she never married, & none of the Young Gents ever found out her first name.
As a footnote, Al & his fiancee married, but alas, the marriage failed.His sense of fun & the ridiculous were not at all his fiancee's cup of tea, & we could never see how they got together in the first place.
No I didn't marry the
turd Young Gent of the time, either.
Sunday, March 22
For people, perhaps if it was was less than 10 years since they moved into town, they were 'new'.
For ideas, they need only be the latest bright colours the boys were suddenly all sporting, with fluorescant ties or socks. They were 'new' & were certainly to be frowned upon.
Then there were the 'new' hairstyles that fancy, pelvis wriggling fool, Elvis Presley inspired. Long greasy looking duck tails, on the back of haircuts. Huge slick backs. Sideburns, which had gone out of fashion 20, 30, 40 years before!
'New' in the worst way, & suspect of course. No decent parent wanted their daughter going out with someone who looked like that Presley fool. Someone whose 'new' was to thrust his pelvis about, & pout.
Then the music was 'new' too, and that was a bit suspect. Although Bill Haley & the Comets were not so bad. They looked a bit older, not so 'new'.
The dance crazes they inspired were 'new' & quite frenzied. Perhaps they led to 'sexy' thoughts.
That was not 'new', but the young weren't supposed to know that. They were supposed to think it was not their right to think of such things.
Of course they inevitably did, & then they thought they had invented it. It was NEW, & their special secret.
Parents & 'old' people couldn't possibly know about this, or, if they did, they surely didn't know how to enjoy it. It was all part of their 'old' ways.
Friends were to made slowly, the old were more trustworthy, & the new looked upon with mistrust & suspicion.
What if they were not what they seemed?
Could they be trusted? Even after ten years of honest trading, they were still regarded as 'new'.
It was the country way, the small~town way. Do not be hasty to make 'new' friends.
When I moved to the city, life was different, the pace was faster.
Friends were made quicker, of necessity, & friends would come & go in your life, being no less 'friends' for the quickness of the relationships.
Fashions changed. Dance crazes came & went. The new quickly became the old.
Old friends, though. Really "OLD" friends. They could endure. They took a long time to make, & in the making, something intangible was built, as well as the simple appearing 'friendship'. Shared experiences, shared joys, griefs, delights. Shared sorrows, along with simple laughter & small joys.
I was lucky, growing up in that small town of my birth, because I forged friendships throughout school days. I still have some of those friendships, & I consider myself very privileged. The value of shared friendships still plays a part in my life today.
I have recently been contacted by an old school friend. We had lost touch for many years, but have found it wonderful to reminisce & catch up on shared aquaintances lives & pathways. This friend rings me, when she can, using her 'free' phone time. She lives interstate. It is amazing how many of us, from that small town, now live here in Australia. It is amazing how our memories from that time differ, but are the same.
Since I began blogging I have made many friends. Friends I may never meet in person, but nonetheless, I feel they are friends. Because I have only been blogging since 2006, they would not really be classified long term friends in the usual sense. However, I feel they are, in the world of cyber friends.
I was privileged to receive an award from one such "Old Friend", Tanya, of Anecdotally Yours. I can't remember exactly when I first met Tanya, but I have enjoyed her blog for as long as I can recall, in two incarnations.
Now, I am a dreadful rule breaker, so if you want to take this, please do, & if you want to know the rules for using it, please hurry on over to Tanya's to see her wonderful posts. (and read the rules of course!)
It does rather resemble me in the mornings!!
Plodding about in the garden, I looked for something to brighten the old blog.
All I could see was this lone Tibouchina flower. I should have taken the pic before the other blooms were finished!
Wednesday, March 18
Here he is, surely laughing at the world, & all it has to offer him, in his years to come.
Here is my beloved Great Nephew, on his first birthday. Truly a golden child! I love how he glows, in the sun's light.
Here with his wonderful Uncle C. " Will always catch you N"!!
My wonderful Mum, K, will always be my best friend!
Friday, March 13
Of jewelry, identities, property, money.
Last but not least, of Beauty, & Pride.
I guess, most of us, over a certain age, have experienced some type of theft.
It could have been theft of an idea, in school, those long years ago, when you excitedly told your best 'friend' of your excellent 'idea' for a story, an art project, a presentation.
Only to watch, as that 'best friend' stole your idea, or presented your art, as their own creation. And won accolades, & you could only stand & watch.
You hurt, as you realised the betrayal, the loss, and the actual 'theft'. Your dismay, that someone could do that... with seemingly guiltless ease.
I only remember it once in Primary School, but it made me stop, & feel appalled.
Later in life, we were burgled. I lost dearly loved, & sentimental pieces of jewelry, irreplaceable in the 'real' world. A ring my mother had given me, for an accademic achievement. A piece of Greenstone a dearly loved suitor had given me. Rings my husband had given me.
