When I was a kid

I come from a time when service was common to everyone.  The baker called in every morning with lovely loaves of fresh warm bread and buns.  I used to come to morning tea from the school across the paddock and Mum would have a cup of tea ready for me with a slice of buttered German coffee cake. The green grocer drove into the backyard with his truck full of fresh vegetables where the lady of the house could select her purchases in her own time. The grocer drove in with his assortment of cheeses, flour, sugar and packets of leaf tea and chicory essence, in fact anything that was essential to the household.  I loved this truck.  It always smelled divine.  The ice-man came to deliver to those people who still had their old trusty ice-chest.  He carried large oblong blocks of ice inside with a huge black caliper and placed it in the top of the chest.  As it melted the water filled a tray at the bottom of the chest.  This usually took about two days.  It was also imperative that  the tray was regularly checked otherwise a watery catastrophe ensued.  As kids, we loved the ice-man.  When he ran inside the houses with his blocks of ice we tried to grab shavings and chips of ice from the back of his truck.  The truck I remember was lined with hessian.  The ice-men pretended to hate us kids and yelled at all of us.  However, I do not think he really hated up at all.  If he didn't really want us to pinch the ice he would have locked his truck up.  The milkie came in the early hours of morning and filled up our billie.  Mum put it outside the door with the milk money underneath and the milkie ran in with his light milk churn and filled up the billie with a dipper of beautiful fresh milk.  This was real milk, milk from a real cow, milk with no additives, no pasteurisation in fact it was the best milk I have ever tasted..  Later the milkies delivered bottles of milk and around the top of each bottle was a layer of really yummy cream.  The rabbitoe also delivered straight to the back door.  My memory may be a bit faulty but I seem to remember that he delivered that rabbits with their pelt on.  However, I don't remember my Mum skinning a rabbit so I am possibly wrong. Whether the chooks that I saw Mum pluck came from a truck or from the chook run I don't know.  I suppose there was a man who delivered fish but I have no memory of him.  My favourite was the Raleighs truck.  This man delivered all sorts of things.  Not only did he sell furniture polish and one polish in particular was one smelling of lavender that made the furniture smell wonderful and filled the house with the aroma of flowers.  The man also sold shoe polish and anything usable in the house but he also catered to women who needed a skin creams and other beauty products.  No wonder he was a favourite of the ladies in the Outback. So this was service; people  coming to your home and presenting their goods and waiting patiently while choices were made.  These men offered not only their goods but also had a bit of a chat with the women who quite often never had a visitor the whole day or even week or month. Goods and gossip certainly made a lonely woman's day.   This service was offered in a simpler time.  Perhaps my memories are rose coloured but I loved to watch Mum dealing with the salesmen.  I loved to hear their stories and to look at everything in the trucks.  With any luck they might have some little thing for Mum to buy for me and on some red-letter day give me a little toy to play with until their next visit.

Dental extraction

Why oh why when I look after my teeth so well do I always have so many problems with said teeth?  I did have a tooth that was mainly filling.  It looked a little like the scary teeth of one of the baddies in one of the James Bond movies.  Of course it wasn't a whole mouthful of metal teeth it was just one at the back.  Now getting back to the tooth.  Yesterday I thought I had an ulcer in my mouth but it turned out to be that some of the hideous filling of my tooth had fallen out and that a knife sharp edge was actually cutting my poor tongue.   I was finding it hard to eat and talk (perish the thought) and that said of course, I had to bite the bullet so to speak and ring the dentist this morning.  Luckily, they felt sorry for me so I was first cab off the rank.  The lovely man did his painless needles (I do so love this man) and then set about tugging, pulling, drilling, yanking, twisting while the tooth broke slowly apart.  So after all the tugging, pulling and so forth and etcetera he finally managed to get all of it out after thirty-five minutes.  He was totally exhausted and I felt for him, really I did.  He had patients waiting patiently so would have run behind all day.  I think he would have needed his Berocca before he tackled the next not so patient patient.  I came home feeling quite sorry for myself.  One would think that with all that brushing and flossing my teeth would be grateful, but no, my teeth do their best to disintergrate at every opportunity.  I would curse them but that would be really really bad karma.  From now on my mantra will be, "I love my teeth, they are beautiful, they are healthy, they never break or need fillings.  I love my teeth, they are..............................................................................................."  Yay for my teeth I say.

Exams

When I was young.  I know, here she goes again, but when I was young we did exams at the end of each term from grade three on.  We were used to them.  Now the "experts" say that the stress is bad for children.  What rot.  The exams gave us an idea of how we were going and most of all they gave our parents feedback when we took home our reports cards to get signed.  Children have to learn that some things in life are difficult, and that they do not merit a free ride.  If they had exams throughout their school years then they would not be so thrown when they do have to be tested.   I am the first to admit that SACE is difficult.  University exams are even harder but something that anyone attending Uni realizes they have to do.  For an Arts degree there are usually three essays in a two hour exam.  I cannot speak for other subjects but it is a given that these exams can take a toll on students.  I usually manged to get a migraine before my exams and I was used to tests.  Please people don't be so precious.  Let the kids do the tests.  It is better to know if children are having a problem with something so that the teaching staff can help them.  Perhaps if tests were the norm maybe kids might learn how to read before they leave school.  When I was young blah blah blah.  I am right though.