Our son lost coins, irreplaceable, & frightening to him, at his young age. The pages slashed from his collection book, with some sharp knife, as the police suggested.
The police seemed to feel we had been burgled whilst asleep, which further disturbed our son. We had recently had jewelry valued for insurance purposes. Of course, we were suspicious, as to who had perpetrated the burglaries.
Another theft has been the graffiti, which debases the beauty of our environment. The weak, egotistical, small-penis statements that those sad people feel they have to leave. Can they not see, how they expose their indequacies so boldly for all to read?? When will they realise? Expose them, I say, & let everyone 'admire' their 'small' stature!!
A friend who was assaulted has been told he can write a 'Victim Impact Statement'. He has been told it will have no impact on the sentence of the 'scrote', ( to borrow an American term, which seems so appropriate!) who has now pleaded guilty to the "assault with grievous bodily harm". It makes one wonder, why do they bother to pay lip service to this idea? Why do they offer 'deals' to the little P*!*ks who will just keep offending?
If it has no bearing on the sentence, or the court hearing the crime, why do they encourage people to write them? It would seem to be merely a venting outlet, with no value or impact, on the eventual outcome of the sentence. It seems the victim's suffering, or distress to his life, or family life, is totally irrelevant.
It smacks of the 'wet bus-ticket slap' & we are not expecting the sentence to reflect the pain or life changes, dealt to the victim, by this hideous, injurious attack, this rotten little 'scrote' caused, to be reflected in his sentence.
What price is the loss of pride, & personal repsect a disabled person can extpect, in our society?
I have come to believe in a whole different structure to the human evolutionary story.
It is not pretty, but it may not be true. It is just my private belief.
One more gripe out of the current buildup!
Neil Finn, Fall At Your Feet. A Kiwi with soooo much talent!
Tuesday, March 10
I have done these before, in various guises, but they are not onerous, & can be fun. I guess this one is called the 6 Things meme, & can be as frivolous as we like!
Herewith, the Rules:
1) Put the link of the person who tagged you on your blog
2) Write the rules
3) Mention 6 things or habits of no real importance about you
4) Tag 6 persons adding their links directly
5) Alert the persons that you tagged them
So here goes. In no order of importance, or indeed even truthfulness, I will list 6 'things'.
1. A dear friend had a birthday, last Sunday. Since this friend is special, & always seems to have wonderful ideas for everything, we wanted to get her something special.
I have already given her a quilt, so that was a bit old hat.
Besides, I have not been sewing lately, too hot, too sticky, & too lazy, I guess.
I found what I considered the perfect basket, for her.
Gom & I, in one of our rare points of agreement, thought it would be nice to fill it with exotic fruit. The type one doesn't normally buy oneself, but would like to perhaps sample.
So off we went on a shopping spree for 'exotics'. Might have been easier in Queensland, but we felt happy with what we found.
A Pineapple, a Mango~ from Qld!, 2 different types of Peach, one white, one golden, Passionfruit, Apricots, Nectarines, Grapes, of the seedless variety,
which the official Gom-taste-tester, assured me were delicious a Carambola, aka a Starfruit, a Pomegranate, a Dragonfruit, & a Mangosteen.
Looked good enough to eat!
2. How does one wrap it all, I hear you ask? With difficulty & the aid of a Gom, for holding the corners of the RED cellophane together, while I did my best to tie it together on the top.
I forgot to take a photo of it all wrapped up, but trust me, it looked rather nice.
3. We were invited for Coffee, ~the *good stuff*!~ & cake, also 'good stuff'! We watched in delight as her youngest son brought her presents, in relays. He had been delegated to to wrap each item, & he was so thrilled as he presented each gift. He gave colourful accounts of where he had 'found' each item, & we were quite entranced when he told her last had been found 'drenched in the bathroom'. (It was beautiful bath products, as she is partial to her long baths, in delicious potions) Since he is only 9, we thought he did a marvellous gift-giving presentation.
4. I have been happily reunited with my pendant. It is satisfactory, & I am happily wearing it again, & it seems to be nonetheworse for the hideous deformity it initially suffered! I enquired if the rude young woman is a relative of the owner. "No" was the startled reply. I asked her name, & will now address the letter to the Manager & name the girl, so there is no mistake as to whom I refer. I must admit, the steaming anger has largely gone, & now that I have my pendant restored to almost perfect former glory, I am almost prepared to forgive & forget. Won't stop me telling friends about the p***-poor service for repairs though!
5. If you would like to read about my skating escapades around the local carpark, or other preposterous subjects, just type in 'list 7 things memes' in the top of the 'Search this blog' space. All my old memes come up, with surprisingly, not a heck of a lot of changes. I was surprised to learn it was 2006 when I began blogging. I seem to have lost track of time....