Multi-tasking

I have found that I cannot multi-task.  That means speaking and thinking.  Thinking and almost anything.  Ordering something and then paying for it. Today I tried to pay twice for a cup of coffee.  So while I am concentrating on asking about something the other brain that does not work is doing something else entirely.  Ha I just indicated I might have two brains.  If I do have two brains perish the thought that one or the other might work properly.

Even though it sounds funny when I do all these odd things, in reality it is not funny.  Not funny at all.  It could all be a momentary aberration but it could also the precursor of something far more sinister.  Worrying about what may or may not happen will get me no-where.  I cannot prevent things from happening but just make the best of the adventure.  Hang on folks we are in for a bumpy ride.  (Very Bette Davis.)

School work

As I am sure that you know by now I do not manage to understand maths at all.  However, I have been sailing along working out wages and salaries etc. quite well.  I knew it was too good to be true.  Now they want percentages.  I really have no idea how to do them even on a calculator.  I get 100%, 50%, 25%, 20%, 10%.  I just know them but ask me in between stuff and I am befuddled.  My friend has told me what to do over the phone so I am going to have a bash at them again but if they don't work I will have to ask the teacher at school.  I have only just made it off the first page and there are about five to go.  I might still be working on this next semester when I won't even be at school.  I have to get to know what to do as we will have a test/exam at the end of term. 

The best thing that I did the other day was to listen to my mp3 player and block out the rest of the class.  I got quite a lot done and found it much easier to concentrate without all the background talking.  It also stops people from asking questions.  I don't know why they ask me stuff I am the last one who would know anything.

I have spent so much time doing the maths at school that I have almost totally ignored my research project.  I think I should be able to slap some stuff together to present. 

For the rest of the year I will be home doing all the stuff that I like doing and not having to worry about studying.  Yay for me.  Knitting, sewing and reading here I come.  I also plan to take the dog to the beach every now and then. 

All holiday and no work make Cushie a happy person.

Adages from my Mum

Seriously, the older I get the smarter Mum was.  She always said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."  "If you give your word always abide by it."  "If you cannot afford it on the day, you cannot afford it."  "Always wear comfortable shoes."  "If it is not yours, it is not yours.'  She was spot on.  I have always tried to follow her instructions except for the one about the credit card.  I wish I had listened more carefully when she suggested this one. 

Old William Shakespeare was also on the ball with his, "Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend.  "This above all to thine own self be true."  Shakespeare was a very smart man. 

I only have two hints for anyone to follow.  Never sleep with more than one man in a month and never buy a sleeping cat.  While the first one is especially important the second makes living with a cat a more peaceful experience. 

Follow these life hints and maybe you will save yourself a lot of heartache.

Education firing

I am possibly the worst typist in Australia.  I spent one year learning to type and managed to score a job at the Education Department.  I was so excited about having a job and thought it would be wonderful.  What is was, was boring.  I had to type up lists of names at first and then after a minute promotional I had to type out wages cheques for teachers.  Now this is in the olden days when typewriter had ribbons.  There was no going back and fixing anything and with one mistake on the cheque it could be validated by the higher ups in my little office.  If two mistakes were made the cheque had to be cancelled.  Needless to say I would have at least ten cheques in every batch cancelled.  I could see our supervisor going in to the manager's office with a wad of my cheques and every one of my mistakes sticking out.  We were only allowed one cancellation in a hundred, one in ten was not tolerated. The more I got into trouble the worse my typing became.  Finally things came to a head and I entered the 'was I jumped or was I pushed' brigade.  I jumped.  All the girls in the typing pool wanted me to go to the union but I really hated that damned job.  I was embarrassed about losing the position so told everyone that I was bored and I just left.  In three weeks I managed to get a job with Customs and Excise as a Clerical Assistant and of course no more typing.   I loved Customs so even though my entry into the work force was not propitious I found my feet. 

Practical joke

I attended a girls high school.  One of my childish jokes was to go in to the toilet and lock the door then climb up onto the cistern and then step over to the next toilet and lock that door and so on until the last toilet where I let myself out.  As you can imagine a school full of girls means a school full of girls wanting to use the toilets.  I never really stayed around to see the mayhem for myself but sometimes stood outside listening to raised voices.  This of course was bad enough but I also did the same thing with the downstairs toilets.  I thought it was hysterical.  It was a juvenile joke but hey, I was a juvenile.  If anyone reads this and remembers being a victim of this so-called joke, I am glad that you do not know who is writing this blog.  Luckily, I am too old now to do the same thing in public toilets and also I don't think it is as funny as I used to.

Pre-senility and the pensioner

I appear to be losing my mind a little more each day.  Yesterday when I was getting petrol I left the engine on but managed to correct that mistake before I actually turned on the pump.  When I went in to pay for the petrol I couldn't remember which pump I had used.  The cashier  pointed out not only the car but informed me that I had left the lights on.  She gently reminded me that I had to turn them off.  I would have done so if I had known. 

Today I used a new ATM and found it almost impossible to work.  I spend about ten minutes trying to get out some money.  It appears that I am now unable to read English.  I kept pressing the wrong buttons.  The machine only functions if you use it properly.  I finally reconciled myself to actually following the subtle hints and voila I had my money.  I do believe that I learned something.  Read the  instructions properly and cash will be supplied.
 
At least I did not try to extract money from the ATM with my driver's licence.  This has happened before but not today.   However I am in the category of pre-senility.  Pre-senility means that I am capable of functioning but not to the extent that I used to.

Stolen car????

Today I lost my car keys.  Usually I put them in the outer pocket of my hand bag but could not find them for love nor money.  I cannot lock them in the car as I need them to lock the door.  I was puzzled to say the least but then remembered that I had looked in the boot for a shopping bag.  Of course there they were in the lock.  I must say I was non-plussed at the insult to my lovely little car.  What is it crooks is my car not good enough to steal?  


 









   

What am I afraid of?

I am scared not so much of getting old but about what happens if I lose it.  The thought of going into a nursing home terrifies me.  I don't want to be incontinent.  I don't want to have to ask to be helped to the toilet or be parked on the toilet with the door open while the carer goes off to do something else.  I have seen this happen in full view of those passing along the corridor and straight across from a resident's room.  I do not want to be left to scratch myself or pick my nose or do any of the things that would not happen if I were in my right mind.  I don't want to be pacified by being given a toy doll to cuddle.  I do not want to be a living skeleton on a wheeled bed or chair; alive yet not alive. I don't want to be lost in a fog and not know my own child when and if she comes to see me. Perhaps I wouldn't want her to have to see me existing not living.  What would even be more devastating would be to remember her and look up at every visitor waiting, waiting, waiting for her to come.  Desolation!!!!!  So that is what I am afraid of.  This fear will poison my days if I continue to dwell upon it.  I should treasure the healthy days I have left and enjoy my life, my daughter and my friends and the precious animals.   The one thing that I am not afraid of is death.  That is the final adventure.

How fat is that?

I have always thought I was fat, clearly I was mistaken.   My doctor has hinted that I just could be fat, huge, obese and enormous.  Clearly he is delusional.   I have all my mirrors are covered because it is good feng shui, therefore I can see by my head in the bathroom mirror that I must be quite slim.  Sometimes however, I do have to check to see if it is possible that my top covers up the a saggy baggy elephant tummy or a spare tyre; I am actually going for tractor tyre when I say this.  My mirror in the wardrobe is obviously broken and shows me a huge lump of a person.  So where anorexic people see themselves as fat, I see myself as slim.  Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the slimmest person of all?  I am, I am!   It is well known that shop windows magnify, they, like my wardrobe mirror are defective.  I have dainty feet and hands, lovely slim wrists and I have a neck and chin plus nice perky bosoms.  Why should I look any further?

Who says maths and english don't go together?

I have been doing the most long-winded numeracy problem in the world.  Working from a house plan we had to find out how much it would cost to put in carpet and tiles plus skirtings, guttering and paint.  This of course took me an inordinate amount of time.  I also needed help because my brain just doesn't do this type of thing.  If I was getting stuff done to my house I would get the tradie to work stuff out for me.  So once I had worked out the areas etc, I then had to get quotes.  I thought this was an enormous waste of time for the firms we needed to contact.  One lady went to Harvey Norman and had to lie about carpeting her house.  The salesperson took about forty-five minutes to do the quote and of course thought that they might get a sale.  I just couldn't bear to do that so I just asked other people who had the quotes for their prices.  Once all the quotes were in hand I then had to add up everything and then come up with a final figure.  My figure kept changing each time I added it up.  Finally, I managed to get two totals the same.  You may think that this was the end but no.  I had to write up an introduction and a conclusion.  I am almost happy about this because I may not be able to do figures but I can write.  Maybe the writing will drag me over the edge and I will pass.  If I scrape through I will be exceptionally pleased.  So in this case the maths and the english do go together and I am really happy that they do.

Locked in the loo

Yesterday I went to the Elizabeth City Centre and because I needed to go to the toilet,  my first port of call was the loo nearest to Big W.  While I was in there an alarm started sounding but as I was otherwise involved I didn't worry too much.  After washing my hands I left or tried to leave the toilet area but a huge metal sliding door was closed in front of me.  The other toilet users and I stood there for a while listening to the alarm and I began to think of Titanic.  I figure that the bulk heads were closing and the water would come rushing in and drown us all.  Actually, I probably thought that the fire would sweep through the area and we would be like little pieces of bbq meat lying charred on the floor.  After a few minutes while the alarm was still sounding the big door slid to one side and we breathed a sigh of relief and walked through.  At the end of the long corridor the outer door starting closing.  The man in front broke into a trot and managed to get there before the second door shut.  He was nice enough to hold it open for the rest of us.  Outside the toilet area it was almost impossible to hear the alarm.  A public service announcement started saying that a security alert was sounding but not to panic.  Easy for them to say when you are incarcerated in the toilets.  I will be carefully checking out the toilets I go into from now on.  Easy exit only.  Yep thats it, easy.