6. I have been priveleged to be able to provide photos of my father when he was young, to members of his second family, ie, my half siblings, & their offspring.
I have been surprised to recognise how much like my father one of my sisters is, & her two children, are also very like their Grandfather. It is a curious thing about genetics. Brown eyes are supposed to dominate, but that is not always the case, & there are both blue & brown eyed members of many in our families.
Now this is the part where I fall down. A lot of blog friends do not wish to be named for memes for games, so I respect their wishes.
I also urge you, who read here, to do this, it is quick & fun. You can lie if you wish, it will all be for fun. Let's face it... we don't know where you live!!
Have I been watching too much Underbelly?? Or Gangs of Oz??
We would seem to be moving into Autumn, thank goodness. I am ashamed to say I have challenged a cousin, resident of New Zealand, to do the BOM of Bunny Hill Designs. She has done her first 2 blocks, & I ..... well, I have done none!! Shame on me. I promise, the cooler weather will produce some sort of results.
Go you quilting ladies - & lads! I have been letting the team down, but somewhere it is winter, & lots in the quilting fraternity are keeping on keeping on!!
Augie March. I do so admire this musical talent, I so enjoy the music.
Thursday, March 5
Last evening's sunset. Truly a promise for a lovely day, & it has delivered on that promise. It really feels like a perfect Autumn day, clear blue skies, no humidity! & a light breeze with bright sun. Bliss.
Scenes from yesterday.
Meggie, entering Jeweller's, wearing a smile thinking honey catches more than acid.
Shop assistant of the previous dealings, is serving another customer. Upon sighting me she quickly drops her eyes. She carefully avoids me, thereafter, for the entire time I am in the shop.
Out from behind the glass comes Ms Simply Superior, herafter referred to as SS.
"Can I help!" not a question.
M, presents 'before' photo, of pendant, then produces pendant.
M indicating photo, "This is what I brought in for repair. This is how it was done."
SS looks at the picture, then takes the pendant.
"It has been made upside down, that is why the ring has been put on it up that way"
M slightly speechless initially, says "It was made that way & that is how I have worn it these many years I have had it."
SS, in supercilious tone, "Well usually, they go up this way!" dangling it by the overlarge j ring. "They always make them up this way, that is why it has been mended that way."
I then broached the fact that the J ring is far too large for the delicacy of the pendant.
"Well," SS again, "That is because you didn't have a chain with it. We always make them large in case you want to wear it on a large chain."
M is even more speechless at this piece of 'logic'. Especially since I did take the chain in, when I first took the pendant to be mended. The other assistant sited it, knew it's size, but told me to take it home.
I venture to tell SS this piece of news. She totally ignores that, implying once again, it is my fault for not leaving the chain.
As it happens, I have the chain with me again, but she tells me I need not leave it.
I realise further discussion with her is pointless, so I ask to see the jeweller.
"NO! He is busy, I can deal with this it will all be repaired. So do you want the J ring half this size then?"
I attempt to suggest something in keeping with the size of the pendant would be ideal. I again show her the chain. She is determined to ignore it. She tells me again, "Lots of people like to wear them on large thick chains."
My fingers tingle madly. I am not one to slap anyone. But for her, I could have made an exception! Twice!
I mention the fact that the stone looks different. The original stone always seemed to have a slight flaw. In it's now 'polished' state, it looks quite different.
For that heinous suggestion, I get told "Only very low grade stones have flaws"
I was tempted to say, "So? Maybe it was a lowgrade stone. I dont care. It was a gift, I treasured it, & loved it just the way it was."
I decided to leave it. No point in talking to someone who knows everything. She is so lucky as she is only about 20, give or take. I hope she has left home, seeing as she knows everything. She would make her parents life a misery, I am sure, should she still be living with them. An absence of rings would seem to indicate there is no 'partner' on the scene.
I then venture to say "I hope there is going to be no charge for this, since it cost rather a lot in the first place, & the new J ring will be much smaller."
SS looks disdainfully at the docket, sniffs & tells me it was far too cheap for the ring in the first place, & should have cost a lot more than that!
I was flabbergasted again. I blurted out "I don't believe that. That is nonsense!"
SS calmly repeats, "It was far too cheap."
I leave the shop. I am secretly shaking with rage. Why didnt I just stand my ground, demand to speak to the jeweller? Why do I let people bully me?
I seem to do so much better on paper. I have decided to write a letter explaining why I will no longer be patronising the shop. Of course, I won't deliver the letter until after I have the pendant in my possession once more.
I have to wait until next Tuesday for the (hopefully) last part of the story.
Gom had left me to fight my own battles, which he always does.
He decided to sit in the car to wait for me.
He must have gone to sleep, since he didn't seem to notice I was gone nearly an hour!
Haha, I sneaked off for a haircut after the unpleasant encounter at the jewellers. I have finally found a hairdresser I can trust, after all these lately years of wanting to die after haircuts.
The hairdresser is actually a barber. He has a real 'feel' for hair, & I have never seen him give a bad haircut. He plays music, -sometimes wonderful Italian Tenors singing.
Yesterday was Irish dance music? Not sure why. He told me a client had given him the CD. I could see his young assistant was not really enjoying it. He told me the tunes all sound the same to him, but the client had said each was better than the last! He seemed genuinely puzzled as to how the client could think that. So was I.
I still dont think Gom has noticed that my hair has been cut! It is a lot shorter than it was.
I am off out to accompany my daughter. She has had dreadful pain in her neck & shoulder area. She has been to see a Specialist, who did a full body scan, & has recommended a series of injections. She had decided not to have them. However since she is in agony, her GP has recommended she have them, as he has seen dramatic pain relief achieved from this man. I so hope she gets some relief.
Simon & Garfunkel, Bridge over Troubled Water
Tuesday, March 3
Some years ago, my mother gave me a lovely pendant, with an Amethyst set in among delicate scroll work. I have loved that pendant from the minute I saw it, & have had many compliments about it, over the years.
One morning in the shower I heard a metallic click, & there was the pendant lying at my feet. The chain was still around my neck but it seemed the little ring that threaded onto the chain, had vanished.
Upon examining the pendant, I could see that the little ring in the top of the setting was worn, almost to a gap.
You can see the thinness in this photo I took of it. I have blogged about it, & took this photo. I am really glad I did, because of what is to follow.
This is the before photo. Note worn ring.
I also had a ruby & diamond ring, which Gom gave me about 19 years ago. It is very unusual, & I have worn it with much joy. One of the claws came off the large ruby, so I decided to have both pieces of jewellry mended.
Today, I went & collected the repaired items. I wore the ring, & am very happy with it, it was polished nicely & seems to be well repaired with a new claw on the central stone.
The pendant is another story entirely. I had forgotten to take the chain with me, so I didn't wear the pendant home. When I got home, I unwrapped it, & felt immediately that there was something 'wrong' - different about it. I threaded it onto the chain, but it still didn't seem right.
I noted there was also a twisted little filigree that could have been straightened, surely not a difficult task? (It had been twisted previously, so was not new.)
Upon consulting my 'before' photo, I suddenly realised why I had thought it to be 'wrong' somehow. It is upside down!!
The instructions on the receipt docket are printed thus.
"1 ym pdt purple stn 1.8g. build up ring on pdt $****(price) & supply & solder on lgr J ring $****(price). Tasks:(NUMBER)build up ring on pdt. Qty: 1."
What I am wondering is, should I take it back to be further 'modified'. Or should I wear it, as is. I realise the original hole is worn STILL, after requesting it be built up!! I also rather think the link that has been soldered on for the chain, is too large for the delicacy of the pendant. It has changed the look completely. I am left feeling very disappointed, but also fearful of further wreckage.
Gom doesnt give a rat's, daughter J says take it back. I am left feeling somewhat peeved. I have had some other disappointments in repairs in the past & do not trust jewellers as a result. I never actually spoke to the person who was to do the repairs, but I thought the girl's instructions were clear enough?
I can hear some saying, well there are plenty of REAL things out there to be peeved about.
Yes indeedy there are!!
Son in law walked into a peice of funiture & broke his little toe. A huge purple mess is the result, & some time off work.
There is a nice Young-Older, neighbour boy, who did his best to prevent SG shouting out the offending word. The "Do it Do it" cries won. Silly SG yelled F*** out the bus window! Umbrage was taken, & some woman, I would guess a mother, reported it to the school personel, & so SG got into trouble. Apparently no more was said, after a phone call to his home yesterday, to 'report the matter'. It is a bit sad, really, but it is a word that is as common as bugger or damn, about the schoolyard, the streets, & in many homes. I have never heard SG say it. He doesn't 'swear', as a rule.
We have an underspace under part of the house. There is a door to allow acess, but it just consists of clay & pipes etc. Granddaughter refers to it as the "Dirt Room". She had threatened SG that she would banish him to the Dirt Room. I was quite shocked, & told her she mustn't threaten him like that.
We all burst out laughing later in the day when Granddaughter said she had opened the door to the Dirt Room. SG piped up, & said "And out came Nanna's bum!" After I stopped laughing I said I wondered where it came from!
When you are only 6, "bum" is really quite exciting, isnt it! Almost like swearing!
John Denver Grandma's Feather Bed.